#this is apparently a second draft of five so maybe this changed in the shooting script that was eventually used? idk how any of this works

[gracemarkss]

this is so funny to me because that’s not the sense i get from this deleted scene at all. i feel like ga plays it as though scully at the very least a little resentful of him, and might even hate him a little lol

[coyotescribbles]

Virtually unedited frustrating rough draft content below the cut =u=

The air inside the Hollow was hot and stale, thick with ether and unstirred by even the slightest breeze.

"Unpleasant" was the most polite description Rose could have given to it, though she usually preferred the more colorful "like being stuck in a dumpster in the middle of summer, if a dumpster could also turn you into a mindless monster if you stayed inside for too long."

That was something she'd never had to worry about, at least.

Her ears twitched as she listened for the sounds of anyone - or anything - approaching from behind as she swept the landscape through her rifle sight looking for threats from below. Several Ethereals prowled through the dust and debris, but none had noticed her yet; she opted to keep it that way, and kept her finger off the trigger.

Next to her, her instruments measured the atmospheric data she'd been commissioned to gather, charting barometric pressure (high,) ambient temperature (also high,) wind speed and direction (nonexistent,) humidity (low,) and a number of other factors that meant little to her, but which were apparently of great interest to her employer. It was certainly a change of pace from her usual work, which typically involved more shooting and less sitting.

...The sudden rapid-fire rapport of gunfire somewhere in the near distance told her that she'd perhaps been a bit too hasty.

Returning her eye to the sight, Rose scanned the ground below, watching as the Ethereals present began to swarm after a moving target.

Several moving targets.

The first one she spotted was the flashiest - a tall white-haired man in a bright red jacket and face mask, who was also the source of the gunshots.

The second was a woman with long pink hair, who fielded a completely different sort of firearm.

And the third was harder to spot amid the dust and smoke, a fleeting silver shadow that she couldn't get a bead on.

And they were all outnumbered and in over their heads, apparently.

"..." Once more, she glanced at the instruments nearby, then looked back down at the fight unfolding below.

You're not being paid to fight, Rose. That isn't your job.

The second you open fire, the Ethereals are going to have your position.

She thumbed the safety off anyway.

There were fifteen, maybe twenty Ethereals. If she opened fire now, she could hope to pick off six or seven before they reached her position.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she drew a bead on the biggest, meanest-looking Ethereal in the mob. Its core was dead in the center of her sights.

Are you sure you want to do this?

...Yes.

Her finger moved on the trigger, and a scant split-second later the Ethereal's core exploded outward in a rain of disintegrating rainbow shards.

All at once, two things happened - the Ethereal mob dissolved into chaos as its presumed "leader" collapsed in a flurry of flecks of light, and the group they'd been chasing pulled together to rally.

Good, the more work they were able to do, the quicker this would be over with.

Another target was selected, another pull on the trigger, another core exploded on impact.

Another. Three.

And another. Four.

And another. Five.

The group were no slouches, themselves, singling out and killing Ethereals with their own practiced efficiency.

They're not so terrible, when they aren't having to run for their lives.

[cheekygreenty]

Good 4 u - The Darkling x Reader

Here’s a draft I found, I remember quickly writing this on the train home from college, listening to Olivia Rodrigo’s song on repeat until I got sick of it. Enjoy bahahahah 😂😂

Alina this, Sun-Summoner that, Sankta Alina the other. It was annoying to constantly hear her name on other people's lips, Aleksander's especially. You should have known his obsession with her would turn into love but you were blind.

He said she was nothing worth his salt, Alina is the key to more power, he would say before he proclaimed his eternal love for you, showering you in love and pleasure. When your relationship fell apart and your heart broke, he took a piece of you with him, the temperate part, the side of you that was calm and rational. For now you were the walking form of resentment. He never cheated but this was much worse.

Aleksander didn't seem fazed, at all. No tears for the death of so many good memories, no sadness for the end of a chapter in his life. Maybe he experienced time differently from you because who in Saint's name pursues somebody so quickly after a breakup? Somebody who's already sure of their feelings long before they change their life around.

You held back your gags as you watched the two fawn over each other at the Winter Fete. She wore his color, black, and you had to admit she looked half decent in it too. You didn't hate her, she never did anything to you. But him, Oh saints you would kill him where he stood if you could. He looked happy, unlike you. It's like we never even happened, what the fuck is up with that?

There was a time when he looked at you like that, eyes full of adoration and love. Now he looked right through you, treating you like a stranger. 'He took out the trash' Zoya shrugged when you drunkenly told her what happened. Maybe she was right, maybe he never even loved me, maybe I was there to pass the time.

He was so unaffected by your break up it made you livid. Every glance spared in his direction radiated anger and disgust. You didn't even try to hide it anymore.

Your demonstration was about to begin. You were helping the Inferni twins show off your fire skills before Alina would end the show with a bang. You didn't care for parties shared with the Grand Palace and were guaranteed to leave right after your little firecracker of a performance, but some part of you itched to stay until the end.

You could see Polina get up on a small pedestal, signaling for you to get to yours. Aleksander stepped to the side, Alina at his arm. Gross. The power beamed off of him, he was doing good without me. What a shame.

You played around with the twins, completely forgetting the room of diplomats and even Aleksander, who never spared you a look. The fire felt good on your hands, swaying from side to side as you molded the element in your hands before splitting it in two, shooting it at the twins. Using your powers gave you a sense of calm and peace, but it never rid you of the rage you felt. Maybe you were too emotional.

You got down with a smile as the claps eased out. You went to leave, eager to leave the stiff atmosphere of the room. At least you showed up. But his voice made you stop at the door. Instead of it giving you a shiver of pleasure, it straightened your spine in defense.

'Her name is Alina Starkov' Someone pass me a bucket. His hands came together, submerging the room into darkness. Alina began her show, the light letting you catch a glimpse of him. As opposed to the entirety of the room, you only had eyes for him. He looked at her as if she was a goddess, he worshipped her. Fury rose in you. He looked at me like that first, or was it a lie? Maybe he never cared.

You wished for nothing more than for Alina to reject him, see him for the man he truly is. If he could play you the way he did then Saint's knows what he'll do to the poor young girl. You were headstrong and stubborn and he still managed to screw you over despite your built-up walls.

But what if they last? He'll have more power, the Sun-Summoner by his side and Ravka under his rule. And you'll still be you. An Inferni with a grudge.

Before you knew it, the room returned to its previous state and the diplomats were bowing down to their Sankta. You missed the whole thing brooding over Aleksander, who still stared at Alina like she was the air he needed to breathe.

You scoffed and walked away, not wanting to be in the same room as him anymore. What a dick. You strode around the Little Palace trying to cool down. One champagne glass turned into two then five. Still you felt the nagging tickle of anger. You suddenly heard shouts and signs of a fight, racing over to the room it was coming from. Even tipsy, the soldier in you replied immediately.

'This is for Zlatan' You ran through the door seeing an oprichniki slicing Alina's throat open. Oh Saint's no. You pounced on the man, quickly catching sight of Genya already on the floor tending to Alina. Apparently, you weren't the only one who heard the scuffle as the General's guards flooded the hallway, taking the rogue soldier from you. Your mind snapped back into reality, searching for Alina but finding a young Inferni in the black kefta. A double for security. Smart.

'Inform the General' Genya spoke, leaning over the body. Your blood ran cold, he would probably ignore you. But you did as she asked, running to where you saw him last. You searched for his black kefta in the sea of extravagantly dresses diplomats. You spotted Ivan chatting in the corner with Fedyor, 'Ivan where is the General?' You hid your blood-stained hands behind your back in an attempt to prevent unnecessary panic. 'In his quarters' He nodded his head towards the big double doors.

You walked away with a mumbled thank you. In his quarters. If Alina's absence was any indication of what he was doing, it would be a miracle if you didn't slap him the second you got the chance.

Your knock was sharp and loud in contrast to your shaking hands. Then you heard it, her laugh. You've got to be kidding me. Your bloody hands braced themselves against the doorframe, clutching the wood for dear life. Better the door than his face. As his face passed in your mind, the door opened just a tad, his body towering over your own. The smile he wore quickly washed away, replaced with a stern look.

'Y/N what are yo-' You stopped him with a signal of your hand, you didn't have the patience.

'Marie got attacked in the fitting room. She's dead. He's detained.' He looked at you passively, obviously wishing it was anyone but you knocking on his door right now.

'Wait here'

He shut the door again. But you could make out his conversation with Alina in the dead quiet of the hallway. You sent a silent prayer to the Saints about your previous argument. Let her see him for what he is.

You slowly backed away from the door, not wanting to hear anymore. You heard his boots step out into the hallway and took his silence as a sign to walk ahead to where the man was being kept. For you, the tension was awkward and insufferable but for him it was probably normal, although you knew he felt your pulsating rage.

There was nobody on this side of the Palace, his quarters weren't available to everybody and that made you thankful because what you were about to do would definitely be regarded as treason.

He didn't have time to register you turning around or the hand that slapped him across the cheek.

The noise echoed down the hallway, your hand stung, maybe that was too hard.

His jaw clenched but he didn't retalaite. Why was his ignorance such a trigger for you? It was what started this, him pretending you didn't exist caused you to fly off the walls.

You shoved his chest with all your might. Do something. He let you push him away but never looked you in the eyes.

'Are you going to say something?' You were furious, venom dripped from your words but had no effect on him. 'The big bad Aleksander lost for words? First I've ever seen it'

He turned his head towards you, looking into your eyes for the first time in weeks. It surprised you because you didn't miss it.

'What do you want me to say?' His voice was void of any emotion, no anger or pain, his composure never dropping. He was the complete opposite of you. Saints, you were the crazy ex.

You didn't reply. The truth was you didn't know what you wanted him to say. Nothing he could muster would fix this situation. His actions were irreversible and Alina was still in his chambers, the room where so many of your fondest memories took place.

'I wish to transfer to a camp. Permenantly.' You had been mulling over the decision for days now. You had put in a request with Ivan a week ago but never got an answer.

'I need you here teaching the students' So Ivan did send it on. Was this another one of his ways of ignoring you?

'Tough. I don't want to be here.' You faced your choices with logic. Your anger would never go away, the hurt of your first love betraying you soaked deep into your bones. Aleksander was immortal, he would never leave this Palace. You had no other option. He sighed loudly.

'Y/N let's keep our personal and work li-' You went for another slap, he deserved it, but this time he caught your hand mid-air, pushing you away gently. You walked backward, disgust turning in your stomach at the response your body had to his touch. He was an amplifier and the surety he brought you would always be there regardless of your feeling for him. You hated it.

'Good for you Aleksander. You got the girl, the power.... at least let me have something' Your voice cracked slightly. You wouldn't cry in front of him.

'I'll have Ivan sort it out'

With that, you left the hallway, completely forgetting about the task at hand, happy to finally have a day where he didn't cross your path.

Aleksander stood there watching your back as you walked away from him. You would never know the pain and anguish he felt every time somebody mentioned you, or when he thought of you. He loved you deeply, more than anything in this world, so he had to let you go. He would hate himself if anything happened to you in his fight for Ravka and Grisha, so he had to push you away.

He was selfish for ignoring you but also keeping you around. He knew it hurt you to see him around Alina, he knew all of it. He truly did. But he was too greedy. His own actions were confusing him. Push her away, make her hate you but keep her safe, keep her with you. It was impossible, either one or the other.

As you rounded the corner, he memorized you, all of you. It would be his last memory of you.

'Good for you Y/N, leave me and be safe'

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[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 42

AO3 link here

Who wakes first? Who can tell? Perhaps it is Steve, his hearing still acute, his muscle memory still practiced from responding to the slightest sound of a child’s step in the hall. Perhaps it is Peggy with her now early-rising body, her old agent’s urgency. Perhaps it does not matter. They turn toward each other in the empty house all the same. His fingertips brush against her beneath the blanket, in the dark. She rests in the warmth of him.

“First snow,” says one as the flakes fall heavy and quiet onto the roof.

“Do you remember?” says the other.

“Of course.” And then, although there’s no way to know how the serum works on an aging brain, no guarantee that the memory-related treatments that Tony and the Stark Industries bio-med team have been studying will indeed be effective or even workable: “All of it. Always.”

When Steve comes back from his turn on patrol to find Peggy—Agent Carter sitting at the doors of the old barn they’d taken shelter in for the night, his first thought is that she’s second-guessing the watch schedule he’d set up. Which he actually wouldn’t mind - he’s still new to this commander business, and he knows that any of the rest of them have more experience and she perhaps most of all - but he wishes she’d have talked to him before the middle of the night.

Then he notices that she’s curled up tightly, legs and arms tucked in: not exactly a state of battle readiness.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, approaching with care. It’s started snowing, but not enough to muffle anything.

“Dugan was terribly noisy getting up for his patrol. Woke me completely with all that grumbling and toe-stubbing and it was too bloody cold to get back to sleep. I’d have taken his turn, but he’d already gone.”

The moon is mostly hidden by the trees, but he can make out a hint of her smile. He’d been pretty sure he’d never see it directed at himself again, she’d been so mad at him the last time they’d been around each other. During the four days since she dropped in on their assignment, she’s been perfectly polite, professional, but held back from any more than that. She’s fallen in easily with the rest of the Commandos - every five minutes they’re asking her to settle some argument or a bet, or it’s “Peggy, tell us that one about Corporal Franks and the sheepdog again,” and even Bucky smiles at her although smiling doesn’t really seem to come all that naturally to him these days - but with him she’s all firmly tilted chin and observant eyes and “Captain Rogers.”

Until now, apparently.

He settles beside her in increments, not trying to fool or distract her but to give her a chance to tell him to get lost if she wants. She just watches him. Finally, forearms rested atop tented knees, he asks, "So what made you decide to come out here instead of staying where there's at least four walls and a roof?"

"It started snowing." She looks upward before facing him, flakes decorating her eyelashes and dampening her usually pristine hair. "And I know that this sort of weather is terrible news for so many, and it won't make our job any easier, but it reminds me of home and sometimes you must grasp those little pieces of magic and hold with both hands."

I know what you mean, he thinks, but what he says aloud is, "Why does the snow remind you of home? I would have thought it would be rain."

Actually sounding fairly amused, she says, "Dealing in anti-English stereotypes, I see. Though not even the most damning ones."

"Well, I've been to London. Seen it with my own eyes." He widens them a bit for effect and somehow their gazes catch, as if they're having a staring contest, before they look away.

"Yes, well, I didn't grow up in London. We lived farther out in the country. And when I was small, my brother would wake me up the first night it snowed each year and we'd go out - terribly underdressed, mind you, slippers and dressing gowns - and just watch it float down toward us. We would catch the flakes on our tongues and stay out until our faces were raw. Mum would tell us off if we didn't get back inside before she woke up, but then she'd just make us each hot chocolate and bundle us in front of the fire."

"That sounds—" Steve clears his throat. "That sounds beautiful."

"It truly was." She shuffles her feet a bit, and then, sounding wry, though he wonders if it might be to avoid the slight shaking in her voice, says, "I don't suppose a city boy like yourself had such similar experiences?"

He snorts. "Not hardly. Snowball wars in the street when there'd been a storm, sure. But if my mother had caught me sneaking down four flights in the middle of January or catching something from outside in my mouth, I certainly wouldn't have gotten hot chocolate."

"A shame for you, then." Her eyes gleam celestial in the near dark. Without meaning to, he takes in a gulp of frigid, pine-scented air.

"Seems to me," he says, "that I just have an opportunity to make another, better memory for the future." He pauses, glances down then back up at her. "Or—Well, this one's a pretty good one too. A first first snow memory."

The quiet between them is content, broken as it is by the sounds of birds and animals on their nightly business. A gust blows over them and Peggy shivers.

"Here," Steve says, automatically moving to unbutton his coat, but she shakes her head.

"Remember what Howard said."

The sound he makes in the back of his throat is half humorous, half rueful. She'd been there to hear Howard yell, "Don't forget to try to stay warm - not too warm, though! We're not totally sure what could happen to you extreme temps. Might be that your temperature and the way your brain processes it don't match up. Should probably test it when you get back," just before Steve left HQ.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat and continuing to undo his buttons, stretching his legs out in front of himself. The coat is heavier than any he's ever had and she has one much the same, but they're not particularly well insulated. "It's still cold as hell out here. We can share it."

The words hold awkwardly in the air as she looks over at him. A voice that might be Bucky's is telling him that he's not smooth enough to use words to make it better and he should just keep quiet and hope she lets it go. His own voice is low when he speaks again. "Just to keep warm, I swear. I would never—" His fingers fidget over the last button. "I know you have reason not to trust me. I should never have assumed anything or spoken to you like that, and I'm sorry for it."

"I know you are," she says with surprising immediacy. "Watching you over the past few days it's become clear to me that I wasn't as mistaken about your character as I had thought. And that perhaps I shouldn't have shot at you."

"It was," he says, feeling foolish, "some pretty good shooting," and she climbs over his left leg and tucks herself beneath his arm, inside the warmth of the wool with him.

"What a charming compliment." Her breath clouds softly against his neck. "I'll have to tell my mother."

"Maybe talk me up a little too." He isn't entirely sure what he's saying. "If I ever make it there for a first snow, I'd like some of that hot chocolate afterward."

She gives a hushed little laugh. "I'll make certain to. Although I wonder if I've elevated my childhood memories too highly. You might end up being disappointed."

There are, he estimates, likely only about another ten minutes before Dugan comes back around to this spot on the patrol route and they should probably be inside by then. He plans to savor each moment until he hears footsteps out here with Peggy beneath the first drifting snow.

"Believe me," he says. "If it's even close to this, I don't think there's any way I could be disappointed."

Steve's sitting at the drafting table they'd set up in one corner of the living room once it became clear that he was going to be drawing as more than a hobby. The pot of heavy stew he has on a low flame lends the aroma of tomato and garlic to the air.

He's working on two sample wedding announcements, one in a cartoon style for the bride, with she and her fiance sharing a milkshake with two straws (the sort of simplified image that he recognizes wryly will become emblematic of this era while allowing people to ignore the complexities) and one with more classically elegant florals for the bride's mother. He's been distracted and has to force himself to focus, so just the two designs have taken him all afternoon. It's only once he's finished the latter that he looks up and realizes simultaneously that it's dark, Peggy still isn't home, and that it's started snowing.

He reaches over the tabletop and lifts the edge of the dotted green curtain, peering at the falling flakes illuminated by the streetlight.

"The hell?" he mutters to himself. They'd had barely a dusting all winter, it had been in the seventies for half of January, and now it's snowing in March.

Apparently the stew was a good choice for tonight. Peggy will want something hot and filling when she gets here.

He reaches toward his pocket to check the time then shakes his head at himself and looks at his wristwatch instead. 7:56. It's not unheard of for her to arrive home this late but she had seemed to think it would be a fairly light workday. Changes of plan like this always makes him wonder if something's gone wrong, not with Peggy who can generally handle herself, but with one of the many balls they're trying to keep in the air: Korea is still a concern, of course, and Hydra has been bristling from the targeted test strikes they've made so far, and of course there's Bucky. They've been getting close to finding him, each source of Peggy's confirming Steve’s memorized information seeming like it will be the last link, each day feeling like it might be the one.

Forcing himself to stand, he stretches, circles aimlessly around the apartment a few times, then gathers himself enough to remember to tidy up. The snow is still coming down, big floating flakes that are actually starting to accumulate.

Once his supplies are put away, the counter wiped down, and the table set, he allows himself to call over to the SHIELD offices. If Peggy has something to tell him, she will when she can, and if not it might be an interruption to something important. But there are, he reminds himself, more normal explanations for a late arrival and if she's just catching up on paperwork he'll be happy to know that too.

He's very aware of how lucky he is that they get at least some degree of normal.

But the switchboard operator who picks up, recognizing his voice, tells him that Peggy left nearly an hour ago. He thanks her and hangs up, frowning. It usually takes half that time to get back.

He considers starting in on his next project or picking up a book in an attempt to distract himself, but before he can even make a decision, the power goes out, leaving him blinking in the near darkness, the flame from the stove the only light.

After he searches around by feel for the matches and then by match-light for a flashlight, he turns off the burner and heads down to make sure the neighbors are alright.

Mrs. Lester on the first floor sits sewing by the light of what seems to be a lantern set up on her table, and reminds him peaceably that she grew up in a country cabin without any electricity at all so this doesn't bother her in the least. The Trimble brothers on the second floor ask a whole lot of questions that he can't answer ("When do you think the power will come back on?" and "Do you think it will snow again tomorrow?") but seem fine. Esther Stoneham in the little top floor apartment even seems glad about the lights having gone out - it'll mean that her toddlers Caroline and Eddie might actually just go to bed instead of trying to play with everything in the place.

"I've lit one candle," she tells him, with exhausted eagerness. "And I'm telling them that's all there is so they had better be done picking up the toys before it goes out.”

He meets Peggy coming up the stairs as he's on his way back down.

"You're home," he says, just as she reaches the landing, her camel-colored trench dark and dripping a bit, and asks, "Do I smell a stew?"

They go inside together, door locked behind them.

“Another first snow together,” he says, catching and holding her chilled fingers in his.

Her eyes are soft on him. It always strikes him when they have these sorts of moments, when she’s with him to share these memories that had been held by only the two of them: their memories. “Still some magic to it, though I wouldn’t have said no to a bit better timing. I didn’t even wear a scarf today.”

He lights some candles around the place while she goes into the bedroom, joining her once he's finished.

"I would have adored a good bath," she says, standing before the bureau in her slip and sorting around in the dim light for her warmest pajamas. "But I suppose we can't have everything."

"I think I can promise a bath sometime in the near future." He walks into the bathroom and picks up a towel. Once she's finished changing, he starts to rub gently at her hair, drying it carefully of the cold moisture. When he's done, her cheeks have lost their outdoor redness and she's a bit frizzy.

There was a time, not long ago and all of forever away, when he never thought he'd see her like this, relaxed and unguarded, completely beautiful in the disheveled, comfortable way. He kisses her forehead, her temple, her cheek, her mouth, her mouth again for longer. She presses up into him, hands holding him closer, a dreamy, satisfied hum building in the back of her throat, until, approximately simultaneously, his hand hits one of the bottles lined up atop her dresser, knocking things around, and her stomach reminds them it's quite late and they still haven't eaten.

Steve ladles stew, luckily still warm enough, into bowls. Peggy slices bread and spreads hers liberally with butter. She's only five years on from army food and ration cards.

"How was your day?" he asks as they sit across from each other in the quiet, candlelit kitchen.

"I had an interminable meeting with a very sweet man from the BID who somehow kept expecting me to speak Dutch, which is unfortunately not among my many talents, and then I was informed by Howard that selecting Eugenia Cavendish to head our Australia division was being perceived as an insult to the men who’d interviewed for the position.”

“Howard said that?” Steve asks, already thinking about socking the man next time they see each other.

“No, he merely informed me of how it was being perceived, which I might already have guessed. And I informed him in return that I don’t particularly care, and I suspect Genie’s prepared herself as well.” She takes another bite. “And then I had an errand to take care of after work, and got caught up in the weather. I tried to wait it out, but finally decided to take a chance and I’m glad I did or I might have been waiting all night.”

“An errand?”

“Yes, I—” She looks just slightly flustered, as if she’d hoped he wouldn’t catch on that bit, then says decisively, “Oh, let me just get them.”

From her bag, she takes a bakery box, a bit damp, a bit crushed, but mostly intact, and sets it before him, nodding at him to untie the twine and open it up. When he does with careful fingers, he finds two cinnamon buns lying inside.

“You were talking yesterday about how your mother made them once, as a treat,” she says as he takes them in. “And I know that you’ve had quite a lot on your shoulders lately. So I called around and had some put aside.”

Their local bakery closes at 3 and usually sells out of the more popular treats long before then. There wouldn’t even be anyone to open the door without some convincing. Steve looks down at the pair of pastries, sweetly puffed up and perfectly iced, for long moments. How simple it is, to be thought of, an offhand comment remembered, to have someone go out of their way for him. To have Peggy, in the midst of all that she does, go out of her way for him.

“Thank you,” he says, meeting her eyes, the box still cradled in his hands.

“Here,” she says, standing with her bowl. “Come, my darling. Let’s finish eating in the sitting room. The windows are better there. We can sit and watch the snow. A bit of magic. I think we can both use it.”

Her gaze from across the table is so kind: Peggy sitting beside him as he’d cried in that bombed out pub, Peggy reminding them both of the things they have to be proud of, Peggy here and now, understanding him without words, promising so much more to come for the two of them together.

The bedroom door slams open without warning, and both Steve and Peggy shoot up in bed as all four of their kids tumble through the door.

“It’s snowing,” Emma says, fingers fluttering gleefully downward as she catapults toward the bed.

“Snow day!” Drea sings eagerly, bouncing into the blankets. “Snow day!”

And indeed, when Steve looks out the window into the near darkness, he finds several inches already on the ground and more still falling.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Any chance you all will go back to sleep for at least a couple more hours?” When they blink up at him (Rosie actually snorting out a laugh), he just shrugs. “Okay. Pancakes, I guess.”

The roads aren’t going to be cleared for several hours at least - everything around here shuts down for even a sprinkling. Peggy could likely place a few calls to give herself some sort of priority in order to get in for at least the later morning, but she doesn’t. Instead, for the first time in its history, Peggy phones her work and tells them to activate the phone tree and inform everyone at the Washington office that they can switch to essential staff members only for the day.

“That was nice of you,” Steve comments, giving her a smile, a brief kiss, and a cup of tea as she joins them all in the kitchen.

“They can always telephone in an emergency, though there hopefully won’t be any today.” She sips her tea, watching him standing there flipping pancakes on the griddle and adding bacon to a pan, looking at the children bundled in their robes, making wonderful, impossible plans for the day. “And it was a bit of a gift to me as well.”

The radio news, along with the official school closure, announces that the storm might have some staying power. By the time they’ve finished breakfast, it’s late enough that Steve says he’ll dig out his old snow boots and go see if the store’s open to pick up some essentials.

Even for him, the walk to town takes longer than usual, and it turns out that their early rising was lucky: people are flowing into the market and the shelves are starting to clear. Steve gets a bag full of staples, then asks Mr. Hillyard if he can leave them in the back office for a bit and borrow his phone to call Peggy. Looking around, he sees several elderly shoppers who likely need a hand getting things back home - the wind has a bite to it and they probably shouldn’t be out in that at all, much less carrying heavy bags down uncleared roads.

It’s several hours before he’s finished making deliveries and promising to come back tomorrow to help shovel walkways, before he finally starts home himself. On the way he is waved over by Wally Davenport, father of Rose’s friend Marcia, a portly man with his coat zipped to his chin who stands talking to Mrs. Gregory, the grade school principal.

“Cold enough for you?” he asks, fairly cheerfully Steve thinks for someone who has his hands stuffed so deep in his pockets that he’s bent nearly in half. Mrs. Gregory waves goodbye to the two of them, looking a bit relieved to be freed from conversation.

“I’m ready to be back home with Peggy and the kids,” Steve says, shifting the bag in his arm and trying not to sound pointed.

“Bet that brood of yours is happy to have the day off,” Wally replies obliviously. “I know that my two are—”

Later, it is hard to tell whether Steve’s hearing or his speed makes the difference. Likely it’s both: his sharp ears immediately detecting the moment that the branch of the old, spreading pine above them, unused to the weight of snow, cracks and collapses, his instinctive arm hauling Wally out of the way as the enormous bough crashes down before them.

“Lord almighty,” Wally says, swiping a hand across his forehead and staring wide-eyed as if he expects the sidewalk to have crumbled into pieces from the force of it. “You’re pretty fast there, Grant. Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

If you hadn’t been here, Steve thinks to himself, walking through the overcast, snow-cushioned streets after he’s sent Wally back home to his wife and kids. Perhaps if he hadn’t been there, Marcia and Dougie would have found their memories of this day destroyed by the memory of their father’s death. Perhaps if he hadn’t been there, Wally would have already moved on toward home, heard about the fallen branch only later, whistled when he walked by and spotted it.

This life, the life he and Peggy have made themselves...He lives always within its normalcy, lives with the knowledge that he is in some ways entirely apart. Some days - when Nate asks if he thinks people will ever really walk on the moon, the afternoon Rose brought home that first Beatles record, saying her friends told her it was pretty good - he is struck by all that he knows, all the ways he is permanently outside of time. Some days, like when he’d turned on the news to see, suddenly before him, footage of John Glenn circling the earth for the first time, he feels entirely a part of it all, and sometimes, like when he’d seen Jerrie Cobb go up six months later, he finds pride in what he’s managed to do here. And often, he does not even think of it much, is simply a husband, a father, with errands to complete and homework to oversee, listening to his children’s chatter, Peggy’s laugh or her sharp sigh when they talk in bed at night.

The house, as he approaches it, looks unfamiliar for a moment, and then he blinks. There is Emma’s window, with the pretty curtains she’d selected. There is the scratch Nate left on the garage door when he was learning to make turns on his bike last summer. There, beneath the snow and frozen earth, sleep the bulbs he’d planted. There is the porch swing where he and Peggy sit to have a drink together when it’s warm out, the welcome mat where Rosie dropped a pitcher of Kool-Aid and left a stain, the front door that Drea will help him touch up in the spring.

He walks down the front hallway, feeling each step. In the doorway to the living room, he stops. The kids are still in their robes, scattered around with books and blankets, barely glancing at him. They’ve built a fire; it is still high in the grate.

Peggy is sitting with her own book, leaning on one arm of the sofa with her feet tucked beside her. She looks up at him, her hair a bit messy, eyes familiar, all of her beautiful.

“Oh good, you’re home,” she says. “We were waiting for you to get back before we went out into the yard together.”

He can picture it: snowmen and snow angels and forts and everyone laughing their way through a merciless snowball fight, burrowing back inside to wrap their hands around mugs of hot chocolate. Having this day, this wonderful day, and another tomorrow and for days and years to come, perhaps not the same, certain to be filled also with shock and worry and disappointment and heartache, but made of so many of these same small and loving moments.

“Yeah,” Steve says, complete with it all. “Yeah, I’m home.”

More chapters here

[heyyyharry]

My Girl Series: Chapter 15 - My Girl

…in which Harry and Y/N go back to where it all began. {end of book 1}

Series description: Y/N falls in love with the older boy next door who doesn’t feel the same, years later they meet again at a funeral.

AU: actor!harry, older!harry, younger!y/n; (4-year age gap)

Chapter 14: Home Truth - Y/N discovers a family secret, and Harry is in despair.

Book 2: Masterlist - Thursday, May 16 // First preview - Thursday, May 23 // First chapter - Friday, May 24 (WATTPAD) and Saturday, May 25 (TUMBLR) // 12pm GMT.

Warning: nothing but angst and plenty of mistakes because I didn’t proofread.

A/N: listen to this while reading. And let’s see if you can find all the parallels between this chapter and the first one. ;)

OC version

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Ten years ago, in the town of Holmes Chapel, a little girl started her first journal entry with a story for her class assignment. She defined true happiness as the older boy next door who owned her heart. Her parents' marriage had proven that true love didn't exist, yet Harry showed up and all her walls came tumbling down.

Every day before bed, Y/N would write about him in her pink notebook, about the possibility of an unknown future where they lived happily ever after. She was so young. And everything was easy, until it was not.

He was hers, until he wasn't.

One night she went straight to bed without writing about him. There was nothing to write about the person you were no longer friends with.

She'd been losing sleep, asking herself why Harry never came back to their treehouse, why he didn't say hello when he walked right past her with his friends, how he could just stop knowing her. She kept wondering, yet she waited, and waited, and waited.

She waited, until he left her.

For two years since he was gone, she'd been expecting a call, a letter, anything that let her know for him she still existed. But every day came a new disappointment as she checked her mailbox to find nothing from him.

Eventually, Y/N took her mother's advice to write to Harry first. She began with a draft in her pink notebook, putting her heart and soul into every single word on the paper. But once she'd finished it, her fear of never getting a response overpowered her need to reach out for him. So she kept it to herself and decided to write even more letters that she would never send; just to get the overwhelming sadness out of her system, and for her to miss him a bit less every day.

Now 24-year-old Harry was alone in his bedroom, too focused on those words to even notice the sun was rising. With tears running down his face, he imagined her reading everything to him.

Dear Harry, she would begin in each letter before telling him about her day, her silly thoughts, her plan for the future, how much she'd missed him, and asking him questions like 'are you coming back?' and 'do you think about me sometimes?' All of those things made his heart wrench in a way that healed him and tore him up at the same time.

The bone-deep fear grew much larger now that he'd reached Y/N's last entry written the night before her first time on a date. The love she had for Blake was proof that she had moved on from Harry once and would do it again if she wanted to. So apparently, Harry had less time on his hand than he thought. It was in that moment of dismal stillness that all the voices in his head started screaming at each other. What should he do now? One wrong move would inevitably lead to major consequences. But if he didn't make a move, he'd have zero chance of winning her back.

As his ringtone pierced through the silence like a cannonball, Harry's eyes sparkled with hope. He had prayed that it was her until seeing the name Niall on the screen made him gutted. Harry held the phone at his ear, falling down onto his back and darting his tiring eyes to the ceiling.

"Harold," his best friend spoke first. "Do you know the brand of that camera Isey's been using lately?"

Harry sighed at the question, laying an arm on his forehead. "I don't know, mate. Why don't you ask him?"

"I did text him but he hasn't replied. Thanks anyway, I'll wait until he comes back from Holmes Chapel."

The town name caused Harry's eyes to shoot open as he sat straight up on the bed, eyebrows drew together. "Why's he in Holmes Chapel?"

"Yesterday he came to visit Smiley, I mean Bambi, then decided to stay for her father's wedding. But...which one of you is dating Y/N? Are you back with Ruby now, because—"

"Sorry mate, I'm—I'm gonna have to call you back," Harry interjected those endless inquiries before hanging up on Niall without further explanation. There was not enough time to raise questions of his own about why Isaac didn't tell him anything and went to see Y/N alone. He didn't even feel betrayed, he just felt scared as he grabbed his car key and bolted towards the door. He couldn't lose her now, not again, not this way.

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"This is it," Y/N mumbled to herself as she walked through the door. The air was sweet and the sky was clear, a perfect day for a wedding.

There was nothing outside but sunshine, yet just to step into it made her heart thump in her chest. Something about seeing her garden for the first time in years away from home was so strange. Maybe it was the giggles of children, or the screaming of their parents who warned them about spoiling their outfits, or loud conversations of overly excited relatives who only showed up when there was a wedding or a funeral.

The white decorations went a bit over the top for a wedding that was supposed to be small. Knowing Marcy, Y/N wasn't surprised. She thought it was smart to be extravagant on the white and having pastel as the dress code, now the scene really did look like a beautiful mosaic.

But it wasn't just the wedding that had changed her backyard entirely. It was also the fact that Marcy had turned this spot into the dream garden Tam had always wanted, with all types of flowers Y/N could name or even more. The grass was always green and fresh as her stepmother made sure that it was watered and trimmed regularly. The sprinklers would come up in the early morning to wake up the flower kingdom that used to only exist on the other side of the fence. Apparently, Bradford wasn't the only one well-taken care of since Marcy came around.

Y/N went to find Isaac, trying to avoid the cousins she disliked, the aunties who always pinched her cheeks, and those uncles who always asked whom she was dating. And even though she wasn't actually thinking about him, like a habit she still darted her eyes to the tree standing tall in the backyard next door.

There it was, her childhood fort made of wood — the only thing that stayed the same in this town despite how many years had passed. It stood there, tall and proud, unbothered by the changes in weather and time, surviving through all the storms. If only people were the same, Y/N thought to herself. Sadly, the human heart was a delicate little thing. It had to change in order to adapt, otherwise, it wouldn't stay alive.

"Hey."

The voice caused her head to spin. Instantly, Y/N put on a smile when she saw Isaac, who was wearing her father's pastel blue shirt in order to match the theme.

"Wow, you look..." The man was speechless for two seconds as he saw her in the dress Marcy had picked out. He tried to look for a better word, but he couldn't come up with anything else so he settled with "...beautiful."

Y/N giggled as she shook her head, standing with her hands behind her back and trying to hide her rosy cheeks from his charmingly timid blue eyes.

"Thank you," she said. "You look beautiful yourself."

"To be honest, I think I'm way too underdressed," he replied, opening his arms to look at the shirt that seemed too oversized for him. The way he lifted an eyebrow questioningly at himself made her giggle. When he finally looked up and flashed her a grin, they shared the kind of glance that sent both into silence for a long moment.

"We should go find our seats," she blurted, turning away to leave yet he stopped her just in time.

"Hold on." Isaac took her wrist, taking a step forward to close the distance between them. Before Y/N could ask, he carefully tucked the wavy strand behind her ear since it kept falling out of her bun, no matter how many times she'd tried to brush it back into place. As his eyes twinkled with another smile, Y/N was certain she had never seen a blue so warm.

"Pastel pink suits you very well," he said in an undertone, his fingers which had previously wrapped around her wrist were now intertwined with hers.

"T-Thanks," Y/N muttered shyly as she followed him, they were the last ones to find their seats so the wedding ceremony could begin.

Even though Y/N's idea of love had changed constantly throughout the years, her adoration for weddings never had. To her, a wedding was like a temporary happy ending. No matter what had happened before or might happen after, in this moment, there was nothing but bliss. This was the closest reality could ever get to fiction, and for someone who'd been writing fictional love stories her entire life, it was good to live through a moment like this once in a while.

All the guests rose up when Marcy's favorite song 'Yellow' began to play. Most eyes were on the beautiful bride as she marched down the aisle, holding her father's hand and a bouquet of daisies that Y/N had helped her arrange last night. Meanwhile, the twenty-year-old kept her eyes on her father, who had already burst into happy tears. Seeing him cry was all it took for Y/N to start sobbing as well.

"Dumbass Marcy picked the worst day to wear non-waterproof makeup." Her lips twitched in amusement as her father kept wiping off his bride's running mascara every five seconds.

"She looks good though," said Isaac, who couldn't stop beaming now.

Y/N nodded to agree. She could never deny the fact that Marcy was naturally pretty and was always the center of attention. But today she looked radiantly gorgeous, probably because happiness was the most authentic real-life filter. Y/N was content, knowing a woman could only look that happy when she was madly in love.

Bradford had gone through so much, starting from his wife's betrayal and tragic death, to rumors about him being unfaithful and a cold-hearted liar, to his daughter's hatred for she had loved her mother too much to understand. After everything, this was the ending he deserved. And Y/N was very proud of him.

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"Y/N! It's happening!"

Y/N widened her eyes as her overexcited best friend grabbed her by the arms and pushed her against the lockers. They had caught the attention from a few other kids in the hallway, however, Celine was too thrilled to even care.

"Blake Roman is gonna ask you out!"

"Blake and I are only study buddies." Y/N snorted. Holding her books to her chest, she told the shorter girl, "I know he doesn't like me, at least...not that way."

"But he does! He told Flynn who told Marcus who told Amala who told me that he was gonna ask you out today! God, I'm so happy for you!" Celine squealed, shaking Y/N violently before pulling her into a suffocating hug. The tiny girl expected her friend to jump or even scream, yet her actual reaction was much disappointing.

"I really like Blake, but..."

"No, but! But isn't good!" Celine rebuked Y/N's thought before she could even finish it. Straightening her arms, the smaller one pulled away, seemingly so upset. "You like Blake, Y/N. Just stop there, alright?"

"Blake and I are so different. Besides, have you seen the girls he used to date?"

"You're not turning him down because you're insecure, are you?!"

"I'm not!" She was. "Boys like Blake..." Or boys in general. "They're gonna leave you eventually."

Celine's hardened expression was exactly in the card, but the words that came out from her mouth was definitely unexpected.

"It's still about Harry, right?"

The tone of the question made it seem more like a statement. Following her instinct, the first thing Y/N did was counter the remark, yet deep within she was still second-guessing what her true answer might be.

"Not everything I do is about Harry."

Celine couldn't look less dubious. At a time like this, she would normally start ranting about why Harry wasn't worth it, but she knew Y/N would shut her ears to such opinions as always. Of course, she couldn't understand the kind of love her best friend had for a boy who'd been gone for two years. Therefore, she hated how Y/N refused to acknowledge the fact that Harry might not return.

"Please go out with Blake," Celine said, taking a deep breath. "Don't put your entire life on hold just because you're missing someone."

And just like that, she walked off, knowing her words would stay behind as they were already engraved in Y/N's brain.

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"Harry, where the hell are you?!"

"Jeff, I—"

"What's wrong with you?! The whole team is waiting!"

Honestly, Harry didn't know what was wrong with him, like when he skipped the BAFTAs, when he canceled his schedule at the last minute to take Y/N back to Holmes Chapel. And now he was returning to that old town for it might be his last chance to win her back. The reason that he'd put his career and reputation at risk, the only person who mattered above all, was the one he'd let down.

"I'll explain to you later, I promise. I'm so sorry," he told his manager and didn't even let the man speak as he hung up the call to keep on driving. He knew he might not make it back before the wedding was over. He could only hope that she would wait. She'd waited for him her whole life, yet a couple minutes more seemed so expensive.

As he drove, the only thing playing in his head were the words she'd written in her journal, which he'd left behind when he was in a rush. Still, he remembered everything and now those words wouldn't leave him alone.

'Dear Harry,

This might be the last letter I'm writing to you. I'm going on a date tomorrow, a real date, can you believe it?

Blake finally asked me out. This would be my first date ever and I'm sweating just from thinking about it. If you were here I know you would give me a ton of advice, something like 'don't let him touch you where you don't wanna be touched', and I would roll my eyes and tell you you're overreacting. Fortunately you're not here. But don't worry, we won't go that far. I really like Blake, and you might like him too once you see how sweet he is to me.

As I said in one of my letters, when there comes a guy I really like, I will stop writing to you and let you go. I feel like this is it. This is the one...'

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.

Since her family didn't usually have guests, Y/N was pretty surprised when she got home to find her mother talking to their neighbor in the kitchen. The last time she spoke to Anne was the day Harry left, after that she had no more reasons to spend time with his family to get updated on how they'd been. Now that Anne was here, she was hoping to get some news about Harry.

Of course, Tam had no idea that her sixteen-year-old daughter was standing right outside and listening to this conversation. If she had known, she wouldn't have said what she was about to say.

"You must be so proud. If I were you I would tell the whole town that my son just signed a big movie contract, and his girlfriend is a model."

"I'm about to go knock on every door," Anne replied as they both shared a good laugh.

Meanwhile, heartbroken Y/N flopped down on the bottom stair with her hands on her chest. She couldn't make a sound or else they would know she was there, but she was too hurt to even move. When the front door opened, she almost didn't notice, until her dad appeared and paused as he saw his teenage daughter sitting right there.

At first, he couldn't understand why she seemed so sad, until he heard Anne laughing in the kitchen. He took a guess that his daughter had sat there long enough to hear something about Harry which she didn't want to hear. The look on her face had said it all.

He parted his lips, yet no sound escaped. He was never good at talking about feelings and giving advice on growing up and falling in love for the first time. That was why he'd left it all to Tam to be the consultant in the house. However, seeing Y/N like this made him wish he had tried to be her friend. Now he'd missed another chance to get to know her as she was quick to run upstairs without saying another word.

Y/N locked herself in her room and sat with her back against the door, holding both knees to her chest. The moment she spotted the pink notebook lying on her bed, Celine's words came to life once again. She'd been putting her life on hold for him, while his life still moved on as the earth kept spinning round. He'd got a movie contract and was dating a model. Here she was, saying no to every chance of happiness she could get, to keep her door wide open for someone she hadn't heard from for two years.

What was she doing?

The buzzing of the phone in Y/N's pocket made her flinch. She pulled it out, expecting it to be Celine but it was a different name that she saw.

⌲ Blake: Can I see you tonight? I have something important to say to you.

So it was true, Y/N thought to herself as she went over that question a couple times. Blake did want to ask her out. However, she wanted to say no. This relationship hadn't even started yet and she could already envision all the different scenarios of him leaving her.

Sighing, the girl typed down her answer, knowing it was for the best if she'd just turn him down and be alone. But when she was done and ready to press send, she hesitated. No. This wasn't the right way. Her life had to move on, she had to start somewhere.

After contemplating for a little bit more, she came to a decision to delete it all and type down something else.

⌲ Sure. Where do we meet?

It took less than two seconds for her phone to buzz again.

⌲ Blake: I'll come over at 8.

When Y/N read his reply, her heart came to a halt. She exhaled through her mouth, tossing her head back against the door to roll her eyes upward, staring at the ceiling. This could be the worst decision or the best one she'd made. She would never know if she didn't try.

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.

Y/N loved the view from her treehouse. When she was sitting up there, looking at the trees and the roofs and the field behind her yard, she felt like she was on top of the world. She remembered thinking that someday she would build her own house in a tree where she and Harry could live happily together with their little family.

But growing up was when you realized not everything was possible like it was in the mind of a child, that people didn't live on trees, that it wasn't always good to be alone all the time, and the boy you thought would be the love of your life couldn't be the love of your life forever.

As the wedding party went on, Y/N decided to find her escape on the treehouse. It was the first time she'd been up here since the night of her mother's funeral. She sat on the edge, watching the children chasing one another in her backyard and thinking about when she was their age. However, she wasn't depressed as she thought about the past anymore. After everything that had happened, her falling out with Harry, her finding the truth about her mother, she realized life was too short to hold onto grief. Everything you had today could disappear tomorrow. In order to enjoy life to the fullest, it was best to just treat memories as a place to visit once in a while, not a place to stay.

"Smiley!"

Isaac's voice pulled Y/N's attention away from her jungle of thoughts. She looked down right by the fence where he stood with a massive smile upon his face.

"What are you doing in your neighbor's treehouse?"

"This is my treehouse actually."

The way she scrunched up her nose made him laugh. Though Isaac was a bit confused by that answer, he simply shrugged it off and asked, "can I join you up there?"

"Sure. The ladder is over there."

When Y/N said it, she temporarily forgot the promise she'd made to Harry when she was fourteen. As soon as it came to her mind, Isaac was already on his way up. But then she thought to herself, maybe even if Harry had been there, he wouldn't have cared. She'd never let anyone else enter their treehouse, not even Blake, because she used to take that promise so seriously, thinking this place must've meant the whole world to him. Now she didn't really know if it still meant anything to him.

"Be careful!"

"Don't underestimate m—Shit!"

Isaac nearly missed his last step on the rope ladder, and the look of relief on his face when she reached for his arms made her laugh so hard.

Once again, she had someone else by her side as they sat on the edge of the treehouse with their feet dangling in the air, feeling the breezes blowing through their hair. She felt his eyes on her as she watched her father and Marcy laughing with the wedding guests.

"Bored of the party?" He asked in an attempt to gain back her attention.

"Not a family gathering kind of gal, you know what I'm sayin'?" Her fake American accent as she did a peace sign got Isaac chuckling and rolling his eyes playfully. He looked around after she'd gone back to silence. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, beginning with the reason why she'd told him this treehouse belonged to her. But it wasn't necessary anymore now that he'd just seen ‘Y/N ❤ Harry’ carved on the floor.

"So...this is Harry's..."

Y/N seemed a bit puzzled by what he said, until she also spotted the words that she didn't even remember were there.

"He let me have this place when he left so it's mine now." She laughed slightly, but Isaac knew she found no humor in those words. Taking a deep breath, she added, "in the language of angsty teens, this was where I came to cry."

Her joke made both of them chuckle.

"This used to be my favorite place in the world," she said in a hushed toned after the laughter had died down. "Harry...used to be my favorite person in the world."

This was the first time she'd ever admitted her feelings for Harry to Isaac. The last and only time she spoke about Harry to him was on their first unofficial date, otherwise, Isaac would've misunderstood the nature of their so-called 'friendship'. Now she felt like Isaac deserved to know more.

"Two of my hardest goodbyes happened here," she went on, lowering her voice and her smile was no longer there. "The first one was Harry, the second was my first boyfriend Blake. Both left me to follow their bigger dreams, but for me at the time, they were everything I'd ever wanted."

She paused for a long time, yet Isaac didn't try to throw in a comment. He was just waiting for her to go on. So she did.

"I wanted to be somebody's first choice so bad that I forgot to make myself my first choice. Now I know that everyone is allowed to leave, and the only person I can control is myself."

"Right." Isaac agreed, nodding his head. "So if we cannot love ourselves, then when people leave us, we've got nothing left."

"Right," she repeated his word while holding his gaze.

He could soothe her like no one else, it was impossible to stay anxious or upset with Isaac around. That was why she must tell him what had been bothering her since yesterday, knowing he was too good of a person to say anything first.

"I shouldn't have dragged you into my mess," she spoke, giving him a dreary smile. "I've caused you so much trouble already, and I've never done anything good for you. I'm the worst friend ever."

"You didn't drag me into anything." His voice right now was as soft as the look in his eyes. "I walked straight into the trouble, because it's yours...and when it comes to you, I don't mind."

When he reached out and placed his hand on her neck, her entire body tensed up. He thought she might withdraw from his touch, but instead, she stayed still, eventually relaxing her muscles as their eyes met once again.

"If you think you're supposed to do something for me, don't." He shook his head, his eyebrows pulled together. Y/N had never seen Isaac upset or worried and this was the closest he'd ever got to being sad. She couldn't help but blame herself for doing this to him.

"I don't...I don't deserve you..." she faltered.

As much as she wanted to give him the chance that he wanted, she knew her brain had built new walls after what had happened with Harry. It would take time to tear them down brick by brick and it would be cruel to ask him to wait for her to pick herself up and start again. One thing that she'd learned from her own experience was, no one besides yourself was worth the wait.

"Who are we to decide who's good for us and who's not?" he told her, lifting his other hand to cup her face as well. A small lock tumbled in front of her face, resting just in front of her cheek, but with one swift slide of his thumb, it was brushed out of the way. He looked so nice like this, especially in the natural lighting when the color of his eyes matched the ineffably blue and distant sky above their heads. She was now reminded how much she'd loved that color since the first time they met, the color of hope.

"Look," he began again as she didn't say anything. "I'm not gonna pressure you into doing anything you're not comfortable with. I know you need time to figure things out, but I'm not going anywhere. You can take your time, and just...just let me look out for you like this. That's all I ask."

Y/N remained silent, this time she nodded her head. The frown on his face was soon washed off by a hopeful grin as their eyes locked.

"Thank you," she faintly mumbled before her lips alighted on his cheek, as soft as a feather.

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.

.

"Harry Styles?!"

Harry had spent most of his energy and patience driving as fast as he could from London back to Holmes Chapel. The last thing he wanted when he arrived was for any of the wedding guests to recognize him. He almost turned down the request to take a photo with the woman, but she was quick to grab him by the arm before he made it to the door leading to the backyard.

"Do you remember me?" She asked, sounding thrilled to bits. Now that Harry had got a good look at her face, he finally realized who she was.

"Aunt Lynn?" His eyes widened in shock. Lynn was much skinnier than the twenty-year-old she used to be, and her hair wasn't purple anymore so Harry had a hard time trying to recognize her. The only thing that hadn't changed was the way she chewed her gum while speaking. Though Y/N used to go on and on about how annoying it was, Harry hadn't got a chance to talk to the woman long enough to notice, until now.

"Baby Harry Styles?!" She gasped, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. "Oh my god, I remember when you were a little boy and now you're much taller than me."

"That's...great...But I really need to go." He grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away politely. "Have you seen Y/N?"

"I didn't know you two were still hanging out now that you're famous."

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the unnecessary remark. "But have you seen her?"

"She was with another handsome boy," Lynn said, bringing the champagne glass to her red lips to take a sip. "Man, I remember when I was her age. She's so me."

"Thank you," Harry spoke fast as he slightly pushed her aside so he could stride towards the door. This time it was her laugh that stopped him halfway.

"What?" He lifted an eyebrow in confusion as the woman shook her head, a huge questionable smirk appeared on her face.

"This is the first time I've seen you chase after little Y/N and not the other way around.”

She might've said it as a joke, but there was something about those words that did him damage as he turned away. He stepped into her backyard, scanning his anxious green eyes around to search for a figure of the girl he loved. He was too lost in his own head to acknowledge how much this place had changed, or the curious stares people were giving him for some could recognize who he was.

'I'll always love you most of all. You'll always be number one, no matter where you are, or if we'll ever meet again.'

He looked so hopeless, wanting to call out her name but he didn't want to draw any more attention on him. He could feel anxiety and fears growing within him like an unstoppable snowball rolling down the hill. His heart started to beat harder and faster as his adrenaline levels rose. 

'I know this letter will never get to you, but it's doesn’t hurt to imagine, right? Maybe after reading this, you would realize that you love me and don't want me to be with another boy. So you would get into your car and drive from London back to Cheshire to tell me those three words in person.'

And then he finally saw her, in the only place she would go to when the crowd became overwhelming. For someone who could spend the whole night at some bar dancing away her sorrow, she strangely enjoyed being alone. But she wasn't alone. She was with Isaac. In the treehouse that was once her and Harry's. He could hear the sound of his heart cracking open as the pain that felt almost as if it was physical choked the breath out of his body.

'I'd be waiting by the treehouse so when you came, I would run into your arms...'

Everything once whole was now shattered. The sweat soaked through his shirt and the pressure within his chest made it feel like it was going to explode. Somehow he was still sane enough to notice she was wearing pink. He hadn't seen her in pink for so long, if only he could tell her how much she resembled the girl she was trying hard to get rid of. She looked good, happiness really made her shine. He wished he could read their lips to know what they were talking about. But if he could, would those words break him even more than the genuine smile on her face?

'...and just like in every romantic movie, we'd kiss and live happily ever after.'

He wasn't mad at her for breaking the promise she'd made when she was only a child. It was when she leaned in and kissed his best friend's cheek that he realized everything was over. The first and only time he'd chased after her, he ended up showing up too late. Harry knew there was more to that friendly kiss, for someone with trust issues and fear of attachment like her to get intimate, there was always a reason. She was willing to give Isaac and herself another chance, what she could've done a long time ago had he not been in the way.

'But life isn't a movie. Someday when if you realize that you love me, hopefully, I'll still be here waiting for you.’

Harry left her house with his head hung low. On the way back to his car, he thought about everything, about their first kiss, their last kiss, their first time, their last time, and all the other in-betweens that he didn't appreciate enough until they were gone. In his head, he replayed the same two words he had said to her many years ago, the ones he didn't think she would hold onto until long after he was gone, the ones that he wished were still true knowing they weren't anymore.

‘Your girl, always.’

[captain-hischier]

rivals - nico/nolan

just a little something for @c-hartwriteshockey ! 

prompt from this prompt list. 

30. we’ve been hockey rivals since we were five but you just transferred to my team and i didn’t know you got hot

a/n: i changed the prompt a little to fit the story. enjoy!

The news is shocking, to say the least; finding out that your biggest rival in like, the history of rivals has been traded to play for your team. Of course it had to be the fucking Pats, Nolan thinks ruefully, slowly dragging tape over his socks. He remembers his first time playing against the Pats, remembers getting destroyed 4-2, remembers punching the shit out of Wagner and feeling justified when they toppled to the ice. But most of all, he remembers a scrawny kid - Hischier was his name - who looked like a baby deer on the ice. At the time, he had reveled in the defeated look in his eyes before they got their asses kicked. He shriveled when the sadness on Hischier’s face turned to excitement. And - while he has no proof, this definitely happened - Hischier winked at him. He had to be physically restrained from his teammates, otherwise he would’ve killed him right then and there. 

He’s totally passed all of that now. His behind’s in the past, as Pumba would say. 

Their coach walks in and says some random bullshit like we’re Wheat Kings and we treat everyone with utmost respect and this rivalry is gone now and stuff like that. But the end really catches his attention.

“...Nico Hischier will be here any minute, and I don’t want anyone doing anything stupid.” 

Nolan makes a noise he will definitely deny in the future, and Kaspick puts a grounding hand on his knee. 

“Keep it together man,” Tanner whispers harshly. “We know how you feel about the Pats but this is real shit.” 

“I know. I feel like I should give some sort of speech or something,” Nolan whispers back. 

“That’s a great fuckin’ idea, bud,” Tanner snorts, and gets two arms under Nolan’s. He shoves him to the center of the locker room before Nolan has time to push him back. “Captain’s got something he wants to say, listen up dudes.” 

“Uh,” Nolan starts off lamely, voice impossibly flat. He gives Tanner his best stink eye before clearing his throat. “What coach said. It’s important that we don’t treat Hischier any different than each other. We bring him in with open arms, and we continue on like we did before. Nothing’s changed, we just have a new face in the locker room, so don’t act like a dick. Uh, yeah.” 

“Nice speech,” a voice says from behind him, making him jump. He presses a hand to his heart - yep, still beating - and turns around. He’s greeted by a man with flawless skin, big brown eyes, and a lovely smile. “I’m Nico.” 

Wait. 

“Nolan,” Nolan responds slowly, processing. The last time he saw Hischier - Nico, god - was a little over a year ago. There’s no way this was the same person. This person has arm muscles the size of his thighs, and floppy brown hair that he wants to tug on. 

The two shake hands. Nico waves a little to the room, and god, Nolan wants. 

He goes around the room to shake hands with everyone, and Nolan returns to his stall. Definitively not shaking. He internally screeches - he hopes he internally screeches - and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Dude, hide your fucking boner,” Tanner mumbles, elbowing him. Nolan panics and scrambles to look down, forgetting he has hockey pants on. 

“I fucking hate you,” Nolan grumbles over Tanner’s annoying laugh.

“Well, if you’ve got one, you better conceal it now. Nine o’clock.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean.” 

As if one cue, Nico plops down right next to them. “Coach told me I’m rooming with you on roadies.” 

“Awesome,” Nolan grits out, stares right into Nico’s smile, and wonders how the hell he’s going to figure this out. 

-

Their next roadie just had to be in Regina. 

Nolan sits alone on the plane because he can’t be bothered, and he has a scowl on his face when he sees Nico and Tanner playing cards on the plane. He finally hears Nico’s laugh, and he wants to kiss the smile right off his face. 

-

Of course, the game against the Pats is a total shitshow. 

He gets in another fight with Wagner and puts him down a second time before getting ejected, and he’s forced to listen as Nico scores a hat trick against his former team. 

Fuck. 

-

Nolan gets to the hotel before Nico does and busies himself in angry-reading his book. He doesn’t even know what it’s about - he thinks it has something to do with magical cats, but who cares. 

The door slams open and his book clatters out of his hands. It lands ungracefully on the floor, pages torn and bent. Nico flops on the bed (very gracefully) and Nolan just wants to kiss his throat. 

Instead, he gets up and sits on the bed next to the deadweight body before he can restrain himself. He runs a hand up and down Nico’s back a few times before he gets tense. 

“What are you doing,” Nico says flatly, muffled by the pillow currently smothered by his face. 

“I, uh. I’m not really sure.” 

Nico lifts his face off the pillow and glares at him. “Well don’t fucking stop now.” 

His face is smushed and his eyes are bleary and yep - Nolan definitely wants to kiss him. A lot. 

But apparently he takes too long, and Nico beats him to it. 

He doesn’t kiss back, not yet, but Nico kisses with enough force so he doesn’t have to. His lips are soft and pliable, and Nolan lets himself bask in the feeling of having his insides melted before pulling away. 

Nico whines. “Why’d you stop,” he pouts, and his eyes are wide. 

“I just. Nico,” Nolan groans, putting his face in his hands. 

“Why are you being so weird,” Nico furrows his brows together. 

“Dude,” Nolan laughs, indignant. “We’ve been hockey rivals since we were drafted but you just got traded to my team, and I didn’t know you got hot! I’m processing!”

“Oh, you’re processing now?” Nico giggles, sticking his hands in Nolan’s hoodie. “Can I give you some more things to process while you wait?”

“Are you fucking-” Nolan moans, rolling his eyes. “Is that seriously the best you could come up with.” 

“Hey, it got you to smile. I did my job right.” And that - that makes Nolan’s stomach tumble down a flight of stairs. 

“So, do you. Do you maybe want to try this?” Nolan stutters, and his voice shakes. “Like. With me?” 

Nico’s smile softens, and he grabs Nolan’s hands, intertwining their fingers. “I definitely want to try this.” 

Nolan’s smile grows wide, and he leans down to kiss Nico.

But, of-fucking-course, Tanner chooses that exact moment to bust in their room, carrying a bag of Bugles and two sodas. 

“Hey, I brought you some snacks,” he starts. “Oh, fuck.” 

Nolan doesn’t have a book to drop this time, so instead his stupidly long legs betray him and topple over the bed, leaving him in a heap on the carpet. 

“God dammit, Tanner.” Above him, he hears Nico giggle softly. Traitor. 

“So I guess you don’t have to hide your boner, eh?” Tanner says, waggling his eyebrows. 

Nolan shoots to his feet, and Tanner drops the chips and runs for his life. 

Behind him, Nico is cracking up, full-on kicking his feet in the air and dying. 

“Oh, shush,” Nolan mumbles, smiling, as he climbs back on the bed. 

“Make me,” Nico says, and pushes a hand into Nolan’s hair, lightly tugging. 

“Oh, it’s on,” Nolan laughs, and tackles him to the floor. 

[oliivverwood]

retweet

marcus/oliver + social media for @rlversongs

LONG POST- idk how to put the keep reading from my phone sorry

--

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial 

Are you ready for thrilling Raptors vs Bucks Eastern Conference Final game 5? Tune in on YouTube 2nite aftergame for play by play analysis + predictions. Watch for live tweets. #NBA #Basketball  

12:00 PM      2,340 likes   1,226 retweets

montyyyyy @grahamcracker

yo @casswarr five dollas on raps making history. wood has been straight sniping this year. bucks have no chance with that offense. #rapsin5

12:48 PM        5 likes 3 retweets

cassius ;) @casswarr

@grahamcracker ur fuckin insane if u think its gonna be easy for the raps. diggory's been an absolute wall this szn. he'll block potter's nasty dunks easy

1:05 PM          4 likes 1 retweets

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Game 5. Tonight. Air Canada Arena. #WeTheNorth

4:00 PM         1,904 likes 837 retweets

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

5 into 1st quarter, Wood from the Raps with the filthy cross on Malfoy, ballhandling like a dream. #NBA #NBAGame5 #Basketball

8:43 PM         734 likes 437 retweets

pants park (marky flints cuzzy) @panzyparkkk

@marcflintofficial im sure handling his balls is your dream ;))

8:50 PM        523 likes 277 retweets

marcus flint for NBA (@marcflintofficial) blocked pants park (marky flints cuzzy) (@panzyparkkk)

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

Potter steals from Diggory, lobs it to Weasley, throws it up to Wood for a dunk on Bole. The Raptors chemistry is off the charts this game. #NBA #NBAGame5 #Basketball

9:22 PM       256 likes 153 retweets

mclaggen the frat god @nolaggingmclaggen

yo why the fuck is flint being so nice about the raps rn. i don't want wood favouritism, i miss asshole flint. talk shit about bole's shitty defense, please. 

10:00 PM   333 likes 457 retweets

oliver wood #0 (@oliverw00dofficial) liked a tweet by mclaggen the frat god (@nolaggingmclaggen)

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Eastern Conference dubs, absolutely ecstatic. See you against the Warriors for NBA finals. #WeTheNorth

11:54 PM   937 likes 765 retweets

HARRY POTTER #3 @harrypottter

to the finalsssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!! #WeTheNorth

11:56 PM      832 likes 655 retweets

-

YouTube

NBA by Marcus Flint 

1,267,457 subscribers

Recent Videos

RAPTORS VERSUS BUCKS EASTERN CONFERENCE FINALS (HIGHLIGHTS, PLAY BY PLAY, ANALYSIS) 

Play

"A tremendous game for the Raptors, starting right off the bat. Bulgarian transfer Viktor Krum started it right from the tipoff, an offense immediately set into play by captain Oliver Wood. The Bucks weren't ready for them to come at them so hard so quickly, which was [redacted] stupid of them, it's the [redacted] Eastern Conference Finals. Diggory did steal from rookie Finnegan, who was lucky to have Wood track back as fast as he did for the defense. Further into the first quarter, Wood executed one of the dirtiest [redacted] crossovers I've ever seen in my two years of working in the NBA. Poor Urquhart didn't stand a chance. He's probably wallowing in the memes being made of him now, bless his heart--no, he deserves it. Urquhart, get it together, set your [redacted] feet."

"The second quarter had the Bucks catch up, with Roger Davies shooting 3 for 4 from the three point line, two assists from Bucks rookie Zach Smith, one from Draco Malfoy. The fourth one bounced off the rim into Wood's hands- his offensive rebounding stats have been crazy--

"The third quarter had Weasley on the boards, dribbling out to the corner and lobbing it to Potter on the fast break, and what a [redacted] fast break it was! If you blinked you would have missed it, which apparently Bole did, blink that is. Potter tosses it up to Wood for a nasty dunk on Bole. Humiliating. I'd never show my face to the world again, if that happened to me."

Pause.

--

Rita Skeeter for TMZ @ritaskeets

Renowned basketball analyser and former NBA player Marcus Flint's cousin, Pansy Parkinson with a shocking tweet during yesterday's game 5. #marcusflint

6:00 AM     4,003 likes   2,692 retweets

Rita Skeeter for TMZ @ritaskeets

This certainly is a strange development. Through injuries, scandals and incidents, Marcus Flint has had quite a life. Learn more in my article on tmz.com/articles/ritaskeeter #marcusflint

6:08 AM      2,455 likes   1,234 retweets

--

Excerpt of Marcus Flint Through the Years, by Rita Skeeter for TMZ

Marcus Caradoc Flint, Chicago born and raised and was eventually the first draft pick, going to nowhere else but the Chicago Red Bull's, and evidently changing the team dynamic forever, and for the better. Flint played rough, fouling out of a game dozens of times and racking up the most fines in the league, but it was worth it. He was still skillful, dazzling audiences with his awe striking shots and dunks. He won rookie of the year, finals MVP, and had 2 championship rings, one from his time on the Bulls, the other from his time with the Cleveland Cavaliers. 

Flint was known to be a little violent on the court, some of the more notable players he got in fights with being Roger Davies, Remus Lupin and Oliver Wood, who we'll be discussing later this article. 

Suddenly, injury struck, and Flint could never play basketball again, a freak accident on the court where he was pushed midair, lost his balance and tore his ACL. He was immediately offered a spot on the NBA reporting crew, where he popularised the channel with his calculated analyses and his filthy mouth. The channel ratings shot up, and the rest was history. 

Flint was never out of the spotlight for long. Two years ago, he was seen walking out of the Peninsula New York with Charlie Weasley, New York Knicks, one morning, the two of them awfully close and sharing an embrace before parting ways. This led to speculation about their relationship status and Flint's sexuality. Not long after that, he was photographed leaving The Monster, a gay bar in New York, again, with an unidentified male. 

Recently, Marcus Flint's cousin, Pansy Parkinson,  a well known tattoo artist in Los Angeles replied to Flint's tweets.

Attached: Screenshot of Pansy Parkinson's reply to Marcus Flint,"im sure handling his balls are your dream ;)))*

Is this an indicator of something between Flint and Wood? Our reporters have reached out to all three parties involved for comment.

--

mclaggen the frat god @nolaggingmclaggen

broooo that's why flint was sucking woods dick so hard during live tweet. i don't care if the man likes it up the ass i want some CORRECT analysis #marcusflint

12:00 AM   600 likes 236 retweets

cassius ;) @casswarr

wood and the raps have a presser today maybe he'll say smth about the sitch #marcusflint

12:52 PM   132 likes 121 retweets

#WeTheNorthh @torontoraptorsnumber1fan

*Attached: Clip from the Raptors Press Conference. A journalist from Sports Illustrated asks as question directed towards Oliver Wood, captain. "What are your thoughts on the online blowup regarding your status with Marcus Flint?" Oliver has a faint smile. Harry Potter is sniggering behind his hand on the other end of the table. Oliver goes to the mike. "I didn't realise there was a blowup. We gotta prepare for our next game now. See you all then." The entire team gets out and exits. The journalists clamour for their attention, with more questions.*

1:07 PM     4,082 likes   5,239 retweets

gin n tonic @ginnywheezy

y'all saw that cheeky smirk no?? @harrypottter laughing in the corner no??? my big bro @ronwheezy turning bright red NO???? 

1:20 PM        345 likes   233 retweets

marcus flint for NBA (@marcflintofficial), oliver wood #0 (@oliverw00dofficial), HARRY POTTER #3 (@harrypottter), Draco Malfoy (@dracoma1foy), angie johnson (@angelinaj), forge weasley (@georgewheezy), gred weasley (@fredwheezy) liked gin n tonic (@ginnywheezy)'s tweet

--

Instagram

@marcusflintbae

fan account, im in love with marcus flint

Recent Posts:

*Blurry picture of two male figures, seemingly joined by the hand. One of them is brunette, the other black haired. Both tall. One is dressed in a grey tracksuit and clunky basketball shoes, the other in a pressed white shirt and black pants, tie looseness. They are smiling - the photo is too blurry to specify exactly who it is.

marcusflintbae this is obviously marcus flint and oliver wood, that's the tea. im so jealous of wood ugh. 

Posted 1 hour ago

Liked by ginnywheeze, percyweasley, panspark, terhiggs, adrianpuc3y, k8iebell, hazzapotter, fredwheeze and 2943 others

-

Private Chat between Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint

oliver wood: marcus ur an idiot

marcus flint: how is this my fault

oliver wood: u were too nice to me on highlight analysis

oliver wood: and u forgot to tell parkinson that we're not public yet 

marcus flint: well u should be happy u wanted to go public like six months ago

oliver wood: nOT LIKE THIS

oliver wood: let's announce it on twitter we've let them suffer long enough 

marcus flint: don't use the photo that im wearing the purple tie in

marcus flint: it's ugly 

oliver wood: you are in no position to be making demands

oliver wood: im not going to use a photo, i love you, I'll call you later

marcus flint: love u too babe

--

marcus flint for NBA @marcflintofficial

I'm dating Oliver Wood. I'm not biased to the raptors at all, don't tell him but I actually bet on the Warriors. #NBAFinals

9:03 PM   608,767 likes 438,898 retweets

oliver wood #0 @oliverw00dofficial

Marcus Flint and I have BEEN dating. Keep up. He fr didn't bet on us. If you stop watching him I'll request a trade. Joking. Not really. #NBAFinals

9:06 PM     453,738 likes 234,725 retweets

[dreamsinthefoxhollow]

Resident Evil vs Super Soldier

It was night in the city. I had joined a group of around fifty. They were just regular people who lived in the city, but who were now the survivors. We had taken shelter in a low-level apartment. It was a good place, lots of concrete and few ways in. While they were upstairs doing their scared people thing I was out in the courtyard. There were some lights off in the distance, maybe 3-4 blocks out. That's where the things were at. They weren't making the light. They were just in the part of the city that was still well-lit. It was safer here, in the dark. The light from the stars overhead, and the glow in the sky from the city lights, were more than enough for me to see by. It wasn’t that I had especially good vision at the moment, it was just good enough that I could see (with that old fake night filter from cheap movies). I could also see that there were little things crawling about in the grass. At least one was nearby, probably a few more out of sight. I could hear them rustling. Then I caught one trying to sneak into the building. I chased it down and caught before it could get in the doors. It was silvery and thin, like some kind of worm with dozens of short legs. It was a mean little thing. If it got ahold of anyone it would have easily ripped them up and infected them. It was also very crunchy when I squeezed it to death in my hand. That was kind of gross and messy. It bled blue slime. This was bad, though. If those little things were here, and found the people in the building, which it seemed they had since they were headed that way, it meant ... Damnit. Couldn't even wait for me to finish my Snake Pliskin monologue. Other things were running across the courtyard. They could have been dogs, but without skin, and with heads larger than their torso, and lots more eyes than needed. There was someone else there, watching from a balcony. He kind of reminded me of Bucky, the Winter Soldier. He had apparently been watching me skulk about the courtyard, and was now standing at alert, ready to start defending the building. I shouted that he needed to get the people out. I'd handle this while he got them to safety. I would create a distraction! It sounded good, and he apparently went along with it. I drew a weapon, some kind of oversize automatic pistol firing in short burst mode. It didn't take many shots to take down the four-legged things scampering through the grass. But that was just the beginning. After a few seconds more were running across the dark courtyard. I shot them, too, but there were a lot more this time. Dozens. And they were getting bigger. At first, I was brave, and foolish, and heroic. I ran towards them, shooting, shooting more, shooting even more, making sure I was giving the herd a good rout. But when they started to get bigger and faster and meaner I had to change tactics. Well, I had to but I really didn't. I felt around in my backpack/hammerspace for a good rifle, while still firing with my other hand. Problem was, I couldn't seem to get a rifle. It was just empty 5th dimensional bag. Then things got worse. Now there were things easily the size and shape of hogs, and maybe even hippos. These were crazy fast, highly muscled, red, dripping slime, skinned beasts. They circled me as I circled them. I was trying to stay out of a straight attack line, while dodging others that were jumping in from the sides, while shooting at everything that was moving, while still feeling around for the missing rifle. I imagined in a moment I'd have to resort to pointing my finger and making "pew pew" noises. The pistol ran out of its bottomless ammo cache as I found a stubby rifle in my other hand. I whipped that out and ... oh so nice. That thing was devastating. While those big things were absorbing my pistol fire until they had too many holes to function, this rifle was tearing them apart with bursts of explosive round. I couldn't help but give a wild laugh.I managed to break through the wild rush of beasts and make my way to the lit city area. But the things were flooding the area, and I swear they were somehow getting as large elephants, but much faster ... and leaping ... along with things that may have been humans, but were also skinned and red and oozing slimy stuff. Worse still, they were all increasing substantially in numbers. Even my superhuman abilities were getting to the limit as the piles of bodies grew and waves of things sprang in from all sides. Retreating was a good plan. I had given the people enough time to get out of the building, I hoped. It really was only just a few seconds, maybe 30 or a full minute, since this had all started with those first few running hound things. It was hard to tell time while in the middle of a heated battle. Maybe it was more like five minutes. Regardless, I was out of time. I managed to clear a space enough to dodge closer to some pillars of a building. The massive wave of things was coming from only one direction, swarming along the avenue in a red wave of disgusting fleshy red bodies. I fished around in the bag again and pulled out some kind of really large shotgun. Not like just large, but like huge and stubby. Like a cartoon version of a hand cannon. I fired it just above the seething horde of things still charging at me. It had a heck of a recoil, and in a moment dozens of streaks were filling the air as the canister shell opened over the crowd, and then there was a nonstop rumble of explosions as all of the released mini-shells carpet bombed the area. I dropped the single use weapon and ran while the bodyparts were flying. We were going to meet at the city center, where there was a delegation of higher beings, the keepers of this place. I caught up to the crowd of regular people, still being led by that one guy, just as they got to the base of the central towers. I picked up what looked like a large cat and tucked it under one arm. The cat seemed to both be pissed at me and grateful. The central towers were monolithic black walls curved to form a broken circle around some more curved monolithic walls, which ... It just kept going in layers, each a taller set, with the center roughly some kind of spire reaching up into the night sky and out of sight. We didn't make it much past the third set of walls when there was a really ugly noise from out in the city. It was screaming monsters mixed with screaming sirens. These sirens were the kind only used for really bad things, like tsunami, earthquakes, or the city blowing up with nuclear-level weaponry... The higher beings glided down and plucked all of us from our feet and flew up to the higher reaches of the spire. I had the uncomfortable honor to be one of the last to be picked up so I got to watch as explosions the size of full skyscraper buildings were going off just a few blocks away, getting closer, one every second or so. I could see flames and debris in between buildings. It was an uncomfortable sight. We all were safely spread out among the tops of the spires. The tops of these things were flat and huge, like an entire city block. They were also a dull red, almost rust colored. Most everyone was clinging together and staying far away from the sheer dropoff edges. I was speaking to one of the beings, an androgynous, tall humanoid with angelic wings of something that looked like glowing mist behind it. We knew each other and were on good terms. I was told the things we escaped from were not yet done. They would be coming up to where we were, eventually. We couldn't stay there. The beings could help us relocate to another part of the world, as soon as they figured out what was the best place. But things went really bad really fast. Some of the larger beasts had managed to climb the spire and were clawing over the edges. I whipped out the rifle and let loose a full auto attack on the nearest to me. The beings flicked others away with psionic shoves, like flicking ants off the rim of a cup. But the beasts were too many. In sheer numbers they were closing in, despite being flung away or turned into shredded burger by my rifle. Even that other guy was in the fray, with a sort mini-gun looking thing that was dealing even more damage than I was. Then we were suddenly zooming through the night air. I couldn't tell if we were unceremoniously dumped into some kind of teleporter, wormhole, or just carried really fast through the air. I just knew that things had gone very wrong and very bad, because the higher being who had carried me (and the cat) was telling me we had to seek shelter because the higher beings themselves were under attack from something else far greater than we had seen, something far worse, and threatening to even them. Not only did my angelic ride give me bad news, they had apparently been unable to get me to the intended destination. I was dropped on a mountain top maybe 200km outside the city. I was separated from the others. The mountain was all black rock. It was cold. I could see the city still lit up with little glowing searchlights and a little blob of citylight aura. Then it was just a large blob of blinding light. Ah yes. The nuclear option. Wait. The blob was getting way too big. It looked more like a molten bubble than a nuke. It was getting way too big, way too fast. Did some nutcase overload the antimatter power generator under the city? I backed away and scrambled off the rocks and onto a dark path carved in the solid stone on the sheltered side of the mountain. The air around me shifted from a nearly still, cold mountain breeze to a warm draft. The sky overhead turned orange and silver. I heard voices in my head. Not those of the higher beings, though they were still present at the moment, urging in multiplicity of tone to get to safety, and not just for us but for themselves. These new voices were microwave broadcast voices coming from something orbiting above the planet. I was being instructed to head to a military launch facility less than half a km away, but kind of straight down the side of the mountain. The higher being voices were snuffed out suddenly. The air around me started to glow, and the ground began vibrating uncomfortably. I knew there were other survivors dumped all around me, out of sight, but the new voices kept urging me to not worry about them and get to the facility. I scrambled straight down the side of the mountain like a drunken barbarian running through a cornfield that happened to be growing on a near-sheer cliff. The facility was a collection of black buildings with trusses and armored walls. I ran under some kind of archway and slammed against a metal-truss-lined wall. I was sheltered from the glowing air. There was a pipe there and I grabbed it and held tightly to it. I mean, it looked like a pipe, but it was actually a teleportation interlock lever. The archway was a teleportation site. The voices in my head said to remain calm and hold on tight because it was going to be close. At the same time the glowing around me had turned the night in a sun-like mid-day, and the heat in the air was causing steam to evaporate off the scratched armored sleeve on my arm. I could see parts of the building bathed in the light start to glow red and yellow as they were superheated. Oh, this wasn't just some large nuke, or even an antimatter reactor overload from the city power station. This was an orbital planetary sterilization wave. It swept over the facility, turning the air into charged plasma. The cat still tucked protectively under my arm yowled in words I could understand. "We are so fucked, you f-"

We both were laying on the floor of a brightly lit room. The walls were scratched and silvery-white. I sat up. I was steaming, and parts of my armored outfit (of course in black) which weren't scratched, dented, bloodied, or shredded, were burned like torched rubber. The cindered edges were still glowing in fading oranges and reds. Smoke trails were curling up in the still air from ... well, from me. The cat sat up beside me, completely silent and seemingly stunned, unburned, uninjured, but stained with all manner of grime. I picked the cat up again and we exited the room through an armored airlock. I set the cat on the ground as several uniformed soldiers checked us with some instruments. They referred to the cat as Kaiht, or 'A Kaiht,' as in that was one of what it was. It sure wasn't just a large cat, and was treated, and talked to, like a person. Kaiht was led out and the soldiers helped peel off the armored parts I was wearing. Thankfully I had some leathers underneath so I didn't need a change of clothing, at least not right away. Once out of the room I marched straight towards a very specific area. The hallways were clean and bright and would have looked like a very modern and upscale office building, if it were built using the layout plans of a submarine. The halls were narrow with exposed boxes or conduits at random. I reached the location in the maze of halls with the lone soldier escort having to double-time to keep up with me. I had reached an observation deck. This was a rather large ship, and I wanted to see out the back. There were several other people there, all survivors from the catastrophe, just as myself. There was only a dozen or so of us. I didn't see the other guy among them. We gathered on a balcony-like platform and gazed into a sea of pure, blinding white. That ... wasn't exactly supposed to be that way. Someone pointed into the sea of white. I had to squint and blink several times before it changed into the familiar black of orbital space. There was the planet we had been on, slowly receding. I could have covered my view of it with an outstretched hand. It was very indistinct and fuzzy, out of focus. The lower ¾ was a hazy mix of blue and brown, while a crescent covering the upper ¼ was a glowing haze of hellfire. It was spreading. From our vantage point we were looking at the unburned side of the planet, and the crescent was the sterilization wave coming around from the far side. Another few minutes and that wave would fully engulf the surface. Everything would be more or less a molten sea of lava and slag. Then, the process would repeat. The planet would glow brighter. Then again. And again. It wouldn't stop until the entire ball of planet was around the temperature of a small sun. That would take a few hours. The group and I went separate ways when we walked back into the ship. They were solemn and comforting each other, or in shock. Civilians. They'd probably never heard of such a thing, much less seen it, or lived through being in it. Lucky bastards. Also, the billions of unlucky bastards still on the planet, right now, inside that glowing crescent, or a few minutes away from being turned into carbon dust. That was a lot of death on someone's hands. I marched again, this time without an escort, since that guy stayed with the shellshocked people. I made it to a dining area/meeting room. There was food set out on large plates, one at each of a dozen or so seating places. A few people were already there and nodded to me as I entered. I recognized one as one of the higher beings, now gracing us with a more corporeal presence instead of straight-up godlike visage. They poked at the food with an amused tilt of their head. Kaiht - I think that was her name as well as her species - walked over and hopped onto a nearby chair. She was big enough to look down at the plate, but still looked like a huge, white housecat sitting in a chair at a table. I recognized two others as pure, secret-handshake-club military. Others were part of the ship's crew. Someone else walked in from a doorway next to what looked like a projection screen. She was a tall black woman in a slightly different uniform, and had that air about her that said she was more than 100 percent in charge of this entire rescue, and planet destruction, and more than just this ship we were on. She sat at the head end of the table. I sat beside Kaiht. We both picked at the food with disinterest, but Kaiht tore into it after a moment of cautions sniffing. I was busy staring at that woman. Oh yes, that woman. We knew each other quite well. We were not on the best of terms, but still on terms that meant we wouldn't be actively shooting at each other without due cause. She nodded and gave me a very curt and short version of "hello" worded more like, "Glad you could join us. Sorry about the last second teleport. I hope you weren't cooked too badly." She was snide, but I knew her enough to know she meant it literally, and would not have waited until the last millisecond if it hadn't been necessary. I also knew that planetary sterilization wasn't something she could just order on a whim, no matter how high up in the relative food chain she was. She picked at the food on her plate and turned toward the screen. It lit up with a little flickering of scintillating light pinpoints, before forming a holographic image next to the table. Ah yes. Here would be the real higher-ups who gave the orders to murder billions of civilians, and who would have explanations about the sea of monsters, and probably new orders for all of us.

Then I woke up.

[bookofjin]

Liu Yuan becomes Shanyu

This is Part 2 in a post series on the life and times of Liu Yuan, founder of Han-Zhao. Accompanying translations in next post.

Sources

See Part 1 for a more in-depth discussion of the sources used. I have also included snippets from a few relevant biographies from JS.

Liu Yuan as Leader and Chief Commandant of the Xiongnu

At some point after 279, Liu Yuan's father Bao died, and Liu Yuan left Luoyang to inherit his position as Leader of the Left Section. Later in the 280s when Leaders were changed to Chief Commandants, Liu Yuan became Chief Commandant of the Northern Section. I am not sure how much we should read into the change from the Left Section to the Right Section, but note that JS097 lists the Chief Commandant of the Left Section as managing 10 000 encampments and Chief Commandant of the Northern Section only 4 000.

Liu Yuan's time as Jin-approved/appointed Xiongnu leader is described in general laudatory terms. He improved the laws and punished misbehaviour, he was generous and charismatic. Not only Xiongnu nobles came to serve him, but also Chinese scholars from the neighbouring You and Ji provinces.

Emperor Wu of Jin died in 290, and his son, Sima Zhong, posthumously Emperor Hui, became Emperor of Jin. Emperor Hui suffered from some kind of mental disability that made him unable to rule. Real power was therefore in the hands of a regents. The failure of any of regents to decisively establish their own authority and legitimacy led to palace intrigues, coups and eventually civil war.

The first of these regents was Yang Jun, father of the Empress Dowager and Emperor Hui's maternal uncle. He appointed Liu Yuan General who Establishes Power and Great Chief Controller of the Five Sections, with the noble title of Marquis of Hanguang [“Han's Shining Light”] district.  Great Chief Controller of the Five Sections would seem to imply some kind of overall authority over all the Xiongnu, but I am not sure if that was really the case. Yang Jun was trying to butter up his own regime, there would not necessarily have been any substance to the honours handed out.

In any case Yang Jun's regime was toppled already in 291, and for the rest of the decade real lay with Emperor Hui's Empress, Jia Nanfeng. This was the Yuankang era, 291 – 299. Nothing is told about Liu Yuan's relations with the Jin court during this time period until the “end of Yuankang” when he was dismissed from office for failing to control his followers, so much for his perfect government!

In JS004, the Annals of Emperor Hui, we can read that in 294 the Xiongnu Hao San (or “Haosan”) rebelled, and attacked Shangdang commandery where he killed the county magistrates. Hao San was killed later the same year by the Chief Commandant of Pingyi. However in summer 296 Hao San's younger brother Duyuan also rebelled. His followers included not only Xiongnu but also Qiang as well as other ethnicities. Duyuan defeated several commandery Wardens, and also the Inspector of Yong province. Duyuan's final fate is not recorded, in autumn that year the Di and Qiang peoples of Qin and Yong provinces under their leader Qi Wannian rose up against the Jin. Qi Wannian was finally defeated early in 299 after widespread destruction.

Though the Liu Yuan biographies are not specific on the troubles that led to his dismissal, it is easy to imagine that some of the warriors under his administration had gone to join Duyuan or Qi Wannian, or maybe just exploited the general chaos in the north-west to do some raiding and pillaging on their own.

After his dismissal, Liu Yuan went to serve Sima Ying, the King of Chengdu. Sima Ying was one of Emperor Hui's brothers and from spring 299 military commander at Ye. Sima Ying appointed Liu Yuan General who Soothes the Boreal, Overseer of the Army Affairs of the Five Sections. The second title again suggest overall military command of the Xiongnu, in this case I am certain Liu Yuan's command in practice would have been restricted to a portion of Sima Ying's troops at Ye. WS095 dates this appointment to the beginning of the Yongning era (300-301).

WS095, JS101: dismissed from office: That Liu Yuan could simply be dismissed from office suggest that he was treated more like an appointed official than a hereditary vassal ruler by the Jin court.

WS095, JS1010: petitioned: Formally Sima Ying does not have the authority to appoint Generals, he can only make recommendations to the court.

Early career of Liu Cong

At this point I would like to make a digression into the earlier careers of Liu Yuan's son Liu Cong and relative Liu Xuan.

Liu Cong was Liu Yuan's fourth son and future Emperor of Han. The story of his early life follows that of his father's quite closely, but is somewhat shorter. This may just be due to later abbreviations though. Liu Cong has his own Yearly Annals in JS102, as well as more abbreviated biographies in WS095 and TPYL119

It is said that Liu Yuan's wife, Ms. Zhang, once dreamt that the sun entered her chest. She woke up and told Liu Yuan about it. Liu Yuan claimed it as an auspicious omen, but cautioned her about speaking about it to others. 15 months later Liu Cong was born - his father had been born 13 months after his mother's a prophetic dream. That night there was an unnatural sunshine. Liu Cong's physical appearance was also unusual, a single glossy white hair grew from his left ear, 2 chi long.

Unsurprisingly, Liu Cong grew up to be an intelligent kid, and impressed his father's old school mate Zhu Ji. By the age of 14 sui he had finished his literary education, having thoroughly studied the classics and histories and also, more cursorily, the various philosophical schools. Like his fahter, he was particularly fond of Sun and Wu's Principles of War.

Unlike his father, Liu Cong is also credited with literary skills of his own. He is said to have been skilled at calligraphy, both the draft and clerical styles, and was the author of more than 100 chapters of poetry and 50 chapters of rhapsodies and hymns. At 15 sui he turned to military affairs. He was strong and good at shooting, reportedly able to bend a 300 jin [c. 66 kg] bow. He also earned the apparently obligatory praise from Wang Hun.

As a youth he travelled Luoyang and formed connections with the important people there. Unlike his father, there is no mention of Liu Cong being a hostage, maybe that practice had been abolished? Yue Guang and Zhang Hua are said to have been particularly impressed with him. Both were among leading scholar-officials of the day. Zhang Hua was Overseer of the Palace Writers and from 296 Minister of Works. Yue Guang eventually became Prefect of the Masters of Writing.

It is WS095 rather than JS102 which gives the most detailed account of Liu Cong's career as a Jin official. His first recorded appointed was as Master of Accounts for the Grand Warden of Xinxing commandery, Guo Yi. Master of Accounts was one of the highest posts in the regular commandery administration. He was then recommended as Good and Supportive which earned him an appointment in the capital as Detached Marshal of Valiant Cavalry, presumably some kind of military command.

Sima Jiong, the King of Qi, regent during the Yongning era, appointed Liu Cong Palace Commandant of State. At some point after that he left the capital to be Marshal of the Left Section, presumably as a subordinate of the Xiongnu Chief Commandant of the Left Section. This then seems to have been the first Xiongnu appointment that Liu Cong. In the Jin bureaucratic system the Marshal was usually a military commander's senior military staff officer, only behind the Senior Clerk, the civilian chief of staff, in rank.

From there Liu Cong moved to Chief Commandant of the Right Section, the same position as Liu Yuan had held earlier. Like his father, Liu Cong is described as a charismatic leader who gained the loyalty of the Xiongnu nobles and worthies. Like his father, Liu Cong also left his Xiongnu leadership position, the reason is not stated, to serve one of the Jin princes, Sima Yong, King of Hejian and military commander at Chang'an. WS095 titles Sima Yong as Grand Steward, a rank he held from May 304. Sima Yong appointed Liu Cong as Commander of the Palace Gentlemen of the Chisha. Chisha赤沙 translates literally as “Red Sand”, but in JS097 is as a branch of the northern barbarians, so it seems this refers to a group of people rather than a place name.

Though Sima Yong and Sima Ying at Ye were still allies at this point, Liu Cong apparently feared that Sima Ying would suspect his father of divided loyalties and kill him if he stayed at Chang'an. So he abandoned Sima Yong and travelled to Ye were he entered Sima Ying's service as one of his vanguard commanders, as General who Amasses Crossbows of the Right.

Liu Xuan, the granduncle

Liu Xuan was one of Liu Yuan's early key supporters. He is described as Liu Yuan's granduncle. If we were to accept the sources' genealogy this would make him the brother of Yufuluo which is clearly absurd. Liu Yuan was about 50 years old when Liu Xuan enters the story, so that he was Liu Yuan's literal granduncle at all is also a bit of a stretch. But whatever their precise relations, Liu Xuan no doubt belonged to the Xiongnu aristocracy.

Liu Xuan has a short biography attached to JS101, mainly focusing on his life before joining up with Liu Yuan. This seems to have been a common pattern in sub-biographies from the SLGCQ. I believe the original SLGCQ was formatted as a year-by-year chronicle with biographies of important people inserted as short digressions, similar to still extant chronicle histories like the Houhanji and Jiankang Shilu. These biographies focus on the early lives because the rest are integrated into the main chronicle.

Liu Xuan's biography shares several common themes with Liu Yuan and Liu Cong's, but without the miraculous portents signalling the birth of an emperor. Liu Xuan is described as plain and blunt. He studied under one Sun Yan of Le'an. The Bibliography in Suishu 033 lists one Sun Yan, Overseer of the Private Library during Wei, as the author of commentaries on the Liji and the Erya. Perhaps this is the same person.

Liu Xuan was fond of the Mao Poetry and the Zuo zhuan, Sun Yan compared him favourably to Jin Midi. Having finished his studied, Liu Xuan returned home where he lived a private life for some time. He often read the Book of Han, and is said that a man of great talent would have been able to serve as the equal of Xiao He or Deng Yu. Xiao He was Chancellor for Gaozu of Han, and an important contributor to the founding of Western Han. Deng Yu was one Guangwu's highest ministers and similarly played a big role at the beginning of Eastern Han. Liu Xuan apparently thought himself a potential equal to these two. As a native of the Eastern Han period, Deng Yu does not have a biography in the transmitted text of Ban Gu's Hanshu. In Liu Xuan's times there existed several histories of Eastern Han. The extant Houhanshu, by Fan Ye, was however only written later, during the early 5th century.

Liu Xuan's life in retirement ended when his talents were recognized by the Inspector of Bing province, Wang Guang, and summoned to an audience with Emperor Wu of Jin. Afterwards Emperor Wu commented that Wang Guang's recommendation had not just been empty words and judged Liu Xuan more than able to govern his own native people.

Liu Xuan's biography in JS101 says that following the imperial audience, Liu Xuan was appointed Chief Controller (dudu都督) of the Right Section. But elsewhere it is stated that in the Jin system, each of the Xiongnu Five Sections was initially governed by a Leader (shuai 帥), changed during the 280s to a Chief Commandant (duwei都尉).

In WS095 Liu Xuan is called Chief Controller of the Northern Section.

In the main text of JS101, Liu Xuan is introduced as the old Chief Commandant of the Northern Section and Worthy King of the Left. The latter seems to be a simple mistake as Liu Xuan later in the same text is referred to as Worthy King of the Right.

In TPYL's article on Liu Yuan, Liu Xuan is Chief Commandant of the Northern Section and Worthy of the Right.

In ZZTJ Liu Xuan is Worthy King of the Right.

The change from the Right Section to Northern Section is not a problem. Liu Yuan was moved from Leader of the Left Section to Chief Commandant of the Northern Section, so it seems the Jin court was able to move the Xiongnu leadership around as regular officials.

I am not sure how much thought to put into Chief Controller vs. Chief Commandant. The simplest explanation is that Chief Controller is a mistake, and the text should read Chief Commandant. The mistake could originally have been made in the SLGCQ or one of its sources, and then continued by WS095 and JS101. The other possibility is that Chief Controller was a separate office from the Chief Commandant. It is not like we have an exhaustive treatise on the Xiongnu administration.

In JS101, Liu Xuan is called the old Chief Commandant of the Northern Section. As Liu Yuan's granduncle, he presumably was an older man (Liu Yuan was in his early 50s) so it would make some sense if he had retired from office holding. But when was he Chief Commandant? The Leaders of the five Sections were changed to Chief Commandants in the middle of Taikang (280 – 289), Liu Yuan became Chief Commandant of the Northern Section at the end of Taikang. In 290 or 291 Yang Jun appointed Liu Yuan General who Establishes Power and Great Chief Controller of the Five Sections. Did he then stopped being Chief Commandant, or where these just honorary titles held concurrently? Liu Yuan was in any case dismissed from office, whatever it was, at the end of Yuankang (291 – 291). According to JS102, Liu Cong also at some point was Chief Commandant of the Northern Section. If there really was a separate Chief Controller the picture would be less crowded, and there would be some precedence for a Great Chief Controller.

Worthy King of the Right was a traditional Xiongnu title, and among the Xiongnu kings second only to the Worthy King of the Left, a title held by Liu Yuan, which was reserved for the Shanyu's designated heir. Unless these titles have been retroactively added by the historians, it seems the old Xiongnu hierarchy of noble titles continued to exist in parallel with the Jin official appointments.

Liu Xuan's conspiracy

Sima Ying played a critical role in what we can call the middle phase of the Jin civil wars, where he and Sima Yong from their bases at Ye and Chang'an repeatedly joined forces to remove whoever held power at Luoyang.

Sima Lun, King of Zhao, deposed Empress Jia in May 300, and in February 301 had Emperor Hui's abdicate the throne in favour of himself. Two months later Sima Jiong, King of Qi, rose against Sima Lun from his base at Xuchang in alliance with Sima Ying and Sima Yong. After a short civil war Emperor Hui was restored to the throne on 1 June, and Sima Lun was executed.

After that, Sima Jiong moved to Luoyang and took control of the central government. However in January 303, Sima Yong and Sima Ying declared against him. Sima Ai, King of Changsha, turned on Sima Jiong from within Luoyang and killed him.

Sima Ai became the next regent, however in September 303 Sima Ying and Sima Yong once more joined forces against the capital. The resulting civil war lasted until January 304 when Sima Ai was taken captive in a coup led by Sima Yue, King of Donghai, and executed.

All these internal squabbles eroded the ruling family's legitimacy and the empire's stability. It was in this environment, we are told, that Liu Xuan formed a conspiracy with other prominent Xiongnu to restore Xiongnu independence.

In a speech attributed to Liu Xuan, he laments that formerly the Han Emperor and the Shanyu had formed a covenant as equals, but since then the Shanyu had been reduced to no more than a man from a common registered household, without a foot of land to rule as his own. However now the Sima clan are destroying each other, and the world is in turmoil. Moreover the Worthy King of the Left, Liu Yuan is a man of great ability, Heaven would not have brought forth such a man if not to seize such a moment and restore the Xiongnu to their lands.

Liu Xuan and the others decided they would make Liu Yuan their new Great Shanyu. The problem of course was that he was at Ye serving Sima Ying. So one of the conspirators, Huyan You, went to Ye to tell Liu Yuan about their scheme. Liu Yuan asked for leave to go home and attend a funeral, but Sima Ying refused to grant it, so Liu Yuan had to stay at Ye. He therefore ordered Huyan You to go home and tell Liu Xuan to assemble the Five Sections and pretend to obey Sima Ying.

This is just the sort of story that I find difficult to believe actually took place. It just seems too convenient in foreshadowing what happened after, and could only have been recorded after Liu Yuan had openly broken with Sima Ying.

Huyan: According to JS097, the Huyan clan were next in prominence and close advisors to the ruling Xiongnu clan. Liu Yuan's mother also came from this clan.

JS101: Pull in and meet with the various Hu of Yiyang: There was a Yiyang宜陽 county just west of Luoyang, but I am not sure if this really is the place referred to here.

The Battle of Dangyin

After the fall of Sima Ai, Sima Ying briefly came to Luoyang and was appointed Imperial Chancellor. He soon returned to his own power-base at Ye, he however left behind an army to garrison Luoyang. All important decision were sent to him at Ye for consultations. On 1 May 304 a decree announced Sima Ying's elevation to “Brother-Heir” (as he was the younger brother rather than the son of the Emperor). Liu Yuan in turn became Colonel of Garrison Cavalry to the Brother-Heir.

On 17 August there was a coup within Luoyang. Sima Yue took control of the Emperor, and expelled Sima Ying's troops from the city. On 20 August Sima Yue, with Emperor Hui in tow, marched north from Luoyang with his army to attack Sima Ying. In response, Sima Ying sent an army under his general Shi Chao to confront Sima Yue. Liu Yuan was appointed General who Assists the State and Controller of the Defence Affairs of the Northern City (or “Northern Walls”.

On 9 September Shi Chao defeated Sima Yue in battle at Dangyin. Sima Yue fled, his army scattered. Emperor Hui was spoils of war, Shi Chao brought him back with him to Ye. Sima Ying had prevailed, for now. Liu Yuan, though he had not taken active part in the fighting, was rewarded with appointment as General of the Best of the Army, and ennobled as Earl of Lunu (a county in Zhongshan commandery).

As far as we can tell then, Liu Yuan had served Sima Ying faithfully up to this point, and had been rewarded in step with his master's rise. Just just how highly placed Liu Yuan was among Sima Ying's followers is difficult to say. His name does not occur in Sima Ying's biography in JS059. I think we can assume he was at least a tier below Sima Ying's first ranked supporters.

Liu Yuan becomes Shanyu

Unfortunately for Sima Ying, the rest of the empire did not fall into line just because he had defeated Sima Yue and controlled the Emperor. To the north the General who Calms the North, Wang Jun, had up to this point stayed entirely outside the struggles among the Jin princes, and had instead been building up his own personal alliances with the Xianbei and Wuhuan leadership. According to JS039, Sima Ying sent his new Inspector of You province, He Yan, north with secret instructions to kill Wang Jun and take over his army. But this plan failed completely, it was Wang Jun who killed He Yan and appointed himself Inspector.

To the north-east the Inspector of Bing province, Sima Teng, Duke of Dongying, was Sima Yue's younger brother. Sima Teng and Wang Jun now became natural allies, and together they defeated Sima Ying's general Wang Bin. Wang Jun appointed his Master of Accounts, Qi Hong, as commander of his vanguard, which included a large amount of Xianbei and Wuhuan cavalry. Qi Hong defeated Sima Ying's generals sent after him one after the other.

At this point, with the situation increasingly dire, the Liu Yuan biographies narrates a dialogue between Liu Yuan and Sima Ying. It begins with Liu Yuan advising Sima Ying that he cannot resists the enemy's 100 000 men with the forces available at Ye, he instead requests to go home and raise the Xiongnu Five Sections in support of Sima Ying.

In his reply, Sima Ying doubts if Liu Yuan can really bring the Xiongnu to his side, and, if he does, if they really are capable of defeating the Xianbei and Wuhuan, who are swift and strong. Instead, Sima Ying suggests, they should bring the Emperor with them back to Luoyang to avoid the immediate danger, and then call the whole empire to arms.

Liu Yuan responds that Sima Ying is the son of Emperor Wu and revered through the world, while Wang Jun and Sima Teng are mere upstarts and distant relatives, there will not be any difficulties convincing the Xiongnu to follow him. (Sima Teng was grandson of one of Sima Yi's younger brothers.) But if Sima Ying shows weakness by fleeing Ye, he might not even reach Luoyang. And even if he does, how will his authority be restored? A call to arms is just a piece of paper! However, the Xianbei are no match for the Five Sections of the Xiongnu. If Sima Ying would stay and rally the troops, he, Liu Yuan, will use two of the Five Sections to destroy Sima Teng, and the other three to kill Wang Jun.

Sima Ying was pleased with this advise, he appointed Liu Yuan Northern Shanyu Assisting the Army Affairs of the Imperial Chancellor and sent him off. Liu Yuan arrived at Zuoguocheng, according to JS101 the same place as Meiji were Southern Shanyu had held court. There Liu Xuan and the other Xiongnu leaders hailed Liu Yuan as Great Shanyu. JS004 dates Liu Yuan's ascension to Great Shanyu to between 18 September and 1 October 304.

Liu Yuan set his headquarters at Lishi, within twenty days, we are told, his forces had grown to 50 000 men.

[astudyinfreewill]

"i almost lost you" for pynch please

so this is 3 months late because i’m literally the worst but HERE ENJOY THIS THING that was gonna be a short drabble but devolved into 4k of angst/fluff. sorry for the wait anon, and thanks to @adamparrush for helping me navigate the intricacies of american high school schedules!

(you told me) this is right were it begins || read on ao3

‘Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railingsAnd you clutched my brain and eased my ailing

Is There Somewhere - Halsey

The aftermath of dealing with the demon leaves behind a wake of emotional debris they were not – couldn’t have been – fully prepared to tackle. They all have a lot on their plate: assessing the damage, picking up the broken pieces, allowing the wounds to scar over.

There’s the matter of Gansey, and what exactly he is now that he’s been brought back to life. There’s the matter of Noah, who had been fleeting and barely-there for a while, but is now completely gone, leaving the group to struggle with grieving someone who was already dead. There’s the matter of Henry, and how he fits into this new, fragile balance they have.

And, of course, there’s the matter of Gansey-and-Blue, and the matter of Adam-and-Ronan.

The first couple of weeks go by completely smoothly – dreamlike, almost. Adam goes back to school, and starts picking his jobs back up, shift by shift. Ronan drops out – officially, this time – and goes back to the Barns. Declan and Matthew come back to town for a short while, and Aurora gets a funeral, the elaborately carved white coffin as lovely and vacant as she had been in life. (Adam doesn’t really understand dream people, or what it’s like to lose a beloved parent, but he understands enough to recognize the fractures in the Lynch brothers: the cracks in Declan’s politician facade, the clouds rolling over Matthew’s sunny disposition. He understands enough to see Ronan break again: quieter, this time; with less anger than when Niall was killed. But he still breaks.)

They don’t talk about it, because they just don’t do that kind of thing – they never have; they wouldn’t know how. Instead of words, Adam offers himself: a shoulder for Ronan to rest his head on, lips trailing over his cheek, a hand lightly placed on his when they’re at Nino’s. Gentle, anchoring touches to keep him from spiralling into his grief. He drives down to the Barns after work and plays with Opal when Ronan is too heartsick to manage it; he lets Ronan crash at St. Agnes at 3 in the morning, when it’s pitch black outside and the world weighs hopelessly on Ronan’s shoulders, and shields him with his body, curled around the black hooks of Ronan’s tattoo.

Sometimes it’s enough. And sometimes it isn’t.

The fact of the matter is that before being Adam-and-Ronan, they were Adam and Ronan: two satellites orbiting planet Gansey, inevitably colliding with each other over and over, and only taking stock of the damage when the impact had already left craters in both of them. Even as they’d slowly become friends, then better friends, then something more altogether, Adam had never harboured any illusions that they would ever stop fighting. So, logically, he should not have expected them to stop butting heads now just because they were… whatever they were (…together? Boyfriends? That was something else they had not talked about).

But Adam hadn’t been thinking logically ever since Ronan had kissed him in his childhood bedroom, taking reason away and replacing it with soft white light and the foreign feeling of being loved, loved, loved. If he had, he might have seen it coming when their new, unspoken peace suddenly came unspooled around them on a winter night.

As it is, though, it’s ten minutes to midnight and Adam is tired. The end of the semester is fast approaching, Aglionby teachers apparently trying their best to fit as many test as they can in the last few days; his shift at Boyd’s has been relentless today, the garage drastically understaffed because three of the mechanics are home with the flu. He stayed up until 3am last night revising for an algebra quiz, skipped today’s lunch in favour of cramming in some last-minute Latin homework, and he knows tomorrow’s schedule is not looking any better. His stomach growls loudly, the grilled cheese sandwich he had for dinner not nearly enough to make up for the meal he missed, and all he wants is to crawl into bed and catch up on lost sleep, but he has college applications to write; he has sent out most of them already, but there are still a few he needs to finalise by the end of December, and they’re not going to write themselves.

He’s so absorbed in his work that he barely hears the first knock on the door, his head only jerking up when a second round of knocks comes, louder and more impatient. There’s no question of who it is – there’s only one person it could be at this time of night – and normally Adam would go greet him at the door, kiss him, pull him inside by his belt loops. Tonight, though, he’s just so exhausted and hungry and done that he can’t even bring himself to get up. “Come in,” he calls out wearily, scratching out a mistake in the rough draft of his cover letter.

Ronan walks in, bringing with him an eddy of cold night air and a metaphorical storm cloud over his head. Adam doesn’t know what it is, exactly – but something in him picks up on Ronan’s obvious bad mood, and his own already grim mood ricochets dully off it, grating at his patience.

“God, Parrish, how the fuck are you still working?” That tone, the bored, casually dismissive one, has not made an appearance since before – before the demon, before Aurora, before the kissing and this newborn thing between them. Adam can’t say he’s missed it, and his hackles instinctively rise with the muscle memory of a dozen previous fights.

“Because I have no choice,” he huffs, dryly. “I could’ve been more ahead of schedule if I hadn’t had to spend all of lunch break on Latin homework. I tried calling you to check if I had the vocabulary right, but you didn’t pick up.” As you never do, is the unspoken but still obvious add-on to that sentence. Adam knows it’s petty, but he can’t keep the petulance out of his voice. This is another thing he had expected to change after, even though he had no logical grounds for it, and it annoys him to be proven wrong.

“I was out,” Ronan shrugs, apparently unperturbed, but he has felt the silent barb, and his own defenses rise in response, in an all-too-familiar mechanism: guilt leading to self-deprecation leading to insecurity leading to anger. His shoulders are tense as he props himself down on the floor against Adam’s bed.

Adam watches him out of the corner of his eyes. Ronan is a spring coiled tight, the black cloud trailing after him apparently only getting denser and denser as he chews restlessly at the leather bands on his wrist. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are pink, as if he’d been driving with his windows down. As if–

Adam puts his pen down with deliberate calm.

“Have you been racing?”

Ronan snorts. “Okay, Gansey.”

Adam turns to look at him more fully, and despite the fact that yes, historically it’s Gansey who’s been the one dealing with a street-racing Ronan, Adam has still seen it often enough to know the signs. The adrenaline crackling in and around him, the restless way he taps his boot against the floor, the combative glint in his eyes.

“Well, have you?”

“So what if I have?” it’s a childish response, and once upon a time, Adam might have fired back something cutting for that alone, rolling his eyes at Ronan’s antics. Now, he knows better than to do that, but he’s unable to stop his thoughts from derailing frantically in another direction.

It’s mid-December. Even in Virginia, the weather has been hostile, especially over the past week, with on-and-off spells of merciless rain, which combined with the temperature dropping at night makes for a constant chill in the air. And it makes the roads freeze over at night.

There’s ice on the roads, and Ronan’s been racing.

Adam’s heartbeat picks up speed in his chest, going faster for every mile he imagines Ronan going over the speed limit, shooting down a poorly-lit country road, trying to outmaneuver some good-for-nothing delinquent.

“Are you an idiot?” he blurts out, before he can think better of it.

“What the fuck, Parrish? Just because you’re busy applying to fancy schools you don’t get to be all high and mighty with the resident drop-out,” Ronan sneers, but there’s a beat of genuine hurt under the sarcasm. Adam hears it, but he can’t make himself acknowledge it right now. His chest feels too tight, and his mind keeps reliving the same dreadful possibility.

Gas pedal. Gear shift. Wheels on slippery ice. Crash.

“I thought you’d stopped racing,” he says, forcing his voice to remain even.

Ronan shrugs. “It’s fun.”

That’s not a lie, not exactly; Ronan does love racing. But it’s a lie right now. Because this, this isn’t Ronan racing for fun. This is Ronan racing the way he did right after Niall died, or the way he did before he could master his night horrors. This is Ronan lost and helpless and grieving for his dead mother, reeling from almost losing his best friend, unmoored with the fear of Adam leaving for college. This is Ronan racing like maybe he doesn’t care so much if he wraps the BMW around a tree.

Adam slams his notebook closed. “Yeah? How fun is it going to be when you crash the damn car because you couldn’t be bothered to check if there’s ice on the ground?”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Parrish, can you relax and take the stick out of your ass for like five seconds?” he drawls. Adam knows, technically, that he’s just committed his first mistake: he’s getting angry, which means Ronan will act as infuriatingly aloof as he can to balance it out. But he can’t seem to stop himself, hurtling towards anger the same way he imagines the BMW skidding along a dark road to a fiery end.

He imagines Ronan on the ground, crushed under metal sheet and debris.

He sees Ronan on the ground, blood pooling around him as the demon unmakes him piece by painful piece, gasping for air and desperately creating with every ragged breath.

He can’t stand it.

“If you’re gonna be an asshole, you can just leave. I’ve got shit to do anyway,” he bites out, getting up and gesturing towards the door.

Ronan immediately gets up as well, hurt and rejection tumbling into anger. “Of course you do. Like you have time for anything apart from your fucking homework.”

“Oh, give me a break, Lynch” Adam exclaims, his voice rising in volume despite his best efforts. “Excuse me for wanting a future. Not all of us care so little about their lives they can just drop out of school and spend all their time racing cars.”

“What the fuck is your problem, huh?” Ronan shoots back, stepping closer to him in the cramped little room. “No, really, what crawled up your ass and died? It’s none of your business what I do with my free time now I’m not stuck in that shithole of a school anymore.”

It’s a sore spot – unlike Gansey, Adam has always recognised the futility of trying to force Ronan to stay in school against his wishes, but it doesn’t mean he agrees with the choice. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss him. He can’t help himself from leaning closer, into Ronan’s personal space, matching him step for step.

“Right, of course, because sticking it out a few more months in high school was gonna kill you, but speeding down frozen roads in the dark for shits and giggles isn’t.”

“Jesus Christ, would you get the hell off my back?! I’m fucking good at driving, and I know what I’m doing! Why the fuck do you even care if I race?”

“Because I almost lost you!” Adam all but yells at him. His fists clench spasmodically at his sides, and he feels the bite of it, wondering if he’s broken skin; he wants to punch a wall, kick a chair, something, but every time the idea of violence crosses his mind he sees Blue’s frightened face, and a wave of self-loathing clamps his muscles into place.

Ronan seems to be similarly frozen into place, his eyes wide. They’re both breathing hard, despite standing perfectly still. Adam takes a shameful step back, unable to meet Ronan’s eyes, his fists still balled hard at his sides.

“You don’t know– you have no idea–” he starts, low and unsteady, his traitorous accent weighing on every vowel. “I had to watch as that thing took you apart. Watch as it killed you. I thought it was over. I thought you–” his voice cracks and he shakes his head, biting down on his lip to keep his eyes from welling up, because he’s not doing this, he can’t do this – but he is anyway, his ribs constricting around his lungs painfully, his throat working uselessly against a lump. Everything inside him is chaos, knocked asunder with the knowledge of how Ronan – this miraculous boy, this god-like dreamer – is ultimately just as fragile as any human, perhaps more so because of how much life he holds within himself.

He sees, again, Ronan unmade by the demon, but he also sees Ronan drowning in Cabeswater, sinking in acid to try to save Opal; he remembers the desperation with which he’d tethered himself to the ley line and asked Cabeswater to please save him please please save him just save him. He remembers Ronan’s dream double, lying on the floor of the church they’re standing above just now, convulsing and bleeding out, looking so much like the real Ronan that even the memory twists Adam’s stomach painfully. He remembers rushing to the hospital after getting a panicked phone call from Gansey and seeing Ronan in a hospital bed, pale as death, his arms bandaged with red-stained gauze.

He remembers his own hands clenching around Ronan’s throat to choke the life out of him.

The fear and disgust are an almost physical weight on his chest, and he still can’t bring himself to look at Ronan, even as he finds his voice.

“I know maybe you don’t care about your life right now,” he says quietly. “But if you care about me at all, even a little bit– please, please, just– stay alive.” He closes his eyes, recognising the battle as lost when he feels dampness against his eyelashes but too tired to care, sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion and emotional upheaval getting the better of him.

The next moment, Ronan’s hands are on his, taking hold of his fists and gently teasing them open. Adam looks up through slightly blurry eyes to see angry red crescent marks on his palms, and Ronan running his thumbs over them. Ronan’s face is doing complicated things, regret and confusion and grief warring with each other, his eyes still wide with something like wonder. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking helpless, like he doesn’t think that’s enough. Adam blinks back more tears and thinks somewhat hysterically that this is the first time Ronan’s ever apologised first for a fight.

“God, don’t– I’m the one who should–” Adam stumbles, then heaves out a ragged sigh. “Don’t be sorry. Be safe.”

He allows himself to look at Ronan’s face more steadily, and watches his expression shift through something like shame, then pain, his eyes very bright, like maybe he’s close to crying as well, and Adam’s heart flips over in his chest, wishing desperately he could undo the entire night, go back to before they ever fought. Ronan brings Adam’s hand up to his cheek, presses the palm there, then turns his head just enough to brush his lips to it, barely a kiss.

“It hurts,” Ronan says in a very small voice, breath warm against his hand. It’s vague, and he doesn’t offer any clarification, but Adam knows what he means. Losing Aurora, losing Cabeswater, losing Gansey without knowing how they were going to get him back, his treacherous dreams telling him he’s going to lose Adam as well.

Adam is new to love, but he thinks he’s starting to understand loss, because for the first time in his life he feels he has things to lose. He thinks about Persephone, the first adult to ever be good to him. He thinks about Cabeswater, whose absence still feels like a gaping hole in his chest. He thinks again about the possibility of losing Ronan, losing Gansey, losing Blue, losing Opal, and his hands tighten around Ronan’s.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He means it in more ways than he can put words to, his eyes dropping to the floor again. But Ronan, perceptive as he can sometimes be – and Adam knows this by now, should be used to it, but it somehow always blindsides him – seems to pick up on it anyway.

“Parrish,” he says softly, “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

“I know,” Adam murmurs. Unlike Ronan, he’s no stranger to lying. He knows that it’s not his fault – not technically. But all he can think of is the demon using his hands to strangle Ronan, the demon using his eyes to spy on them. Ronan’s hands covered in Aurora’s blood and Adam standing by, unable to help, a useless magician.

“Adam,” Ronan says, more steady now. “It’s not your fault.” He slides Adam’s hand down, to rest against his neck, thumb pressed to the pulse point. Fear lurches deep in Adam’s gut as he instinctively recoils, trying to take his hand back. Ronan doesn’t let him.

Instead, Ronan – stubborn, impossible Ronan – takes his other hand and places it on his throat as well, an achingly tender mimicry of Adam’s worst nightmare.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats, conviction weighing in every word. “That was not you. It could never be you.”

“Ronan,” Adam tries to protest, with a note of pleading. Ronan’s throat is warm and smooth and alive, and he forces his hands to stay as limp as they can and resist the urge to touch.

“Adam.”

They just look at each other for a long moment. It probably looks stupid from the outside, Adam thinks distantly; but all he wants right now is to collapse against Ronan’s chest, to hide his face into his shoulder, to listen to his heartbeat’s constant reminder that they’ve won, they’re alive, they get to have this.

“I trust you,” Ronan says, his tone gentler than it is on most occasions. Adam is reminded fleetingly of baby mice and baby ravens, back when he was still discovering that Ronan wasn’t all sharp edges and thorns.

“What if I don’t trust myself?”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Ronan replies easily. “But it’s okay, because I trust you enough for both of us.”

Adam swallows, the motion almost painful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I trust you more than anyone.” It’s the truth, because Ronan never lies.

Adam wants to cry again, but he doesn’t. Instead he allows his hands to move, to settle more firmly around Ronan’s neck, not pushing but feeling, gently pressing his index fingertips to the spot behind Ronan’s ears, his thumbs to the pulse under his chin, all smooth skin and rough stubble.

Ronan closes his eyes and lets out a long exhale from his mouth, letting his hands fall off of Adam’s as if giving Adam control has dislodged a weight from his shoulders, allowing him to breathe more easily.

The sudden surge of love clutching at Adam’s heart right then is stronger than even the ley line coming to life inside him, and he can’t help himself from chasing that exhale, pressing his lips to Ronan’s, softly at first, then more firmly, again and again and again. When they part for breath, their foreheads stay touching, Adam’s head tilted back slightly with the height difference he pretends to be bothered by.

“Can we like, go for hot chocolate or somethin’?” He almost kicks himself for how trivial of a question that is to alight upon, his Henrietta accent making it even more prosaic, but right now, all he wants is to stay close to Ronan, to forget about demons and death and sorrow and just revel in everything they haven’t lost, sitting together like two normal teenagers in the booth of a 24 hour diner.

Ronan lets out a surprised laugh, and when Adam looks up to see, with relief, Ronan’s eyes crinkling up with a smile, he thinks maybe that wasn’t the wrong question to ask after all.

“Thought you had homework,” Ronan says, his voice rough.

“Fuck homework,” Adam replies, and Ronan sucks in a breath, only half for show.

“Parrish,” he says, “you’ve literally never been hotter to me than in this exact moment.”

“Fuck off,” Adam laughs.

“Damn, it gets better and better,” Ronan comments on a wolf-whistle, not missing a beat.

Adam rolls his eyes at him, grinning, but then a thought makes him sober up for a moment. “I think we need to get better. At this talking thing, I mean.”

Ronan makes a face of exaggerated distaste, everything in him rebelling at the idea of conversations about feelings.

“You know I’m right,” Adam says.

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Ronan mutters, then offers: “I’ll… pick up my phone?”

“It’s a start,” Adam concedes, amusedly, even though that’s not the real problem and they both know it.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you couldn’t survive Latin class without my help,” Ronan shrugs with false modesty.

“Right,” Adam drawls. “Anyway. I’ll… try not to freak out about things?”

“Sounds fake,” Ronan hums, poking his nose at Adam’s cheek.

“Your face sounds fake.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Parrish. Maybe they shouldn’t make you valedictorian after all.”

“Maybe, but your ass better stay alive till graduation, ‘cause I want you there anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess I better,” Ronan replies simply, but his tone is serious; it’s a promise, and they both know it.

Adam nods. “Hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate,” Ronan nods back. “Whipped cream and a metric fuckton of marshmallows?”

Adam’s stomach growls at a frankly ridiculous level of decibels, which would be mortifying except for the carefree way Ronan laughs at that, which kind of makes it worth it.

“Shut up,” Adam mutters without any heat, trying to hold back a smile. His ears feel warm.

“Let’s get some marshmallows in you, Einstein,” Ronan chuckles, kissing his cheek.

The drive to the diner is quiet, and Ronan keeps carefully below the speed limit. That’s not new per se, as he’s taken to doing it more and more when Adam’s in the car with him, but it feels especially significant tonight. Like an assurance, maybe. Adam stares at Ronan’s profile in the dim light, all sharp and handsome lines, and enjoys the simple pleasure of knowing that they have each other, that moments like these are theirs and theirs alone.

“I used to wonder how long it would take before we fought again,” he says, without really deciding to. “I think maybe I thought we wouldn’t, but clearly that was dumb of me.”

“Ah.” Ronan’s tone gives nothing away, but the tightening of his jaw loudly broadcasts his fears – that Adam will decide this is too much effort, that it’s too much work, that it’s more trouble than Ronan’s worth.

“Yeah. How else are we supposed to do better if we never fuck up?”

It’s clearly not what Ronan was expecting, and as he takes the last turn for the diner, a small, almost surprised smile plays around his lips. He glances at Adam out of the corner of his eyes, the motion practiced and familiar; Adam, as always, looks back, feeling a burst of simple, uncomplicated satisfaction bloom in his chest as he rests his head on top of Ronan’s on the gear stick.

They’re going to be okay.

[emblem-333]

Naughty or Nice: NBA Edition

The greatest day in the Christian religion is almost upon us, ladies and germs! Ah. Christmas. Gathering around an icy cold, barley used fire place, while your dad plays “The Dark Knight Rises” for whatever reason as you and your siblings gather to open up gifts around an artificial tree. I reach down into my stocking and bring out a lump of black, bumpy coal, It’s ash staining my palm. Last Christmas I was on the “Naughty List” of dear ole Saint Nick. Something about not helping the needy. This year I expect to so up on the infamous list once again… but I don’t want to be alone. So let’s rattle off fellow impure -and some pure teams in the NBA that’ll round out Santa Claus’s records.

Naughty: Oklahoma City

Didn’t see this coming back in September. Sam Presti was on my shortlist to win General Manager of the Year, trading for Paul George, Carmelo Anthony, without giving up much, and signing Russell Westbrook to an extension that saved basketball in the state of Oklahoma. Unfortunately the team’s fallen on hard times since. Westbrook is useless when off-ball and isn’t engaged. Carmelo is old, slow and looks rhythmless. Paul George, the second-best small forward in the East just a season ago, can’t seem to carve out a role and the coaching of Billy Donavan apparently is wasting his talents in such an unimaginative system.

The Thunders woes exclusively are on the offensive side of the court; defensively they’ve played at a nearly elite level: 100.2 Opp/PTS allowed (3rd); 103.7 Def Rtg (2nd), which is shocking when considering the personal change over the course of the summer. Carmelo Anthony in year fifteen is not an ideal option to guard your opponents second best wing player. Anthony’s DRtg sits prettily at 105, the best since 2011-12 with the Knicks.

One of the reasons for the surprising poor start is Donovan’s inability to work his three stars into the offense. Making one of the strengths of Paul George last season, running far less Pick and Roll as the Ball Handler, percentage of time he ran this playtype last season was 17.5%, upped to 23% this season; though his points per possession, 1.01 down to 0.76, and percentile rank, 92nd last season to 39th. What’s more staggering is his decline in the most basic of metrics. On an Indiana team, playing alongside miss-match pieces George’s averages were 46.1 fg%, 39.6 3P%, 23.7 PPG - 6.6 RPG - 3.3 APG - 2 Stocks and his Clutch statistics have fallen substantially, given he wasn’t too good to begin with, last season: 47.6 fg%, 33.3 3P%, 4 PPG - 0.7 RPG - 0.2 APG.

This season: 40.4 fg%, 33.9 3P%, 19.9 PPG - 5.7 RPG - 3.1 APG - 3.1 Stocks; Clutch: 37 fg%, 28.6 3P%, 2.4 PPG - 0.8 RPG - 0.1 APG. George’s never been clutch. Surprise, surprise. But the fall in efficiency is enough to have me shaking in my boots. The way Westbrook’s handled this season has also disappointed me. He’s woeful when off-ball, often indifferent, walking aimlessly around the court after getting rid of the ball.

Like George, Westbrook’s strengths also mysteriously disappeared. For Russ it’s his ability to come up big in the clutch that won him the MVP, 44.6 fg%, 1.9 fta, 85.3 ft%, 6.2 PPG - 1.3 APG - 0.7 RPG - 0.5 TPG ; this season: 33.8 fg%, 0.9 fta, 52.9 ft%, 3.6 PPG - 1.5 RPG - 0.7 APG - 0.4 TPG.

Carmelo’s knees betrayed him some time ago. He isn’t able to get the amount of lift necessary to justify his isolation-heavy style of play, predicated on making long-two point attempts. Witnessing the stagnation of the offense whenever Carmelo just touches the ball, teammates resign to the fact he’s just going to shoot it brings back painful memories of Westbrook’s ball-domination sapping the potential of Victor Oladipo. Currently 15-15, there isn’t a lot to pin your hopes on for anybody who came into the season high on the Thunder. Westbrook’s victorious 2016-17 MVP campaign brought about speculation by many whether he was indeed the right choice, some of the shine is starting to come off the magnificent statistical season this year.

Nice: Victor Oladipo

Anybody who tries to tell you they liked the Paul George return prior to Thanksgiving are liars. Do not believe them. Kevin Pritchard had zero support once the deal became official. Domantas Sabonis, miscast by Donovan in OKC as a stretch big-forward, Nate McMillan deserves props for recasting the Gonzaga product as a pure center, shooting 54.4% from the field, averaging 12.3 points, 8.3 rebounds, and 2 assists per game. Sabonis is the best backup center in the East; a sneaky choice for Sixth Man of the Year.

Shooting guard Victor Oladipo wasn’t respected by those who considered him Smush Parker to Westbrook’s Kobe last season. Despite then career-highs in field goal and three-point. His massive $84 million contract given to him by Presti raised the eyebrow of many. Drafted second overall in a weak draft, from Indiana University, Oladipo entered Indianapolis amidst fanfare. Pritchard loved Oladipo before he even suited up for the Pacers in a game, mostly due to his Indiana roots. This came across to me more as a low profile clown show. When the spotlight was shined on to Indiana, and when we all stopped laughing at them, they weren’t expected to do more than to be in the middle-to-later parts of the lottery. Fast forward to Christmas time, the Pacers are on pace for 42 wins (I think they’ll win 45), despite a piss-poor bench outside of Sabonis. High profile wins over the then-streaking Cleveland Cavaliers, Vic went for 33 points off of 11 of 24 Shooting (Indiana also beat Cleveland on Nov 1), San Antonio, and sneaky good Toronto.

Oladipo in the clutch will save the Pacers from the ashes they’d otherwise be reduced to, 43.1 fg%, 41.2 3P%, 3.2 PPG - 0.8 RPG - 0.4 APG. Against Boston on Monday, Vic was held in check in the first half before exploding for thirty-points in a contest the Pacers absolutely should’ve won if it wasn’t for late-game bungling courtesy of Bojan Bogdanovic. Vic scored 14 points in the final quarter, Boston had no answer for him. Make no mistake Victor Oladipo is the best shooting guard in the East. Better than Bradley Beal. Better than DeMar DeRozan.

He can score in more ways than DeRozan, who’s amazingly been productive despite an utter lack of a jump shot, and isn’t a liability on defense like he and Beal are. For Pritchard to obtain third best shooting guard in a time where the league is seemingly stacked at that position is reason enough for him to be involved in GM of the Year talks. Boy, do I have egg on my face.

Naughty: Washington Wizards

Awful lot of talking the fellas in the D.C area have done since being ousted in the second round by a clumsy Canadian and a five-foot, nine inch point guard suffering immense pain because his hip bone was puncturing his skin. Still, the previous season reignited the John Wall-era, his knees were stable once again, played the best ball of his career. Hopes were high entering the 2017-18 campaign, nice, but the utterly inconsequential trade for backup point guard Tim Frazier and signing of shooting guard Jodie Meeks was welcomed by critics of the Wizards front office, such as myself. The summer prior when the money pit was all too deep not to jump in head first line Scrooge McDuck. Ian Mahimi, Jason Smith and Andrew Nicholson, none worked out. While Smith is serviceable, Mahimi hasn’t produced, and Nicholson was traded by February.

Tim Frazier isn’t a backup point guard on a perennial East-Finalist. Jodie Meeks hasn’t played a quality season since... a long time.

Wall’s knees are made of cotton candy, missed seven-games this season due to discomfort and inflammation in the knee. Given PRP (platelet-rich plasma). I don’t know what that is, but it can’t be good.

Markieff Morris and Marcin Gortat enjoyed the best season of their respective careers. Morris’ points per game is down; rebounds are down; assists are down, as is his field goal percentage. Gortat is thirty-three, will turn thirty-four in February, his field goal percentage fell from 57.9% to 53.5%. The Wizards sit in a tight scramble for the bottom of the playoff picture at 16-14. For all the talk of their belief that the Cavaliers “were ducking” them, I don’t even think the Wizards can beat the Nets two out of three times this season.

The dream fans cling to is a DeMarcus Cousins 0.25 cents on the dollar transaction, one which doesn’t involve Star two-guard Bradley Beal. Despite the 15-16 record causing the murmurs of a potential trading of Superstar Anthony Davis, given the delicate situation of the Pelicans franchise, they’re currently in the eighth seed. Only three-games behind Minnesota for the fourth-seed, the final spot for home-court advantage. Shooter Otto Porter alone provides necessary salary flotsam to obtain Cousins; though his contract provides a 15% trade kicker. And while Porter is a better option to play either forward position than Solomon Hill, if New Orleans stays the course and if by February 8th the are out of the playoff picture and it’s clear their core around A.D & Boogie isn’t good enough then MAYBE the Wizards have a chance. But who’s to say by then the Wizards and Pelicans won’t have the same record by then?

Nice: Toronto Raptors

Entering the summer of 2017 after being swept by LeBron without breaking a sweat, a tremendous sea change was about to be expected. GM Masai Ujiri decided to run back the previous season’s team, despite the skinny wallet. Choosing to re-sign Serge Ibaka over P.J Tucker. Sign-and-trade Cory Joseph for C.J Miles. Trading DeMarre Carroll, a first round pick and a 2018 second draft pick to Brooklyn for Justin Hamilton - a deal not looking so good now, given Carroll’s resurgence. So far the Raptors are on a wins pace of fifty-seven, good for second best in ESPN’s BPI Playoff Odds. Despite Lowry’s sluggish start to the season of transition, averaging 17.9 points, 7.5 assists, 6.9 rebounds, 45.1 fg% and 41.4% from three-point; help the Raptors offensive rating of 113.4 (4th). Lowry is on a team-friendly three-year, $100 million contract that assures the Raptors aren’t paying an arm and a leg for old and decrepit Lowry.

Second-year center Jakob Poeltl was unglued from the bench and showed some promise, making 89 of his 130 field goal attempts; 74% on attempts taken zero-to-three feet. The production of Poeltl is similar to albatross Jonas Valanciunas, on the second-year of a four-year, $64 million contract; a player-option for 2019, one Jonas will surely pick up given the NBA isn’t clambering for a slow-footed, old school center and certainly don’t want to pay one $17 million.

The Raps are seventh in defensive rating. DeRozan has the highest DRtg of all the team with 107. Rank fifth in eFG%; forces the seventh most turnovers (14.5). On offense the Raptors are fifth in field goal percentage and third in two-point attempts.

An intriguing roster of seasoned veterans on sort-of-nice contracts and prospects. They’re weak in the backup guard and wing positions, if the Raptors still have assets from last season’s gamble they can chase marksman Buddy Hield, bench scorer Tyreke Evans, and even take a big whiff at Marc Gasol and Paul George. The Raptors should be linked to Gasol especially. The Grizzlies have fallen to the bottom of the lottery, if the season were to end today.

Ujiri is an underrated candidate for Executive of the Year. He’s navigated through dangerous waters and came out still on track to win a playoff series and sneak into the East-Finals. The Cavaliers aren’t afraid of Toronto, but maybe it won’t be them they’ll have to face. You never know.

[jeremichal-archive]

oooh gosh combine 40 and 28 for Jeremwood? you're a blessing thanks love

carve your marks into my door; feel free to ruin the wood

40. exes meeting again after not speaking for years au28. knocking on the wrong door au

honestly, this is the first jeremwood fic i’ve ever written and i can’t believe it’s taken me this long to write something for them. Also, an alternative title for this could be “Work Through Your Issues Like Adults Please Boys” because honestly.

Pairing: JeremwoodWarnings: Swearing

On the inside of his elbow, written in small black cursive lettering, is the key to how Ryan’s going to survive this next month.

Every so often, he’ll scratch at it; framing the black letters in red lines, doing his best not to wear away the words. Thinking about it now, it probably wasn't the best place to put it, but at four in the morning, while the cold air bit at his fingertips, it seemed like his only option. Plus, it didn't help that his careful planning had been thrown into the wind the second he’d heard the sound of his landlord’s- fuck, ex-landlord's- feet against the cold concrete landing. So, while this might not be the best plan, it’s the only one he’s got.

An address, or, more accurately, Geoff’s address; scribbled down in haste, copied from an old party invite from Geoff’s last birthday. An address, that based on his sources, Geoff hasn’t stayed at in months.

Fourth floor, just right of the stairs, room 408.

Ryan sighs. How Geoff can afford to rent out two damn apartments is beyond him, but then again, he should just be fucking thankful that he can. Doesn't matter that the last time he saw Geoff, the other man was fifty grand in debt and seriously considering selling an organ on the black market.

A lot of things can change in ten months, Ryan guesses, picking up his pace as he climbs the stairs, especially since he’s enough proof of that himself.

It’s on the third floor that Ryan’s mind drifts off. His boots thud with each step he takes and it’s almost scary how close the sound is to that of gunshots. He wonders if this neighbourhood is as bad as his last one, wonders if flashing police lights and ambulance sirens will become another constant in his life. Or maybe, he’ll be able to sleep through a full night here.

Either way, though, he can’t help but wonder what it says about him that he no longer jumps at the sound of gunshots, whether they're real or not.

He’s glad to be rid of the stairs when he finally makes it to the fourth floor, so of course, it's just his luck that trips on the last damn step. His hands blindly grab for something to steady him, but there’s nothing but empty air and an old bannister around to keep him from breaking his neck, so he ends up stumbling. He catches himself before he goes down, but something twists in his ankle and a sharp current of pain shoots up his leg. He lets out a hiss, gingerly testing his ability to put his weight on it as he steadies himself. There’s an embarrassed blush warming his cheeks, but he thanks God for small miracles though, because at least there’s no one out in the hallway when he hobbles out of the stairwell.

He stops by the door for a moment and rests his palm against the drywall, giving his traitorous foot a moment to rest. A small part of him considers leaning his forehead against the wall as well, but he's smart enough to think better of it. It's an apartment building, and a cheap one at that, they're not really known for their cleanliness. Who knows how many germs this place is hiding.

He pulls his hand back, wiping it against his thigh like it’ll make a difference.

There’s something strange about being back here, almost like he doesn’t belong. But then again, he doesn’t. The sudden urge to just yell overtakes him, and he barely manages to hold it in. He wants to test the echo of the hall, wants to see if he can get another tenant to come outside. He just wants to do something. It feels like he hasn't done fucking anything since he left college, and it burns him from the inside out.

But instead, he settles; mumbling out a low, “I really hope they haven't cut the power yet,” as he straightens himself out, tentatively adding a bit of pressure to his ankle.

Habit makes him swipe at his nose, looking for blood where it’s not. He huffs, staring down at his clean fingers with something akin to disappointment. Honestly, he’s not all too sure if that’s actually the right emotion, but either way, he should really stop doing that.

There's no blood there anymore.

Ignoring the throbbing in his ankle, he pushes forward, moving down the hallway with careful steps. His eyes scan the rooms, and when he catches sight of it- a small unassuming wooden door with what looks like a crack running through it from the base up- Ryan’s heart skips a beat.

Deep down, he knows Geoff won't mind. Hell, he’s probably not even going to notice that Ryan’s been there at all, even if he does care. But still, Ryan can't help but worry. It's not as if they’ve really kept in contact in the recent months, so it’s not like Ryan would really blame him. All he can really do is promise himself that he’ll be gone by the end of the month, all the while silently hoping that he’s not just lying to himself.

He hesitates in front of the door when he gets to it, wondering if he should knock first just to make sure. It should be empty, he know’s it’s empty, but it would be awfully awkward if he happened to pick the lock just to find Geoff in his underwear on the other side waiting for him. So he knocks- three quick raps against the wood- and starts counting to ten, just to be safe.

When he reaches seven, the door swings open.

It’s cliché. God, it’s so fucking cliché, but then again, Ryan’s only ever been like that around him and it’s hard to be original when his heart is clawing its way out of his throat- so when he meets Jeremy’s gaze, time just seems to stop. Two and a half years. Two and a half years since they last saw each other- not that Ryan’s been keeping track- and he can’t help but latch onto the fact that Jeremy looks so fucking different now.

Lighter, happier, stronger, he’s fucking bald for Christ’s sake; Ryan can’t take his eyes off of him.

The thought as to why Jeremy’s in Geoff’s apartment doesn't even cross his mind, rather, he just stares, because that’s all he can really do. Which leaves it up to Jeremy to break the awkward silence that’s settled over them.

“I- You- What are you doing here, Ryan?” he asks and Ryan realises he’d forgotten how his voice had sounded. He wants Jeremy to talk again.

“Geoff’s… I was…” he frowns when Jeremy raises a confused eyebrow at him, “what are you doing in Geoff’s apartment?”

“What? What are you talking about, this is my apartment, Ryan.” He runs a hand over his shaved head and Ryan knows that if he still had hair, he’d be tugging at the strands. “Geoff’s is down the hall, I think, or at least, it used to be. I haven’t… talked to him in a while,” he admits, rather sheepishly.

“Neither have I, really,” Ryan mumbles back, shuffling on the spot. Changing the pressure on his ankle sends a spark of pain shooting up his leg, and he hisses through clenched teeth. He’s got no real reason to keep standing there, to be honest. He should just say goodbye and leave things there, but he really doesn't want to.

While they didn't part as enemies, they weren’t really friends either, and Ryan wants to fix that.

“How have you been?” he asks and Jeremy shrugs, slipping his finger inside the belt loop of his jeans. He rests his hip against the door frame and Ryan’s glad to have his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Ryan.”

“You still running?”

A shadow passes across Jeremy's face. “Uh, no. Not anymore.” He doesn't elaborate, and Ryan doesn't push.

“Ah, okay…” he mumbles, hating how awkward things are between them. He wants to go back in time to when Jeremy would tell him everything, back to when they’d spend whole days tangled up in bed, lazily kissing every inch of the other that they could reach. Seeing Jeremy again, he realises that he hasn't quite moved on as much as he thought he had.

“Go anything published yet?” Jeremy asks, and Ryan can't help but flinch. No, he wants to hiss, of course fucking not. You were all right, so I gave up trying, but he holds his tongue though because his bitterness is his own to keep. “I won't lie and say I haven't been keeping an eye out,” Jeremy continues and Ryan’s heart skips a beat, “you were writing that, uh, that sci-fi book, right? when we… uh-” he shakes his head- “what I mean is, have you finished it?”

“Nah, I think attempted two drafts of it before I realised it was a lost cause.” That's a lie, he tossed it in the trash five days after Jeremy moved out. “It was a waste of time, anyway,” he mutters.

“But, you loved that damn book,” Jeremy replies and Ryan just shrugs.

“You loved running, but I guess love isn’t really enough, is it?” He replies, and Jeremy blanches. He doesn't mean his words to be that poetic, especially when they hit so close to home when it comes to what they were, but then again, Ryan’s always had a way with words. Just not enough to make a living from them, apparently.

Jeremy’s gaze drops to the floor at his words, and Ryan realises he’s put his foot in his mouth. He waits for the lad to tell him goodbye, to close the battered door in his face and leave him standing alone in the hallway, but he doesn't. He looks back up at Ryan, chewing on his bottom lip. “Why were you looking for Geoff, Rye?” he asks and the nickname is unexpected.

He doesn't know what makes him tell the truth. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to trade a secret for a secret; maybe he’s just sick of pretending everything is alright.

Or maybe, it’s because he wants to interact with Jeremy like they used to. Wants to be close again; wants Jeremy to trust him again.

“I know he doesn't live there anymore, I planned to- I wanted to crash there for a month. Just until everything… gets… better?” he mumbles, but it comes out as more of a question than he hoped. Jeremy watches him for a moment, brown eyes seeing right through him, and then he sighs.

“I guess we’re both a bit fucked up, aren’t we?” he whispers, but before Ryan can reply, he steps back and retreats inside. He leaves the door open though, and Ryan takes it as an invitation to come inside. He follows after Jeremy, eyes skimming Jeremy’s apartment as he walks just so he doesn’t have to look at the lad himself. He feels like he’s trespassing, pushing his way into Jeremy’s home even though he’s already had his chance, and even worse, lost it.

“Do you want a drink?” Jeremy asks and Ryan snaps his gaze up to look at him. “I have diet coke, if you’re, uh, still into that…” he mumbles, fidgeting with the can in his hands. Ryan nods, shuffling over towards the kitchen bench before hovering there awkwardly. Jeremy passes him the can, but it’s obvious in the way he deliberately avoids accidentally touching Ryan.

“So…” he begins, staring down at the counter and Ryan wonders why he even bothered to invite him in if his presence makes him so uncomfortable. He’s seconds away from muttering his goodbyes- heart squeezing in his chest- when Jeremy continues. “Is it bad if I… if I say that I’ve missed you, Ryan?” he mumbles, glancing up at him, “I know you’ve probably m-” he cuts himself off, “I mean, it’s been what? Two years?”

“Two and a half,” Ryan corrects and Jeremy snorts.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. It’s just… whatever, doesn't matter.” He shakes his head, thrumming his fingers against the bench. There’s another moment of awkward silence between them, one that Ryan doesn't really know how to break, but for some reason, he still tries anyway.

“I’ve missed you too, Jeremy,” he replies, and Jeremy watches him for a moment through the corner of his eye.

“Why’d you wanna stay at Geoff’s place, Rye?” he asks, and Ryan sighs.

“I got kicked out of my apartment,” he replies, shrugging and Jeremy frowns. “It’s either Geoff’s or I… yeah. I’m screwed either way, I guess.”

“Oh, that fucking sucks,” Jeremy replies and Ryan huffs out a bitter laugh. Now that’s an understatement, he thinks, taking a sip of his coke. Jeremy’s eyes track his movement, following the can up to his lips and then back down again when he sets it on the bench. Habit strikes at him again, and when he swipes at his nose, Jeremy rears back like he’s been hit. Ryan only just catches the frantic look in his eyes before Jeremy's turning away and he moves without thinking, leaning over the counter to grab his hand to stop him from grabbing for the tissue box behind him.

“Stop, Jeremy stop. I’m fine. See?” he holds out his hand for Jeremy to inspect, “no blood.”

It takes a moment, but Ryan watches him relax.

Jeremy lets out a humourless laugh; neither of them let their hands drop. “Sorry. Do you… do you still get them?” he asks and Ryan shakes his head.

“Nah, not anymore. They changed my medication,” he whispers. Slowly, carefully, he starts stroking his thumb against the skin of Jeremy’s palm, tracing small shapes into his skin. Jeremy's gaze falls to their hands, and Ryan hesitates for a moment, movement stopping, but when Jeremy doesn't say anything he starts again.

“I got into a car accident, Ryan” he mumbles, and the suddenness of his words make Ryan flinch. “I got, uh, T-boned, about a year ago? This asshole ran a red light, hit me at 50 miles per hour. Nearly fucking killed me,” he whispers and Ryan’s stomach drops.

He doesn't like that, he really doesn't like that. Just the idea alone of Jeremy dying makes his skin crawl, but what makes it worse, is that he probably never would have found out. Dodging Geoff’s calls, ignoring Jack’s ‘surprise’ visits; Gavin pretending he doesn’t exist and Michael to busy to care about how badly Ryan’s fucking up his life.

They’d forget to tell him. They’d forget to fucking tell him that his ex was dead, and Ryan would just continue on, as if the best thing he’d ever had wasn’t gone.

He wants to say something, wants to tell Jeremy just how much it hurts to ever imagine something like that happening to him, but Jeremy just keeps talking. “But, uh, it didn’t,” he huffs, a bitter sound, “it just fucked up my right leg, pinned it and I can’t tell you the medical terms they used to explain it- cause at the time I wasn’t- I wasn’t in a good place, Rye- but I can say, it was really bad,” he whines and Ryan’s up and moving around the kitchen counter within an instant.

He grabs for Jeremy and tugs him towards his chest and Jeremy goes easily, melting against him. He presses his face against Ryan’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut and Ryan rubs long strokes up and down his back, holding onto him for dear life.

“Can’t run anymore. Fucking- took me months of physical therapy just to walk again, but when it comes to running, I just… I can’t manage it for more than a few minutes.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “I hate it, Ryan. I hate it so fucking much. I feel so useless, so fucking angry all the time. Sometimes I run just so it hurts, just so I feel like I’m doing something.”

Ryan knows that feeling. He understands exactly what Jeremy’s trying to say. The thing is though, Ryan understands because he’s a homeless, failed author and not because he sustained life threatening injuries. So he can’t help but feel guilty for comparing himself to Jeremy, because really, Ryan’s fine.

Yeah. He’s… fine.

He squeezes Jeremy tighter and holds his tongue, because he knows him well enough to know that Jeremy doesn’t want his pity. He doesn't want his platitudes or his apologies.

He just wants Ryan.

Which, when he thinks about it, is the complete opposite of what he wanted when they broke up two and a half years ago. Mutual, he reminds himself, it was a mutual break-up.

Heh, he doesn’t think either of them really believe that anymore.

“You’ll be able to run again,” he whispers, “I know it’s daunting and terrifying, and it makes you feel like you’re being pulled under, but fucking hell, you were made to run Jeremy. It’s in your blood, and while it might take some time, you’ll be able to run again.”

Jeremy’s fingers grab for his arm, nails biting into his skin as he clutches at Ryan desperately. “You say it like it’s so easy, Ryan.”

“I’m not saying that tomorrow you’ll be able to miraculously get up and run a marathon again, but one day-”

“One day, huh?” Jeremy huffs, pulling back from Ryan. Something like deja vu sparks in Ryan’s mind and his stomach drops. “Fuck off. I don’t need this shit from you of all people. Where’s your book, Ryan? You said, and I remember, of course I fucking remember, that you were going to, and I quote, ‘make it’” he spits, finger quoting his words.

Ryan takes a step back, and then another, putting distance between them. He keeps his mouth shut, because the last time he didn’t and he ended up fucking everything up.

“Did you make it Ryan? Did you do everything you wanted to do? All the stuff that of-fucking-course you couldn't do with me. Was it worth it?” he hisses, closing the distance that Ryan tried to put between them. He glares up at him, but Ryan can see the hurt that’s hiding behind his gaze.

That somehow makes things worse.

“No. No, I didn’t make it, Jeremy,” he breaks, voice cracking. He sucks in a deep breath and tries to give himself a moment to settle, but Jeremy doesn’t let him.

“Was it worth it?” he repeats, not breaking eye contact.

“I threw that book out about a week after you left,” Ryan spits, clenching his hands into fists by his side. He’s so damn tired of holding it all in, he’s so damn tired of pretending that their mutual breakup wasn’t entirely his fault. “I never finished it. Everything I write nowadays doesn’t make it past the first five pages and I can’t write romance scenes without thinking of you.”

Jeremy lets out an exasperated breath. “God, you’re an idiot. I really don’t understand you, Ryan,” he replies, shaking his head.

His hands move quickly, gravitating towards his head; he lets out a strangled sound, spinning sharply to lean his elbows against the counter, turning away from Ryan. He ducks his head, fingers interlocking as he sucks in a ragged breath.

“You fought me for that book, Ryan. I mean, it was your novel, I wasn’t going to stop you from writing it,” he replies, shrugging helplessly, “but you just didn’t stop. How many times- how many fucking times did you chose that damn thing over me, just to throw it out!” he hisses, slamming his hands down on the counter.

“You were so much more than I was, Jeremy. You were running marathons, and you were training for the Olympics, and I was working in the tech department and barely scraping out a couple hundred words each week on a book that was everything I had. I was scared,” he spits, “I was so scared, and jealous, and envious because you were going to achieve your dream and I wasn’t-”

“And that’s my fault, then is it?!” he yells, body pulling taut like a live wire. Ryan doesn’t need to touch him to know he’s buzzing with electricity.

“No, God no, Jeremy-” he tries, but Jeremy’s not having it.

“It is, of course it is. I was the horrible needy boyfriend desperate for your attention. I was immature, always kept pushing for something. ‘Let’s go on a run together, Ryan!’” he mocks, and Ryan feels sick, “‘Sign up for the marathon with me!’ ‘Let me read a chapter of your book’ ‘Pretend you still love me for a moment and let's do something together, I’ll let you decide what.’” He heaves out a breath, meeting Ryan’s gaze directly, “Fuck me, right? For wanting to include you in my life.”

“It’s not like that, Jeremy,” he pleads, and this time it’s his turn to close the distance between them.

“Yeah, it is. And now I’m nothing, no career, no future, just me and my fucked up legs,” he says and the anger drains out of him slowly. Ryan watches him curl in on himself, unshed tears in his eyes as he rubs at his face. “You must love it, knowing that I’m never going to be better than you.”

“I’m not, I’m not better than you. I’m a shit person, Jeremy. I got so overwhelmed-”

“Please don’t,” he mutters, resting a palm against the counter, “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are, Ryan. It’s done. I don’t care. I think you should go.”

“Just listen, please. Just give me one chance to talk, and then I’ll go if you still want me too, I swear,” he begs, and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut. After a few seconds, he opens them again and sighs; Ryan doesn’t risk wasting the opportunity.

“I got so overwhelmed with the idea of failing,” he begins, “that I took it all out on you. I’m not going to make excuses, Jeremy. I was an idiot, I handled everything wrong and at the time, I blamed it all on you. I was so hung up on the idea that I was thirty-four and going nowhere fast, that when I saw you succeeding, it felt like you were rubbing it in my face.”

He glances over towards the front door, staring at the ruined wood as if it’ll help him somehow. “I’m thirty-six now, Jeremy. I haven’t written anything in six months. I lost my job, my apartment and you. So at this point in time, it’s safe to say I’m a failed author. I’m not getting published; I’m not going to ‘make it’. It hurts, and as much as I try to pretend it doesn’t, lying just makes it worse,” he whispers, “the thing is, I don’t know how to make things better, I don’t what to fucking do anymore. You said that you’re angry all the time and so am I, Jeremy. I just- I can’t do anything fucking right anymore and it’s eating me alive.”

“You want me to forgive you?” Jeremy asks and Ryan looks back at him.

He can see them, if he tries hard enough.

Not them now, what with their bitterness, and their hurt and their issues, but what they used to be. Back when they’d first started dating. When things were easy and new, and sweet. Back when Jeremy would blush whenever Ryan asked him to stay the night, and when they’d burn their dinner because they were too busy kissing.

He can see them, but that doesn’t mean he can be them again.

“No. No, I’m not asking for that,” he sighs, pushing himself away from the counter. Jeremy watches him closely, but stays quiet, “I just don’t want you to give up hope just yet. You’ve still got plenty of time, and like I said, you were born to run. You’ll be fine, Jeremy, just don’t rush yourself.”

It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he just turns on his heel and takes a few steps towards the front door. It’s better this way, he tells himself, even though with every step he takes away from Jeremy feels like his heart is being crushed. He’s better off without you.

So he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t hesitate, and he doesn’t turn around. At least, not until Jeremy calls out to him.

“Ryan,” he says, and Ryan freezes just a few steps away from the door. “I- I wasn’t lying earlier… when I said I missed you. I-” he pinches the bridge of his nose- “I’m not going to lie, I really tried to hate you afterwards. You made me feel like shit, made me feel everything was my fault, but I couldn’t.”

He shakes his head, a faraway look in his eyes. “But the thing is, we were both horrible at being in a relationship, Ryan. You were the first person I’d ever really loved, and I just, I gave you too much of myself to fast, just trying to keep you with me. And you had your own issues, your own problems and I just-” he sucks in a breath, and Ryan stares at him- “I think it was too soon, wasn’t the right time. You know the saying Ryan, right person wrong time? Yeah... I think that was us.”

“What are you trying to say,” he replies, and Jeremy shrugs.

“I’m not suggesting we try again, at least, not yet. I just think, if you honestly believe that I still have a chance, that one day I’ll be able to run again and that it’ll just take some time, then why can’t it be the same for you?” he responds, and Ryan’s caught off guard by his words. He opens his mouth, looking for the words to disagree with Jeremy, but the lad just watches him with a soft gaze.

“You’re not dead yet, Ryan, and neither am I. That’s gotta count for something, right?” he adds, and Ryan feels his heart skirt a beat in his chest. He stands there for a moment, utterly unsure about where they go from there.

He’s caught between leaving and staying, and in the end, Jeremy makes the decision for him.

“Go crash in Geoff’s apartment. Call him and make a date to catch up again. Start writing again. There’s still plenty of time, Ryan, don’t waste it by feeling sorry for yourself. And if you want to, come back around in a couple of days and we’ll go get lunch together, as friends this time, and we’ll see how we go from there.”

Ryan nods and the pressure in his chest lifts just enough for him to breathe. He takes a moment, letting himself memorise the little parts that make Jeremy, Jeremy. The way he stands, the way he looks, the way he sounds and moves, just so he won’t forget about them again, and then he turns around.

He’s halfway out the door when he hesitates, tossing a look back over his shoulder at Jeremy. “I’m really hoping that this is the right time then, Jeremy,” he whispers, and Jeremy blinks back at him.

“Yeah, me too, Rye.”

[dnowit41]

'They couldn't stop him': The oral history of Dirk's 1998 Nike Hoop Summit

Tim MacMahon ESPN Staff Writer

Before stepping foot on American soil, 19-year-old Dirk Nowitzki played on a second-division team in his German hometown of Wurzburg that occasionally canceled practices to work on a farm owned by a teammate.

Sure, Nowitzki had managed to play his way onto the radar of some NBA teams and college programs. But he was far from a phenom.

That all changed during the 1998 Nike Hoop Summit in San Antonio's Alamo Stadium, when the lanky kid, who was so unheralded that his surname was misspelled "Nowitzski" repeatedly on the ESPN broadcast, blew up for 33 points and 14 rebounds to lead the World team to an upset over the U.S. in a matchup against future NBA stars.

More than two decades later, with Nowitzki likely in his final days of a legendary NBA career, we take a look back through the eyes of those who witnessed the big German's introduction to America and world-class basketball.

'Ahh, we'll just sneak out.'

Never mind facing world-class competition for the first time. Just getting out of Germany was a challenge for Nowitzki due to unfortunate timing. The Wurzburg X-Rays were in the middle of the playoffs with a chance to be promoted to the first division for the first time, putting Nowitzki in the uncomfortable dilemma of having to decide between loyalty to his hometown team and chasing his personal dream.

Dirk Nowitzki: I was invited [to the Hoop Summit] I think the year before, maybe even two years before. It's always a bad time, because at that time [the Wurzburg X-Rays] were in relegation to get moved up. Our dream was with the home team to go to the first division, get promoted, and we fell short every year. That year, again, we were in the promotion zone and we had big games.

Holger Geschwindner, Nowitzki's longtime mentor and then X-Rays assistant coach: We played really a risky game [leaving Germany]. We had been a second-division team and Dirk was a top guy.

Nowitzki: So Holger came out to me and said, "Hey, I think that's a really, really good opportunity to measure yourself against some of the best in the world at your age." I was like, "Are you crazy? This is what we dreamed for, what we played for the last couple of years."

Geschwindner: I knew one thing for sure: The Hoop Summit was the only chance to perform on the international high level because we had no idea how [good] he really was.

Nowitzki: So we had to ask permission from the Army, because I was still in the Army, and I don't think you can travel out of the country unless you ask and it's for a big tournament or something. We had permission to go. Then we kind of had to ask the team. But Holger was kind of like, "Ahhh, we'll just sneak out." So I played the game Sunday night, and I think Monday morning we flew out of Frankfurt without really telling anyone. Holger might have talked to a manager or something, but I didn't say anything. So we snuck out.

Geschwindner: [Nowitzki's] dad did not know. I talked to the mom, and she said, "You have to tell his dad." The next morning I came in and said, "Did you tell him?" [Nowitzki] said, "I will tell him now." I said, "Listen, we have to drive two hours from Wurzburg to [the airport in] Frankfurt. We do not go onto the plane if he does not know."

Donnie Nelson, then Mavericks and World team assistant coach, now president of basketball ops: They were looking haggard when they finally got to Dallas. What was supposed to be a two-leg journey had turned into something like four legs. I was an assistant coach, so my job was to fetch coffee and get Germans when they arrived. I met them in the lobby of [Reunion Tower], and Holger was wearing the same jeans he's had since 1973 and still wears today. And, of course, the flannel shirt and leather jacket I'm sure he still has.

'My concern was that he was too nice of a kid to be a killer'

The World team had already practiced a couple of times in Dallas by the time Nowitzki arrived. It did not take the German long to make a strong impression.

Donnie Nelson: I had only seen [Nowitzki] on bad, grainy tape. A lot of international players tended to shrink six inches on the flight over. I looked at him and said, "Wow. He didn't shrink."

Geschwindner: On Wednesday afternoon, [the World team] had a scrimmage game where they decided who of those guys would go to the San Antonio game. We had to really get serious. The key thing was to get him in the first five.

Nowitzki: In [Don Nelson's] office you could peek through the blinds [and see the practice court]. I guess he did that, which I didn't know at the time. Apparently, they really liked what they saw.

Don Nelson, former Mavericks head coach and GM: Actually, Donnie got the team to work out the week before they went down to San Antonio at the YMCA in Dallas, the one downtown. It was closed, of course, to anybody except Donnie and I.

Donnie Nelson: You could tell [Dirk had] good footwork, handwork, could shoot it. We went through just intrasquad stuff.

Don Nelson: He was one of the most gifted young players I'd ever seen, and besides all that, the guy was 7 feet tall. I mean, he was just an incredible basketball player!

George Raveling, former Nike director of international basketball: I knew more about Dirk than most people because of my relationship with Holger, so he had already painted the picture for me mentally. Then when I saw the picture hanging up in the Louvre, I was like, "Wow!" All this stuff that Holger was telling me started to manifest in Dirk's play.

Donnie Nelson: My concern was that he was too nice of a kid to be a killer. He's such a kind, big-hearted guy. Most of the guys that go into those forums are guys that would just as soon rip your heart out and show it to you. He didn't strike me as that kind of human being, so my concern was, "Is he tough enough?" He certainly had the work ethic -- you could tell.

Nowitzki: At the time, I was kind of a less swag guy. I'm a little nervous and not sure if this is going to work and how good the kids are going to be. So I wasn't sure what to expect.

Don Nelson: We made a commitment after a few practices that we would hide him the best way we could from anybody seeing him. We committed to drafting him with whatever pick we had. We couldn't convince him not to play in that game.

Donnie Nelson: I think we saw the true tiger come out in San Antonio.

'They're going to blow them out. This isn't even going to be a game.'

The U.S. team was considered heavy favorites entering the game on March 29, 1998. The Americans jumped out to an early nine-point lead, overwhelming the international players with their quickness and athleticism -- they tallied a record 20 steals for the game -- and causing concern that the game wouldn't be competitive.

Geschwindner: The game in those days was on the Saturday between the Final Four.

Dan Shulman, ESPN play-by-play announcer: I remember knowing more about the American kids than the World team, and I remember thinking, "Boy, this team's stacked." I remember some size on it. Stromile Swift was on the team. Rashard Lewis was on the team. Al Harrington was on the team. And these were serious big-name guys coming out of high school.

Geschwindner: The only thing we talked with Dirk over was, "They cannot get the courage out of you. If you get the ball, drive to the basket. Try to dunk it. If they smash you down, keep going."

Nowitzki: I knew all of these guys are obviously some of the best that we have in the world at this age, so there was a respect level, but in Germany I'd never heard of any of their names.

Donnie Nelson: The first half of the game, the U.S. came out and put on this killer full-court press, and let's just say that our frontcourt was a lot better than our backcourt. And I think maybe in the entire first half, my recollection is we got the ball over half court a total of 10 times. We were in trouble!

Shulman: The U.S. got off to a hot start. I remember us thinking, "They're going to blow them out. This isn't even going to be a game."

Nowitzki: I figured they were going to be super-athletic. I figured they were going to press us the whole game and we were going to turn the ball over 100 times.

Raveling: Alessandro Gamba was coaching the team, and he was a legendary international coach from Italy. They're probably about 10 minutes into the game and there's a timeout. I'm sitting right by their bench at the scorer's table, and he comes over and he whispers in my ear, "George, who in the eff is that guy sitting behind the bench telling me how to coach my team?" I knew he was talking about Holger. He said, "I need you to get his ass out from behind my bench and stop trying to coach my team." So Dirk had two head coaches, and the most familiar voice was Holger's.

Donnie Nelson: Of course, going into halftime, we looked like we were going to get drilled by 100, and Dirk made his own adjustment going into the third quarter.

Shulman: Then the skinny kid from Germany started fouling everybody out of the game. About six U.S. guys fouled out of the game.

Donnie Nelson: After the first couple of possessions were like the first half, Dirk was in when they put the press back on by the top of the key, so then he starts going up over half court and tall as an oak tree. The poor guy taking the ball out was 5-10, just trying to get the ball in, and then he sees a German oak. And he's like, "Oh, thank goodness," and just throws it up there.

Nowitzki: We actually held up OK.

'We didn't know how to guard him. We had never seen him before.'

Nowitzki dominated the second half, scoring 19 points after the break. He finished with 33 points and 14 rebounds in the World team's 104-99 win, setting Hoop Summit records that would stand for more than a decade.

Shulman: The World made a comeback, and Dirk was the reason, because they couldn't stop him, whether he was shooting from the outside or shot fake and driving.

Donnie Nelson: Dirk does nothing less than the very thing that Holger taught him for years. That is, catch the ball, coast-to-coast like a guard, shoot 3s.

Darius Songaila, World team forward who played eight NBA seasons: It was like that game was created for him to show off to the whole world what he was capable of.

Al Harrington, U.S. team forward who played 16 NBA seasons: He was just impressive. Seeing a tall, lanky white kid that you never heard of coming out there with all that skill was just amazing. He just surprised us.

Raveling: I think he mesmerized the players on the other team, because he was doing things that they'd never seen a big guy do. They didn't think he could shoot that far out, and Dirk was active handling the ball. This was his coming-out, so-called party.

Donnie Nelson: A 6-11 guy taking the ball, throwing it left and right, shooting 3s, and we ended up making a game out of it. That's when you really saw the true Dirk coming out.

Don Nelson: Oh, the skills. I couldn't call him a great passer because the game was so easy to score for him. He just dominated. The game was so easy for him, and he was so fluid.

Songaila: Obviously he ended up with ridiculous numbers, so after the game there was a lot of hype that the guy was going to be a really good player. I don't think anybody thought that he was going to be that good.

Harrington: What really pissed me off about that day was that they won the game. I don't know how we lost that game.

Nowitzki: We hung in there and ended up stealing the game at the end. It was the first time the World team had won. We were hyped! We were hyped in the locker room! That was good times.

Harrington: We didn't know how to guard him. We had never seen him before. I hadn't heard of him until during the game. I had never heard of him, but I knew about him after the game. That's what's up.

Shulman: At the end of the night, all we were talking about was Nowitzki, who I think I called "No-WIT-ski" then because we didn't even know [the proper pronunciation]. He was an unknown at the beginning of the game, and he was the main attraction by the end.

'I knew everybody was going to want to have him'

Nowitzki's Hoop Summit performance established his status as a rising star in NBA circles -- he became the No. 9 overall pick two and a half months later -- but he didn't quite return home to Germany as a conquering hero.

Donnie Nelson: That was really the first unveiling, when Dirk did it against world-class talent and athleticism in that age group on a big stage. There was every team in spades that was there that saw all the same stuff that we did. That was when it was, "Holy cow, this can be a pretty good player."

Geschwindner: After the game, we had to fly immediately home. I thought I would be smart, and I got the newspaper from San Antonio in the airport. "International team beats U.S. boys" or whatever. I thought it would be more or less an excuse coming home.

Nowitzki: The team was kind of pissed. But they ended up winning the game that I missed. Then I was able to play the following game, and we won that. And that year we actually got promoted.

Geschwindner: They killed us [in Germany]. They killed us badly. Dirk was not at the [Wurzburg X-Rays] game. The boys won it anyway, but it doesn't matter. They were really mad. I was the guy that misleads youngsters. They really killed us. The press killed us in Germany.

Nowitzki: I think the most pissed was one of our foreign players, because he had a promotion bonus in his contract. It was a nice sum of money, I think, at the time for us playing over there. So he's basically saying, "You're playing with my money."

Donnie Nelson: That [Hoop Summit] was really, in a lot of respects, Dirk's "American Idol," the basketball version, where he crushed it. After that game, Dirk's life got a lot more complicated in a good way.

Raveling: The guy who really foresaw all of this was Donnie Nelson. He was more certain than anybody that Dirk was going to be a superstar, so he went to work doing his due diligence to make sure the Mavericks got him.

Don Nelson: I knew everybody was going to want to have him work out and do the circuit [before the draft]. That's when Donnie and I figured out a way to kind of have him disappear in Donnie's basement. [Laughs.] It just so happened Donnie had a little cot down there.

Nowitzki: Through Holger and hearing from international agents, I was the talk of NBA circles and scouts. That came out of nowhere to me. I guess I didn't realize how big that game was and what it meant until I came back home and all these agents came up to me and were like, "Hey, you're projected in the lottery now." I was like, "What?! That's insane."

Don Nelson: I knew then he'd be an All-Star for many, many years. I knew he had the skills to be one of the best. He fulfilled all those dreams and many, many more.

[alltheselights]

Vampire Fic Snippet #2

Here’s another snippet! And again, this is from the draft of the fic, so some things may be changed for the final version.

This part of the story immediately follows the last snippet that I posted, so if you want to read that part first, here’s the link.

Warning: Mentions of vampire biting, but nothing graphic.

Though he’s only met Harry twice, Louis has three main takeaways about the vampire so far.

Firstly, Harry Styles is incredible in bed. Obviously that doesn’t matter considering Louis has absolutely no interest in ever sleeping with him again, but you know, it’s worth noting.

Secondly, he’s kind. After two hours of talking to Harry while Niall and Nick chatter away, even Louis can begrudgingly admit that. He’s polite, he’s respectful, and he talks about how lovely his mother is for fifteen minutes as though they’re having a heart-to-heart in a coffee shop rather than a club, so kind is probably an understatement.

Thirdly, Harry is an absolutely terrible storyteller. He goes on an average of five tangents per story and he speaks so slowly that you forget the beginning of the story before he reaches the end. Unfortunately, Louis finds this endearing. 

Harry’s deep voice drizzles over Louis like honey while he tells funny stories from his experience on the police force, and Louis finds himself hanging off of every word. By the time Harry finishes describing the time three vampires drank an entire bar’s worth of alcohol and ended up in the vampire drunk tank, a rare occurrence considering how high vampires’ alcohol tolerance is, Louis is pleasantly tipsy and in a much better mood than he had been when he arrived.

They fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, just sipping on their respective drinks, and Louis knows he’s allowed his eyes to linger on Harry’s face for too long when the smirk makes a reappearance. He quickly snaps himself out of his stupor, wondering if maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

He leans over and drums his fingers on the table loudly enough that it captures Niall and Nick’s attention.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then grab another drink,” Louis informs them when they look over. Nick appears uninterested and Niall just shrugs, so Louis gets up without another word. He doesn’t look at Harry again when he walks away from the table, but he can feel the heat of the vampire’s gaze on his back.

When he makes it into the bathroom, Louis pisses quickly and walks over to the sink to wash his hands, making eye contact with himself in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, his eyes are shining, and his hair is slightly disheveled, the sweaty strands clinging to his forehead. He looks like a hot mess, and that’s without having even danced or hooked up with anyone.

It’s not like Louis has anyone to impress tonight, of course. This is just a casual night out with his friends, old and new, and Harry’s presence isn’t affecting Louis in the slightest.

He takes a minute to fix his fringe anyway, carefully rearranging his hair and then blotting his face with a crumpled paper towel. When his handiwork is complete, he doesn’t look quite as fresh faced as he had when he arrived, but it’s as good as it’s going to get.

It doesn’t matter anyway, he tells himself again. There’s nobody here worth impressing.

Louis dries his hands and exits the bathroom. There’s a vampire sucking on the neck of some woman in the hallway right outside, and Louis brushes past them, biting his lip to stop himself from making a sarcastic comment about the romantic atmosphere.

Louis recognizes the song that the DJ is playing, and he hums along under his breath while he makes his way through the crowd of people standing between him and his next drink.

He barely makes it halfway to the bar when a hand lands on his elbow, holding on too tightly to be ignored.

“Well, well, well,” a voice says, and Louis’ blood runs cold.

He turns carefully, yanking his arm out of the vampire’s grip.

“Luke,” he says warily, stepping back to try to put a bit more distance between them. Luke smells overwhelmingly like cedarwood, just like always, and the smell makes Louis feel nauseous. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

His voice is cold, but the tall vampire in front of him just smiles with his fangs out. His eyes are black even in the colorful lights of the club, and there’s something about him that seems so creepy to Louis now.

“Oh, Louis, you know clubs like this are my second home. It was Bite Me where I lucked out and met you the first time, wasn’t it?” Luke closes the gap between them and wraps a possessive hand around Louis’ hip.

Louis grits his teeth.

“May have been lucky for you, but for me, it was the start of a long, miserable relationship,” Louis says dismissively.

He gives Luke a mocking smile and glances toward the corner where he had left Harry, Niall, and Nick. The table they were sitting at is empty, but Louis’ eyes only have to wander for a second before they fall upon Harry and Nick chatting a few feet away from where they had been before. Niall is nowhere to be seen, and Louis assumes he went to the bar for a drink or chased after whatever vampire woman swayed her hips in his general vicinity.

“Ahh, is that who you’re here with?” Luke asks, interrupting Louis’ thoughts.

Luke is looking over at Harry and Nick with a smug expression on his face, and it makes Louis’ stomach churn. He desperately wishes that he had managed to get their attention, but neither vampire was looking in his direction.

“What’s it to you?” Louis demands, anger coloring his voice.

Luke chuckles, but his eyes don’t leave Nick and Harry. His fangs are still out and his hand is still on Louis’ hip, and Louis wants nothing more than to push it off him and walk away, but it’s never that easy with Luke.

“Just trying to keep up with what vampire you’re fucking this week.” Luke says. “Oh, sorry,” he chuckles, swiping his tongue along one of his fangs. “Did I say fucking? I meant getting fu—”

“Louis,” a voice interrupts suddenly, and Louis feels a rush of relief.

Harry is standing beside them, frowning as his eyes take in Louis’ expression and Luke’s grip on his body. When Louis looks past Harry, he can see Nick standing where Harry left him across the room. Nick’s eyes are on them and he has a slightly startled look on his face, and Louis realizes Harry probably didn’t give Nick any warning before he crossed the room at vampire-level speed. His priority was getting to Louis quickly.

“And who the fuck are you, bro?” Luke spits, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I’m Harry,” he says, voice strained like he’s trying very hard to be polite. “I’m also the guy who’s wondering why you’ve had your fangs out this entire time. I’d hate for you to accidentally bite your own lip, man. Just looking out for you.”

Louis is impressed by Harry’s ability to add an infuriatingly mocking tone to his morbid voice when necessary, and he doesn’t have to be inside Luke’s head to guess how much it’s probably pissing him off.

Luke doesn’t just have a superiority complex when it comes to humans — it also applies when it comes to any vampire who doesn’t share his worldview. Louis has only talked to Harry for a few hours, but it’s obvious that he misjudged him earlier. Harry may be able to turn on the arrogance and charm when he wants to, but Harry doesn’t actually believe that he’s better or more important than Louis, or any other human, for that matter. If it weren’t clear enough from Harry’s interaction with Louis, the passion he shows when he talks about his work in a police unit that focuses on vampire-on-human crime makes his respect and concern for humans undeniable.

“Don’t worry about me,” Luke spits, the aggression in his voice apparent. “I know just how to use these.” He runs his tongue over his fangs menacingly and turns to Louis. “You remember, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Louis can’t keep the grimace off his face at that. He finally maneuvers out of Luke’s grip and takes a step toward Harry, more than ready to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. The air around Harry’s body feels charged, and Louis can see that it’s taking an incredible amount of self-control for Harry to hold himself perfectly still. His body is tense, like a rubber band seconds before it snaps, and there’s a muscle working in his jaw, but he doesn’t take Luke’s bait.

“Were you coming over to say we’re leaving?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry and ignoring Luke’s comment entirely. He hopes his eyes are desperate enough that Harry will just go along with whatever he says.

“Yeah, actually,” Harry says, lying smoothly. He glances dismissively at Luke once more before returning his intense gaze to Louis’ face. “I called an Uber and they’re outside now, so we should go.”

Louis nods gratefully before flashing Luke a sugary sweet and entirely fake smile.

“Bye, Luke. I’d say it was nice to see you, but you know my mom taught me not to tell lies.”

Louis throws his middle finger up for good measure, and though he and Harry start walking away before Luke can react, Louis sees Harry dimpling in his peripheral vision.

“Thanks for the save,” Louis mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

“No problem,” Harry says. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that was your ex.” It’s not phrased as a question, but Louis nods anyway. Harry hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything else.

The crowd parts for them as Harry leads Louis across the bar, making it clear that Louis isn’t the only person affected by Harry’s commanding presence. It’s more than just being another gorgeous vampire — there’s something about Harry that makes people look at him in awe. If pressed, Louis might admit that it gives him a level of satisfaction to be the one walking with Harry, even if it’s just for the few seconds it takes them to return to their table.

Nick has disappeared by the time they’re back to their corner, and Louis still doesn’t see Niall around. He sighs heavily. “I guess I really should leave now that we’ve told him that,” he says, and Harry nods.

“Niall disappeared with some girl a little bit ago, so I don’t think he’ll be looking to share a ride home.” Louis snorts, unsurprised by the explanation of his absence. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry says, and Louis feels a fluttering in his chest.

It’s probably just heartburn. These days, Louis just can’t handle alcohol like he used to.

Harry’s hand settles low on his back as they walk out of the bar, a gentle guiding presence that gives Louis flashbacks to the previous weekend. He finds himself wishing Harry would move his hand just a bit lower.

There are several taxis outside the bar, but before Louis even has the chance to look around and see which are already occupied, Harry starts leading him toward one. As expected, the “taxi for hire” sign indicates that the taxi is empty.

Harry removes the hand from Louis’ back to open the door of the taxi, but Louis can feel the weight of it long after it’s gone. Before Louis has the chance to shuffle into the cab, Harry pulls a few bills out of his pocket and leans down to hand them to the driver through the open door.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis says when Harry straightens up. They’re standing very close together.

“It’s no trouble,” Harry reassures him. He has a gentle look on his face when he looks at Louis, and it makes Louis’ gut clench. He wants very badly for Harry to kiss him, which he fully realizes is ridiculous considering he wanted to strangle Harry a few hours earlier. Louis doesn’t know Harry very well yet, but he wants to. It’s clear from even a few hours of interaction that Harry is unlike any vampire or human being Louis has ever met before.

Harry takes a small step closer to Louis then, and Louis lets his eyes fall closed as he feels Harry’s breath settle on his face.

“Get home safe,” Harry says instead, and just like that, the moment is broken. Louis’ eyes snap open in surprise, but Harry is already stepping away. He’s smiling at Louis in a way that’s vaguely reminiscent of the cocky smirk on his face earlier in the night. “Hopefully we can all hang out again soon.”

Louis’ face feels very warm, but he pulls himself together quickly, giving a quick nod and sliding into the back of the taxi without further delay. “Goodnight, Harry,” he says. “Thanks again.”

“Goodnight,” Harry echoes just as Louis pulls the door closed.

Louis barely manages to mumble his address to the driver, too shaken by the rapid beating of his heart. He glances back at the sidewalk outside the club once more as they drive away, but Harry’s already gone.

[thrashermaxey]

21 Fantasy Hockey Rambles

  Every Sunday, we'll share 21 Fantasy Rambles – formerly 20 Fantasy Thoughts – from our writers at DobberHockey. These thoughts are curated from the past week's ‘Daily Ramblings’.

Writers: Michael Clifford, Ian Gooding, Cam Robinson, and Dobber

  1. Thirty-two-year-old Alex Radulov equaled his career-high 72 points from a season ago, but he’s done so in 12 fewer games. This is one vet that I’m okay buying in on next season. Dallas rides the big horses and that won’t be changing next year. Another 70-point season seems very doable. (apr3)

  2. Soon-to-be RFA Jacob Trouba will once again be a topic of discussion this offseason. The Jets will need to make some changes as their cap structure shifts with Patrik Laine (RFA), Kyle Connor (RFA) and Tyler Myers (UFA) also in need of new deals this summer. It will be interesting to see if the Jets can manage to lock Trouba down to a long-term deal after consecutive bridge-deals, or if the trade-market finally opens up for the 25-year-old. (apr3)

  3. The Sharks are the first team with four 30-goal scorers (Joe Pavelski, Tomas Hertl, Timo Meier, Evander Kane) since the 2008-09 Red Wings and Flyers. The latter scored his 30th on Saturday, which is the first time since 2011-12 that he has reached that total.

Erik Karlsson returned for the Sharks on Saturday after missing the past 17 games with a groin injury. He was held without a point but was a plus-3 in 22 minutes. He should be available as normal for playoff pools. (apr7)

  4. A late-season callup, rookie Sam Steel ended the season on a high note, posting eight points (5g-3a) over his last seven games. Expect the former WHL scoring star to be on the Ducks’ roster on a full-time basis next season, as he had already posted solid numbers in the AHL (39 points in 50 games). (apr6)

  5. You may have been disappointed in Jakob Silfverberg this season. However, with his goal on Friday, he set a career high in goals with 24. He still hasn’t reached 50 points in his career and it may not happen next season with the Ducks’ scoring attack mainly either on the back nine (Corey Perry, Ryan Getzlaf), or just getting started (Sam Steel, Troy Terry, Max Jones). (apr6)

  6. Five shutouts this season for Jaroslav Halak, which is not bad for a backup goalie. Moreover, entering weekend action, his ratios (2.34 GAA, .922 SV%) were among the top 10 among goalies who played at least 30 games.

Halak is signed for another year in Boston, which might be something to think about when valuing Tuukka Rask next year. Rask has won 27 games and played in just 46 games this season, which are his lowest totals in six campaigns. (apr5)

  7. Alex Pietrangelo, the father of triplets, has reached the 40-point mark for the third consecutive season and fifth time in six seasons. Obviously, 41 points is a dip from last year’s 54, which Dobber (who is a father himself) warned you about before the season. Pietrangelo’s second-half production (28 points in in 43 games, 0.58 Pts/GP) has been noticeably better than his first-half production (13 points in 28 games, 0.46 Pts/GP), which may be related to the Blues’ remarkable second-half surge. Or, maybe it’s because he’s adjusted to life as a busy dad. (apr5)

  8. Yes, the ‘bunch of jerks’ punched their 2019 playoff ticket. Even though the Canes won’t be providing any victory celebrations after any home playoff wins, I have a feeling that they’ll be a popular underdog to pull for. Petr Mrazek stopped 36 of 37 shots to earn the playoff-clinching victory against New Jersey on Thursday.

Mrazek enjoyed quite a run recently, posting an 11-2-0 record with a 1.68 GAA and a .944 SV% since mid-February. Both he and Curtis McElhinney will be UFAs at the end of the season. Since the Canes are a top-10 team in goaltending, I would have to believe they would bring back at least one of these goalies next season and maybe even both. If you need to pick a Canes’ goalie for your playoff pool, it’s probably Mrazek, although he and McElhinney have basically been splitting starts for the past few weeks. (apr5)

  9. A favourite of many before he stepped foot into the NHL because of solid production in the AHL, Yanni Gourde made the most of his 2017-18 with 25 goals and 64 points. He was a top-100 player in almost any fantasy setup and with him skating on what looked to be a high-powered squad on the verge of multi-year dominance, there was a lot of hope that the 60-plus points would be the norm.

Gourde finished the season with 48 points in 80 games. So, what went wrong?

It should be noted there’s nothing wrong with his goal scoring. He managed 22 goals this year after a season that featured 25 tallies. He does need to shoot more, though – late this past week, he was 200th out of 267 forwards in shot rate at five-on-five – but there is nothing wrong with his goal scoring. It’s his assists, of which there are 14 fewer this year than last, that are the issue.

Realistically, a guy with over 20 goals and pushing 50 points who doesn’t get prime PP minutes and is playing under 16 minutes a night, is a productive guy. It was just below the expectation he set for himself. Can he rebound? That’ll be something else for another day. (apr4)

  10. Mats Zuccarello is a very important player to the Dallas Stars. With him in the lineup, it gives the team two legitimate scoring lines teams need to worry about, something teams didn’t need to fret over before the trade. He just needs to stay in the lineup. (apr4)

* Our interactive playoff draft list is ready for download now! Don’t wait until five minutes before your draft or deadline to purchase it. If you haven’t already preordered it, get yours today! If you have already purchased it, jump right in and enjoy!!

11. We don’t know the exact severity of Connor McDavid’s leg injury sustained on Saturday, or the timeline for recovery, but at least it sounds as if we don’t have to worry about him not being ready for next season.

On the surface, it might not seem like a big deal because the Oilers won’t play games that matter again until October. However, significant injuries will interrupt previously scheduled offseason training plans. Consider Brock Boeser’s slow start this season as an example, after he recovered from a significant back injury and a lingering wrist issue.

McDavid may not have led the league in scoring (he finished second) but he is the only player not to go two consecutive games without a point, which is remarkably reliable. (apr7)

  12. Nikita Kucherov finished the season with 128 points, which is the highest single-season total ever for a Russian-born player.

Kucherov performance earns him the Art Ross Trophy as the league’s leading scorer and he should be considered the fantasy MVP in pure points leagues, as well as many multicategory formats. Expect him to be the top-ranked player in fantasy playoff drafts as the Lightning should be considered the favorite to win the Stanley Cup. Or, to Don Cherry or Brian Burke (can’t remember which one), they’re the easy pick to win. (apr7)

  13. Jake DeBrusk brought his season-ending totals to 27 goals and 42 points in 68 games. He’s producing legitimate top-six metrics in his second season and you’d have to expect there is more to come.

He sees top power-play deployment on a high-end team. He has developed nice chemistry to David Krejci on line two, and despite a conversion rate that will likely slip next season, he’s displaying an ability to find the back of the net on a consistent basis. The breakout may not be next season, but I see a 65-point season in his future. (apr3)

  14. It’s been a terrific late-career jump by Zach Parise, who ended the season with 28 goals and 61 points. This was also as healthy as the 34-year-old has been in the last six campaigns. Don’t expect this to be replicated in 2019-20. (apr3)

  15. There wasn’t much doubt that Alex DeBrincat would be a productive NHLer. The only people who had doubts were apparently almost every NHL general manager outside of Chicago. I don’t think that even the most ardent DeBrincat supporters would imagine that he would be a 40-goal scorer in his second season, however.

This is a guy who could be at 35 goals and we’d still marvel. Even with some regression built in, DeBrincat has shown that he’s an offensive player to be feared for years to come. (apr2)

  16. The Golden Knights signed college defenseman Jimmy Schuldt to a one-year contract. He’ll be a restricted free agent after this season, at which point I imagine Vegas will give him a two- or three-year deal. Our own Brad Phillips wrote on Schuldt about a year ago. I recommend giving it a read here. (apr4)

    17. Fantasy hockey owners (and Red Wings fans) had been waiting for Anthony Mantha to break out for years. He put up 24 goals in 2017-18 but fantasy owners were still a little leery heading into this season. We knew the Red Wings would be bad and we had no confirmation that Mantha would spend the season alongside Dylan Larkin.

Well, the Red Wings were bad but Mantha was mostly attached to Larkin and the result was 25 goals and 48 points in 67 games.

The Red Wings’ rebuild is starting to round into form. They have Larkin, they have Mantha, Tyler Bertuzzi looks like a solid second-line option, Andreas Athanasiou looks like a lethal goal scorer, Filip Hronek has had a very good first year, Dennis Cholowski looked solid when he was with the team, and they have Filip Zadina waiting in the, ahem, wings. What was a bad team is slowly getting better and Mantha is a big part of that. Expect more of the same next year. (apr2)

    18. It’s pretty easy to remember that just a couple years ago, there were doubts as to whether Ryan Pulock would reach his ceiling as a fantasy option. He had done very well in the AHL but was a first-round pick who, by his age-23 season, had played precisely 16 games in the NHL, including just one contest in the 2016-17 campaign.

Pulock broke out with 10 goals and 32 points for the Islanders in 2017-18, doing so playing less than 18:30 a night. The question was if this guy, who just a year prior had concerns about his future, could follow up the breakout, especially when considering John Tavares moving on. 

Well, Pulock finished with nine goals and 37 points, averaging 2.2 shots per game, and he done so while being the secondary option on the power play to Nick Leddy and playing for a mid-pack five-on-five scoring team.

There’s nothing out of line in his underlying numbers, either. His Individual Points Percentage (IPP) at five-on-five is normal and his on-ice shooting percentage is a tad high but certainly not extreme. His shot rate per minute has declined by 20 percent, but the team is playing much more defensively this year than last, so it’s not a huge concern, especially for a guy in his second season.

If we want Pulock to take that next step, he needs power-play time. He has nine power-play points compared to Leddy’s 10, and Pulock has done that largely on the second unit. My hope is that 2019-20 is the year Pulock finally takes the reigns of the top power play and pushes for 50 points. Regardless, he proved this year that he’s a reliable fantasy option. (apr2)

  19. Drake Caggiula’s fantasy hockey value appears to have improved with the Hawks, although not to the point where you should add him in anything more than the deepest of leagues. That’s even with him playing on the Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews line, although that line combination certainly makes the idea of adding him tempting.

Caggiula will be entering his fourth NHL season next year, so perhaps a full season in Chicago with those linemates can result in some sort of breakout. (apr6)

    20. One player I’ve been waiting years for a breakout is Brendan Gallagher, and it finally came in 2017-18 with his 30-goal campaign. Sure, he had a 24-goal season a few years back and had a very good season in 2015-16 but he only played 53 games. The full breakout came last year but the fantasy market didn’t really believe his breakout as his ADP came outside the top-175 players in standard Yahoo! leagues. This year, with his 33 goals, 302 shots, and 126 hits, he was a top-50 player in this setup.

The reason I had been waiting years for Gallagher were superlative shot rates and the fact a lot of his shots came from around the crease. Those guys typically have a solid floor (think of Patric Hornqvist) but have the upside to be great fantasy assets if shooting percentage ever favors them. With back-to-back seasons shooting over 11 percent (10.9 to be exact for 2018-19), that favor is here, and fantasy owners are reaping the rewards.

The thing is, Gallagher’s still not getting much ice time. His 16:24 per game overall this year is lower than both his 2014-15 and 2015-16 marks. Imagine what he could do if he were ever given the ice time a top-line forward like him deserves? (apr2)

  20. Tyler Bertuzzi continues to roll. For Little Bert (I had called his Uncle Todd ‘Big Bert’ so…), it is now three consecutive three-point games. Very much draftable in the fall and if this line continues to click even at a normal rate, the two offensive guns could really drag Little Bert’s points upward. Very bullish on this guy because of his linemates. I hate drafting and making decisions based on linemates, but I do make exceptions when they clearly work and I have a strong hunch that the line will continue for more than just a few months. That’s where I’m at with Bertuzzi. (apr1)

  21. Oliver Bjorkstrand capped off 2018-19 with nine goals in his last 10 contests. It’s been a disappointing season for Bjorkstrand but suddenly surging late to top 20 goals is a promising consolation. Coach John Tortorella must be thrilled with the fact that Bjorkstrand had 32 SOG over his last eight games. Bjorkstrand turns 24 this week. With the exodus of players likely happening in the Jackets’ offseason, I think it’s very likely that Bjorkstrand finds himself on the top line next season and is a very strong sleeper candidate. (apr1)

  Have a good week, folks!!

  from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/21-fantasy-hockey-rambles/21-fantasy-hockey-rambles-12/

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 29 - TOR - 2.7 Seconds

I have been accused of hating the Toronto Maple Leafs more than I love the Buffalo Sabres. Really, I’m leading off with that? YES I AM; because once upon a time I thought this made up hatred with this team that hardly existed in my hockey lexicon (Yes, I only trace my Sabres fandom back to about 2011 so give me a break here) was all hype from a bygone era that never actually happened according to the actual history books. Then my hatred for the Leafs came alive in 2016. If you want that spiel go back to Preseason Game 4. No, today I want to meet that truly pretentious chirp with more relevant, contemporary thoughts. Although all the Leafs other rivals are either kicking their ass in the playoffs or in the dumpster (blink twice if you’re reading, Steve), Buffalo is now here to make life difficult for the lesser blue and white team in this division. All you Leafs fans up in your high tower have benefited from drafting on easy mode for a few years now The Sabres just caught up. Rasmus Dahlin and the New Look Sabres are coming to get you! Hell, we might even meet in the playoffs this year. Oh God have mercy upon this earth! Even I would drive up to your overpriced City for that series! AAAAAAGGGGGHHHH I AM SO READY! I came in person to this game to be at least one voice against the invasion of would-be NHL Hamilton Hockey fans at this game. It had been on my bucket list for five years and finally the day hath come! ITS TIME FOR THE TIM HORTONS RIVALRY MATCHUP!

Oh, I almost forgot: I turned on the roast but forgot to crack open the Burn Book! That’s right, forget reasonable word counts, it’s time for: Why do we hate this Atlantic Division team!? With no further ado: let’s crack open that burn book. Toronto: You pioneered cheating with the salary cap and everyone still lets you. Sure you basically pay for this junk league to exist but you’re not the center of the hockey universe no matter how many plush Auston Matthews dolls you sell! Toronto Fans seem to think we eat their trash here in Buffalo but your greatest player in decades is Made in America, baby! It’s easy to overshadow a city that is smaller in every metric but that just makes you assholes. We relish beating you and reminding you all how bad the traffic is on the bridge afterward. Original Six Stanley Cups don’t count and if you really think this is your year than maybe give Morgan Reilly some help back there. Speaking of the big dance: the only playoff battle between these two Tim Horton’s loving cities ended with the Sabres going to the Stanley Cup Final! It is almost with pity us here in Buffalo smile on this new Leafs squad: Buffalo may have no Cups yet but Toronto suffering is long having not seen a Cup Final since Gilbert Perrault was playing after-school shinny in Quebec you snooty assholes! I suppose I better stop there. I think we can agree the shit-talking has gone too far when French Canada is brought up. That said who in the US hates the Leafs more than Sabres fans? Boston? Sit down you drunkards; you can’t hate a team you beat every friggin year. Well anyway, onto the matchup.

In spite of having a positively brutal stretch of games recently (most of which the won fyi) the Sabres came out in this game with a vendetta. No penalties were called in the first while the boys in the darker blue peppered Fredrick Anderson with shots in the first. As the period dragged on there were some Leafs chances as well but Anderson really got peppered and according to the Leafs fan next to me when he’s warm he’s at his best. Linus Ullmark faced only the token efforts of what is supposedly the best offense in the Eastern Conference. There must have been a grand total of five maybe six Leafs shots that first period. It ended up really just being a great conversational period. That Leafs fan sitting next to me was actually a really nice man. He had enough kids that looked like him that they may have been the stunt doubles for the Weasley family in Harry Potter but hardly a chirp out of this dude. Apparently Kitchener, Ontario has some pretty wicked hockey.

The second period is when the temperature began to rise. 8:33 in Auston Matthews gets a charitable pass behind the net and bounces it in past Ullmark off the back of his leg. The thunderous applause of the Leafs invasion was surprised because if you watch that play it didn’t seem likely it was going in. You really can’t blame Linus on that one. It was long before I got to jump around: six minutes later that beautiful top line with Jack and Sam were on the ice and Samson Reinhart roofed it on an arch shot that probably doesn’t go in if the Leafs defenders weren’t screening Anderson. The biggest criticism of this Toronto team is always a bad D-Corps. I say the D-Corps is supposedly bad but the guy named Par Lindholm who screened Anderson is a forward evidently. He better be a decent golfer at least with a name like that. One of the other guys on the ice for that goal, Jake Gardiner, got the Leafs back on top 2-1 with a shade over ten seconds left in the second period. That goal stung a little going into the 2nd intermission but if there is any place the third period Sabres show up, it’s in third periods against the Leafs. Twitter predicted it and it came true the third period was fun.

Before that though can we talk about the officiating in this game? I am not going to go into how many times Eichel was slashed or Casey Mittelstadt being dragged down because that’s the low hanging fruit. At one point in the second period the Leafs net was off its moorings. I am no ref but I really thought it was officiating 101 that you blow the play dead when that happens. One use for the refs that was never needed weirdly enough was for a fight. Rasmus Ristolainen was tearing it up and getting shots like a frat brother in this game but he never fought which is surprising for him against the Leafs. I’ll take it. I’d rather have the Risto that shoots for the net than the Risto that shoots at Leafs faces although both are fun. 2:39 into the third frame and our sweet ginger boy Jack Eichel evened it up after a quick feed from Ristolainen. You won’t see his name on the score sheet but let me tell you Rasmus Dahlin was ludicrous in this game. He must have been responsible for half of the times the Leafs turned over the puck, especially in the second and third periods. He very nearly got a goal here in the third too. But no, it was Captain Jack again at 12:57 to put Buffalo on top. These games against the Leafs never feel totally like a home game with all Leafs fans that come into town but that goal sounded like it was just us and it was beautiful. The Sabres took the game back now, it was a rare Leafs setup in the Sabres zone that yielded the puck bouncing charitably off the boards to Patrick Marleau who evened it up. That guy is 38 now from what Leafs fans told me. If that’s true god bless the guy for still be this decent at hockey. This one went to OT where the Sabres dominated possession and once again outshot the Leafs. It was their last ditch effort with the shootout practically a formality when somehow, Auston Matthews got a pass from Kapanen and ended it. For those of us who were there it was probably the second most painful way this game could have ended right behind a regulation blowout: there were literally 2.7 seconds left in overtime. I have photographic proof of that. This game ended 4-3 Leafs and the Sabres really nearly got two points in this game but they’ll walk out with only one.

You don’t want the loser point in rivalry games like this, you want both winner points. Maybe I’m not as grumpy as I could be because all the Leafs fans around me were sober and personable. You tell me your experience of the rougher variety and I’ll be hard pressed to not see where you’re coming from. The Sabres played the better game. Nathan Beaulieu, remember the guy who fought Leafs Matt Martin and talked afterward about how much he hated the Leafs? Yea, he may be one of the most improved Sabres players this season, particularly in this game. Captain Jack played with the hate he professes for the Leafs and very nearly won the game with a hat trick a few times. He certainly played better than the other two-goal scorer in this game: his good American friend Auston Matthews but I won’t be throwing stones at a guy who’s scoring at a tad over a goal a game. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if he’s not wearing a Leafs jersey, Auston Matthews is probably my favorite non-Sabre in this league. I already talked about Rasmus Dahlin but it’s worth noting he passed Drew Doughty’s 2008 record for most time on ice for an 18 year old defenseman with 29:15 in this game. He’s still 18 and he is already dominating opponents. I really look forward to Rasmus Dahlin torturing Leafs for years to come.

Gee, this one is getting long in the teeth. The Sabres had a brutal stretch going into this game. They won most of those games and got so far ahead that if you’re going to go on a four game losing streak this is possibly the best way to do it… yea I just can’t say that with a straight face after losing with 2.7 seconds left in OT. Holy shit, I hate the Leafs. Anyway, if the team with these stats was not named the Leafs and we played this game against them this is probably the closest thing you can get to one of those non-existent moral victories considering injuries, schedule and… just how well you controlled play through this game. Linus Ullmark looked like a starter in this game and you will not change my mind! This matchup still has three games this season and maybe a playoff series. Tell me that series wouldn’t be absolutely bonkers. A series loss would sting an awful lot but if the Sabres could win in 7 and prevent this Leafs team from a series win for their third straight year… I wouldn’t know how to put that kind of pleasure into words. Like, comment and share this blog around, even if you’re Leafs fan. I get the feeling this rivalry is going to finally be the war we’ve been waiting for and if 2.7 seconds is the only thing that’s going to separate the two teams that oh holy hockey gods is it going to be fun.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Credit to Steve Dangle for the “Tim Horton’s Rivalry” moniker. He’ll probably tell you he wasn’t the originator of that title but I heard from him first so there you go.