#they are three idiots your honor how are they going to save an entire island??? orz

[merakiui]

going through my drafts is like an archeological excavation because i found another azul wip i had forgotten about. this one is an au i wanted to write in which azul is a vengeful deity who had been forcibly put to sleep hundreds of years ago and is now only just beginning to awaken. the fate of one island rests in the not-so-capable hands of ace, deuce, and reader. and the dynamic really feels like this:

[butgilinsky]

there are answers in your silence // mb

warning; language, asshole (kinda toxic ngl) barzy, a sprinkle of asshole tito too, toxic relationship, mentions of cheating, angst- the whole thing is angst, carter hart 

summary; where you and mat are falling apart faster than you can try to fix it. 

word count; 8.3k+

a/n: hi guys! this is a rewrite/continuation of this blurb i wrote. the main pairing is mat x reader but there are a lot of carter x reader themes throughout. there won’t be a part two seeing as i don’t normally write for carter, and i like where it left off. if you have any questions i’d be happy to answer any(: enjoy!

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You loved your job, truly. You loved photography, and you loved the opportunities you’d been given by joining the islanders organization, but you managed to make things messy for yourself. It wasn’t written into your contract that you couldn’t date the players, but it was assumed that you would distance yourself from them. 

Mathew Barzal, however, threw caution to the wind when it came to that unspoken rule. 

You were knee deep in it by the time you realized it was a bad idea. Most days were fine, the two of you were professional in the walls of the rink and you knew how to keep it under control. On any other day, you were capable of keeping it all under control just fine, but going to the rink and smiling at Mat from across the halls was not the same as coming to the rink when the two of you were neck deep in an argument. An argument that had been oncoming for a long time now. 

You couldn’t focus on anything when you were arguing with Mat. You had fallen behind on editing this entire week, and now you were tiptoeing around the rink that you worked at because Mat was everywhere you turned, it seemed. 

You kept your post at the glass throughout the entirety of the game against the Devils, trying to get yourself out of your head when Mat was in your camera’s line of sight. You took pictures of the whole team, you had to, it was your job, but it was hard to do that when Mat was smiling like an idiot after Tito scored, and you had to take a picture of their shared celly. 

Even when he turned towards you and you sent him a gentle smile, the sight of his falling from his lips was heartbreaking. You knew he was mad at you, but the ache in your chest wasn’t able to recognize the fact that the two of you weren’t on the best terms. 

Truth be told, this was anything but out of the blue. Mat had been on edge for a while now, and while you knew it had everything to do with hockey and how he was playing, it wasn’t easy to accept everything he had been continuously throwing at you. You had a lot going on, just like he did, and you didn’t have the time nor energy to exude on this week-long argument. A week long argument that had eventually shifted into radio silence from your boyfriend. 

The next few days proved to be harder than you initially expected, no conclusion being found between the two of you. It was getting out of hand, if you were being honest, and now you had to fly to Philadelphia with the team for two games. You didn’t think all that much about the ride over to Philly until you were faced with your boyfriend happily sitting beside his best friend, not a seat for you in sight. 

You sat at the front of the plane, shoulder bumping against Marty’s while you kept your head low and hopefully out of sight. 

“What’s up with you and Barzy?” you huffed, shrugging gently and telling Matt that he could tell you as soon as he figured it out because at this point, you weren’t entirely sure what the two of you were arguing about either. All you knew was that Mat was mad at you and had been ignoring your calls and texts for the past three days. 

It was confusing to most, given that when you and Mat were on good terms, it was impossible to not see the two of you together. You were both all smiles and giggles when you were around each other, but not recently. You were worried that your spark had died out, that whatever you had built over the last year was fading away with every passing moment, and you were out of solutions. 

You had been lost in the Wells Fargo Center for upwards of thirty minutes when you ran into a boy who seemed like he could be your saving grace. He had a granola bar hanging out of his mouth and his eyes were glued to his phone screen while he walked down the hall in your direction. You weren’t sure who he was, but the Flyers shirt on his torso paired with the backwards hat on led you to believe he was a player and would therefore know the layout of the rink quite well. 

“Hey!” you called out, just loud enough to have him looking up from his phone and over to you. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I have no idea where i’m going.”

He laughed gently and slid his phone into his back pocket, not overlooking the Islanders logo on your shirt or your name tag that hung around your neck. His eyes were soft and his smile was endearing in a time where you barely had anyone else look at you over the last few days. 

“No worries, though i’m not sure i should be helping the enemy.” you laughed gently, about to make a remark about the Flyers not being your favorite team either, but he spoke again before you had the chance. “Where do you need to be?”

Some time later after you learned that the boy’s name was Carter and he was the Flyers’ goalie, he showed you everywhere you’d need to be over the next few hours. He pointed out different rooms and halls that would be of great use to you and now the two of you were sitting in the middle of the empty seats, looking down on the empty ice. 

“It’s weird, seeing it like this.” Carter whispered softly, more to himself than to you, but it caught your ear nonetheless. 

“Not used to seeing it completely empty?” he shook his head, telling you that there’s usually always someone down there. Whether they’re cleaning or moving things around, there’s almost always somebody down there. 

“Why are you here all alone, by the way?” you hummed softly, letting out a deep sigh with a smile that Carter was easily able to identify as forced. “Don’t you have a hot shot boyfriend that could show you around?”

“And how would you know that?” your voice was light, playful, and it showed in your smile that Carter easily matched. 

“I’m not sure there’s a single person that doesn’t know what Mathew Barzal’s girlfriend looks like.” he tore his eyes away from the rink, looking over at you with a look that had your stomach turning, a lump starting to form in the pit of your throat. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” your voice was soft but the silence across the rest of the rink was enough to lift your words up to his ears, the far corner of his mouth twitching up ever so slightly as he registered them. 

“Y/n!” you jumped, startled by the outburst from the top of the section, craning your neck around to lock eyes with your boyfriend. “Where have you been?” 

You groaned, one that resided in the back of your throat and was only heard by Carter due to his close proximity. He sensed the agitation in your body language and the way your eyes fluttered shut while you took a deep breath to compose yourself. 

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” you yelled back, muttering a small ‘jesus’ under your breath before pushing yourself onto your feet. “Well, Mr. Hart, thank you for showing me around. I’d be lost without you, literally.” 

He laughed at your joke, though corny he thought it was cute. He shook your hand playfully and watched you climb the stairs to your boyfriend who was glaring at Carter even from his place all the way at the top of the section. 

“What are you doing down here?” 

“So you’re talking to me now?” His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he soaked in your question. He had almost forgotten the two of you were arguing currently, too focused on getting you away from Carter to assess the situation properly. 

“What am i supposed to do? Watch you cozy up beside the goalie I'm about to score a hatty on?” in any other scenario, you’d be laughing, chirping him for claiming that he was going to score a hatty tonight, but you couldn’t do that right now. All you could do was laugh bitterly, focused on the fact that the only reason he was speaking to you for the first time in three days was rooted in jealousy. 

“I wasn't cozying up next to anybody, Mat. I was lost and he had time to spare so he showed me around the rink. That’s all-”

"That’s not exactly how it looked to me just now.” you rolled your eyes and walked past him, ducking around his shoulder and walking in the direction of the room Carter pointed out for you a few minutes earlier. “Y/n! We’re talking!” 

“I’m busy! We’ll talk later!” 

It felt like you were running across the arena during the game, opting to tie your hair back halfway through the first period when you realized you wouldn’t have your own post like you normally would. You were doing your best to get the best shots you could possibly get, but that unfortunately had you breathing heavily and worn out by the time the second intermission rolled around. 

Mat hadn’t scored once yet, and you could tell he was getting aggravated. He was playing rougher than he normally would, and you could see chirps being thrown around the ice, almost always directed towards your boyfriend. He took them in stride most times, only opting for a clenched jaw or maybe a hard hit against the boards. 

When the second intermission began, you were given the okay to take a breather from your job while your boss flipped through the photos on your camera, laughing when you opted to lean back in one of the stadium seats with your limbs spread out around you haphazardly. 

When you were switching sides for the nth time of the night, you ran into Carter again, decked out in his gear void of his helmet, the same charming smile shining in your direction once he saw you. 

“To what do I owe the honor?” he joked, earning a few questioning glances from the few teammates gathered around him, all turning towards you with soft smirks and knowing eyes. They knew who you were, a lot of guys in the league knew who you were. 

Everyone knew who Mathew Barzal was, and his need to show you off to the entire world once the two of you began dating was loud and in everyone’s face. Everyone who followed Mat on instagram or opened up a gossip article every now and again knew your face, knew how you looked tucked under Mat’s arm. It also didn’t help that the boys surrounding Carter had heard about his adventure with you around the rink earlier today. 

“Well if it isn’t Mrs. Barzal.” You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the insult tickling the tip of your tongue and deciding to focus on Carter nudging him in the ribs. 

“Ignore him, he’s not even sure what the word filter means.” One of the taller ones, hair down to his shoulders and bright blue eyes sending you a gentle look, tried to assure you that his friend was anything but thoughtful in moments like these. 

“I guess that’s why they call him the team rat, huh?” Travis, who had no idea you even knew who he was, narrowed his eyes at you just before a small smile stretched across his lips. 

“How’s the game?” Carter’s smile practically hung off of his lips, confidence bursting at the seams as he silently referred to the fact that Mat had threatened him with a hatty not too long ago, and the Islanders had only scored once all night long, and it wasn’t even Mat’s. 

Going into the third period, the Flyers were up 4-1. 

“I plead the fifth.” you said gently, hearing a few laughs erupt all around you. 

“Looks like your hubby’s not getting his hatty tonight.” One of the boys who you didn’t know the name of sent you a gentle elbow into your arm, offering up a smile with his chirp. 

“Looks like he’s not getting a lot of things tonight.” your eyes found Carter, who was already looking at you with a wide smile. You took a deep breath, prying your eyes away from the boy and looking around the small circle that formed in the hall. “Well, boys, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Y/n!” you sighed then, unable to suppress a physical reaction to having your name yelled across the hall for the second time today. You were annoyed, given that this was only the second time Mat was speaking to you today and it had all of the same intentions as his last attempt. 

“Yes?” you turned over your shoulder to see not only Mat but Tito as well, both looking at you as if you’d grown two extra heads. Tito looked to Mat, expecting him to answer your questioning eyes, but he never did. He just stared at you, lips parted but never speaking. 

Truth be told, you needed him to say something. You needed him to say something because he was the one that had left you in the dark this week. He was the one that was going through a time so tough he took it out on you. You did your part, but Mat had yet to do his part, and it was killing you on the inside. 

“I have to go.” you took off in the direction you were originally walking, searching for your next post in the stands. 

You tried to distract yourself, but it didn’t seem to be working. Your hands were shaky while you tried to snap shots as much as you could, and when Mat had a breakdown on the ice, it all went even further downhill. 

Carter didn’t take the brute of it, which surprised you in all honesty, but you weren’t all that surprised when your number 13 was going hit for hit with their 11. Gloves were dropped in the last three minutes of the game, both of them walking away with sore knuckles and five minute majors. 

You weren’t even sure what started it, seeing as you were trying to snap a picture of Tito taking a shot on goal, the other two dropping their gloves on a different part of the ice and out of your view. You couldn’t watch it, instead dug your chin into your chest and tugged on the roots of your hair in frustration. You knew that the Flyers were going to win, given their four goal lead and the Islanders’ inability to get their shit together it seemed. You knew Mat was going to hit a rough practice tomorrow, and it somehow made you more excited to have a hotel room to yourself and the morning off. 

You didn’t see Mat until you got back to your room, shoulders slumped and exhaustion raking through your body. You pushed the door to your room open and jumped a foot in the air at the sight of your boyfriend sitting at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together in his lap and head hung low. He was anxious, you could tell by his posture and the fact that he wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

A sick feeling resided in your stomach when a minute passed and neither of you spoke up, both waiting for the other to take the leap. Mat tried to collect his thoughts, despite having plenty of time to do so while he waited for you. He wasn’t even sure how he made it back before you, if he was honest. 

“Where have you been?” it was a bad lead in retrospect, given that he showed no real care as to where you were at any other point in the week. That on top of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place made for a bad start to a hard conversation. 

“Working, Mat. I do more than snap pictures of the team at games and run back home.” he knew that. He knew because he’d been the one that woke up in the middle of the night to you relentlessly editing things and piecing things together for a deadline. He was the one that woke up to an empty bed, finding you posted up at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee beside you and your head burning from the strain on your eyes. 

You didn’t, however, tell him exactly what you were doing. You were working, yes, but you kept specifics to yourself. He didn’t deserve specifics when he was acting like this. You deserved an apology, an explanation, quite literally anything more than you currently had before you had to give out your whereabouts. 

“I’m sorry this week’s been the way it has. I just- there’s a lot going on right now and I can’t get it all under control.” you sighed, setting your camera bag down on the desk before standing in front of Mat

 “It’s fine if you don’t have things under control all the time.” you set your hands on his shoulders and waited for him to look up at you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite map out. “It’s not fine that you take things out on me when I didn’t cause you this distress.” 

“I know.” he spoke softly, understanding that he was doing something wrong but not entirely providing a solution for it, nor figuring out a way to fix it. “I’m going to figure it out. I’m sorry.” 

You nodded, accepting the soft kiss he silently asked for. You let him stay the night, though you couldn’t fall asleep. You leaned back into his chest, held his arm that was wrapped around you close to your chest, but you couldn’t sleep. You didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two before Mat’s alarm went off and he left for practice. 

You were able to sleep after Mat left, only logging about three hours before your own alarm went off and you had to make it to the rink. The day seemed to be uneventful for a while, but when you finished all of the things you had to do for the day and found a seemingly decent restaurant to stop in on your way back to the hotel, you were met with four smiling faces that you recognized easily. 

“Y/n!” Carter’s voice caught your ear easily, making you spin around in line, seeing the smiling boy give you a gentle wave from the table he was sitting at with the others, all who offered you a similar expression. 

You held up one of your fingers, seeing four boys nod at you in response as they waited for you to order your food. By the time you ordered and paid, grabbing the number that the cashier slid across the counter to you and spinning around, there was a chair at the end of the table that Travis was sitting in, leaving the spot in the booth beside Carter vacant. All four of the boys were pointing at the seat, ushering you into it with wide smiles. 

“Well this is a pleasant surprise.” you smiled warmly at the boys as you approached their table, sliding into the seat they vacated for you. 

“You’re telling us.” Carter offered, his smile cutting through you just like it did every other time it was given to you. 

Carter was cute, that much you could admit to. You hadn’t spent much time with him other than the other day when showed you around the rink, but you’d talked to him more than your own boyfriend in the past week so that was saying something. You were grateful for his hospitality, and even if you knew there was something else brewing beneath the surface, it wasn’t anything you were going to acknowledge and you certainly weren’t going to act on it. 

The rest of the boys were nice. Travis was a bit of a pest, but Nolan was able to keep him under control most of the time. They balanced each other out and you were aware of that from the very beginning. Joel was a nice kid, not the loudest in the room but certainly not the quietest either. Overall you had a good time sitting with and talking to them, appreciating the good company in a time where you had felt pretty isolated. 

They showed you a few places around Philly, sticking things within walking distance of the restaurant the five of you came from. It was fun, being able to forget about the chaos going on in your life for once. They even walked you back to your hotel, leaving you with each of their phone numbers to assist you in the rest of your time in Philly, and warm smiles. 

Just as they were leaving, Carter hung back for a bit to offer you a softer smile than the one he was giving you throughout the day, his eyes telling you that there was something brewing in his mind, something he had been holding back about all day. 

“I just wanted to say that you’re doing great. I don’t know what’s going on in your life, that much is obvious, but you deserve better.” he gave you one last smile and told you to call him if you needed anything at all before turning to catch up with his teammates. 

Carter’s words hung in your mind longer than you would’ve expected. They made you rethink everything that had occurred in your life over the last few months, every up and down, every bridge you built both by yourself and with others. You wondered if you were where you were supposed to be, if this is where you were meant to be in life and how long you were meant to be there. 

You loved Mat. You loved him completely, but there were things missing. You weren’t sure what it was, and part of you wanted to believe that you were just in the middle of a rough patch, but a greater part of you knew better. You knew that Mat was going through the thick of it, and your mind couldn’t help but wander over the chance that the time for you and Mat had run its course. 

You went another night without sleep, the stress from overthinking yourself into oblivion making it impossible to get any consistent sleep throughout the night. It showed in the way that your bags were deeper, darker than normal and the way you yawned every few minutes. However, instead of dozing off in your seat or complaining about your lack of sleep, you grabbed a coffee with two extra shots of espresso on your way to the rink and threw yourself into your work. 

You were neck deep in assignments, legs tucked under you and headphones stuck in your ears when a flash of blue entered your sight, prying your eyes away from your laptop and casting them up to the blue eyed boy from Quebec. He was looking at you like you’d done something wrong, like the world was on fire around you and you were holding a match. 

You and Tito were good friends, especially after you started dating Mat. with the two of them being inseparable and Mat making a special place for you in his life, you and Tito naturally spent a lot of time together. You were good friends, honestly, but there was never a time when Tito took your side over Mat’s. Sometimes he passed judgment without hearing every side of every story, but you understood. You knew that Mat needed people to lean on when the two of you were in the thick of it, you just wished it didn’t morph Tito’s opinion on you. 

“What can I do for you, Beau?” he hummed, a noise of disapproval that you had heard from him too many times to count. He sat beside you, not surprised to see you shut your laptop and turn your attention towards him. 

“The two of you need to figure this out soon. You need to figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it, and by god you need to get him out of his head.” You could tell his intentions were genuine, that he just wanted his friends to be happy, but he wanted the two of you to be happy together, and you weren’t sure there was any more room for that. 

“I’ve tried, Beau-”

“No, you haven’t. You haven’t tried, because when the two of you try, things get resolved.”

“You’re right. When the two of us try, we fix things. When the two of us work through things together, we come out of it alive. But you’re missing the big picture, Tito. the two of us aren’t trying. I’m trying. I’ve been trying. I try so hard, and he gives me absolutely nothing. He ignores me for days, only speaks to me when we fly out to a different city and he sees me interacting with somebody who isn’t him. It’s not my fault, Tito, and I know that’s hard for you to see because you’re so far up his ass that you can’t see the bigger picture but here I am. I’m here telling you how to see things for once and I’m begging you that you just hear me out.”

He was speechless, but nodded. He didn’t know what to say to you, but he wanted to hear you out because the crack in your voice and the exhaustion that was bringing tears to our eyes was breaking his heart right in front of you. 

“I’m trying, whole heartedly. I ask what’s wrong and I offer solutions, and he takes none of it. He comes into my hotel room with a key, that I'm not even sure how he got, and he tells me he’s sorry but then nothing changes. He stopped coming over after practices, and gets annoyed when I have deadlines I can’t miss. I try and he doesn’t, and if that makes us fall apart then so be it, Tito, because I can’t fucking do it anymore.” your eyes burned, filled to the brim with tears you tried to suppress as Tito looked at you like you were fragile. He looked at you like you were the broken one, like if he even touched you on the shoulder you’d break into a million pieces. 

“Y/n-”

“I have to go.” you stood up, grabbing your things that sat around your seat and took off in any direction that looked safe enough for you to escape the headspace you were slipping into. 

You’d made it down one hall and around a few corners before you ran into somebody, the impact shaking you enough to have you distracted from the intrusive thoughts you were having. You looked up, met with soft eyes and a look of concern that had your heart sinking further into your stomach than it already had been. His hands reached out, brushing hair out of your face and holding your head back long enough for him to try to piece together what could be wrong. 

“What happened?” your lip wobbled then, enough for your chin to twitch and have you bite down roughly on your bottom lip. 

Carter grabbed your hand, the one that wasn’t gripping onto your laptop, and pulled you into a room not too far from your place in the hall. It was a small room, only met for equipment that had no other home, but it was enough to get you out of the wide open hallway where anyone would be able to see the breakdown you were about to endure. 

He pried the items out of your arms, set them on the shelf beside you so your mind would be at ease with their safety, and wrapped his arms around you. He didn’t know you very well, but he saw the way you reacted to physical touch. He saw the way you leaned into hugs or shook people’s hands for a second longer than most. He made a judgment call within seconds, but he knew he did the right things when you pressed your face into his chest and let out sobs that you’d been holding back for weeks. 

He didn’t pester you nor rush you, just held you in the room that could be classified as a closet and let you get everything out. You clung to him, and he held you softly, hands running up and down your back in a soothing manner while he waited for you to catch your breath. 

When you did, he pulled back, soft smile still as heavy as it always had been. He waited for your cue, something to tell him it was okay to pry. He didn’t want to overstep your boundaries, and he had no idea where the lines were drawn so it was a dangerous game. 

“It’s too much.” you whispered softly, closing your eyes gently while Carter hummed, not entirely understanding your words. 

“What’s too much?”

“Everything. Everyone’s expectations, everyone’s thoughts and opinions. The fact that i’m trying to fix a relationship all on my own and still getting the heat for it not working out. Having a full time job where I can’t run away from problems in my personal life. I wish I was still in college, wish I wasn’t surrounded by these people who are staring at me like I’ve burned down the entire planet when I’m the only one that’s trying to save it.” 

He listened the whole way through, not interrupting nor giving his unwarranted thoughts and while it was just a common courtesy, it was groundbreaking for you. To be able to pour out everything you’re feeling and thinking without someone trying to pick your brain on the subject was refreshing. You couldn’t remember the last time you put everything out on the table like that without seeing it knocked off right after. 

“Hey” you looked up at him, sniffling softly and watching his lips turn up in a smile at the sound. “You’re okay. It’ll all be okay. If you feel invalidated or uncomfortable in the situation you’re in, there’s always an out. Even if it feels like there’s not, even if it feels impossible to claw your way to the exit, there’s always a way out. And if you need help getting there, I know a guy or two who’d be willing to help.” 

Carter had a way of knocking you off of your feet with a simple sentence. His words cut through you like a song you’d never heard before, like lyrics that dig so deep you feel like it was written just for you. Carter was picking your brain in the gentlest way possible, and you were eating up every single second of it. 

You thanked him for his comfort, for his ear and his wisdom. You were sure that there were things you would have to do in the coming days that would be harder than you could’ve ever imagined, but you were sure that they were necessary in order to better your life for yourself. 

You were going to get through this.

All was said and one until the door swung open and you stepped out of the equipment room, locking eyes with the one person on the Flyers bench that didn’t know the meaning of the word silence. Travis meant well most of the time, truly, but that didn’t mean you’d spill all of your secrets to him. 

But he smiled at you softly, noticing your red rimmed eyes and tear tracks on your cheek. He saw the look that Carter gave him from behind you and so he simply put his fingers up to his lips as if locking them shut and tossed the key over his shoulder. It was simple, but effective, and he truly had every intention of keeping the knowledge to himself, until he was standing on the ice face to face with the centerman that dropped his gloves opposite him the other night and well, Tk found an opening. 

You weren’t sure what was said, nor who started it, but you were sure that in the middle of the second period with a tied game, tensions were not high enough for there to be multiple scrums on the ice. 

No other fight mattered until your eyes locked in on Mat saying something, neck vein popping out and spit flying. Whatever he said must have struck a chord with Travis because in an instant, you saw Travis’s lips moving and Mat’s fist flying. It was his second fight in two games and it was highly unlike him to fight this often, but it seemed that he was on edge. 

The tension didn’t boil down for the rest of the game, chirps only growing more intense and penalties being called more often than not. It was a head banger, a nail biter, and you were almost distracted from your work to watch it. 

Mat was enraged by the time you got to him. His body picked up a couple more cuts and bruises, one that landed on his right cheek bone from a high stick in the beginning of the third. His knuckles were bruised from punching Tk and his eyes were darker than the bright blue color you adored. 

You knew it had everything to do with you when the rest of the team sent you careful looks, both of disapproval and warning. You knew something was wrong, something had happened and you were unintentionally standing in the middle of it. When Tito passed you, a scoff dropping from his lips and his shoulder knocking yours gently, you knew it was bad. 

“Beau?”

“Oh I'm not helping you out of this one.” he said softly, a careful look thrown over his shoulder at Mat who was glaring at you from his place against the wall. “You have to go fix that one by yourself.” 

You wanted to shove him away from you, wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous and unfair, but you didn’t. Instead, you let him grab his back and walk out towards the bus that would take you all to the airport. 

“Mat-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” his voice was low and dark, an animosity dripping from his tongue that you’d never heard him use before. He walked past you, leaving the rest of the guys to let out low whistles and shoot you apologetic looks because in retrospect, they witnessed what happened on the ice. You still had no idea. 

“It’s bad, y/n.” You looked over at Marty who stood a few feet away from you, throwing his bag over his shoulder and shooting you a careful look. “I’ve never seen him so mad.” 

You sighed and thanked him, giving him one more thanks when he said he’d save you a seat on the plane and took off after Mat. he wasn’t too far ahead, but his angry strides took him far enough to send you into a jog through the facility. 

“Mat, wait! Mat! Jesus, Mat just talk to me!” he paused in stride, turned on the balls of his feet and glared into you from his place across the hall. 

“Frankly, I don’t want to hear it, y/n. I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want to be round you. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.” he went to turn again, hoping that that was good enough to get you off of his back for now. 

“So we’re just going to ignore it until it blows over? That’s not going to fix anything Mathew!” he dropped his bag, loud and harsh against the tile beneath his feet. He spun around and strode up to, face to face with mere inches between you. 

“There’s nothing to fix. You made your point, you chose your side, and you chose to throw me out to the wolves like I never meant anything to you. So yes, we’re going to ignore it for now but no, it won’t blow over. If you wanted to fix things you shouldn’t be shacking up with goalies in closets.” 

“I wasn’t shacking up with anybody in a closet you douche. I was crying in that closet because you’re too stubborn to talk to me. I’m trying so hard, and you’re giving me absolutely nothing to work with. You send Beau to convince me to fix things but you’re not even trying, Mat! You’re the one ignoring me and I’m supposed to fix things?”

“You’re not supposed to cheat on me!” you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the emotions bubbling over currently. You were trying to get through this conversation but it was defeating, and having him yell at you in front of his entire team was not helping. 

“I didn’t ch-”

“That’s bullshit! You expect me to believe you were just hanging out in there for fun?”

“She was crying, dude.” Mat looked over your shoulder at the same time you let out a string of profanities under your breath. Why he was here right now, you had no idea, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to help any. 

“You’ve got some nerve to be here right now.” Carter shrugged, showing no intimidation towards Mat at all. He wasn’t scared, wasn’t backing down, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and watch Mat scream at you for something you didn’t even do. 

“You’ve got some nerve to scream at her like that.” When Mat moved you pressed both of your hands into his chest, steady and hard enough to keep him in his place, not even taking a step towards Carter. 

A silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable like polluted air that clogged your lungs. Everyone could feel it but nobody made a move. Nobody stood up or down, not weighing in to the conversation with a viewpoint on either side. Everyone simply watched, waiting for you or Mat to say something to the other one, or maybe for you to say something to Carter. 

Mat looked down at you, eyes still dark as they were earlier, jaw clenched and breathing fairly regular. He looked angry, angrier than he ever was off the ice. You wanted him to know you didn’t do anything with Carter, nothing more than crying into his chest about problems like the one you were currently stuck in. But then he spoke, he spoke and you felt everything around you wither away. 

“Get on the bus right now, or we’re through.” he picked up his bag and gave both you and Carter one final glance before taking a few steps backwards. He was waiting for you to move, waiting for you to choose your side right here, right now. 

“Y/n.” Carter’s voice was much more gentle than Mat’s, giving you a break from the screaming and crying. It broke his heart when you glanced over your shoulder and showcased red rimmed eyes and wet cheks just like you had earlier. He knew you were hurting, knew you were in a sticky situation that you couldn’t find your way out of, and all he wanted to do was help. 

“Now, y/n.” you looked back at Mat, who had stopped walking by now and was raising his eyebrows in your direction. 

It was harder than it should’ve been. You’d known Carter for just over 48 hours and while you appreciated everything he had done for you in the short amount of time, Mat was your boyfriend. Mat was there in times you thought you’d never make it out of. He knew you, knew how you operated. He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself, and he held a piece of your heart in his hands, even if he didn’t protect it the way he used to. 

You couldn’t walk away from Mat, but there was a hesitation in your movements. Your slow movements as you wiped your cheeks and walked towards him, head hung low and accepting the arm that was thrown around your shoulders. 

You didn’t turn to see Carter’s face, didn’t even look up to see Mat’s. You didn’t want to see either of them, didn’t want to talk to them or hear what they had to say. All you wanted right now was to crawl into your bed at home and cast out the world around you. 

“You made the right choice, baby.” The kiss that dug into the side of your head was anything but comforting, if anything it was degrading. It was his way of showing you that choosing him was the easier path, that he would’ve flipped the world completely upside down if you had turned on your heels moments ago. 

You and Mat didn’t come to a conclusion that night. You didn’t resolve anything nor did you truly talk about anything. Instead, you let him into your bed and you let him drive away the pain that he caused over the course of the last few weeks. You let him convince you he’d be better, that he loved you and he’d do anything to be there for you. You let him convince you that he was the one for you, that nobody could make you feel the things that he did and while you believe all of this at one point, you weren’t sure you still did. 

You added another night to the count of sleepless ones, basking in your thoughts and the ache in your chest after Mat dozed off. Having him just behind you was oddly comforting despite the fact that thoughts in your head were too loud for sleep. 

Another week went by before anyone said anything, despite the few Flyers that were blowing your phone up with messages to check if you were okay and ask why you went with Mat when he clearly didn’t deserve an ounce of your attention. You explained that you loved him, that he was your boyfriend and you owed him a clean break if that’s what ended up happening. You also worked with the Islanders, and you couldn’t just stay in Philly with no way to get back home and hours away from work. 

Carter had been receptive and understanding, though you weren’t sure you expected much else from him. He didn’t expect you to stay, didn’t even expect you to choose him over Mat, but he expected you to do better for yourself. He expected you to be strong for yourself, to offer yourself a better future than the one you were seemingly drawing up for yourself. 

It wasn’t until you got a peculiar phone call that you were even thrown out of the routine of clawing your way through the night and chasing it down with a large coffee and one too many espresso shots. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Y/l/n?” 

“This is she.” 

“Hi Ms. Y/l/n, this is Chuck Fletcher with the Philadelphia Flyers. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.” 

You did a 180 after that phone call, pressed with another decision to make and seemingly no time to make it. You didn’t have many people to turn to about the decision, seeing as most all of your friends were biased in their decision making. Your friends loved Mat. They loved Mat and they loved going to Islanders games. 

You called Carter after you hung up the phone, anger bubbling over to the point of tears by the time he answered the phone just to let you rip into him. You accused him of getting you the job as the Flyers’ photographer just to have you closer to him, just to pry you away from Mat and New York as a whole. You accused him of not even knowing your skill level, just using this as a ploy to ask you on a date if you showed up. 

He listened the whole time, waited for a break in your words to ask if you were serious, to tell you that he’d seen your portfolio because his GM brought it over when he noticed Carter had spoken to you. He told you that he had no say in you getting this job offer other than him telling his GM about the sincere interactions he’d had with you. He put in a good word for your personality, but he never made a comment about your skill level. 

Now, you had a decision to make. A decision that would lead to many other decisions, so you thought. You thought you’d have to make a yes or no decision that would snowball into so many decisions you’d be left to suffocate in unanswered questions. Little did you know that by making one decision, the rest were made for you. 

“You’re doing what?” you sighed, trying to find the point in this conversation where you’d be left with a new job and a happy relationship, but it seemed as though that wasn’t in the cards for you. 

“I’m moving to Philly-”

“It’s because of him isn’t it?” you shook your head gently, feeling the weight of the world trying to shove you beneath the surface. It was weighing you down, pushing you further and further until you reached the core of it all. 

“It’s because it’s a better job for me, Mat.”

“How in the hell is a better job for you?” he didn’t believe you. Not after everything that happened. He didn’t think there were possibly any other explanations for your move. 

“It pays more, the cost of living is cheaper in Philadelphia, I get more benefits with the Flyers and I get-”

“A new boyfriend.” you paused, took a deep breath. You tried to breathe through the panic coursing through your body, tried to assure yourself that you must have heard him wrong.

“A what?”

“If you move to Philly, you get a new boyfriend. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You don’t want me anymore, you want him. So he gets you a big new fancy job and you get to leave New York, right? Because you didn’t want to live in New York your whole life so this is the time to get out. This is the time for you to leave your life behind, to start fresh and meet new people. It’s time for you to start looking for studios, right? For you to start booking freelance shit.” 

He comes to the realization too late, when he’s already said enough things to hurt you for a lifetime. He realizes that you moving makes more sense than he wants it to. You never wanted to stay in New York for your whole life. Sure, if things with Mat ended up better than they did, you would’ve stayed for him in a heartbeat. You would’ve gone wherever his career took him because yours can truly be done anywhere, but he knew New York wasn’t your preferred state to live in. 

The Mat you fell in love with, the one that took you on dates to your favorite restaurants and brought you home flowers just because, was finally coming back to the surface. The one that offered you his heart on a platter without asking for it, and treated yours with the gentlest touch. You were seeing him again, for the first time in a long time. You wanted to hold onto him, to open up your heart and make room for him again but the truth was there was no more room. You’d vacated a space for him a long time ago and he threw it away. It was too late for that Mat to come back.

“It’s giving you room to grow right? But the growth is different this time. The growth is away from me, apart from me. The growth is individual now, all on your own, but that’s good. That’s good because you need to grow and I- I’m not right for you anymore.” he started shaking his head, letting the dam of tears that he had kept in for so long finally burst. 

You were there to catch him, to hold him tightly and kiss his damp cheeks. You were there to assure him that he deserves the world, that you tried to give that to him but truthfully, maybe you just weren’t trying the right things. You assured him that he wasn’t a bad person, that he wasn’t good for you but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be good for somebody else. 

You were there to catch Mat when he fell, and you helped him stand back up again. 

Now you were walking away, your head held high and a smile finally living on your lips as you assured him that this was good for both of you in more ways than one. You were going to be okay, and you were sure that Mat was going to be okay too. 

So you moved to Philly. You moved into an apartment not too far from the rink, one with a cheese steak place right around the corner. You started working with the Flyers and seemingly fell right into place with them. You made friends and found your footing, feeling like everything leading up to now was exactly for this. All of the pain and hardships you endured was for this, for you to feel like you had finally done the right thing for yourself rather than for everyone else. 

You made the right decision. 

-

italics mean it wouldn’t let me tag you!

barzy taglist; @extratragic @babytkachuks @heybarzy @teenagekook @stfukie @smit41 @kiedhara @sidscrosbyy @golfergirl810 @baby-cat-nol-pat @c-hartsy @storiesbymads @aasimarr​ @bucky-ish​

and the himbos, as always; @barzysthighs​ @damndunner​ @anxietyandtacos​ @dmonchld​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @bricksatlandyswindow​ 

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the updated artwork. She’s the only person I know who will provide a gift for her own gift 💝

Thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper for helping me pick Killian’s hometown in this story and for being an all around lovely person

Midnight

Chapter 2 — The Stroke

Summary: In which our heroine does what she does best

Chapter 2 of 7 on AO3

“And my imagination will feed my hungry heart,

Leave me one thing before we part”

-A Kiss to Build a Dream On, Louis Armstrong

The spot he was referring to was an out-of-the-way pub serving the greasiest onion rings in existence and a lively clientele that didn’t notice it was one o’clock in the morning and all decent people were in bed. After days of getting by on breakfast bars and the memory of what a full meal tasted like, Emma thought she had died and gone to heaven.

Melancholy tunes droned softly in the background as she demolished enough food to feed an army. The pretty waitress earned her respect when the woman didn’t even blink at her handsome companion, and she liked to think she earned it back when she ordered three of their daily specials without a trace of shame.

Ignoring the way Killian watched with an expression close to awe as she stuffed her face, she happily gulped down a cup of coffee and observed, “Nice place. Come here often?”

“Not as much as I used to,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink. “Tell me about this man you’re hunting. Is it personal?”

“Please, don’t make me lose my appetite. Surely we can come up with something else to talk about,” she groaned around a mouthful of beef and melted cheese. He had removed his leather jacket when they entered the pub, and his black short sleeve t-shirt stretched across his biceps in a manner entirely too distracting for comfort. Their high-backed booth made it feel as though they were on an island all by themselves, the dark wood and Tiffany lamps creating a cozy cocoon while still allowing a view of the nearly deserted dance floor.

“Ah, definitely personal then. Did he insult your honor? Break your heart? Have you ever even been in love?”

It stung how quickly he was able to see through her. Did she wear her heartache like a stamp on her forehead announcing to everyone she was an idiot? Ignoring the last question, she replied, “He hurt the only person who ever cared about me out of petty revenge. Neal Cassidy broke me. Now I’m going to return the favor.”

“Chills, darling.” His tone was teasing, but she thought she saw him shudder at her words. “I guess you don’t abide the notion of turning the other cheek.”

“Not when the first hit cost me my home, my possessions, and my peace of mind.”

“So he’s the reason you haven’t eaten in days and don’t have any luggage? Sounds like a lovely chap.”

“I don’t need your commentary or your sympathy, Captain. While I appreciate your help tonight, and I definitely owe you one for the meal, I think my past is closed for further discussion. Let’s talk about you instead. What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one, love. What you see is what you get.”

“What I see is someone dodging my question. Guess I’ll have to fill in the details myself then. Let’s see…thirty-something-year-old man who lives a life of boredom and pines for more while feeling stuck in his white picket fence world. You have a decent career in a field that pays well but decided to start a side hustle to meet new people and have something to do after eight in the evening.” Gesturing with her chin toward his forearm, she continued, “Currently nursing his own broken heart over the woman who loved and left him. The only thing I can’t figure out is what part of England you’re from.”

“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one,” he answered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Although, I would argue it’s cheating since I have my emotional baggage inked on my skin for everyone to see while you carry yours around like an invisible tumor on your soul. As far as where I’m from, a man likes to maintain a little mystery.”

“Come on! You really aren’t going to tell me anything about yourself? After I guessed all that about you?”

With an unfathomable look, he smiled softly and said, “Fine, I’m from Cambridge. Now you know all my secrets. And allow me to call your attention to how well my devious plan worked. My first evening with my side hustle, as you call it, and I’m already having a late night rendezvous with a beautiful woman. One full of food and dancing.”

“There will be no dancing, Captain. But I wouldn’t be opposed to more food.”

“Not sure where you’ll put it, love, there’s no more room on the table. But I’m game if you are. Come on, one dance, and I’ll buy you a whole pie.”

She wanted pie but not as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted it so badly her mind raced with images of skin on skin and restless hands exploring. Then her stomach twisted at the knowledge they would say goodbye soon. They probably should have already said it, truth be told. As she debated what harm could come from giving in just this once, he extended his hand and pulled her gently from the seat. Slowly, she felt a small section of her walls crumble and gave him a reluctant smile. “One dance.”

The soft music wasn’t loud enough to allow for an appropriate selection of dance style, but she didn’t mind when he gathered her close and swayed gently in time with his soft humming. She felt his breath stir the hair around her face and realized this was a mistake. Now that she knew how it felt, it would be harder to deny herself an encore. Especially knowing tonight was a one-time thing.

“Tell me something, Swan. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“No, I don’t believe in love at all,” she answered. Her words conveyed her deeply held conviction that poets and Hollywood movie producers invented love to make people so miserable with the lack of it, they had to seek out fictionalized versions to find some measure of happiness. Her tone, however, sounded as though she was open to being convinced otherwise.

“That’s a shame. I think you’ll miss out on a lot of what life has to offer by being so close-minded and scared.”

“If I were scared, which I’m not, I have every reason to be. One of my foster moms told me a long time ago that love wouldn’t buy me a diamond ring, and it was as easy to be in a relationship with a rich man as a poor one. Easier really. I used to think she was a witch, but now I think she had a point.”

“Bloody hell, what exactly did that man do to you?”

She felt his direct gaze like a physical thing caressing her even as his eyes flickered with disappointment. “I told you. He broke me. And my bank account.”

“Money isn’t everything, love.”

“Excuse me if I ignore advice telling me to count my non-monetary blessings from the man who picked me up in his Beamer. It may not be everything but not having it leaves you with nothing.”

“A person who needs forty dollars a day and makes forty is richer than someone who has everything and needs more.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” she said as she slipped from his arms. “And when a rainy day comes? What then?”

“I recently took up being an Uber driver in my spare time, love. I imagine I’ll make more on rainy days.”

Laughing as she looked at his endearing face under the dim light, she shook her head. “About my pie…”

—

She knew what she was doing. She lingered over the large platter containing a sampling of every type of pie the surprisingly eclectic menu had to offer. She watched him with affection as he critiqued each in turn, always saving the bites with whipped cream for her. The best parts, in other words.

She was stalling.

The night hadn’t turned out as she expected. While her main goal was unfulfilled, she couldn’t make herself think of it as a loss when her sides hurt from laughing, and her troubled heart felt at peace. It was a pity it had to end. And not because she had nowhere to go, although that was certainly the case.

Slowly they made their way back to his car, neither one speaking as the noises of the summer night buzzed in the background. She’d said a lot of goodbyes in her lifetime, eagerly in most cases, but was strangely reluctant to add this one to the list. “Well, Captain, it’s been an expensive night for you. I think you better drop me off at the nearest bus station before I cost you any more.”

“You’re always trying to bring the conversation back around to money. Get in,” he ordered as he handed her into the car.

The air in the cabin of his luxury sedan felt heavy with expectation. Neither of them spoke nor hardly moved a muscle. She considered asking him to turn on the radio but didn’t want to miss out on the last few moments of hearing his even breathing next to her. Minutes passed, and it took her a while to notice they had left Storybrooke and were heading back toward Misthaven. “How much further to the bus station?”

“We passed it several miles back. You’re going to stay at my place.”

Under normal circumstances, this would be where she prepared to kick someone’s ass, but she knew deep down, as surprising as his announcement was, she had nothing to fear from him. Well, nothing except a repeat of the broken heart fiasco that was getting harder to remember with every second spent in his company. “Oh no, I’m not. What happened to no strings and no funny business?”

“Calm down, Swan. Our deal stands. I’m working the rest of the night so you’ll have the place to yourself. Trust me, the bed in my guest room is much more comfortable than a seat at the bus station.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached into one of the compartments in the console and pulled out a key. “There are some shirts in the dryer if you need something to wear. Help yourself to whatever you want. If you hang around until nine, I’ll even make breakfast. If you don’t, leave the key under the Welcome mat.”

“I think you better keep your key, Captain. There are two ways this could end, and neither one is pretty.” She gave him a sidelong glance and was mildly irked to see him grinning at her.

“Only two? Please enlighten me with your power of premonition.”

Heaving a sigh of frustration, she wished he would be logical about this whole thing. Sure they had attraction in spades; the very air around them seemed to crackle with electricity whenever their eyes met. But she knew it would fade, and the only thing left then would be goodbye. Better to skip the messy part and go straight to the end. “The first is I stay and have breakfast, and it turns into the day and then another night….”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, love. And the second?”

“I leave the key under the mat, and we never see each other again.”

“Hmm, option two is decidedly less appealing. I’ll take what’s behind Door Number One, please,” he joked.

“You think so until reality sets in and you realize you’ve taken in a stray with a score to settle and not a cent to her name. It won’t be long before the sight of me in your shirts makes you cringe, and you resent having to share the couch with a woman who has nothing to give.” She would know having been in a relationship with a person who was only capable of taking, and she vowed never to do that to someone else.

“I have half a mind to hunt down this Cassidy fellow myself after seeing the hit job he did on you. Listen, Swan, the key has no strings. Breakfast is just food. Whatever happens, happens. But if you think I’m going to drop you off at a deserted bus station with only the clothes on your back, fetching as they are, you’ve got the wrong idea about me in more ways than one.”

“I’m not yours to rescue, Captain.”

“You could be,” he whispered in a voice that made her skin tingle. He tossed her a half-hearted smile, eyes stormy with the knowledge she was going to turn him down. Again.

“The fact we both want me to be is warning enough it’s a bad idea. Come on, Killian, let’s call it a night now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

His jaw clenched, and she was worried he was going to fight with her sensible argument. People didn’t meet people in the middle of the road and form attachments in one night. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she was as far from a princess as a person could get.

Although she had to admit he made a rather fine prince.

Pulling off into a nearby gas station, he turned to her and said almost threateningly, “We’re not through discussing this.”

Then he stepped out and slammed the door as the sky opened up.

—

It was a dirty trick. She knew even as she did it, but it was for his own good. For whatever reason, he felt like he needed to protect her, and she needed to save him from himself. So she waited until he walked into the convenience store and made a run for it.

That’s not to say she didn’t have a brief moment of whimsy. She couldn’t stop herself from placing a kiss on the key he had casually tossed to her as if inviting her into his home and his life wasn’t a big deal. Then she carefully placed it on the dash, grabbing the newspaper from his backseat as an afterthought, and scurried away before she was caught.

Like a rat.

Maybe Neal was exactly the kind of man she deserved.

The rain beat down in a punishing way, her makeshift umbrella getting soggy and soft under the onslaught. She was so busy looking over her shoulder, convinced he was going to search for her and half hoping he was successful, that the sudden absence of the storm took her by surprise.

“Here, miss, it’s raining cats and dogs tonight,” the sturdy doorman of the fancy establishment she was passing said as he reached out to place his umbrella over her. The burgundy awning extended to cover most of the sidewalk and, despite the late hour, classical music was drifting from the open door. Limousines lined the street, spilling well-dressed patrons as they approached the swanky club.

Before she could maneuver out of the way, she was swept into a tide of rich fish, all glammed out and ready for the party to start or continue as the case may be. She overheard one woman, whose hat was so large she had to tilt her head to make it through the door, complain, “Regina’s parties are always so dull even nature weeps.”

Deciding a boring party indoors was better than a lonely night in the rain, Emma changed her stance and walked over the threshold with her head held high like she belonged there. She noticed the plaque on the wall as she entered read The Rabbit Hole and couldn’t help but think it was aptly named. With its marble floors and curving staircase, it was no wonder this wasn’t one of the stops on the Captain’s tour of town. This place was as high-end as they came.

There was a man collecting tickets at a small side table and, with only a minute to improvise, she was glad to see the stubs were roughly the size of the photo she was toting around, one of the few remaining possessions to her name. Without a moment of regret, she turned the photo face down, relieved the love note Neal had written on the back was faded and worn, so only his faint signature was legible. Luckily, the sheer volume of people entering the place meant the employee merely took it from her without looking to confirm it was what it appeared to be.

Following the crowd into a large ballroom off to the side, she saw a black grand piano played with a precise kind of violence by a wild-haired man in a tuxedo. The room was packed to the gills, the group she straggled in with taking the last seats on the far side of the room. The audience was appreciative but far from silent, conversations carrying on as if private concerts of this caliber were a normal everyday occurrence for them. Every time Emma thought she found a place to rest her sore feet and sorer heart, someone took it before she could get there and, in one near miss, she almost flattened a lap dog that warranted his own seat for the show.

Finally, after pushing her way through a narrow row, she found a place and asked the man in the next chair with a hint of desperation, “Is this seat taken?”

Shrugging a silent negative with brooding eyes that lit up when she neared, she tried to ignore the searching glance he gave her as she dropped into the chair and surreptitiously removed her shoes. She could tell by the hint of a smirk he noticed the movement, but at least he had the good grace not to comment on it.

He was handsome in a careworn kind of way. His tousled dark hair and thick stubble were eerily similar to the Captain’s look, and it made her shuffle in her seat with guilt. The man kept staring, his light-colored eyes settling somewhere between gray and green, keenly taking in her appearance and finding it amusing if the continued presence of his smirk was any indication.

As the final notes of the concerto echoed through the room, a burst of applause started. Now that she was fed and able to sit for a few moments, Emma realized she was exhausted. It was a bone-deep weariness far beyond fatigue, and she was fairly confident it could be traced back to a man with blue eyes and more charm than any one person should be allowed to have.

She wondered where Killian was now. If he had already given up or if he was wasting more time and losing out on more money combing the streets looking for his erstwhile damsel in distress. Emma knew what she did was for the best as surely as she knew she would be haunted by the feeling of his arms wrapped around her for a long time.

After a brief break, the musician approached the piano again. Before he could start hammering out another song with the intensity of a madman, a raven-haired woman stepped in front of the instrument. She called out in a commanding voice, “Pardon the interruption but does anyone recognize this man? It would seem there was a mix-up at the ticket counter and someone accidentally handed in a photograph instead of their invitation to this private event.”

Resisting the urge to sink deeper into her chair, she furtively looked around as the audience murmured amongst themselves regarding the unusual disruption. She could tell by the sardonic tone of the woman’s voice and the way she emphasized the word private she wasn’t convinced it was an innocent mistake. A scene would be made if the guilty party were found and couldn’t provide the appropriate documentation.

“Really? No one is going to come forward?” With an annoyed look at the assembly, she sulked, “Fine, I won’t waste any more of your time.”

She saw the woman hurry to the corner and carry on a quick conversation with a few men before the group disbursed and fanned out to cover the room. Feeling her luck was running out, she slipped her feet back into her shoes with barely a wince and slowly stood under the watchful gaze of her neighbor.

She needed to escape for the second time that night, but now she had hundreds of witnesses. Nonchalantly, she surveyed the room, trying to determine the best way. During this perusal, a man caught her eye, and she froze as he began to cut across the room to her side. So much for a stealthy getaway.

Her pursuer had an air of refined boredom with an edge of mischief. His graying hair was an attractive finish to a lean, well-dressed form. Cocking an eyebrow in disdain or maybe curiosity, he spoke quietly to not draw the notice of the surrounding crowd. “A word, madam.”

“With me?”

“Indeed.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Squaring her shoulders, she ignored the way her neighbor watched with rapt attention as she resolutely marched toward her fate.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Eleven: I Get Threatened by the King of Athens

There was a tense and uncomfortable silence. Luz had a sinking feeling in her gut, like pieces of a puzzle were coming together in a game she hadn’t agreed to play.

“What do you mean Amity isn’t with him?” She said quietly, not moving her eyes away from Theseus. If she had thought he was cute before, now the sight of him made her blood run cold. She should have listened to Gus. “Achilles captured her in Boulder. Where is she?”

Theseus pursed his lips. “Achilles isn’t always the most tactful. He has his own agenda too. He was supposed to bring Amity to my boss in Colorado, but he went off the rails, literally, and took her to his new place in Kansas City. Fled from our boss because of some disagreement between them.” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “As if we could even refuse to begin with.”

Luz was stunned. “I have… so many follow up questions.”

“Kansas City? Like… our next stop?” Gus asked with a frown. “That’s one coincidence.”

Theseus hummed in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll soon figure out that few things in our world are a coincidence. The gods are pawning you even as we speak. You met the flower crown lady in Cincinnati, who gave you a job to prove to the love lady she made the right choice in favoring you.” He gestures to Luz with a roll of his eye. “Then, your daddy gives you a hand in the train station to make sure you’re on the exact right path they need you to be on, so you can’t mess this one up. So sure, coincidence.”

“My dad?” Luz asks, not sure what Theseus meant.

“The map,” Gus hissed in realization. “As the god of travelers, some kids of Hermes must have special abilities with map reading.”

“Then there was the way she could haggle the price down without even trying,” Willow added with wide eyes. “He’s also the god of merchants.”

“See, what did I tell you?” Theseus said with a smile. “You kids are quick.”

Luz didn’t like feeling like an idiot. But that’s what was happening right now. All the time she and her friends thought they were doing something good, all that time Luz felt guilty thinking this was her fault and the gods had been manipulating their quest from the beginning.

Her anger must have shown on her face because Theseus shot her a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t feel too bad, Luz. It happens to literally every great demigod.” His face hardened. “In Athens, my quest in the Labyrinth was half a test of skill and half a test of wit. My father promised me glory and honor by coming home a hero, and when I got back on my boat I didn’t even have to touch my ship the whole way home. It was like the sea guided my boat home on its own, and I knew my father had blessed me. Do you know what happened after that?”

There was silence between the three of them. Luz remembered the story, but with the look on Theseus’ face, she knew she couldn’t say it.

“Poseidon didn’t raise the white sails when I arrived,” Theseus said bitterly. “My beloved stepfather had asked me to when I arrived so he knew I was home safe. When I arrived, I was the new King of Athens, because he had thrown himself off the roof thinking I was dead. Poseidon killed him.”

Theseus sat back in his chair, a look of complete misery on his face. “I blamed myself too, you know. Then, when I died, the gods couldn’t even spare me then. The judges wanted to send me to Tartarus. But Minos argued that because I slew the Minotaur, I deserved Elysium. In the end, I was punished to roam the Fields of Asphodel forever.”

Willow and Gus were looking at one another, but Luz was so enamored by the story she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She had always been a sucker for a dramatic tale.

“I forgot everything. Who I was, what I stood for. And then my boss came to me and pulled me from my torment. I was alive again, and a new man. I would never serve the gods as long as I served him.”

“The man in the mountain,” Luz whispered, looking at Theseus unable to disguise her fear. “Who is he?”

“The reason I’m here is so you never find out,” Theseus said slowly, and the three of them flinched. Theseus chuckled under his breath.

“Sorry, not like that. I’ve come as his messenger to offer you a deal.”

“A deal?” Willow said with a frown. Luz shared the sentiment. Why would the man who had been tormenting Luz’s dreams for weeks want to spare them?

“Look, you kids have a good heart.” Theseus continued, eyeing each of them carefully. “My boss knows that. I’ve now seen it myself. We’re all pawns in the game, we always have been. You didn’t ask for this quest, so my boss is giving you a chance you won’t get if you continue forward to Colorado. Go to Kansas City, take Amity from Achilles, and go straight home. Leave this whole thing alone and spare yourselves the pain and heartache.”

“But all of Olympus will fall without Hestia,” Gus protested, “we have to save her!”

“But why?” Theseus asked, and Gus fell silent. “Why can’t an old age of pain and suffering just end? My boss will allow a new era to rise, and demigods can live peacefully with the other mortals. I can see my father again. You can all go home without needing to fear a monster will hunt you down. Luz, you can have a normal life with your mom where she doesn’t have to worry.”

Luz flinched, and Theseus smiled slightly. She didn’t know how he knew about her Mami, but she didn’t like the way it rolled off his tongue.

“Stop that!” Gus demanded to Theseus, and he looked over at him innocently. Willow reached over and put a hand over Luz’s.

“I am just being truthful,” Theseus said, and Gus’s eyes hardened.

“No, you’re not. You’re deceiving her. You went to Tartarus because of how you treated Ariadne. You abandoned her on an island and she would have died there if Dionysus didn’t save her and make her his wife.”

Theseus froze, and for a moment his expression changed, going from sympathetic to cold.

Willow nodded along to Gus, pointing an accusing finger at Theseus.

“You were a war criminal too. You kidnapped the Amazons and the Spartans and caused a war for the Athenians between them. You were exiled because you treated others so terribly. The gods didn’t force you to be awful.”

Theseus’ eyes flashed furiously. “I am offering you demigods a way out! A chance to escape the prophecy.”

“Why would we want to do that?” Luz butts in, narrowing her eyes. “The prophecy told us we would bring Olympus peace.”

“The prophecy says nothing of the sort,” Theseus growled. “Don’t trust the words that can be so easily twisted. It also says you will dawn a new age. That is exactly what my boss is trying to do. And unlike you, I’ve heard it in its entirety. One of you is doomed to die, and that is why Amity would not tell the camp what she heard. She assumed it was her, and that is why she told her companions to run. But I know better. It will be one of you three.”

There was silence again, and Luz felt her mouth open and close fearfully. She didn’t know what she was going to say. Theseus got up from his chair, adjusting his notebook and pen to tuck it under his arms. Luz realized he was leaving.

“You don’t need to decide now,” Theseus said carefully, though he was clearly still angry. “My boss just asked me to pitch the offer to you. You’re still heroes, and now that you know where Amity is I imagine you’re going to go find her. Last we heard, Achilles was planning on hiding in the musician's manor in Sunset Hill on the west end. Look for the gold lyre outside.”

He pushed his way into the aisle, turning his head one more time.

“If you chose to continue, my boss will not hold back. We will do everything we can to finish our mission, and that includes stopping you if you get in our way. And I can promise you this, you are no match for my boss.”

Luz’s chest flared with anger as the entire conversation hit her at once. She hated Theseus. He was a huge bully, who was so mad at the world he blamed everybody else for it but himself. Luz knew better, and if his boss was anything like Theseus, then she hated him even more than she already did. Standing up, she balled her fists at him and stared him right in the eye.

“You’re no hero. We’re going to finish this quest and free Hestia, and we’re going to do it right. You can tell your boss we’re on our way.”

Theseus paused, but he didn’t say a single thing. He just looked at Luz sadly, like he was trying to decide what color coffin would go best with her skin tone. He walked to the front of the bus and whispered something to the driver. The bus screeched to a stop, and Luz had to grip Willow’s hand to keep herself steady. Theseus got off, and the bus started moving again. Luz collapsed into the seat, and Willow leaned into her shoulder comfortingly.

“That was really brave, Luz,” she said, and Luz shook her head.“No, it wasn’t. It was stupid. My Mami was right, I have a terrible habit of making enemies.”

“Theseus is an enemy,” Gus assured her, “but now we at least have some information.”

“Yeah, like how Amity is in Kansas City,” Willow said. “We can go get her tomorrow morning.”

“That, and that the man in the mountain is more scared of Luz than we originally thought.”

“What?” Luz sat up and looked at Gus like he had three heads. Gus shrugged his shoulders. “Theseus was trying really hard to cover it up, but their plan is dangerous. He is trying to keep us away from the plan, not protect us from it.”

“That’s a bold assumption, Gus,” Willow said with a smile. “But it’s also optimistic! I like it.”

“What about the little detail that one of us is going to die?” Luz said with a frown. “I don’t like those odds at all.”

“We won’t know what’s happening with the prophecy until we find Amity,” Willow reassured her. “For all we know, he could have been lying to us to try and scare us into submission. We can’t think like that. Trying to change a prophecy never works.”

Luz groaned, covering her head with her hands. “This is so confusing. I’m sorry I dragged you guys into this mess.”

“We want to be here, Luz,” Gus said with a smile. “Besides, I always knew Theseus was not the greatest, but today my theory was actually proven!”

“Yeah, what a jerk.” Willow agreed. “Sorry we didn’t believe you, Gus.”

Gus rolled his eyes and nudged Luz playfully. “Don’t. I saw the way you guys looked at him. We can’t trust every attractive demigod we run into anymore.”

Willow blushed, but Luz laughed, nudging Gus back affectively. “He has a point.” Luz reached down to her lap and picked up the Tupperware Theseus had given her. “Do we think this is safe to eat? Because I’m starving and I don’t want to go find Amity on an empty stomach.”

Gus snatched it out of her hands. “Don't eat that! For all we know it could be poisoned. It's enemy food.”

Willow had completely ignored both Luz and Gus and was busy eating half of the sandwich. “I had some when he gave it to us. It’s safe.”

“Great!” Luz snatched the container out of Gus’s hands and popped it open, her mouth watering at the sight. It was a fresh PB&J on white bread and an assortment of crackers grapes and cheese. She dug in, finishing the contents in what must have been a record time.

Gus grumbled something about how we were risky and totally stupid, but he ate along with them. By the time they had finished, the three of them were sitting together comfortably, and Luz’s eyes were getting heavy. Willow nudged her with her shoulder.

“If you and Gus want to sleep, you can go ahead. I’ll take first watch.”

“Are you sure?” Luz definitely wanted to sleep, but she didn’t want to leave Willow watching by herself.

Willow chuckled, putting her backpack between her and Luz, so she could rest her head on it. Gus settled in next to Luz, resting his head on his own pack against Luz’s side.

“I’m sure. Try and catch some sleep. We don’t know when we’ll get another chance.”

On that happy note, Luz wasn’t sure how she would be able to get to bed with her mind whirling. But as soon as she rested the pack against her head, she found that she was so exhausted from the day’s events she fell right asleep.

The dreams came again, and Luz found herself standing in the mountain, hiding behind a huge metal shipping container. She poked her head out and saw the man in the mountain, his back turned to her, staring straight forward at a huge metal cage. Inside was a girl, no older than fifteen, dressed in white rags and sitting with her hands bunched up to her knees. Luz thought she might have been very pretty if she wasn’t looking so haggled, her copper-haired pulled back messily and her eyes sunken and tired. Despite her half hazard appearance, she was staring at the mountain man with disdain, like he wasn’t worth her time at all. Luz liked her instantly.

“Why won’t you just give in?” The man said angrily, slamming the base of his bronze staff into the ground. Luz had never seen him with the staff before, he usually had a sword. He was cloaked in dark robes, and Luz could see parts of a dark mask sticking out from the front of his head. “You’ve been here for weeks now. Your fire should have died long ago.”

“The fires of Olympus are not so easily extinguished,” the girl said softly, frowning at him. “As long as there is hope, I will remain here.”

“I will crush your hope beneath my feet!” the man roared, and Luz flinched at the volume. The girl in the cage did not seem so easily frightened, and instead, her eyes flickered beyond the man and towards Luz. The two of them made eye contact, and Luz was shocked to her core by the warmth that flooded through her. Her eyes were the color of dying embers, and Luz couldn’t help but smile.

“Hope remains,” the girl said, but not to the man. She was looking directly at Luz. “And so I remain.”

Luz didn’t realize the dream had shifted until she was somewhere else. She was standing in a huge room reminiscent of an old ballroom. The tiles were white and smooth, and the walls had a golden wallpaper draping them. Everything inside was expensive, but the furniture was pushed against the wall like it wasn’t needed. Outside the polished white windows, Luz saw a massive garden and a long driveway, and then towards the street, she saw a stone plaque that read “1200 West, 55th Street”.

As Luz turned her attention back to the center of the room, she did a double-take. There was Amity, chained to the middle post with her eyes closed, looking worse for wear. She was still in the clothes she had worn when she left camp two weeks before, and she was grubby, with cuts and bruises all over her body. Luz lunged forward to help her, but the sound of laughing from another room startled her so badly she diverted and slide behind one of the expensive sofas hiding from view.

Two men emerged, talking amicably with each other.

“I don’t know how you managed to get away, you’re bound by eternal oath.” The first said, and Luz peaked over to get a closer look. He was a tall and skinny man dressed in simple white cotton pants and a blue shirt, with long black curly hair that sat messily on his head.

“I haven’t technically broken any oath yet,” the second said, grinning deviously. He was much larger than the first man, with muscles on muscles. He wore a sleeveless white shirt that was so tight Luz could see the outline of his stomach, jeans, and white sneakers. His dark hair was close-cropped to his head, and he had two swords hanging loosely on his belt. “Belos can wait a little longer. Besides, this is in his best interest. The prophecy says so.”

He reached down towards Amity, cupping her chin with his index finger and thumb, and Luz felt a snarl pulling itself angrily from her lips. She tried to rush forward but her limbs felt like lead, and she was frozen in place.

“She doesn’t look good. Keep her alive until the other kids get here. I put a bottle of nectar in the fridge.”

“Belos better come through with his promise.” The first said lowly, crossing his arms. “Taking out three demigods on my own is not how I planned to enjoy my new life.”

“You will be compensated for your work,” the second said with a shrug. “If there is one thing he is, it’s practical. He appreciates your time and effort on our joined mission.”

The first sniffed disdainfully, “very well.” He looked over at Amity, and his eyebrows pinched in concern. “Are we sure she’s breathing? You know I don’t do well with pets…”

Luz was interrupted by something shaking her violently, and she woke up with a yelp, her head smacking into something. She groaned in pain, rubbing her forehead.

“Ow!” Both she and Gus said at the same time.

Luz looked around and realized she was back on the bus, and that it was now almost dawn. The hard thing she’d collided with was Gus’ own head, and the boy was now standing up and leaning against the seat for support.

“That’s the last time I wake you up,” Gus moaned, shaking his head like it would get rid of the pain.

“We’re here,” Willow said, doing her best to stifle the laugh. “We just arrived at the Kansas City bus terminal. We have to get off and look for Amity.”

“No need,” Luz said certainly, standing up and throwing her backpack over her shoulder. “I know exactly where she is.”

[sorrelchestnut]

a question of motivation

Are any of my followers actually playing Greedfall?  (Aside from you, @arlathahn, I know you’ve been out there suffering along with me.)  If you are, hit me up, because I have fallen down this rabbit hole and I don’t seem to be hitting bottom anytime soon.

Which, obviously, means it’s time for some some overly-elaborate character speculation!  Because how would you even know I’m in a fandom if I’m not overthinking things, amiright?

Spoiler warning for Treason! and Kurt’s companion quests ahoy.

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I've been thinking about what causes Kurt to betray you if you don't do the Ghost Camp quest before Treason, because I finally got a chance to play through The Bad Version, and on the surface of it, it doesn't make sense.  All of the things he says to you when he doesn't betray you - that he cares about what happens to you, that he might be a mercenary but he still values his honor - aren't any less true in the world where he does.  I mean, he might agree when you call him honorless, but when you step in front of Constantin and tell him to "fight with honor" he nods and stands down the guard, and does his damnedest to oblige.  When he says, "Sorry, Green Blood," he seems to mean it; when he says, "I am proud of you - truly," he seems to mean that even more.  To all appearances, he doesn't seem to care about those things any less just because he's trying to kill you.  So why do it at all?

The narrative seems to imply that his loyalty to the Guard was stronger than his loyalty to de Sardet.  That without knowing that Torsten condoned the kind of torture that he suffered through when he was younger, he'd be willing to follow his commander's orders, even to the point of the betrayal and murder of someone he clearly cares for a great deal.  Even Sieglinde says it, when he tells her about the Ghost Camp: "You've always been a loyal person, and too many loyalties are sometimes hard to reconcile."  His loyalty to de Sardet and his loyalty to Torsten are presented as two opposing forces, the proverbial rock and a hard place, and without learning about the Ghost Camp, his loyalty to Torsten wins out.

(Okay the rest of this is going behind a cut because it got absurdly long.)

My problem with this is that it implies that, without de Sardet's intervention, Kurt is the sort of man who would blindly follow orders to the point of assassination and murder, and that… doesn't square with what you learn about him in the Ghost Camp questline.  That's exactly the sort of mindset that he's spent the last two decades struggling to leave behind.  He takes honor seriously, to the point that it's something he went out of his way to teach de Sardet alongside swordsmanship; he takes personal responsibility for the soldiers he recruits and blames himself when something happens to them.  He doesn't believe in following orders blindly: when you go to the Ghost Camp, he says, "It's not too late to refuse all of this," and, "Are you really going to obey these scoundrels?"  That's not de Sardet's influence; it's a deeply-held belief, a reaction against the violation and trauma he suffered as a youth.  I find it hard to believe that conditioned obedience could go so deep that it would override that part of his psyche.

And the thing is, if Torsten knew him at all - and it's implied that he did, especially since he targeted Kurt specifically for his weapons-smuggling scheme at the beginning of the game - there's no way he wouldn't have known that about him.  Especially since the game implies that Torsten also knew about Hermann's old training camp back in the day, which  means he'd also know how deeply Kurt's loathing ran.  If you were in Torsten's shoes, would you trust a man like that to be in charge of clandestine mission that could decide the fate of your entire endeavor?  I submit that you would not - unless you were a complete idiot, and a complete idiot does not manage to plan a three-pronged coup d'etat that nearly succeeds.

No, I think Torsten offered something that he knew Kurt couldn't refuse.  Something that he knew Kurt would want more than anything else, maybe even want badly enough to be worth betraying someone he cares about deeply.  And it wouldn't be rank, or power, or even money: despite Kurt's jokes on the subject, it's obvious that honor means a lot more to him than gold, and I doubt he’s making pennies as a legate’s personal guard anyway.  No, it'd be something that only Torsten could offer him, something he's wanted long before he even heard the name de Sardet.

I think Torsten offered him Hermann.

Hermann obviously suffered no consequences for running a fucking torture camp and calling it elite training.  Someone must have shut down the camp back in the day, because Kurt says he thought it was a thing of the past, but Hermann himself got off scot-free.  Hell, they promoted him! And you know from Kurt's final mission that Hermann is much-respected by his soldiers, some to the point of hero-worship.  Kurt had to live with the knowledge that his abuser was living the high life less than a day's travel from where he was stationed, and there wasn't a single fucking thing he could do about it, because Hermann was their golden boy, and that meant he was fucking untouchable.  Even de Sardet, if Kurt had ever been able to bring himself to tell them about it, wouldn't have had the leverage to do anything to him, not in someone else's city.

But Torsten could.  Torsten was the only person on the island with a higher rank than Hermann, and in the chaos of a coup d'etat it'd be easy for one man to disappear, especially if you were the one giving him orders.  I think Torsten went to Kurt and told him that he could have his vengeance, finally, after all these years… and all he had to do was betray the person he cared about most.

It squares with the way Kurt acts in his betrayal sequence: he's not bitter, or defiant, or proud, like he would be if he believed in what he was doing.  Mostly he just seems tired.  I think the promise of vengeance was enough to secure his agreement, to carry him through rounding up a squad of obedient young idiots too beaten down to question orders and march into the throne room…  And then he looked at these trusting young nobles, these kids he's been charged to protect, and all that promised vengeance just turned to ashes in his mouth.  Which is why, I think, he stood down the guard and fought de Sardet one-on-one: he’d trained them himself, he knew how good they were, and dying on their blade seemed a lot easier than living with the consequences of his actions.  And why, if you choose to spare him and he regains the upper hand, he turns the pistol on himself rather than pull the trigger on his best and favorite student.

On a somewhat less depressing note, it also squares with the way things play out if Kurt doesn't betray you.  Think about it: Torsten obviously heard about Kurt shutting down the Ghost Camp, but he still brought Kurt into his attempted coup anyway.  He had to at least suspect that Kurt might not be feeling cooperative: when you search Torsten's office during Treason, they even say how Torsten was hedging his bets with Kurt's loyalty.  But hedged bets or no, Torsten had to have a reason to think such a close compatriot of the legate would worth the risk of exposure.  And the only way that calculation makes sense is if he had leverage: Hermann's head on a pike, if only Kurt joins his little rebellion.  And even then, Torsten must have managed the timing very carefully; the only way that scene makes sense in a no-betrayal version is if Kurt just straight-up didn't have time to warn de Sardet between Torsten's approach and the Guard's attack.

(Relatedly: typing this out, it occurs to me that something must have happened to move up Torsten’s planned timeline.  Think about it: de Sardet had the chance to warn the other cities, even though they're like a day's travel apart, which means that the attacks weren't coordinated to occur all at the same time.  That's Rebellion 101, so something about Constantin's diagnosis must have caused Torsten to attack earlier than planned.  Maybe he figured it'd cause too much of a shake-up in the guard rotation so he had to make his move before it could happen? Maybe he found out de Sardet cleared the room, leaving them alone and vulnerable, and thought the opportunity was too good to pass up?  Either way, he clearly made his move ahead of schedule - and it came back to bite him in the ass in the worst way possible.)

Anyway, the point of this theory - besides filling in what I see as a hole in his character arc - is that it makes Kurt's decision not to betray them even more poignant.  It means it's not just a matter of picking one loyalty over another: it's him making a deliberate choice to sacrifice what might be his only chance at vengeance against the monster who ruined his life, in order to save his best (only?) friend.  That's powerful stuff! And it makes it all the more rewarding when de Sardet manages to take out Hermann anyway, unflinchingly getting their hands dirty with bribery and corruption just because Kurt asked it of them.  And afterwards – and this is the crucial part - they don't even ask him for anything in return.  It's the final and tangible proof that de Sardet deserves all the loyalty he's already given them, and contrasts all the more beautifully with Kurt's realization of how misplaced his loyalty to Torsten had been.

So.  There you have it.  My 1500-word answer to a question probably nobody but me was asking, but damned if I wasn't going to answer it anyway.

[soliborne-archive]

mind , heart & soul --- a dragonfather au.

after accidentally finding a treasure chest filled with eggs lukas manages to help three of them hatch , only to find himself raising three freshly hatched dragons --- and not just raising either. he’s bound to them.

he’s had to return from a trade to find his entire village ablaze ; not even bodies were visible for the most part. ashes , ashes that seemed to fly and ready to consume the world were all around him and lukas felt like he would never know joy again. his house wasn’t even there anymore , it , too , had become nothing but dark dust while his world burned before him. it was like he’d never be happy again --- and he’d never be. not without his home , not with his entire life burnt to nothing but cinders. it’s only when he finds a burnt flag embroidered with an all too familiar logo that he feels himself seethe with rage.

his uncle --- that bastared , had joined a pirate crew years ago , abandoning all responsibility. several of his uncles had scattered in the past , but this one had seriously joined the worst pack of outlaws imaginable. they weren’t even honorable for pirates --- and that meant something ! so he knows already that even if it’s the last thing he does he’ll end that blood - betraying bastard with his own hands. except he cant ; he knows where ships hide on the island , knows where to look to find him. but the ships a wreck and the crew is nowhere to be found. instead he sees something heavy fall into the water of the lagoon and sink. he doesn’t think , instead he jumps in and with a strong effort he pulls it out.

those pirates took everything from him , it was only fair he got to keep their clearly most treasured booty. he struggles for a while with the lock ( rocks don’t help a lot if they also keep scratching open your hands in the mean time ) but at last he manages to open it. eggs. lots of ‘em. the sight surprises him so much he forgets the fact that the inside of his hands are bleeding. he takes the rest of his will and energy and does his best to bring all of the eggs to safety --- he doesn’t even know if they’re from the same parents , some are heavier and larger than others despite the fact that their shells almost all feel equally as sturdy.

what they all have in common , though , are insignias on them , almost as if the eggs were trying to tell him their names in a language he didn’t speak.

he doesn’t know why , maybe it’s the loss of purpose or the fact he has nothing left to do , but lukas finds himself building a shelter in the very lagoon he found the chest in. he doesn’t know what conditions they’ll hatch under so he tries multiple methods. it takes a while ,  maybe months , maybe more , he’s not sure. but eventually one of them starts to hatch and for once lukas feels hope. he’s given up that the eggs would actually become something ( honestly he didn’t know what conditions they had to be kept in so he’d kept his hope at a low anyways ) and his heart soars when he sees a small snoot breaking through the shell.

he’s ... surprised but delighted at finding a dragon baby at his disposal ; he’s never seen one before and despite what he’s expected he immediately begins to feel a almost paternal instinct. then he hears another egg crack and he’s beyond happy. it wasn’t a human family , sure. but these were his children , his babies. his new life. it takes a night more and a third one is cracked. he waits , patiently , for a few more days. but , even without knowing how he’d know exactly , there’s something that tells him there’s not hope for the other eggs. it’s saddening , silence falling over him before he sighs. despite the losses , he was able to save three of them. that was good , wasn’t it ?

he’s not sure what drives him , but after ensuring the other eggs were all put into a spot where no human could find them on accident without destroying them he takes his children and moves on. there is no reason to his actions , just pure instinct. at first he remains with them in the remains of his village ; the woods nearby and the river parting the island he resides on giving enough playground for him to live. plus , the woods were filled with animals now that no hunters were around anymore. if there was a chance for him to teach his hatchlings to hunt now was the chance. except that he isn’t a dragon --- and one of them has to reside within the waters of the river ( previously he’d just thought it loved to swim --- trying to get it out of the lagoon had shown the little one to have neither legs nor wings to carry it ) 

so he does the best he can. raises them like his family raised him. but there’s a burning in the back of his mind , almost like voices whispering to him. he’s not sure what it is but it’s weird , in a comically positive way --- he’s never been around dragons ,  doesn’t know how to communicate with them  and  yet it’s exactly like the three little dragons know exactly what he wants them to do , and somehow it feels like he knows exactly what’s going on inside their mind. it feels almost childish of him but he talks to them as much as he can , tells them his favorite childhood fairytales at night time and tries to read to them whenever he can put his hands on a book.

they grow , slowly but steadily. except they don’t grow all that slow. the bigger his children get , the stronger the sensation in his mind. it’s as if they’re trying to communicate with him but can’t. not yet , at least. so he tries to ignore it , tries to bear it as best as he can while doing whatever possible to raise them. and it’s odd , ironic almost. how his dragons are almost similar to a human child in their curiousity and never - ending enthusiasm. and how wild he’s grown since losing his family. no , since finding them. 

when they’re big enough to not be as easily targeted anymore he decides to move with them. he’s built a ship , not the best but big enough to house his two dragons and him , with an attachment to keep his more waterbased child close to the ship without taking too much freedom away. it’s a rough start , with the way his instincts yell at him to always keep a close eye on them. but it’s nice , for once in a very , very long time he has a family again. as unconventional as it may be.

it’s when he finally sets sail for a nearby harbor , when he keeps his babies far enough for no human to find them but close enough to not shut off his odd ability to sense their presence. when he enters the local tavern looking for a short job or a way to gamble someone out of a bigger vessel for the seas he hears it first. it’s an old man in old , almost rusty armor pieces talking about how his son had told him of a big nations plan to hatch dragons to use as weapons of conquest once they grew up. how , after the first batch not many of the eggs had hatched and the question whether it’s been from the first lay on or if it was after the stress of their mother having her first eggs stolen from her.

he doesn’t want to believe it , but it makes sense --- why else would pirates out of all people possess dragon eggs ? what kind of pirate crew other than a profoundly stupid one would even willingly try and raid an army of such valuable things ? and get away with it ( most likely thanks to the luck idiots can have ) ? it angers him , makes anger flare up within him to think that some humans would dare to think of his precious children as tools for war. it’s when a panicked patron yells about how his eyes had changed to a almost electric yellow that he leaves , suddenly feeling too hot in that disgusting tavern with those lowlives wasting away in it.

he almost falls down a hill when he can hear voices in his head --- clearly --- and tell right away that those are them --- his babies , talking to him. when he gets back to where he told them to stay put and they question him about the scale patches on the inside of his hand ( out of all places , it had to be something replacing his scars , didn’t it ? ) that he realises that perhaps his bond with these dragons is more than simply a parent and a child. that perhaps it really is like the stories he’s heard about --- that he was bound to them. but bound to three instead of one dragons ? that ... sounded odd , dangerous even. but it felt right. his instincts made it feel like it was fine , that as long as he protected them with his life he’d be fine.

but his anger from before still didn’t quell and without thinking he enlists the help of his own babies to steal a bigger ship --- one large enough to fit a crew AND his dragons in. whichever , if it’s owner was rich enough to buy one he’d surely be rich enough to buy another. and he sets sail. it’s almost surprising when his dragons don’t question where they’re going ; as if they instinctually knew that his plan was now to free whichever dragons that damned nation had captured and enslaved. it felt almost humorous when he was reprimanded for acting so angry and have such a beastly expression --- by dragons. and still , it didn’t stop the plan nor made him reconsider. those were his children , his pride and joy. he raised them and he knew that they were strong --- they were his children , after all.

KIND OF a wip 

here because so far all i’ve got planned is that he’s just travelling right now--- 

[sabraeal]

The Grave Soul Keeps Its Own Secrets

A sequel to Virtue Has a Veil, and Vice a Mask, written for @youseimanami’s birthday request for three confessions...just two months late...

Zen had never thought he would see his brother married.

It’s not that he hadn’t understood -- a king’s most sacred duty, after ruling wisely, is to secure succession; to provide the royal line with strong, clever sons who would rule and have their own, and so on and so forth until the very walls of Wistal came down around them. It just had seemed as Zen hurtled towards adulthood, ushered into the glittering world of courts and intrigue that his brother had shielded him from in his childhood, that Izana was quite content to leave him his heir. He didn’t have time to worry about women and weddings when Clarines needed a firm hand to guide it, and, of the two of them, Zen was the one eager to love and be loved in return.

He’s not sure when things changed.

A king was to have an advantageous marriage and suitable heirs. It just hadn’t occurred to Zen that it meant a wife, that it meant sons, until he watches his brother sweep his bride across the floor, the closest thing to a smile curving his mouth.

It never occurred to him that one day, Izana might have family that was not just him.

And he’ll be expected to do this next.

It’s not a new thought; Zen has always known he’d be expected to marry, to have sons too, raised to be loyal to their cousins, but he’d never thought about -- about this. About weddings, about wives. It had seemed beyond him; a decision that, despite his complaints, would be made behind closed doors. He might talk about love, about mutual attraction made over a ballroom or a garden, not a table, but he knew what form it would take -- they might allow him the luxury of believing in a chance meeting with a suitable girl behind the roses in the west courtyard, but it would all be engineered, right down to her demure smile and the way her dress was in his favorite shade of blue.

Until he met a girl in a garden with hair the color of apples. Then it had all seemed so real, so within his grasp he might as well reach out and pluck his future from the branch.

-- the ribbon slides against his fingers, parting so that porcelain falls away to reveal bronze, to reveal blue, blue, blue –

Funny, he had always thought it would be his brother who yanked it out of his reach.

The ballroom is stifling; the dancing is at its height, and up on the dais, seated beside his brother, there is no way for a breeze to reach him, to brush him with its cooling touch. The formal regalia is better than his costume a few nights ago, but only just; his hair still is damp by his scalp, not helped by his brother’s insistence that he dance with every appropriate girl without a partner.

He hadn’t fooled himself into thinking he’d get a dance with Shirayuki, but –

“You’re avoiding her.”

He startles, nearly pitching off the seat they’ve set for him beside the throne. He looks up, up, into the all-too satisfied eyes of his brother.

His gaze cuts to where the Yuris delegation lingers, the ambassador bowed close to listen to hear Kihal over the music, mouths spread wide in smiles --

“Who?”

It’s the exact wrong thing to say; Izana’s gaze traces his, and his mouth curls at a corner. “My, my. I meant to say Lady Shirayuki, but I see I may have been hasty.” His eyebrows raise, intrigued. “Countess Yuris, mm?”

“I --” He could choke on his own tongue, the way Izana corners him. “I’m not avoiding Shirayuki.”

That, at least, is true; he’d considered, that first night, that he should go to her, that he should admit his sin in full but –

But he hadn’t meant to. The kiss had been for her, and even though it had been embarrassing to know he wasn’t as…familiar with her as he’d thought, it wasn’t damning. It was a mistake, easily made. That it had been an enjoyable one was...beside the point.

But Kihal…

“You’ll have to dance with her, of course,” Izana tells him, so simply. “I don’t know what the nature of your disagreement is --” his tone says quite clearly, but I can guess – “but Councilor Toghrul is known as one of your staunchest allies. One of the crown’s staunchest allies. It will be noted if there’s…strife between you.”

“It’s not like I’m the limiting factor, here,” Zen snaps, “she would have to --”

“Zen.”

He almost startles right off his chair.

“Kihal!” he gasps, righting himself. Izana’s face is turned away, but oh, he knows what those shaking shoulders mean. “I didn’t think – you were just talking with Rangi --”

“He told me you were taking too long.” There’s nothing different about the way she speaks to him; she still sounds half-annoyed, impatient that he never moves quite as quickly as she likes. “And that I should show the initiative of my mothers and come get you myself.”

“Oh, of course,” he mutters, “it’s a proud Yuris tradition to make me look like an idiot, after all.”

“As far as I can tell, it’s a proud Wisteria tradition that you’re an idiot.” She holds out a hand. “Well? Are you going to come or not?”

He darts a glance at his brother, waiting for him to – to say it would be an embarrassment, that to preserve the sanctity of the crown she must wait for him to come to her –

Izana smiles mildly back. “Are you going to leave a lady waiting, brother?”

“N-no!” He bolts up from his chair, hard enough that it wobbles threateningly behind him. “Of course not. It would be an honor to dance with you, Councilor Toghrul.”

“I think,” his brother hums, mouth twitching as Kihal’s strong fingers thread tightly through his, “that tonight she is Countess Yuris.”

“Oh--”

“Never mind him,” she deadpans, leading him away, “for you, I’m Kihal. Every night.”

That shouldn’t make his skin feel so warm, shouldn’t make his cheeks flush so guiltily. He’s too aware of her as they take the floor, of the way her gown clings to her shape, of the way it sways just above the floor, offering glimpses of slipper and ankle beneath. He hopes for a polka, for a mazurka, anything that would not require him --

The reeds warble the start of a steady measure, slow and strong. A Waltz. Damn.

Kihal turns to him, eyebrows raised.

“Do I have to lead too?” she asks as he stands dumbly on the floor.

“N-no! Of course not!” He reaches out, pulls her close, and – and this is not anything they haven’t done before, it’s no different than any other party, any other ball where they’re forced to dance to show solidarity between the crown and the islands.

Save for the one thing, of course.

“I should…” He coughs, clearing his throat. “I should apologize.”

Her eyes fix on his, and oh, how he remembers her being so close differently now, that blue –

“Why is that?” She lifts a narrow brow, entirely incredulous. “Have you done something annoying that I don’t remember?”

“No!” He nearly scowls -- she always thinks he’s done something, even when he’s innocent -- but then he remembers: he has. “For – for the other night. At the masquerade.”

Both eyebrows raise now. “Whatever for?”

“For – for causing you embarrassment.” He can feel the heat in his cheeks, flirting along the edge of his collar; he hopes she assumes it’s from exertion. “In the – the alcove.”

Her back tenses under his hand. “Why would you apologize for that?”

“I just –“ His mouth works, but words refuse to come, not unless he forces them out. “I didn’t mean to. And we were – we were both clearly expecting – someone else.”

“Someone…else.” The waltz is a close dance, but Kihal is suddenly a thousand miles away. “Right. Of course.”

“I won’t pry,” he tries with a laugh, swallowing down his nausea. This shouldn’t be so hard. “But do let him know I’m sorry for – ah, intercepting you.”

“Right.” The song ends, and she steps away sharply, as if his touch burns. “But for you, who…?”

“Oh.” He’s never told her, all these years. Not in words. “Shirayuki. You remember her, right?”

“Shirayuki.” Her smile twists, bittersweet. “Of course it was. You…she was the one that asked you to test the birds. To save Yuris. So of course…it was like that all along.”

“Kihal?” He doesn’t understand. “Is something --?”

“No, just.” She waves a hand to ward him off, twists away. “I just…put things together. It’s…fine. Enjoy the wedding.”

“The lord’s kiss!” a man calls out as the woman beside him laughs, both of them deep in their cups. “Give her the lord’s kiss and that’ll keep her in bed.”

A lady, bedecked in jewels worth more than a year’s rent in the city, offers, “A stallion like that is meant to be ridden often and well!”

Laughter presses around Obi, thick as a curtain, and he swerves from the Clarines’ glittering press. Their voices are raised, hurling suggestions at their king and consort as they climb the stairs, heading toward their marriage chamber. He’d known the tradition -- he’d seen more than a few of his men married at Lyrias -- but...

There’s not much he considers vulgar, but of course Clarines finds a way.

The balconies may not staunch the noise, but the stone certainly muffles it. With a sigh, he perches on the banister, one leg bent on the rail and the other hanging off, his back to the wall.

It’s a nice night; warm in his uniform but not stifling, the stars out in full force. His Majesty can’t control things like that, but Obi’s found the universe seems more apt to obey him anyway. Maybe one day he can get him to teach him the trick --

“Here you are.”

Obi doesn’t need to look; he’d know that voice anywhere.

But he does anyway; he’s always been a glutton for punishment.

Miss looks beautiful tonight. Her gown shimmers in the moonlight, green washed as pale as her skin with only silver to limn it. Mistress Haki -- Her Majesty picked it herself, it’s rumored -- a gift for Miss’s years of service to Wilant.

A woman should look touchable, she’d said with her secretive smile, fingers running down the beading, and unapproachable. Miss had laughed, had reminded her that she might like to dance at least once --

Mistress Haki’s sharp eyes had cut to him before darting away. The right man knows when he’s invited.

And the wrong one knows when he is not. Obi holds the sigh in his chest. She looks every inch a lady that has no business idling on a balcony with him. Miss meant for princes, for kings, not for mongrels who have sniffed their way up to respectability.

“Here I am,” he agrees. Her mouth curls at one edge as she rests her hands on the banister, right next to his boot. A twitch and she’d touch him. An inch and he’d –

He’d better forget what it was like to kiss her. He can’t afford to keep being...distracted. Not with her so close

“I thought you’d be inside,” she says, chin tilted up to the stars, “ the first in line to tell the King of Clarines how to impress his wife.”

“Maybe if it were, M—” Master hangs on his lips, but he closes teeth around it, swallows down such a dangerous thought— “more private. It’s one thing to talk about how to please when you’re soaking in a bath, but with strangers? Your family?”

There’s things he can do, and talking about how to swing a cock in front of the Queen Dowager is not one of them.

“I thought I’d see you out here,” he admits. “I thought you might be afraid of setting the curtains off with that blush of yours.”

Miss laughs, bright and lovely. He needs to stop thinking about how he’d like to swallow that down, how he’d drink it in a single drought like silvered bourbon down his throat.

“Oh, you should see how it is in Tanbarun,” she scoffs. “The whole wedding helps the couple undress too!”

He grimaces. “Remind me to never get married there.”

“I don’t think it would be that bad,” Miss says thoughtfully, turning toward him so her chin nearly brushes his knee, so that her arm winds over the shin of his bent leg. “It’d be funny, if you weren’t…”

She flushes, obvious in the moonlight. “Well, if it wasn’t the first time someone had seen you. In just your small clothes.”

Obi can’t help himself; he sees pale skin and bright eyes, hands skimming up over his bare stomach, pink lips parted ��

He shuts his eyes, leaning back against the stone. He really needs to just – just stop. She kissed him once, and hasn’t – hasn’t done anything --

“I always thought that would be how it would happen for me anyway,” she admits haltingly, peeping at his from the corner of her eyes. “Anyone that I’d be with wouldn’t care whether…whether things were done before or after.”

There’s not enough air on this balcony. He crooks a grin at her. “Not what I would have expected from you, Miss.”

She bridles, just slightly. “I’m curious. Aren’t you and Garrack always complaining about that?”

He opens his eyes to half-mast, watching her squirm under the directness of his stare. “Even about that?”

Her shoulders round, her cheeks flush. “M-maybe.”

“Mm.” That -- that makes sense. Curiosity. That’s why she kissed him. Not -- not because --

He shakes himself. It’s a royal wedding with all the trappings, just like the one she might have in a not-too-distant future. She’s used to Master, used to sweet kissing with the barest heat. It’s only natural that she’d wonder if there was more, if there was something that bridged hidden moments behind the roses with what happens between a husband and wife in the privacy of their own bedroom.

And who would know better than him?

“I can tell.” There’s something in him that twists, some perverse urge that makes him say, “After all, you kissed me.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “That’s not why.”

He lifts a brow. “Isn’t it?”

“No!” Her chest is flushed now, the tips of her ears too. “I only – it was --”

“It’s all right, Miss,” he assures her, forcing the grin on his face, the playfulness as he presses a hand to his chest. “I know my effect on women. Must be hard to be around me, when I light girls up like a --”

“Stop. Please. It’s not --” her breath rasps out of her chest, painful – “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

It’s so silent, without his heart beating. “Well, Miss, I’m sure everything seems like a good idea in the moment --”

“No.” She’s firm now, close. Her hand brushes over his on the rail. “I’ve…wanted to kiss you for a while.”

“O-oh.”

“It’s just easier to be brave behind a mask.” Her gaze slips off him, and his heart picks up it steady beat. He can see the shape of things now; the curiosity, followed by regret, followed by guilt.

“I guess you’ve sated your curiosity now,” he remarks, light. “Since you haven’t tried again.”

“I was…I was confused.”

He nods, letting his gaze slip over the balcony, trying to settle somewhere safer for his heart. “I’m sure.”

“Obi --”

“I’m glad that we’re past it now,” he says, each word stabbing into him. “Now you know exactly who you want to --”

Her hands cradle his face, dragging it back to her, and –

And it’s very hard to think about anything with her mouth on him like this.

She pulls back, just the barest moment to rub her nose against his, to take a steeling breath as her forehead rests against his --

And then she is on him again, tongue dragging over his bottom lip, pleading with him to open to her. He twists, burying his hands in the silk of her hair, lips parting so that she can lick at the roof of his mouth, so she can take him apart slowly with the slow slide of their mouths and tongues.

“No,” she breathes when he pulls back, needing air. “I…I wasn’t sure you’d want to kiss me again. After all, you light girls up like a --”

He groans against her lips. “Don’t.”

Her mouth curls against his, and he expects her to tease, to make him regret every word he’s ever said about other girls --

“I wanted to kiss you again, so badly. I just didn’t know if you’d even thought of me like that before, or if...” She hesitates, pulling back, staring at where her hands clutch his coat. “Of if you were just...seizing a moment.”

His heart beats frantically against her knuckles, but he doesn’t try to slow it, not this time.

“Maybe” he sighs, guiding her back to him. “Maybe you haven’t been the only one wondering about that.”

It’s the silence that unsettles her.

Even in the halls, the din of the party had chased their heels, had echoed off the walls around them. Haki had laughed, almost tripping over the hem of her skirts, and His Majesty had righted her, had given her a smile so soft she thought back to a sea of masks, to the quiet darkness they had one stood.

Now the doors are closed, only their own breaths to keep them company, and –

And Haki doesn’t know what to do, not with a man standing in his small clothes, looking the way His –

Her husband. The way her husband does.

He’s all lean muscle, the candlelight clinging closer to him than a lover, casting the planes of him in scintillating chiaroscuro. His skin is gilded in this light, makes him look darker than the linen at his waist. She knows that to be a lie, that even with her Lyrias-pale skin, he is paler still; if he would come close enough, she would be able to trace the lacework of his veins, be able to see the blue blood of House Wisteria run just beneath the surface.

The mattress dips beside her, and she realizes – he is coming to bed. Her husband is coming to lay with her.

Her heart races, as if it’s trying to escape her ribs, as if it’s trying to fly from the room. There’s a part of her that wants to follow it, that wants to find a quiet place to hide until this is all over, until she doesn’t have to pretend to be this woman anymore. Until she isn’t expected to be a wife.

But there is another part whose fingers itch, whose mouth tingles in anticipation, and –

And she stays.

Her husband does not join her beneath the covers, but he does slip closer to her, her side aligning along his front.

“Perhaps you have not been informed, Your Majesty,” she drawls, breathless, “but it isn’t possible to take my maidenhead through a sheet.”

A grin curls at the edges of his mouth, soft and sly, and she thinks of other nights, of getting pulled into alcoves and hot mouths, of wandering hands and fervent promises.

“I think you might be surprised, my lady,” he murmurs, his long fingers trailing down her cheek, brushing through the loose stands of her hair. “And we have all night. You’re trembling like a leaf.”

She flushes. She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice. “From anticipation, Your Majesty.”

“Ah,” he laughs, breath huffing across her lips. “No. Not yet.”

This is not like their other kisses, hot and heavy and breathless, stolen moments in the shadows; no, this is slow, exploratory, in the full light of his bedchamber. He is taking his time, savoring her, and it leaves her squirming beside him, unable to quell the ache between her thighs. She braces a hand against his chest and nearly moans at the strength she finds there, at the power coiled in his body, at how much she wants him to use that on her.

He pulls away, every line of his face smug, self-satisfied. She nearly snips at him for it, except that she feels his hardness knock against her hip, and –

And she is not the only one affected. She is not the only one who is looking forward to him joining her beneath these sheets.

“I am glad to see you’re making the best of a choice you didn’t get to make, husband,” she tells him, trying to slow her heart as he bends back in, placing a delicate kiss behind her ear.

His body jerks, stilling next to her. She’s afraid she’s said something wrong, but then he pulls back, staring down at her with a fire in his eyes that leaves her breathless.

“Is that what you think?” he murmurs, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “That I am making the best of a girl chosen for me?”

“Kings do not marry for love.” Her father had reminded her of that often enough. “They don’t have the luxury.”

His mouth crooks, amused. “My mother and father had a marriage like that. Arranged. The best for Clarines.”

“For Wilant, too.”

“Yes.” He’s distracted now, fires banked. “And it did not end well. For anyone.”

His gaze slides back to her, tracing the curve of her lips, the column of her throat, and she rubs her legs together to try to quell the ache. He needs to touch her, more than just a hand along her cheek.

He agrees, hand trailing down, alongside her breast and over her hip, until it hooks under the apex of her thigh, turning her toward him.

“I chose you,” he admits, breathless against her lips.

“Liar,” she moans when he moves his mouth to her neck, leaving hot kisses along her pulse. “The council --”

“Gave me a list.” His teeth nip mercilessly at her skin. “And you were on it.”

“We met once,” she reminds him. “And it was a disaster.”

“I wanted you.” He stills against her, just for a moment; his body writhes, but less in ecstasy and more in -- embarrassment. “More, after all that.”

Haki twists, just enough to see where he’s buried himself in her shoulder. “I did all but scold you.”

“You told a boy pretending to be a man that he was a child still,” he says, so softly, almost reverent. “And you looked glorious.”

There is not enough air in the room, not when he sounds like that. “And then I ended up on a list?”

“You did.” He abandons her neck, licking and nipping down over her clavicle, bringing his mouth to the slope of her breast -- “And I am not so selfless a man to not take what I want when it’s offered.”

His lips close hotly around her breast, sucking through the sheet --

“Then get under these covers and take it,” she moans, kicking them off. “I’m burning.”

He grins against her skin. “As my lady wishes.”

The straggling revelers stumble towards the halls, dresses falling off shoulders and cravats given up as lost. The servants are quick to fill the empty ballroom, sweeping in to move chairs and abandoned glasses from the edges of the room. The night is nearly over, and Zen lets himself take a full breath. Finally, time to himself.

It’s Shirayuki who fills his mind now, red playing behind his eyelids as he lets his heart calm. He hasn’t seen her all night –

He hasn’t seen her all week, really. He’d been at the gate when she arrived – the only nice part of being on greeter duty for their esteemed guests – but the parties and plans for the wedding had occupied him otherwise. He’d tried to invite her to dinner, or lunch, until he’d have to cancel each time, drafted into yet another politically important meal over five courses.

She’s been on his mind all week, but he’d hardly noticed that he hasn’t seen her. And that’s…that’s…

It’s fine. Good even. Four years of separation had done them good, had made the urgency of their love into something gentler, more abiding. He doesn’t need to see her to love her.

…But he should, at some point, now that she’s here. He wants to see her, after all, and he’d like to know she wants to see him –

A loud sniff echoes in the arcade. It’s unmissable in the silence of the night, and Zen’s steps halt, trying to locate the noise.

It’s a sob now, desperately muffled. He whirls, stalking toward a pillar.

“Kihal,” he yelps, suddenly wishing his heart was not so soft, his ideals not so chivalrous. The thought dries up when he sees the puffiness around her eyes, the red tracks down her cheeks. “You’re crying!”

“I’m not!” she snaps, lip quivering as she spins away from him. “I’m – I’m taking in the night. It’s lovely!”

Another woman he might believe overcome with the beauty of nature, but not Kihal.

“Was someone rude to you?” he demands, mind running through the list of guests, trying to divine who would possibly say something so terrible as to send the councilor of Yuris crying behind a pillar. She shies away, and he grips her wrist, makes her looks at him. “Did someone – did someone do something rude--?”

“I’m fine!” she yelps, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. “I can handle myself, thank you very much. Just…leave it alone.”

“If someone’s upset you --”

“You can’t fix it!” Her hands are bent into a stiff claws, like she’d rake him if he got closer. “You can’t just – prince everything away!”

“I’m not trying to – to do that!” he protests, feeling his face flush. “There’s no reason for anyone to be allowed to disrespect a friend of mine in my --”

“It’s your brother’s castle,” she reminds him, pedantically.

He scowls at her. “In my home. I know you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to let them know how I felt about it, too.”

Kihal sighs, half the fight seeping out of her. “Why do you have to be like this?”

“Like what?” There’s a list of things she expounds on, on the regular. Idealistic. Privileged. Oblivious.

“Good.” She shakes her head. “You can’t fix this because it’s you.”

“Me?” He blinks. “But I –”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else,” she blurts out, “I knew it was you. When we kissed.”

“Me?” He stares. “But – why? How?”

“We just – we work closely together, and you’re…you.” Her hands twist anxiously above her skirts. “It’s not – it’s not something big. I just – you kissed me, and I thought – it was nice, and I --”

She waves her hands, trying to ward him off, even though he hasn’t moved from the spot. “Just, never mind. Good night!”

“Kihal --”

“No!” She shakes her head, stepping further from him. “It’s not – you’re not at fault here, Zen. I should have known it wasn’t for me.”

There’s something in how she says it, so sad, so hopeless, and it – it’s only that Kihal is not that, she’s fighting spirit and grit, she gets knocked down seven times and gets up eight, and – and –

He’s done that to her, made her think that she – that he couldn’t –

He moves without thinking, three steps to catch her and a tug to bring her back. She stares up with wide, wary eyes,  one hand braced on his chest, their height nearly even, her mouth so close to his –

And it’s nothing to close the gap, to take one hand and bury it in the weave of her chignon, to turn his head and deepen the kiss when she gasps. Her hand clutch at his tunic, then at his hair, and when his back hits the pillar his knees go weak.

Air becomes a necessity, and they pull back, eyes searching and –

And he does not feel nothing. He feels – quite a lot.

This is…complicated.

He pulls her back.

[aion-rsa]

Insults, World-Building, and Blind Cats: An Interview with The Blacktongue Thief’s Christopher Buehlman

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It only takes a small, insignificant moment to completely change the course of a life. It’s that premise from which The Blacktongue Thief starts. Kinch Na Shannack, working thief, is spared when a banditry gig goes south. The Spanth warrior who spares him, Galva, is on a quest—and the Taker’s Guild, for which Kinch works, assigns him to accompany her, gain her trust, and wait for further instruction. As he travels with Galva, and, soon after, a witch companion Norrigal, he begins to question just where his allegiance lies, and what he owes his newfound friends—and the world.

From the first pages of The Blacktongue Thief, this Den of Geek reviewer was hooked, in no small part because the narrative voice is quite simply a delight. Kinch welcomes readers straight into a world where humanity was nearly destroyed by goblins, and where giants are encroaching on the northern border. But besides all that, a person’s got to make a living, and Kinch has a debt to the Takers Guild he’s bound to pay off. Kinch tells the story like he’s sitting next to you at a table in the pub, sharing the worst and best moments with a lingering delight at the sheer telling of the tale. He exaggerates and lies, but lets you know he’s doing so with a wink and a nudge.

This fantasy novel invites readers to share a pint of whatever’s good, learn some colorful language from a variety of nations, and maybe even join in a song or two. If the atmosphere I just described feels a bit like a renaissance festival, it should come as no surprise. Author Christopher Buehlman, previously best known for his poetry and his horror novels (and shortly to become known as a rising star in fantasy, as well), is also Christophe the Insultor, Verbal Mercenary, a regular comedic performer at renaissance festivals.

“My career as a professional insultor on the renaissance festival circuit definitely informed Kinch’s language,” Buehlman explains. “He’s always ready to trade barbs, and he isn’t afraid to work blue.” Blue language is absolutely a highlight of the book; Kinch’s swearing is utterly inventive, and because he speaks a number of languages, the different curses reveal a lot about the cultures that created them. Kinch presents the Spanths, particularly Galva, as overly honorable and a bit uptight, something that’s not only revealed in her lack of patience for Kinch conversing with a cat he rescues, but also in the way she argues the proper conjugation of a particularly colorful swear. (You can read some dictionary-style definitions of Kinch’s curse words over at the Tor/Forge blog.)

There are linguistic connections between the curse words (and other vocabulary) in the novel and the real-world counterparts that provided inspiration. “The Galts are not unlike the Celts; I thought of them not as a direct analog to the Welsh or the Scots or the Irish, but as a lost tribe,” Buehlman shares. “There is something of the gaelic in Kinch’s poetic, artistically gifted, externally governed homeland, and his language, storytelling, and, yes, insults and doggerel, come from that. As for chodadu, it is based on Spanish jodido, and operates similarly. Jilnaedu, on the other hand, is a more original Spanth term, meaning ‘vicious idiot.’ As with Galtia and Ireland, Ispanthia is not Spain, but it and its language would snuggle in nicely between Spain, Portugal, and Catalonia. I think Spaniards will recognize Galva but also find lots of new things to discover about her and her country.”

One of the most fascinating aspects of Kinch’s world is the impact the Goblin Wars have had on the human population. The goblins came and fought in three waves; the first two were fought by men, but soon there weren’t enough men left to fight. “Women had to go under arms,” Buehlman describes. “More, they had to win. And they did. For now. The Daughters’ War wasn’t about fame or glory, or even power and wealth—it was a raw, muddy, no-holds-barred struggle for survival between two competing species, one of whom regards the other as a food source.” The win came, but at a great cost. Humans have taken a huge hit, and the majority of humans are now women, putting women in positions of power throughout all of the human territories. 

In fact, the book is populated with women who hold their own against Kinch’s narrative voice. While we get Kinch’s introspection and his assessment of his own character, we see him against a company of strong female characters. Galva is a warrior, honorable, devoted, the kind of knight Don Quixote dreamed of being. Norrigal isn’t an accomplished witch yet—this is her first assignment outside her apprenticeship—but her raw power is astonishing, and her willingness to do the dirty work as needed gives her a wonderfully practical edge. Sesta, one of Kinch’s contacts with the Taker’s Guild, is a ruthless Assassin-Adept, skilled at both magic and murder, so confident that she treats Kinch more like a pest than a tool, even when insisting he follow the terms of his assignment. While there’s a bit of romance, none of the women feel put into the narrative just for the sake of being Kinch’s love interest—in fact, they all feel as though they’d do just fine without him, if it came down to it, and he’s lucky they’ve let him stick around to tell the story.

The desire to depict so many women in control of the world and the narrative came from one of Buehlman’s world-building ideas: “I wanted to present a world that would show the reader how artificial the idea of patriarchy is,” he says, “and how it could be turned on its head with a big enough catalyst.”

Buehlman’s world is both beautiful and terrible—the consequences of the Goblin Wars are present in every aspect of the book, including in the appearance of actual goblins. That looming sense of dread, that humans might not win the next time if it came down to it, lend an intensity to the world, and may remind readers that Buehlman’s previous novels fell into the horror category. “Writing horror is a bit like writing form poetry,” he describes. “With a sonnet, a villanelle, or a pantoum, you have to respect a rhyme scheme, or a repetition pattern, and/or a syllable count. With horror, you have to establish a certain tone, and you have to check in with the reader’s amygdala every so often. This isn’t exact or formulaic, as it can be in poetry, but it needs to have its own internal rhythm. You can have a long build up, but you must bake in a sense of dread–the reader will feel betrayed, and rightly so, if your premise advertises one kind of story, and they get something else entirely for 70% of the read. Horror, like comedy, is binary. It succeeds or fails viscerally.”

Making the switch to fantasy meant making some changes. “Fantasy… is much more forgiving. The reader primarily expects a sense of wonder, a sense of going someplace new. It’s more like free verse. You can do anything you like, as long as you tell a good story and fascinate,” Buehlman shares. He also identifies a few common traits between the genres: “If I took anything with me from horror to fantasy–aside from, hopefully, the universally necessary elements of character, pacing, and clear language–it was that sense of dread. We see the goblin ship coming, and there’s no way off the island. We feel the footsteps of the approaching giants, and hear their horns, but this is a strange city and we don’t know where to run. Too late—the humans on chains that they use to flush us out of our warrens have already seen us.” 

The horror elements are well balanced by companionship (particularly in the form of one furry feline) and song. “Kinch has an inexhaustible supply of songs to sing or quote, and singing is of course quite popular in a world without electronic media,” Buehlman muses. “Songs are how people once got their  entertainment, expressed emotions, even got their news.” The prominence of music also harkens back to Buehlman’s renaissance festival roots: “Renaissance festivals put a high standard on songs, both as stage entertainment and as something patrons can participate in. And so does Kinch’s world.”

As for that furry feline: Bully Boy appears early on in the narrative and becomes increasingly important as the story goes on. (Buehlman frequently seeds world-information so nonchalantly that when they become relevant as plot elements, this reviewer was impressed at how cleverly the book was structured to hide the significance of those details until they mattered.) When Kinch first meets Bully Boy, a blind cat, the poor creature is about to be captured by some local ruffians, who will, we’re led to believe, put the cat to death. Kinch takes pity and saves the cat—getting arrested in the process—and the two soon become fast friends. But despite what readers might assume, Buehlman was not always a cat lover. The acknowledgements at the end of the book reveal that Bully Boy was inspired by a real cat.

“Bully Boy never would have been had not a blind tabby showed up on my doorstep in  2015, as I was finishing up The Suicide Motor Club,” says Buehlman. “The antagonist of that book is a sumbitch vampire named Luther, and this poor, blind, sick street cat had the biggest fangs I’d seen on a feline outside of a smilodon exhibit. So Luther he became. But you couldn’t find two more different critters than vampire Luther and cat Luther. The latter was one of the most loving, most trusting beings I ever  had the pleasure to know. I was decidedly not a cat person before he came raoing at my door—I was a dog man from way back. But when a creature delivers its life  into your hands and starts to follow you everywhere you go, clearly loving you  and wanting nothing as much as to live purring in your lap or on your chest, it  wears you down. If you’ve got feelings, I mean. And I had some. I now recognize  canines and felines as equally deserving of our love and companionship, even if  we don’t always deserve theirs.”

While The Blacktongue Thief completes a story, the ending leaves several loose threads that readers will be glad to know Buehlman is working on tying up in the sequel. “I’m still in planning and world-building, which is a massive part of  writing a fantasy novel with sufficient layers to feel credible,” he reveals. “Let’s just say we’ve got  mountains to cross, more and different giants to meet, and one very nasty book to drag  secrets out of. Also, look for a more comprehensive telling of Galva’s experiences as a young  soldier in the Daughters’ War.”

In the meantime, Buehlman is also digging into the rules for the card game Kinch plays (sometimes with good luck and sometimes bad): Towers. “I wanted a game that would showcase Kinch’s luck-gift, and to occupy the same place  in this world as poker does in ours,” Buehlman says of its development. “There are definitely elements of poker in Towers; but  you’ll also find traces of Stratego, that simple kids’ card game War, chess, and Magic. I and  others have found it to be addictive, but also delightfully complex. There are lots of ways to  win, and lose, and strategy is a huge component–nearly as important as luck. And yes, I  believe lots of blood would be drawn over this game if it were played for money in rougher  parts of town.”

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Whether sitting over a game or sitting around a table, sharing a drink and a song and exchanging insults, Kinch and Buehlman both use storytelling flare to keep readers deeply engaged in the story and the world. And the swearing, songs, and story will stick with readers long after they turn the last page.

The Blacktongue Thief hits bookshelves on May 25th, 2021. Find out more here.

The post Insults, World-Building, and Blind Cats: An Interview with The Blacktongue Thief’s Christopher Buehlman appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[deathberryhime]

Tipping the Scales

((I screwed up, this was supposed to be up yesterday)) ((also in ffnet // ao3 ))

Chapter 03; interwoven paths

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third could easily pinpoint when his cousin was close to blowing up.

“You are an idiot.”

He had grown used to it after twenty years of him breathing down his neck whenever he took a step. The first fifteen had been a nightmare, what with him bullying him around and with Hiccup sarcastically calling him out whenever he got the chance. The five that followed the loss of his leg were considered a blessing, with Snotlout stopping his bullying and with Hiccup easing up on his sarcasm. They didn’t have an easy relationship. In between their natural rivalry for the chiefdom and everything else, Hiccup’s sarcastic nature, Snotlout’s cocky demeanor, the villagers constantly egging them on whenever the chance appeared, and the recent development of Berk’s newest residents, Hiccup didn’t know how they managed to get by.

“An one-legged, adrenaline addict idiot.”

But we sure do, Hiccup noted with an eye roll. “I didn’t force you to come, you know.”

He heard Snotlout sniff and fall in step with him in the busy street. “And have my ear chewed off when they realized you’re gone? No, thank you.” He snorted and rolled his shoulders before bringing one arm over Hiccup’s, “It’s a miracle ‘Legs agreed to cover us.”

Hiccup frowned. “Fishlegs can’t lie to save his life and you left him behind with the most overbearing Vikings in the entire Archipelago?”

He sniffed again. “Meh, have some faith in the guy!”

Hiccup narrowed his eyes. “What did you promise him?”

Snotlout looked at him and grinned. “Something he desperately needed for his project.” The way his cousin’s eyes gleamed made Hiccup uncomfortable. It wasn’t that Snotlout would back out from a deal, but he always managed to make the most painful of it from them. Usually for the other party.

Hiccup groaned, but decided not to comment any further. He had crept out before dawn for a reason after all. His eyes flicked to the crowd.

Port Island always seemed to come to life whenever a Thing took place. As one of the few grey areas in the entire Archipelago, it wasn’t unusual to see it crawling with all kinds of people. It was one of the most popular and most densely populated islands; people came all over for the newest treasures traders carried. Stalls were being raised, fishermen and hunters bringing in their scores, merchants standing on point by the docks. The early rays of dawn did nothing to prevent their shouting and loud bartering; Hiccup could barely hear himself think.

“So, who are we looking for again?” Hiccup blinked at his cousin. Snotlout in turn snorted and raised a brow, “If you wanted fabric, you’d have stopped three stalls back. And you melt your own metal for your inventions. So, why did you get up at the crack of dawn to hunt down a person that obviously isn’t here?”

It was times like these that made him curse his cousin’s perceptiveness. He always appeared aloof and too full of himself that it took Hiccup by surprise whenever he had moments like this. Avoiding Snotlout’s accusing glare he went back to scanning the crowd. Merchants, traders, mothers, children… But not any blonde and blue eyed shieldmaidens.

“I’m not hunting anyone down.”

“You are standing in the shadows like a creep, watching the docks, careful not to be seen.” Snotlout deadpanned. “You are hunting her down.”

Hiccup sighed and shot his cousin a weak glare before focusing again on the crowd. He had been too optimistic. It was the second day of their arrival for the annual Thing and he hadn’t seen her at all. Which was peculiar really; he had already seen the twins. He had spent an entire day suffering their antics with the rest of the Heirs, but the shieldmaiden that usually accompanied them was nowhere to be found. He’d had his doubts at first; last time she came at a Thing was before he started Dragon Training, her uncle guarding –watching– the twins. But Thuggory wouldn’t lie to him either.

She’s here.

It was the first thing the Meathead Heir had told him when he set foot on Port. In his shock and excitement, he almost fell face first on the docks. It’s been too long since he’d last seen her; he remembered their first meeting as if it was yesterday. He had been dragged by his dad yet again for the annual Thing, while she had come along with her uncle for the first time. They had clicked almost instantly; him with his sharp tongue and she with her fiery temper. She fended off any bullies and he made sure to take any attention off her. They made quite the team.

They kept contact, and Hiccup always tagged along with his dad to see his friend. He was happy and excited and loved hearing stories from her home island. Their letters, albeit scarce because of the distance, were long and detailed and enough for his smitten self. Between the constant scorning and the screw ups, her letters were a ray of sunshine in his dark daily routine.

And then they stopped.

It had been three days in his Dragon Training when Johann had come with no letters for him. The worry had been gut-wrenching because Hiccup knew the pirate raids had increased. He had sent more letters and tried to bribe information from Johann, but it was all in vain. He’d had to wait until the next Thing to see her but even then he couldn’t. She wasn’t there, she hadn’t come. She’s busy back home lad, her uncle had said. He had tried four more times with the letters before he finally stopped.

“Didn’t she break your stupid heart? Why are you trying to find her anyway?” Snotlout said again picking at his ear. Hiccup curled his fist on his breast buckle. Why; because he wanted answers. He still had questions he needed her to answer. Why she stopped writing? What did he do? Did he offend her? He wanted the reason why she stopped talking to him. A small part of him wanted to see her again and talk to her and fall back to how things were for them, to where they left them. But to do that he had to find her first.

Hiccup sighed and with a last look at the growing crowd he turned around. “Let’s go back. The first meeting will be starting in a bit.”

Snotlout frowned and shot him a worried look. “It’s still early, we could stay a bit more.”

Hiccup merely shook his head. “We’ll be here for a week. I’ll see her eventually.”

They made it to their lodge in silence. Hiccup was almost thankful to his cousin’s commentary absence. Almost. Because he could feel his eyes on him as they walked. He had heard what Thuggory had said, that Hiccup was certain. Snotlout didn’t know the whole story and that meant he had questions. And honestly he didn’t want to deal with Snotlout’s questions. Not until he had the answers for himself. He knew his cousin was barely restraining himself. Despite their differences he knew Snotlout cared, in his own weird way; thus, the silence. It was unnerving, but still –it helped him feel slightly better. That was until he met the fierce scowl of his father.

“And where have you been?”

Behind the wall of his father, he saw Fishlegs cringe.

Hiccup managed a smile, “Dad! H-Hey, Dad! You’re awake!”

“Yes. Imagine my surprise when I see my only son missing.”

“Y-Yeah. We went for a walk! Port is nice this time of year.”

Stoick the Vast raised a bushy brow, “You hate Port Island.”

Hiccup gave his dad a tight smile, “I don’t hate Port. Not too many fond memories, that’s all.”

A strange softness overtook his father’s eyes and his scowl fell. From everyone, his dad was the only one who –at an extent– knew what had happened.

“Eh, at least he had Snotlout with him.” His uncle, Spitelout Jorgenson, said from beside his dad. An exact copy of Snotlout that was constantly scowling and squinting with his hands tight over his chest, “And we didn’t hear any screams either, so that’s also a bonus!”

His dad’s scowl was back in an instant, “That is true.”

He could almost hear the frown on Snotlout’s face, “We wouldn’t endanger the treaty like that, Chief. We are the only ones that came here. I swear that on my honor, Chief.” Again, he saw Fishlegs cringe and Hiccup prayed to Odin, Thor, and every other Aesir that could hear him that neither man would notice.

The Chief held his scowl before he sighed, “Alright, then. Let’s go. We shouldn’t make ‘em wait.”

They hadn’t taken a step out yet before Snotlout started grinning and giving him a thumbs up. Hiccup didn’t know if he should slap himself or be thankful of his cousin’s excessive talent of lying.

It wasn’t a long walk. Thankfully their lodging, along with the other tribes’, was close to the area the Thing was held. The only ones that hadn’t taken residence on the offered lodges were the Bog Burglars, who –in true Viking-Pirate fashion– had chosen to stay at their ships. They weren’t the only ones up early either; Mogadon, the Meathead Chief, had come bouncing towards his father, greeting him heartedly before they both started strolling towards the big stone columns that were Port’s Great Hall’s entrance.

An arm looped at his neck. “I sincerely hope we won’t be like that in the future.”

Hiccup threw a smirk. “What are you talking about?” he started, his arm gesturing at the two Chiefs frolicking ahead, “We have their genes. We’ll be worse.”

Thuggory cringed by his side. “Aye. That we have, unfortunately.” The two shared a look before bursting in laughter. Thuggory shook his head. “Same shit every Thing. It’s embarrassing really. You’d expect them to act their age.”

Hiccup smiled. “Give them a break. They only meet once a year.”

“Still.” Then Thuggory shot him a grin. “Hey, you wanna start a war? I’m sure Cami would be more than happy to.”

“And what would the excuse be? Not enough barrels of mead?”

“That depends, how many did you bring?”

Hiccup shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll drink them all tonight anyway.”

Thuggory’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. Finally, he poked Hiccup’s rib. “What’s up with you? Slept on the wrong side?”    

The change was instant. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine.”

A much more forceful poke bruised his ribs before a new voice joined them. “Yar a crappy liar, Haddock.”

Hiccup yelped, while Thuggory graciously shrieked. “What in Hel, Cami!?”

The Bog’s Heir grinned and her eyes gleamed mischievously. “Wusses. The both of ya.”  

“Where did you even come from?!” Hiccup said bewildered.

Camicazi simply rolled her eyes. “Don’t change the subject, Hicc.”

“His love life’s lacking.” Snotlout appeared beside her with a smirk, “Hey, bab–” An elbow cracked on his nose. Snotlout yelped, while Thuggory cringed. Camicazi ignored them and focused on the suddenly quiet Hiccup. She grabbed his elbow on a vice grip and tugged him away. Hiccup could already feel the bruises.

“What happened? Tell Big Sis Cami everything.” Her fingers tightened and her eyes –big and blue– gleamed up at him, “Seriously. Don’t leave a thing out.”

“Astrid’s here.” Thuggory supplied after a too long moment of silence, “And by the looks of it, it didn’t go well.”

Snotlout snorted with his bloody nose. “That would mean he actually saw her.” Hiccup shot him a glare.

“She’s avoiding you?” Hiccup threw his glare at the laughing Camicazi, “So that’s why she was skittish last night.”

Hiccup felt his heat skip a beat. “You saw her last night?”

“Sure! The twins wanted to have some fun. I tagged along. She was dragged along.” She grinned up at Hiccup, “If I knew she was avoiding you, I would have had the twin’s to egg your lodge, not the Ugly Thugs’.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Cami. Good to see you have my back.”

She sniffed, clearly pleased with herself. “No problem. Anything for my little fishbone of a brother.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes again. “I’m taller than you, you know.”

The next moment, his face met the ground with Cami’s foot on his back. She grinned, “And yet here we are.”

Someone bellowed and her foot disappeared from his back. “Gotta run! See ya inside.” She all but scampered inside. A few moments later a woman wearing the Bog’s colors barreled after her yelling Cami’s name.

“Must have found out what she and the twins did then.” Thuggory said helping Hiccup on his feet, “It will be one Hel of a first day then.”

And it was. What with the screaming and the smell of rotten eggs from the Ugly Thug Chief, the constant grins from the twins and Cami that clearly didn’t help things, the interferences of the rest of the Chiefs that were eventually dragged into the argument, and the Northern Isles’ Chief shooting scowls and glares at both the twins and the Ugly Thug Chief –Hiccup would say it was a good first day. When it seemed they were on the brink of a full food brawl, Mogadon intervened.

“Would you lot hold your britches and act your age!?”

Talk about irony, Hiccup barely held his eye-roll. Opposite him Thuggory snickered behind his hand.

“I want justice!” screamed the Ugly Thug Chief.

“And I wanna sleep. Ya don’t see me complaining!” bellowed the Visithug Chief.

“Can’t sleep either since my entire lodge stinks, ya munge bucket!”

“An improvement really.”

Cami’s hushed comment unfortunately sparked a new round of insults and screaming matches. Hiccup sighed and slumped over his seat. His eyes scanned the scene before him as the Chiefs –great, his dad joined too– went at it again. It was hard seeing who was who at first. The only light was from the skylight above them and the fire that burned in the middle of the stone table. The people that had prepared this section of the Great Hall hadn’t bothered with the torches on the walls, thinking the skylight would provide enough light for the first day. It usually did, but it was cloudy and the few sunrays that broke through could only do so much.

Gold caught his eye and he felt his body freeze. As subtly as he could –not that it would matter with the Chiefs at the brink of a brawl– he slid his eyes two screaming Chiefs from his right. There. What breath he had in his lungs disappeared.

She stood beside her uncle, behind the twins’ chairs. She wore a mix of wool and leather in dark blues and greys, the pauldrons on her shoulders shone in the firelight. He noticed her eyes –her blue, blue eyes that were narrowed. Her intricate braid fell down her shoulder and gold and silver wisps framed her unblemished face. Her mouth curved in a scowl and her fingers twitching by her sides. She looked like a Valkyrie as she stare down her nose the Ugly Thug Chief.

He had missed her. Gods, he had. It hadn’t really registered right until he saw her. She had grown and she was beautiful. Even the dim lighting couldn’t hide that fact. He was openly staring by then. The Chiefs were still bellowing and arguing; the Heirs, albeit quiet, still caused mayhem in their own way; Hiccup didn’t care. It had been almost six years since he last saw Astrid, and after everything Hiccup thought he deserved to sneak a peek or two.

Her shoulders grew taut and her hands curved into tight fists; ah, she had noticed him. Still she didn’t look at him. Her eyes held firm ahead, watching the Chiefs, her brows straining to keep her glare. Hiccup frowned; she was ignoring him. She really did. When Cami had said it he didn’t want to believe it at first. Astrid didn’t ignore; she faced everything head on with either her tight fist or her sharp axe. He focused his eyes in front of him. She had changed more than in her appearance. But there was still the issue; did that change include everything, or just where he was concerned?

From the corner of his eyes Hiccup saw her relax and sigh, frowning only when Ruffnut shot her a cheeky grin.

His father took his seat on his left, relief written on his face. With the matter of the egged Ugly Thug Chief solved and out of the way –two barrels of mead and the twins scrubbing the entire Ugly Thug lodge spot clean– the first meeting moved on. They talked about treaties first, a coalition was mentioned, more gifts thrown around. He paid half a mind at it. He was, however, drawn to every move she made.

Hiccup spared Astrid another side glance.

He would get to the bottom of this. And he already had a plan.

His plan had failed.

And he was drunk.

And lost. So, so very lost.

He tripped over a stray root and turned to glare at it. Who thought it was a great idea to plant a tree in the middle of the forest? Wait– Hiccup looked around him, squinting in the dark. Two deep breaths later he slurred out a curse. Curse those twins. Curse his low tolerance and curse their homemade mead. The Thorston Special had packed a punch from the very first sip. It had muddled his brain and thickened his tongue even before he swallowed. Hiccup stumbled again and groaned when his stomach flipped and threatened to empty.

He swore to never drink the Thorston Special ever again.

He gave the night sky a pout; his plan had really failed.

It had been a simple plan; escape from the throng that was the Viking Chiefs, corner Astrid and demand some answers –in the most polite way possible. She still had her axe after all. It was working as he had managed to lose his cousin and dad in the mayhem that usually followed after the first meeting. His optimism had lasted up until he stepped out the Great Hall. He had seen Astrid walk towards the market and he was about to follow her, when Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston happened. Each had grabbed an arm and dragged him the opposite direction.

He had flailed and tugged, but the twins had a vice grip and so Hiccup had resigned to fate.

They took him to a tavern where they quickly informed him the reason of his abduction.

“I saw you staring during the meeting.” Ruffnut had leered and Hiccup blanked for a second.

“Uh… look, Ruffnut–”

“Not me, you idiot.” She frowned before leering again, “A certain blonde shieldmaiden.”

He had flushed and he stumbled on his words for an excuse because he had thought no one had seen him, when Tuffnut spoke.

“Aw, look at him, sis. He has no clue.”

“I know. He’s adorable.”

He had scowled at the two grinning Thorstons, “What do you mean?” They had shared a glance before mischievously leaning forward and spilled their story. And oh, what a story.

“It was during Dragon Training. She aced the whole thing and our elder picked her for the final exam. She was to slay a Deadly Nadder that used to cause trouble around the village.”

“It was an asshole actually.” Tuffnut added, “Every time we caught it, it escaped. It would come back at night and eat the fish, mess the nets, burn the boats… Dad was pissed both at the dragon and that neither of us were chosen for the final exam.”

“Not that we cared. Even better that Astrid was chosen.”

“Dad would have thrown more responsibilities our way.” They both shuddered, before Ruffnut took the lead.

“So at the day of the exam all was going great. There were a few hits, some burns… Until a raid happened.”

“And everything went to Hel then.”

He had looked between them, something cold curling in his stomach, “What happened?”

Tuffnut grinned, “Astrid went for the killing blow but the dragon escaped. It must have been pissed because next thing we know it was carrying her away!”

Ruffnut had leaned forward and stared at his pale face, “Everyone saw it happen. It swooped right in the middle of the raid and took off with her in its claws.” Her thin lips spread to a mad grin, “For a full week, everyone mourned her. We had a proper service and send her off like we did with every fighter on Thor’s Edge. It was cool now that I think about it.”

“Then WHAM!” Tuffnut slapped his fist on the table for momentum, “Eighth day came and she was back. She was standing there in the middle of the village, looking lost and dazed.”

“We thought she was a draugr at first! Tried to run her off with pitchforks and torches–”

“–until she yelled and kicked our asses and then the magic moment was gone!” Tuffnut had said with a pout. Then, Ruffnut had turned at him with a sour expression.

“She like singlehandedly killed an entire nest, how didn’t you hear anything? It was like all people talked about in the north for a full year!”

“Yeah! Then the raids started again and the magic moment was gone again.”  

They had laughed then and giggled after, both sipping their mead, but Hiccup was lost in his own world. Something had cracked in him. Fear, worry and betrayal clawed at his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Air couldn’t pass to his lungs, and he had simply stared at the twins that kept grinning and drinking merrily.

“So, basically what we meant, dear Hiccup, is that she’s out of your league.”

“You brought down a Night Fury, so what?” Ruffnut scoffed at him, “Astrid took down an entire nest on her own without a single scratch on her. Try to pass that and maybe, maybe you could stand a chance.”

He swore to Thor he couldn’t remember what happened next.

There was a lapse in his memory because one moment he was with the twins in the tavern and then he was sitting between Thuggory and Snotlout chugging down the fourth Thorston Special the twins kept giving them.  

“You could stand a chance.” Hiccup mocked as he stumbled down the forest, “She took down a nest on her own, so what! I took down a Queen! So, I am out of my league!” He scrunched his eyes, wait– “We are both out of our leagues!”He slurred again. It still made zero sense. Bah! Whatever! Not that anyone could hear him anyway.

Branches caught on his buckles and he had to stop every few minutes to tug himself free. By the twelfth time it happened, he roared in frustration and drew Inferno out and cut himself free. Huffing and puffing, he leaned over the charred tree. With a slink, Inferno was back on its sheath just as he dragged a hand through his hair. The twins had to be lying. They had to. Astrid couldn’t have done that –couldn’t have gone through that. There was an annoying whisper in his ears saying that she had. Astrid took down an entire nest on her own –Odin, it all made sense now. Why she hadn’t written to him, why she hadn’t come to the Things again, why she was avoiding him…

“When I grow up, I want to be like my uncle! To protect the Chief and slay every dragon! Fearless Astrid Hofferson!”

His hands dragged down his face. He couldn’t breathe again. His chest had tightened and his teeth were glued together. It was like he was up above the clouds again with the thin air and the frost clinging on his hair. He tried to breathe –even breaths, in and out– but he couldn’t. It was an impossible feat. Gods, she was killing dragons. She slaughtered an entire nest. His legs –leg, whatever– gave out and he fell. He had to breathe; he needed to breathe and move on. He needed to drink and forget. He needed to find her and hear it from her own two lips. He needed the truth because he was going crazy. He needed–

Big green eyes and a gummy smile flashed through his drunken daze.

He needed Toothless.

Hiccup scrambled up and pushed away and deeper into the forest. Snotlout was a great liar. Years dealing with his father had made him able to lie his teeth out on any occasion. So, of course, when his dad and Chief had hinted about their companions, Snotlout had told them what he wanted to hear. And technically, it wasn’t a lie. They were the only ones that had come in Port Island, by boat. Toothless, Hookfang, and Meatlug had flown much later at the far side of the forest. Alone; no riders, whatsoever.

“Bud? Toothless!”

Hiccup didn’t know if he was going in the right direction. He was lost and maybe he was going in circles, because there was the charred tree and there was the root he stumbled at. He yelled –slurred– Toothless’ name as he stumbled on said root yet again. A bush rustled on his far left, and Hiccup grinned because finally his bud was here and everything was going to be okay. They were going to go for a flight like always and everything would be okay.

He expected the green eyes and gummy smile of a Night Fury. All he got was a frowning blonde and blue eyed shieldmaiden.

“Ah! The Draugr of the North!”

If he had been sober, Hiccup might have, a –walked away because he wasn’t in the mood to talk to dragon killer Astrid just yet, or b –not started the conversation by calling her an omen of death. But he was still drunk and bitter and the conversation with the twins was still fresh in his mind and he wasn’t thinking straight. At all.

“Fearless was too modest I guess.”

She was staring at him –maybe for the first time today– blue eyes wide and mouth in a single tight line. She clutched something in her arms and her axe gleamed in the moonlight. He was slightly distracted by the intricate carvings on the wood. The blade and axe head were simple enough and he knew –remembered, she was the one that had curved the symbols and runes on the pommel; prayers for fortune, luck, and strength, ten-year-old Astrid had said to ten-year old Hiccup when she had first shown him.

His eyes refocused when her fingers twitched and her brows merged. “You are drunk.”

Hiccup chortled and swayed slightly. “Six years and the first thing she does is call me drunk.” Then he clapped twice. “Give her a Thor damn reward! Lousiest best friend ever!”

Her pretty lips fell into a scowl. “Go and sleep it off.” She made to leave.

“Nope! We gotta talk.” Hiccup said pouting. Astrid paused and looked him over her shoulder.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Too bad, ‘cause I have plenty to say!” He took four steps forward and pointed a finger, “Liar.”

Her face was instantly dark. “Excuse me?”

In the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn’t have risked angering her, but Drunk Hiccup didn’t care at the moment. So he grinned. “You are a liar, Hofferson.”

She was silent for a moment. Her eyes were blazing and her grip on the thing she held –a pouch and was that chicken?– was white knuckled. “How dare you?” she hissed and took a threatening step forward, “I’m not a liar!”

“Really? Well, I must have made that promise with another blonde shieldmaiden!” he slurred, his lips curling, “I sent letter after letter and you ignored me. Was fame more important than your best friend?”

Astrid clenched her jaw, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Clearly. I thought I knew you and look what happened!” His chest started to burn and his vision was quickly blurring, “Was I not worthy of your time? Was killing dragons more important than your best friend?”

“Watch it, Haddock.” Astrid hissed, her eyes burning, “You’re walking a fine line.”

Hiccup huffed, “What? Can’t handle the truth, oh great Dragon Killer?”

“Ha! Like you’re one to talk, Dragon Conqueror!”

Hiccup scowled and cursed his father and his endless and needless worry, “It’s trainer.” He slurred curtly and Astrid raised a brow, “That’s not the point here. You killed a nest.”

Astrid’s eyes went ice cold, “What of it?”

He had never felt so angry before. Not even when Snotlout had messed with Toothless’ prosthetic to win a stupid race. In the back of his mind he still held some hope that the twins had been lying and Astrid hadn’t become his worst nightmare, “So, it’s true? Did you kill that nest?”

Her face tightened and she clenched her jaw, “What is it to you anyway?”

Hiccup almost hissed, “Because it matters to me if you are a dragon killer.”

“Why? So you can welcome me on you little dragon killing club?” Astrid sneered back, “Spare me, Haddock. I don’t need it.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why is it so important for you to know?” she said and he almost lost it.

“Oh, I don’t know. How about you lose your fucking leg and left to wonder why hasn’t your best friend written you back? Why hasn’t she at least come and see if you’re alright?” At her silence he almost laughed, “Did you even read the letters? Did you even bother? Was killing dragons actually more important than knowing I was okay?”

Astrid threw the pouch away and screamed in frustration before rounding back at him, “What do you want from me, Hiccup?!”

“The truth!” he yelled and stared at her. His blurry eyes focused on her as he huffed and clenched his fists by his sides, “You owe me at least that, Astrid.”

A heartbeat passed, then two, before she took a breath and slowly turned around. The breeze teased errant golden strands and he was suddenly captivated.

“I owe you nothing.”

Her words were like throwing daggers at his heart. His chest burned and his mind was reeling. She was leaving. She was walking away. He was losing her. His heart thumped painfully in his chest at the last thought. Last time he felt that way was the day of his final exam, when he was supposed to kill Hookfang, but Toothless had burst in to protect him, and his father had looked at him with such disappointment when he sailed with a chained Toothless for the Nest. His best friend had been taken and he had been so lost then; Snotlout had to punch him back to his senses.

But Snotlout wasn’t there, Toothless wasn’t there, his dad wasn’t there and –she was walking away.

Hiccup steeled himself; he had just found her, he wasn’t going to lose her again.

Two strides was all it took to reach and latch on her arm. Blue eyes looked back at him dumbfounded. Hiccup blinked as he realized his mistake; he was too close.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His throat felt like sand as he swallowed, “We’re not finished.”

Astrid’s eyes flashed, “Well, I am! I’m not going to stand in the middle of the Thor damn forest and talk to you.”

Her lips kept moving as she talked, distracting him. Had they always been so pink? Hiccup shook his head and tried to focus on her eyes instead; biggest mistake ever. Pale blue eyes glared up at him, fire burning from within. She tilted her head and her bangs fell around her eyes and face and why was she so pretty?

A gold eyebrow rose, “Hiccup? Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t okay. What made him think this was a great idea again?

“Hiccup?” Astrid waved her hand in front of his face, “Are you feeling alright?”

No, he wasn’t. She was too close and he was too drunk and his stomach was currently rioting against his will. Hiccup shook his head again and stumbled back. This time her hands grabbed his own.

“Hey!” Astrid said moving closer, “Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?”

His eyes tried to focus on anything else but they kept falling back on her eyes, shinning back with such concern and worry and was this even real? Or was he dreaming again and he’d wake up face smashed on his pillow?

A cool hand touched his cheek and his eyes widened; Astrid had moved closer, “Hey. Hiccup, are you feeling okay?” her voice was lulling his brain that had just come up with something so, so, so damn stupid that will surely get him killed.

Then she licked her lips. She licked her lips. Astrid Hofferson licked her Thor damn lips. Did she know? Was she playing with him? Hiccup narrowed his eyes with determination. Either way, he had made his decision. If that got him killed, at least he’d manage to prove his point.

“Do you need anything?”

Yes, he did. He wanted his life back. He wanted all those years he spent worrying and writing letter after letter, back. He wanted all those nights he spent by the fire talking to Toothless about her, back. He wanted them back.

He wanted her back.

So he reached up and his hands cradled her cheeks. He barely registered Astrid’s big blue eyes widening and he shot her a lazy grin. Then slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips on hers.

And then darkness was all Hiccup knew.

[mahouproject-one]

bye-bye, see ya later, we won’t meet again | Miyu | ATTN: MAHOU

There was fear in those long seconds of suspense.

But Outa spoke, and for a second Miyu could swear his expression was alight in gold, and there was no longer any doubt. It was done. The worst of the storm had finally ended.

All that was left was sifting through the wreckage and salvaging what they could.

Zoya preemptively stuck her neck out for Outa, telling the class not to attack him. But her voice wavered, and for a moment it was as if Miyu had once again walked into the twenty-fifth room in the Ouryuu Dorm and found a golden-eyed child cowering under a blanket.

Miyu chuckled, uneven and uneasy. It was the mournful sound one made when they were so afraid of what other cry might bubble from their lungs that they crush it down with a laugh.

“Yeah. What is it with this place giving us such stupid brothers? Idiots that break their promises. Why are they such… Why is it that…”

Miyu trailed off, having never had a question to begin with.

She simply shook her head at… whatever Outa was doing, and she silently input her vote. Was he just goading them into striking him down? He was going to be rather disappointed. Instead, Miyu chose to address someone else that she had interrogated in the trial.

“Holy… No. Isoda-san. I suspected you, as many of the observations fit you. And I needed to question you to get a better idea; in fact, had neither you nor Shiraishi-san offered some information yourselves, I would’ve grilled harder. I apologize, and… now, it’s done, and now you can Shiraishi-san can…”

Can go free and move on with their lives. And, conversely, they could move on and leave her behind. And given how rocky their relationship had been the past several weeks, Miyu assumed this was what Holy wanted.

“Just remember your promise to me.”

The moment was interrupted by Airi being dragged by her glowing obi across the room and into the Genbu section. Seemed like someone hadn’t heeded Zoya’s warning and tried to hit Mitsuo. Miyu’s mouth quirked with mixed emotion, but ultimately she couldn’t think of what to actually say to Airi, and ultimately she chose nothing. In the end, she hadn’t forgiven her. But instead of the vengeful anger that simmered for weeks, all Miyu felt now was something numb and heavy and bitter.

There were more visitors to Genbu. Miyu returned the nod to Clove, offering the same to Reiko. The unspoken deal had been honored. They would never be friends or even like each other, but there would at least be mutual respect.

Miyu touched her forehead to Shizuka’s when he embraced her, holding him for a long time. She whispered back to him – apologized for calling him an idiot again and assuring him that he was, first and foremost, her brother. Told him they’d probably have to leave their codewords with more people than just Reiko and Clove. Called him Apollyon, and told him to in turn call her Harumi. Told him the significance of this name she didn’t choose all those years ago.

She let go so he could go to Mi-ke; Miyu would join the two (or the three, perhaps, if Mi-ke tried to cling to Shiba and Shiba didn’t try to suplex Shizuka) later once she sorted out her affairs here.

But before she could, Otohiko revealed the final danger, the waves after the earthquake.

She wasn’t surprised at the mention that the dead mahounashi would fade; Miyu had been preparing herself for that for a long time. Even with the hope the Time-Turner offered, Miyu still accepted that the her of now would likely still fade.

What did sent ice frosting her over from the inside out was the reveal that the survivors would be left to their own fates at the hands of wizards. That if they fought, they would either die or have their memories erased. That if they ran, their families back home would pay the price.

The ice cracked apart from the fury that boiled beneath it.

“That is bullshit.

If we are fading, then does that mean you’re fading away too? I anticipated that as a likely outcome. Akiyama implied that he’s walking out of here with great power, but maybe he was just grandstanding to make us kill him.

But what about the founders? What about your children, and your child’s descendant? Are you saying they are powerless to help us? Where are they going? Don’t they have duties bound to this school?”

She pointed to the west, glaring straight at Ushiro, and turned her anger on her next.

“The magic of the school is Otohiko herself. If something really does happen to her, then it isn’t just us that will fade – the magic of the island itself will die, too. If you cannot save the magic of the school, you can at least defend its legacy from intruders who seek to destroy the truth.”

Then, behind her in the south, to Mikage.

“And you told me to trust you. You said that we could call on you for help. Are you going back on that now, Mikage? Was I wrong to believe in you?

You and your siblings created this school to atone for the war your family caused. You covered up Otohiko’s existence. And now the Ministry of Magic is about to cover up our existence, just like they’ve covered up the existences of so many other people who’ve died here.”

With a wide gesture, Miyu tried to call attention from the entire family. Three founders of Mahoutokoro, a founder’s great-times-six grandchild, and the mother whose machinations set everything in motion all those years ago.

“This school was created to restore peace after that war, correct? To stop magic from falling into the hands of those who would abuse it and those who would create strife between magical and non-magical worlds? Well, those people are coming here right now. Will you let them?”

“…And that goes for the rest of us, too. Because the way I’m seeing it, our paths are about to diverge. I can’t… tell you what you should do to deal with the Ministry, because I won’t be there. But I am saying that from my perspective, the Time-Turner holds no risk to someone like me that has no other options.”

Miyu glanced above herself and realized that all of the memories she had been projecting had faded out. When did that happen? She didn’t recall taking them down herself… She looked into her basin, and while there were still memories floating within, they seemed… fainter. She seemed fainter. Was the magic already waning?

Furiously, Miyu yanked out one last memory, throwing it out as far away from her pensieve as she could, suspending it in the air for everyone to see.

Miyu, Shizuka, and Mi-ke, all together in the Genbu Labyrinth. Staring up at a glass display arranged like a Jeopardy game board. A question picked from the most valuable tier: Mahoutokoro for 1000.

A question that left all three of them staring in shock.

'Which item located within Mahoutokoro may lead to a potential ending where all the students are alive?'

And the answer, bought with every last point they had banked.

'You have used up 2000 points. The answer is a Time-Turner.'

Without further comment, the Miyu of the present time grabbed her sketchbook and began writing. There was much more she could say, but right now she needed to write as much as she could while she was still able.

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch: The Rock (1996)

by Don Hall

With the slowly creeping reality that Hollywood isn’t making a lot of new movies just lately and having already watched fucking everything out there twice, the re-watching of those films you remember from decades prior to pandemic is exactly what streaming provides.

Back in the days of Chicago, at one of the many BUGHOUSE! shows, Joe Janes and Brian Sweeney debated on the topic “Michael Bay: Hack or Genius?” This is not to re-litigate that debate but I highly recommend you listen if you’re so inclined. It’s flat-out hysterical.

I’m not what you’d call the biggest fan of Bay’s oeuvre but when Bay is at his most Bayness, he can create some truly remarkable cinema.

The Transformers was a blast up until the Shia LaBouf character was aged out. Giant robots fighting over dominion of the Earth? That magically turn into vehicles created by humans? From outer space? C’mon!

The Bad Boys trilogy was an exercise in the chemistry between two incredibly charismatic actors with some of the most badass car chases and explosions known to film. Scorsese might have cornered the market on brilliant storytelling, amazing and creative camera work, and the best use of scoring in history but you aren’t gonna find a single Humvee chase in Cuba that destroys an entire five blocks of buildings while the leads trade comic quips throughout in Age of Innocence.

I loved The Island just because the whole thing was so completely ridiculous and fun.

Bruce Willis playing hardcore driller-dad to Ben Affleck? Billy Bob Thornton as a crippled NASA scientist? Steve Buscemi doing a callback to Dr. Strangelove? Strippers, outer space Evel Knievel, and blue-collar morons saving the planet? Huge destruction of Paris, Hong Kong, and Wall Street by asteroids? Few hunks of cheesecake laden with sugary strawberries and rich chocolate sauce covered in Reese’s Pieces chased by a Peanut Butter Chocolate shake couldn’t top Armageddon.

But the sheer out-of-body beauty and over-the-top ridiculousness of 1996’s Nicholas Cage/Sean Connery spectacle The Rock is the pinnacle of machismo Michael Bay genius.

I’m from the eighties. While not nostalgic for those myriad badass men kicking ass and making jokes about it films, I still grew up with them and can’t help but love them in some way. Explosions and cars and impossible accuracy with weapons that are huge and stupid are quintessentially juvenile joy. The tale that spins the hero saving the world (in whatever parameters the tale decides is “the world” — destroying a globally killing asteroid or saving 70,000 people or taking out the vicious bad guys) is all myth but they’re myths that posit that we sacks of meat and nerves have some control of the events that surround us.

There is a moral code in these things. Sure, lots of killing but in an almost Looney Tunes sort of video game death. Plenty of shit blowing up. Amid the controlled chaos is a code of good guys and bad guys. Extremely binary. Simple. Good guys do all the same things as bad guys do but for the right reasons. Good guys gun people down for love or freedom, they sacrifice themselves for a greater good even when it does not serve their best interests. Bad guys do it for filthy lucre. Bad guys kill for selfish reasons. Monetary gain.

The truth is that we humans are far more like Woody Allen (for the intellectual class) or the idiots from Dodgeball than John Rambo or John McClain. We are beset by complexity, bills, random injuries, and anxiety. Rarely are we challenged in that do or die scenario except for when we pay for it (no one is required to do the Tough Mudder or go skydiving). In the life of the real, there are no genuine action film bad guys or good guys. So we live vicariously by watching them.

In The Rock Ed Harris plays a general in the special forces whose motivation for stealing biochemical weapons and rockets, infiltrating and taking hostages at Alcatraz (by now a tourist attraction), and threatening to murder San Francisco is all about the military’s blatant covering up of covert deaths of American soldiers. His methods are that of a villain but his intentions are honorable.

Sean Connery is John Mason (a character that is no less James Bond if he had been captured in the sixties and imprisoned for 35 years). Mason is a criminal. An escape artist. An enemy of the state whose only motivation for the first half of the movie is get free and create a relationship with a daughter he had with a one-night stand because “she is the only evidence he ever lived.”

Then there is nineties Nick Cage. His character is named Stanley Goodspeed. Stanley Goodspeed. Despite his ability to drive a Lamborghini like an adrenaline junkie on meth and shoot with deadly accuracy when necessary, he is a nerd. A scientist. Awkward and goofy. Despite his girlfriend being super hot and, unlike any nerd in the history of geekdom, his propensity to sit shirtless on his couch, drinking wine and playing the guitar and looking good doing it, Goodspeed is a nerd because Bay tells us he is. And because he tells us he is repeatedly.

Throw in some extraordinary character actors and go to action stars — Michael Biehn, William Forsythe, David Morse, Tony Todd, John Spencer, John C. McGinley — and there’s enough goddamned testosterone in this thing to melt your fucking face.

Three scenes. Twenty minutes to set up General Hummel’s plan (with an incredible action sequence of him stealing the weapons and the obligatory fuck up that lets us see how horrifying the chemical is), Goodspeed’s nerd status combined with his almost godlike ability to handle the pressure of diffusing a bomb in a container while having poison gas shoot all around him, and Mason’s backstory as the British Intelligence guy captured and then the one guy in history to escape Alcatraz (the rock of the title).

From that point, every scene is a ridiculous, masterfully executed action sequence. Non-stop action. I remember reading a blurb about Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple on Broadway that boasted ”a laugh every six seconds. This film can boast a giant action boner every two minutes.

A haircut turns into hanging John Spencer from a clothesline over a building which turns into a massive car chase in San Francisco (like 30 cars are destroyed in this thing), which turns into the Navy Seals dropping out of a plane into the waters surrounding Alcatraz. Then we have Mason navigate the Galaxy Quest back entrance to Alcatraz (Best Moment: Connery opens the door and says, in all his Scottishness “Gentlemen, welcome to The Rock.”) followed by the bad guys slo-mo gunning down the good guys from an elevated position in a prison shower.

All the while one sits in amazement at the glorious weirdness of Nicholas Cage. I wonder what Harris and Connery thought about after each bizarre line reading of lines like:

"I’d take pleasure in guttin’ you, boy. I’d take pleasure in guttin’ you... boy.” What is wrong with these people, huh? Mason? Don’t you think there’s a lot of, uh, a lot of anger flowing around this island? Kind of a pubescent volatility? Don’t you think? A lotta angst, a lot of “I’m sixteen, I’m angry at my father” syndrome? I mean grow up! We’re stuck on an island with a bunch of violence-for-pleasure-seeking psycophatic marines, SHAME-ON-THEM!

and

“What do you say we cut the chit-chat, A-HOLE? You almost got me killed twice! And my jaw hurts like hell.”

and

”How, in the name of Zeus's butthole, did you get out of your cell?”

Once everyone is killed and then only two of the good guys left are Connery and Cage, we are treated to lots of showpieces — a gun battle that ends with a bad guy getting his head crushed by a hanging air conditioner, an improbable ride in metal hanging buckets, a show down between Hummel, now reluctant to actually kill 70,000 people and mercenaries he hired (see? Filthy lucre).

Of course, the two of the really bad guys get respectively shot in the chest with a rocket and one of the biochemical pearls shoved in his mouth and everyone wins.

Michael Bay might be a hack. He might be a genius. All I know is that The Rock is the Citizen Kane of a very specific genre of film and it will remain in my movie collection right next to Goodfellas, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Breathless, and Vertigo.

[flauntpage]

Your Wednesday Morning Roundup

The Flyers went down three goals early, then scored five straight, just to give up three more goals in the third period to lose 6-5. How freaking lovely.

At least Nolan Patrick scored his first goal of his NHL career! But it doesn’t cancel out a stinging loss like this.

Anthony will have a recap of this game later this morning. It’s the fourth of the season, and Flyers Twitter has already reached the point of ending their existence on Earth because the Flyers blew a lead. Also, Dave Hakstol appears to not be a popular guy amongst the Flyers fan base.

The Roundup:

Check out the latest Crossing Broadcast, which discusses the Flyers loss, along with a handful of other topics.

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The Sixers made it official Tuesday, keeping Joel Embiid until 2023.

Extending Embiid was definitely worth it, as Kevin Kinkead explains:

The process wasn’t created to get the Sixers into the playoffs, it was created to compile the assets necessary to compete for a championship.

Not extending Embiid would’ve been the most risk-averse decision an NBA team could’ve made. Where else are you putting that money? Are you overpaying for Tim Mozgov or Al Horford? There’s risk in chasing high-priced mercenaries, too. Everything comes with some degree of uncertainty.

But a healthy Embiid gets you closer to a championship, and if you’re not winning it all, you’re not winning shit. The 10-72 Sixers won the same amount of trophies as the 48-34 Hawks a few years back. Philadelphians who have experienced one championship parade since 1983 should be able to appreciate that.

His contract may be good for the Sixers as well:

For the Sixers to curb the ultimate value of the extension, it would take the triggering of several severe circumstances detailed in a 35-page-plus contract. Embiid’s unique career trajectory — missing his first two NBA seasons with successive foot surgeries and playing only 31 games in the 2016-17 season — created a pathway for Philadelphia general manager Bryan Colangelo; Embiid’s agent, Leon Rose of CAA Sports; and the National Basketball Players Association to work together on creating a complicated and creative contractual agreement. The dramatic impact of Embiid’s brief but dominant debut season left him as the only rookie since Wilt Chamberlain to average at least 28.7 points per 36 minutes played.

Here’s how a perfect storm of calamity would have to unfold for Embiid to earn any less than the full $146.5 million: Across each of the final four seasons of the extension, ending with the 2022-23 season, the 76ers could waive Embiid for a financial benefit if he’s lost because of a contractually agreed-upon injury that causes him to miss 25 or more regular-season games and if he plays less than 1,650 minutes, league sources said.

Specific injuries are laid out in the contract and include only past problem areas with Embiid’s feet and back, sources said. Embiid has to miss 25 or more regular-season games because of injuries in those areas, and play less than 1,650 minutes, for Philadelphia to have the option of releasing him for cost savings.

Kinkead also has a recap of Monday night’s loss to the Celtics.

So he’s signed, Ben Simmons looks great (for the most part), and…wait for it…a Sixers top draft pick is hurt! This time, it’s Markelle Fultz and his shoulder.

Fultz is listed as doubtful for tonight’s game against the Brooklyn Nets at Nassau Coliseum. Embiid is probable. Game tips off at 7:30 and is broadcast live on 97.5 The Fanatic.

—

The Eagles continue to get ready for Carolina tomorrow night. Lane Johnson will probably be out for the game with a concussion, leaving Halapoulivaati Vaitai at right tackle. Meanwhile, Fletcher Cox is still uncertain if he will play tomorrow night. He’ll decide on his game status later today:

Cox didn’t issue any declarations about playing on Thursday. Given that he just started practicing again after a two-week absence, and that the Eagles don’t play again after this until Monday, Oct. 23 against Washington, one would guess Cox and the medical staff would have to really be convinced he is 100 percent before letting him make the trip.

Cox wouldn’t say if he expected to fly with the Eagles to Charlotte Wednesday.

“It felt good out there today, just to get out to practice and move around a little bit. I haven’t been on the field in a couple of weeks,” he said. “I’m not a doctor, I’m not a trainer. Those guys have been doing a really good job of treating the injury and trying to get me ready to play a game.”

To prepare for Cam Newton, the Eagles used one of their practice squad wide receivers to mimic the dual-threat quarterback.

Sean has his Three and Out post, which includes the offense beginning to find their identity.

Doug Pederson has been making strides as a head coach in Year 2.

In a small roster move, the Eagles brought back defensive end Alex McCalister to their practice squad.

Skip Bayless: Still an idiot. Are you surprised?

Get a glimpse of what the media is saying about the Birds.

—

Besides the loss last night, the Flyers hired their new in-arena host. She likes EDM, and so do I. Good fit.

—

Villanova head coach Jay Wright is receiving this year’s John R. Wooden “Legends of Coaching” award.

Protesters rallied on Temple’s campus against the university’s plan for a proposed stadium on their campus.

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In other sports news, the US soccer team embarrassed themselves and the entire country, losing to Trinidad and Tobago 2-1. They won’t be in the FIFA World Cup for the first time since 1986. ESPN’s Taylor Twellman went off and tore a new one on the entire United States Soccer Federation. As he should:

Here's the full Taylor Twellman rant: http://pic.twitter.com/3YOAQrTKmY

— Max Wildstein (@MaxWildstein) October 11, 2017

Panama won thanks to this phantom goal to help kick the USA out of World Cup contention:

Esa bola nunca entró ¡Árbitro vulgar! http://pic.twitter.com/9xyrrZIzWt

— TDMás (@tdmas_cr) October 11, 2017

I’ll chip in my two cents being a moderate soccer fan and follower of the game. My dad is a huge soccer fan and was heavily involved with my township’s soccer program when I was a kid. This sucks. I’ve always been excited to watch the World Cup and watch guys like Landon Donovan and Clint Dempsey go out and play against some of the world’s best. When I was a camp counselor after my senior year of high school, we ended early to watch the second half of the Germany-USA game. They lost, but ended up advancing to the knockout stage.

Development in the United States is still fractured. Blame this on Klinsmann, blame this on Bruce Arena, blame this on the players looking like absolute crap last night. But you also have to blame the system. US Soccer needs to get their act together. As Twellman mentioned, they need to get a plan together with MLS, USL, the NCAA even, and their youth development programs to create one system to help the sport grow nationally for international play.

We’re the best at American football, literally because we’re the only nation that has a full-time league (Canadian football is different). When we won bronze at the ’04 Summer Olympics in basketball, there was outrage over that and a overhaul. Doesn’t this country want to be the best in everything, with the attitude of “gold or nothing”? Why is this not there in soccer? The entire world plays this sport, and we can’t beat a small island team?

I hope this creates change for the better for the sport in this country.

Elsewhere, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell sent a memo out to all 32 teams discussing the national anthem protests:

Like many of our fans, we believe that everyone should stand for the National Anthem. It is an important moment in our game. We want to honor our flag and our country, and our fans expect that of us. We also care deeply about our players and respect their opinions and concerns about critical social issues. The controversy over the Anthem is a barrier to having honest conversations and making real progress on the underlying issues. We need to move past this controversy, and we want to do that together with our players.

The Vegas Golden Knights held their home opener, which began with a moving tribute to the city after the victims of last week’s shooting.

Four games for 81 yards. That was Adrian Peterson’s career with the New Orleans Saints. He was traded to the Arizona Cardinals for a conditional draft pick.

A Florida man went to the hospital Sunday night after burning a Dallas Cowboys jersey:

At the hospital, deputies spoke with a couple who admitted they were watching the NFL game and agreed to burn the losing team’s jersey. However, the man decided to wear the jersey as it was burning.

A witness told Sebastian Daily, “He was set on fire after losing a bet on the Cowboys game … Skin was hanging off his arm and back.”

A labor union has filed a complaint against the Cowboys. They believe owner Jerry Jones was violating the National Labor Relations Act.

Philip thinks ESPN should have handled the Jemele Hill situation differently.

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In the news, Eminem had some words to say about President Donald Trump:

The FULL verse that EVERYBODY is talking about! @eminem BODIED THIS! #HipHopAwards http://pic.twitter.com/zoS0wEwjQF

— BET (@BET) October 11, 2017

Drexel University placed one of their professors on administrative leave after tweeting his thoughts about the Las Vegas massacre.

North Korea hackers allegedly stole war plans from South Korea and the United States.

Britt McHenry and Joe Banner got into a Twitter war. Both had some good jabs about each other in there.

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