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bodybeyondstories · 2 months

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Just ignore it - 5

The gang takes a field trip to the Marshlands to study the artifact that Blake brought in. As they get closer, David loses even more control over his reality warping imagination, and things get weird. Then they get weirder.

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MaleTF // Ass Growth // Dick Growth // Growth // Macro // Suggestion // nsfw

Author note: I was reflecting on how this series was originally supposed to end with part 2, but then @alias-miniature shared some words of encouragement and here we are. I think I wrote the climax of this chapter while I was still playing around with part 3, I've just been spending months finding excuses to wax poetic about some wobbly spacetime nonsense lol.

---

“Ooo are we taking the Mystery Machine?” I asked, voice echoing off the concrete pillars of the parking garage.

“We really don’t need to call it that,” said Armand. He pushed a utility cart laden with equipment as he led our group towards a row of old vehicles that the Center for Supernatural Sciences had acquired used, offhand, or through some nefarious means over the years, the most recent of which being a blue and green SUV well suited for group field trips off the beaten path. The obvious nickname being to me–and most everyone else in my opinion–the Mystery Machine.

“But we are taking it,” Lee confirmed.

Armand opened the hatchback, revealing a spacious interior already pre-prepped for our little adventure. The entire second row had been removed, as well as all but one seat in the back. Packs of what looked like hiking supplies, snacks, and a cooler were arranged on the floor toward the front, leaving an open space just large enough for our pallet full of magical gizmos. Without thinking, I squatted down and picked it up, sliding it neatly into place.

“What?” I asked, noticing Armand’s stare. “Does it not go there?” I quickly remembered that lifting the entire pallet of whimsical yet heavy duty tools and gadgets like a sack of potatoes was not a normal thing that someone was supposed to be able to do. Even someone with my physique. I’d been having some hiccups in getting used to my new strength, evidenced by the similarly incredulous stares that morning as I was casually outpacing rush hour traffic on my bike to work.

“We’ll fill you in,” said Lee, patting Armand on the shoulder as he strolled past us to lounge in the lone third row seat, elegantly stretching his legs across the extra space.

Armand sighed in resignation, hopping into the driver's seat as I plopped down into the passenger. “We’re meeting Blake at the site in the Marshlands, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

—

The Mystery Machine headed east along the interstate through the dignified gray hinterlands patiently awaiting a snow fall. Handing Lee the aux cord wasn’t the best idea, but at least he was trying to match the mood of the early winter landscape in between bubble gum pop hits, a welcome respite from Armand’s request for a locally produced, surprisingly dull, occult news podcast that he kept up with for “research.” I fell into the flow of rolling hills and stands of denuded trees, unable to fully drift off due to the magnetic tug coming from the back of the car.

I hadn’t gotten solid details about the artifact that Blake had brought in, and that we were now transporting back to where it came from. Admittedly, I had still been in a haze of post-coital bliss when Lee filled me in on the situation, more interested in the sight of him maneuvering his girthy snake back into his pants than the words that had been coming out of his mouth. But I got the gist.

The artifact had come from the Marshlands, but not from the Marshlands, so to speak. According to Blake, it had been sitting in a perfectly circular clearing on a patch of higher ground, waiting there long enough to become half buried in humus and partially coated in a fuzzy moss.

“Waiting is the important word here,” said Lee. “That’s how Blake mentioned it multiple times. Like it was waiting to be found.”

“But it hadn’t been there long?” I asked, pulling a backup pair of leggings out of a desk drawer after having torn my original pair like tissue paper trying to get them to cooperate with my glutes.

“Relatively speaking, no. We can’t quite pinpoint when it appeared there, but we don’t think it was placed by human hands. The physical and metaphysical signatures point to somewhere other than the Marshlands. Somewhere else. It was causing disturbances in the cleanroom that we hadn’t seen before.”

“Like how the sigils changed color?”

“Yeah. They turned into a lightshow after you left, you should’ve seen it.”

The actual artifact appeared to be some sort of device. A copper colored sphere about the size of a soccer ball, that felt like unglazed clay to the touch and was much heavier than it had any right to be. Patterns of some inscrutable design were inlaid across its surface in flowing lines of gold, teal and lavender that seemed to glow with their own passive light.

“We took a 3D scan and sent it over to archives to see if they had any reference to decode it,” said Lee. “But Logan said every time he opens the file it looks slightly different on his monitor. His tech can only figure it out partially, but never enough to crack the code. You remember Logan, right?”

“How could I forget,” I said with obvious sarcasm, looking forward to catching up with the archivist who inadvertently started all this mess.

“He thinks the only way to figure it out is to conduct experiments with it on site. He’s supposed to be out there with Blake, preparing the area. ”

That can’t be good, I thought, but reminded myself that it wasn’t all Logan’s fault. It’s not like he was planning on becoming the conduit for some ancient horny trickster deity, or was even trained to effectively deal with that scenario. This sort of thing was part of my job and even I was slowly crumbling under the pressure of Synt’s unrelenting power. It’s a miracle Logan lasted as long as he did. Sometimes it felt like the boundaries of my corporeal form were becoming thinner and thinner, my perception of mundane reality slowly beginning to fade into Synt’s casually multidimensional experience.

—

As we approached the Marshlands, the barriers between worlds began to blur even further. My senses kept expanding in weird directions in physical space and other space, the passing landscape enlivened with echoes and resonances of nearby timelines bumping up against our own. I could feel the artifact in the back of the Mystery Machine more strongly, but the blunt magnetic tug was slowly resolving into something more nuanced. Like a complex rhythm underneath Lee’s playlist, overlapping patterns of subsonic vibes that manifested in my head as the shifting glow of the lines across the sphere. As the mental image came together in increasing sharpness, the ball opened–not mechanically, but through some sort of phase change, its solid surface shifting into–

The van shuddered to a halt, bringing me back to reality as Armand turned the engine off. We had come off the interstate onto some county road and stopped at a nondescript gas station with no other vehicles in sight. Without the flow of the rolling highway landscape to distract me, I could almost taste how fuzzy reality was out here. There were whorls and eddies of chaotic possibility that were almost as iridescent as the puddles on the ground. Maybe it was something about the geography, maybe I was spending too much time in close proximity to the artifact, maybe the outlines of my form that identified me as a discrete being in this world were being erased from the inside out. Maybe all of the above. Regardless, I tried to tamp down the flutter of worry that sprung up in my stomach, shifting into the conspicuous ‘just act normal’ affect of someone who’s just realized they’ve misjudged an edible.

Armand chatted briefly with the station attendant, who seemed unable to decide if it was less rude to gawk at the anaconda running around Armand’s left hip or the sight of Lee stretching his arms up and towering over the SUV. He relented, keeping his attention pointedly directed at the task of filling up the tank. Armand headed inside to scope out snacks, a slight wobble in his gait as he maneuvered his dick into a more comfortable position, while Lee wandered off a little to admire the scenery and stretch his legs.

Without the distraction of my companions, and unwilling to try and settle back into a nap, I twisted around to rummage through the snack cooler, tossing the dried fruit and trail mix aside to snatch up the family size bag of some obscure brand of cheese puffs. The complex notes coming from the artifact (that seemingly no one else could hear) had settled into background noise, piquing my attention as they became slightly discordant, building in what felt like anticipation. As I angled myself back up, I paused, catching the gaze of the station attendant through the open rear window. He looked awestruck, and with one leg splayed across the driver's seat and my amazonian ass perched in the air, I could figure out why.

“I, uh, sorry,” he said, looking distraught as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the sight of my supernaturally round butt cheeks. He was adorable as he blushed, still biting into his lower lip.

“It’s cool,” I chuckled. “Cheese puffs?” I opened the bag of bright orange corn products, offering them in his direction.

“I’m good,” he said. “I’m trying to stop eating those. Pretty sure they’re going straight to my hips.”

He had this look on his face like he was surprised he even said that, which just added to how cute his visible embarrassment was. But as the words left his lips, the notes from the artifact began to crescendo ever so slightly, harmonizing with that all too familiar feeling of Synt’s power emerging into this realm, the anticipation building.

Oh, I thought. I see. It almost felt as if this scenario had been written for us, and with the wobbliness of my current perception of linear time, it was a little more clear that it kind of had. The notes had been laid out and all we had to do was hit them. So I already knew what to expect as I said my next line, “Then you must eat these all the time.”

And there it was. His stance shifted slightly as we settled into a timeline in which he had already had a bubble butt juicy enough to see from the front.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a problem,” he said with a nervous laugh, one hand resting on the shelf of his ass while the other moved the gas pump back into place. “Honestly, I was about to ask you for advice. Hard to find pants that fit my…shape, out here in the boonies.”

And it was obvious why. His khakis looked painted on, straining against the melons that ballooned from his lower back. I could practically hear the stitches screaming in terror from the dreaded cheese puffs that had been the downfall of so many of their predecessors, as if sheer proximity to the artificially flavored snack dust in the air risked pushing his bubble butt to a level of catastrophic stress, until–

I caught a glimpse of his cakes seeming to expand, not through the usual flipbook of timelines, but physically in ‘real’ time, growing bigger and rounder before my very eyes. He took notice too, turning his torso just in time to see the seat of his pants completely give way, falling apart as his ass cheeks expanded into open air, clad in only a pair of pink and white striped bikini briefs that barely covered the top of his shelf.

“Ah shit!” he exclaimed, trying and failing to pull the fabric back together over an ass that actually was bigger than it had been thirty seconds ago. “I think I’ve got some backups in my locker. Have a good one!”

“Oh, no problem,” I offered, watching the globes of his butt cheeks swish back and forth as he power walked back inside, mildly apologetic in the knowledge that whatever replacement pants he already had would bear the exact same fate.

That time, it had felt so familiar, yet slightly different. The nuances of Synt’s power were so much clearer out here, like I could taste the full complexity of the flavor profile, but with that, the barriers between their world and this one were much more porous. Or maybe I was just better at reading the cracks, tunnels, and pathways. Out here, it was more apparent that the mental, physical, and metaphysical coordination of vocal speech was just a way to channel short bursts of magic from one side of the divide to the other. And without the usual solidity of the barriers between worlds, maybe the unchecked power of imagination could slip through just as easily.

“That you?” asked Lee, who had apparently strolled back to the van just in time to see the attendant’s comically large ass split his pants wide open, letting his hand grab a handful of cheese puffs as he also indulged in the sight of the attendant’s purposeful stride back to the convenience store.

“Yup,” I muttered. “Be careful with those, I heard they go straight to your hips.” I had been joking, but was also genuinely concerned that I may have inadvertently cast a spell on this exact brand of junk food that was now creating bubble butted men across its distribution range. I made a mental note to look into that right after all the other magical calamities spawning off around me.

—

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful, encouraged by the fact that Armand had somehow gained control of the aux cord and was dragging us through an audiobook about spectral informatics that he was already half way into. I was still crammed up front, dutifully pretending to be asleep but actually fighting every urge not to phase accidentally out of the car. I shuddered with metaphysical tension, the weight of my cosmic companion eroding away any solid grasp on reality.

Lee, with his boundless patience and grace, humored his lab partner, asking lazy yet helpful questions while he lounged in the back, dinner plate size hands still dwarfed by the firehose bulge that he stroked absentmindedly. He looked like he could stretch to fill the entire length of the Mystery Machine if we wanted to, like he could indulgently take up more space as easily as yawning. The harmonics of the artifact sitting resolutely next to him seemed to resonate with his lithe form, and in my partial consciousness I couldn’t help but imagine his body slipping into semi-liquidity with the notes, stretching slightly with the rhythm but each time not quite returning all the way to where it began. He could really become the embodiment of grace if he wanted. If I wanted. As county roads turned to back roads and we passed the vine covered “Marshlands State Park” sign, the trees in the landscape seemed to stretch up with similar ease, yawning in the breeze. I imagined Lee strolling through the forest, towering over us as he stretched with them.

I could no longer keep up a convincing facade of unconsciousness as the van turned off the small forest road onto a poorly maintained gravel path that led to a patch of dirt currently occupied by a shiny new park ranger truck. Armand pulled up next to it as Lee and I scanned the area for our collaborators, seeing only a path through the trees that led down to an expanse of shallow water.

As I stepped out of the van, the satisfying crack of my back and shoulders preceded an indulgent yawn, breath sparkling in the crisp air as I took in our surroundings. My moment of idyll was interrupted by a surprised grunt as Lee whacked his head against the top of the passenger door, stumbling with a brief moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness. I quickly realized why as he rose to his full height, which was itself a full foot taller than it had been just a few hours before. He looked down at himself in mild confusion, which transitioned to a painful wince as, with a staccato of popping sounds, the threads of his shoes failed and his feet burst through, toes and heels spilling out from both ends.

“C’mon man,” Lee said, realization dawning in my direction. “Those were size nineteen.” His look of annoyance melted into one of mild worry. “You sure you’re holding it together?” he asked, coming in to pat my shoulder but jerking back at a sharp bolt of static shock.

“Just barely,” I said.

“Looks like someone had a growth spurt!” exclaimed Blake, who seemed to emerge out of nowhere as he walked up toward us.

“Speak for yourself,” Lee muttered, gazing down at him suspiciously.

Blake, once again, looked noticeably bigger than we had last seen him. His ranger uniform was pushed to the limit, inflated biceps and quads straining his sleeves and shorts. I got the sense that having his shirt unbuttoned down to his nipples wasn’t just an aesthetic choice, but the result of a struggle lost against his massive pecs. His muscle butt ballooned behind him, cheeks bouncing back and forth as he unloaded gear from the truck bed.

“He is getting bigger,” came a voice way too suddenly in our vicinity.

Lee reared back with an overdramatic flourish before finally noticing Logan standing several feet away, practically swimming in a pair of oversized waders.

“How?” I asked. “Because it’s definitely not me,” and shot a defensive glance at Lee.

“I, well–” said Logan.

“Maybe he met super dick,” quipped Armand, looking overly busy organizing equipment, as if to emphasize the fact that the rest of us were just standing around.

“No, I don’t think so, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about–”

“Do you think they’re each other’s type?” Lee asked with a look of genuine interest.

“There have been some developments with–”

“Let’s not get lost in the imaginary meet cute,” I said. “We’re here on magical nonsense business. We’re in the field. We’re setting up equipment. We’re wearing field gear. Logan’s wearing…waders for some reason.”

“...with the…well they’re–”

“The only thing that fits?” offered Armand with uncharacteristic sincerity. I guess as the two local monster dick twinks, they’ve exchanged fashion tips here and there. They looked extremely roomy, yet somehow still distended from the pressure of his prodigious wang, which looked like it had gone through some aftershocks of growth after his fateful visit to my office.

“Well it’s just that we’re taking the–”

“Airboat!” I exclaimed, suddenly noticing the watercraft parked off a short pier just down the hill. “We’re taking an airboat? You drive an airboat?” I asked, with no hint of even trying to cover my surprise.

“I pilot an airboat,” Blake corrected with an upbeat smile, his tree trunk quads swelling with muscle as he walked up toward us. “The wet season keeps lasting longer and longer, so unless you wanna wade over there…”

“That why Logan’s dressed to catch a catfish by hand?” asked Lee.

“Well these are the only gear that fit,” said Logan, as if suddenly remembering he was there.

Ah ha, I thought. “So you’re driving us to that…island.”

“I’m piloting you to the island,” said Blake, not so much to me as to the stand of cypress trees in the distance, his gaze lingering for a few seconds as the rest of us relented and shifted to the task of hauling the gear down to the airboat.

As I unloaded the apparatus from the van, prepared to repeat my feat of strength from that morning, I noticed it was significantly lighter. Still heavy, I imagined, by normal human standards, but easy enough to lug down to the boat with minimal strain, earning me an appreciative whoop and generous slap on the butt from Blake. Did I somehow get stronger or was the artifact behaving in some new, strange way?

The airboat looked like one of the big tourist-carrying models that had apparently been repurposed for the parks service. The residue of the old logo of some defunct swamp tour company still visible around the parks logo and info placed on top. The name, Swamp Hag, remained the same, still legible amid the wear and rust. Most of the rows of seating along the flat bottom hull had been removed in favor of storage space, now filled with all of our stuff, leaving us cozied up in the two rows at the back.

The whine of the engine was quickly outmatched by the roar of the propeller, overbearing even through earplugs, as Blake started us up and began ferrying us to the island in the distance. We cruised over golden brown fields of late season wetland grasses, passing clumps of cattails bursting with fluffy seed heads. I glanced up to see Blake behind and above us in the pilot seat, eyes locked intently ahead towards our destination, left hand nimbly controlling the rudder stick.

Seated in the middle, I was directly below him and positioned between his meaty quads. He always seemed to be on the verge of bursting out of his pants these days, which wasn’t helped by the massive pipe creeping slowly down his right leg, leaving dark spots of precum and even pulsing with an occasional lurch further and increase in girth. I couldn’t tell if that was just my imagination, but I wasn’t in any position to let my imagination wander, exemplified by the fact that the moon, visible in the daytime sky, seemed to keep switching between stationary object and figure-eight analemma. But with the neverending drone of the propeller, I needed a distraction, and couldn’t help but let Synt’s power slip out just a little, envisioning what might happen if that prodigious bulge–

A piercing, subsonic feedback ran through my skull as I had the distinct feeling of two of the same magnetic poles brought too close together. As the pain subsided, I glanced up again to see Blake smile down, give me a conspiratorial wink, and return to the task at hand.

I decided to deal with that later as we pulled up to the island and began carrying things through the wall of cypress trees towards the interior. Vegetation was dense, but a winding footpath had been carved in previous visits, aided by the fact that much of the underbrush had died back. The trees seemed to whisper among themselves in some conversation that we weren’t a part of but were fine to listen in on, the low lying sounds of the forest becoming more complex until we stepped into the relative silence of a moss-covered clearing in the middle.

“This is where you found it?” asked Armand, eyes scanning the ground for any clues or disturbances. “It looks…untouched.”

“It’s where it found us,” Blake joked in a tone that wasn’t especially humorous. “And yeah, it just sort of appeared. Right there in the middle.”

Armand and Lee set to work setting up a makeshift cleanroom, moving around the perimeter of the circular clearing to lay down plexiglass panels featuring the familiar protective sigils from the lab. I opened the apparatus to remove the artifact, which practically sang in recognition, complex linework of lavender and gold forming and reforming across its surface. It felt as light as styrofoam as I lifted it and carried it across the space. As we reached the center, it simply stopped moving. In fact, as I let my hands slip away, it simply remained stationary. Just hovered in the air, rotating slowly.

“Now that’s cool,” said Blake, walking up to the artifact. “It wasn’t doing that before.” He lifted a finger and brought it up to the surface, hovering a few centimeters away. The curls, diagrams, and fractals covering the sphere seemed to converge around Blake’s fingertip in a multicolored spiral before sending a visible jolt of electricity across the short distance.

“Are you okay?” asked Logan, walking up behind him, responding to Blake’s quiet yelp.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “It felt…great, actually.” His eyes seemed lost in the patterns of the artifact as it seemed to dematerialize into a loose amalgamation of strings, a facsimile of a solid sphere, singing in complex harmonies, rising in a slow crescendo.

“Are y’all picking this up?” I asked Lee and Armand, who were just getting the monitoring equipment online.

“Picking what up?” asked Lee.

Before we could answer, a pulse of iridescent energy shot out from the artifact, passing through us and stopping a few feet before the perimeter, forming a dome that resembled a giant soap bubble.

“Oh wow, it worked,” whispered Blake.

“What worked?” I asked, squinting my eyes at him. “What’s happening?”

“It’s a force field, they made a force field,” called Lee, motioning to the layer of shimmering air directly in front of him.

“I did not think that would work,” said Blake.

“Didn’t think what would work?” I asked with increasing suspicion.

“You gotta trust me,” said Blake, hands splayed apologetically yet his eyes showing a touch of overexcitement. “We’ve been talking about your situation and–”

“Situation? Who? You and Logan?”

“And…our cosmic deity mutual friend.”

“You’ve been talking to Synt,” I snapped. How? I thought. “Through Logan?”

“Well, they’re still connected in certain ways. I guess they were always connected or whatever?”

“Of course. Of course,” I drummed against the nook between my eyebrows.

“Synt didn’t tell you?” Blake asked.

“Didn’t tell me what?”

“About completing the ritual. We need to complete the ritual,” he said with growing intensity.

“What ritual?” My tone annoyed and mildly incredulous.

“The one we started with the artifact in your office,” offered Logan, as if explaining an email I ignored. “We opened the portal but we need to let it close behind them.”

“Oh is their presence weakening the fabric of spacetime in a localized area?” asked Armand, tapping nonchalantly on the force field like a thick pane of glass. “I guess that makes sense.”

“A little more concern would be nice. Blake’s getting pretty antsy in here,” I said.

“We’re getting you out, bud! We’re on it,” said Lee, turning to dig around in one of the totes full of equipment while Armand continued to inspect the perimeter.

“I don’t know what sweet nothings Synt has been whispering in your ears,” I said to Blake, “but I promise you they’re just fucking with all of us.”

“No, no, I think it’s about resonance,” said Blake. “We’ve only heard one chord in a cosmic symphony! We just have to let them finish.”

“Finish what–”

I was cut off as everything seemed to shift into some sort of non-space, Blake, Lee, Armand, and Logan no longer visible but the forcefield now hyperreal as a solid structure of what looked like glowing golden wires in hexagonal patterns. There was no longer the soft solidity of the mossy clearing, and the forcefield was revealed as not a dome but a sphere, surrounding me on all sides. I hovered stationary in space, rotating slowly around the smaller sphere of the artifact, which pulsed with harmonics and rhythms within and without the color spectrum, seeming to flow in tandem with the structure surrounding us.

It absorbed my attention and I had the sinking sensation of falling perpetually towards it, plummeting through strata of timelines, tangling and untangling through interwoven threads of possibilities and fractal perception, catching small glimpses here and there of moments in space time, some that I could recall from memory and some that were wildly unfamiliar. I saw Synt talking with me at the bar and simultaneously with Logan in my class weeks before. I realized that for them, there was no linear time, and the best approximation for someone in my three-dimensional existence was cosmic terror and confusion as I fell through the complex dimensional framework of strings that they were delicately pulling. They had been building to something, I realized. Were always building to something. Are currently building to something that in this thread of spacetime is finally coming together.

I had the sensation of breathing in and zooming out, seeing a birds eye view in unnatural clarity of the wetland clearing, the artifact in the exact center spinning wildly and sending multicolored pulses of light, the surrounding trees murmuring amongst themselves, and beyond that the unseasonal expanse of placid water in a symmetrical ovoid shape that came to a point at both ends. It looked unmistakably like an eye.

With a resounding thud in my mind, I came back to this place in this timeline–or more accurately I had never left and was never there–and noticed Blake standing there wide eyed. I could taste the lust and excitement pouring off of him like a snake flicking the air. He had only gotten tastes here and there of what he could become and he was starving, unapologetically dreaming about ridiculous, indulgent size. Who was I to deny the full extent of what he could be? Why would I have ever held back this power?

I fell to my knees as another wave of Synt’s untapped chaos magic took over my being, reverberating through the space. I was dimly aware of rings of multicolored, iridescent mushrooms rising and falling in concentric waves around us. For a second I lost my physical senses, overwhelmed by Synt’s ability to see seamlessly across planes of existence and temporal strata. As my body struggled to make sense of this metaphysical tsunami, I could see the perspective of every cell ringing out simultaneously. I could see every possibility in every timeline. It was beautiful and terrible, threads waving, trailing, breaking, weaving into each other with chaos and grace. In this other sense, I felt the cleansing surge of a deluge following a dam break as my guard finally went down and Synt stepped fully into my being in this world. I had been holding them back for so long, letting go was a welcome relief.

I heard the strangely familiar sound of a string being plucked.

Blake, ever the gentleman, snapped out of his enraptured fascination to try and help me up, jumping back as a visible bolt of electricity shot into his hand from my left bicep. I was an energetic livewire, and Blake’s eyes widened further in glee as he watched the muscles throughout his arm flex with a sickening pump, settling down as a wave of subtle growth spread throughout the rest of his body. Maybe this was due to my supercharged supernatural senses, but I noticed that his musculature was incredibly, unnaturally dense. He must’ve been somehow stronger than even the veritable wall of shredded muscle implied.

Still feeling his juicier pecs, he mused to the others, “that was just one touch. Imagine what you could do,” he added, turning to me.

“Yes,” I grunted through gritted teeth. “Imagine.” I grabbed his arm with lightning fast quickness. In fact, I don’t even remember moving my body at all. My hand was simply wrapped around his bicep because I willed it with a thought.

His head lolled back in euphoria as I poured into him. He was a willing participant, an enthusiastic receptacle of possibility powered by a vivid imagination of what his body could be and do. A deep, hungry wish that I happily granted. And then some. As he came back to his senses, his eyes took in a seemingly smaller space, his head inching farther from the ground as his massive feet took up more and more surface area. A look of worry replaced one of triumph as he realized how much he dwarfed even Lee’s eight and a half feet on the other side of the dome, with no signs of stopping.

“Wait,” he groaned through waves of orgasmic pleasure. “Slow down. It’s…too much.” My hands had drifted to the slabs of his pecs, trailing onto his cobblestone abs as he continued to stretch and grow in all directions. He grabbed my hands with his massive paws, but the additional contact only sent a pulse of growth through his already gargantuan body, several feet of cock tearing through whatever fabric his quads and glutes hadn’t already shredded and thwacking onto the ground.

“What’s…happening…won’t…stop,” he eked out, falling to all fours and breathing heavily as his mega dick spurted globs of precum that puddled below him. He was a larger than life behemoth of glistening, shredded muscle, except of course for the huge globes of his impossibly fat ass, which seemed to keep widening and ballooning as the rest of his growth slowed down.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off the overinflated glutes in front of me, caressing each, my otherwise huge hands dwarfed by the sheer size of them, falling into the heft of each pillowy cheek. Blake’s pride and joy, the unmissable bubble booty that could stop traffic and pull anyone at the bar, had blown up beyond comical proportions, each cheek large enough to crush the truck he drove here in. I felt my hands growing to monstrous proportions just to handle the boulders of blubber whose expansion was finally slowing to a stop as he panted in exhaustion, arching his back in insatiable need.

It all felt oddly reminiscent of the dream I had had of being eaten out by Synt while growing impossibly huge in the archives. Having just gotten a glimpse of Synt’s perception out of the bounds of linear time, I realized Of course. It was--for lack of a better concept, and from my meager three dimensional perspective--prophetic.

And we were hungry.

#male tf #ass growth #dick growth

18 notes · View notes

l-tothe-og · 10 months

Note

(sapphic lucemond) aemond takes luke w her to the gym or something, luke mostly just spends a solid hour like this watching aemond 🤯🤯😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

Aemma never lets Luce catch her breath. Whether she's fucking Luce to her third orgasm of the night, or just standing still, so beautiful it makes Luce's chest hurt. She can hardly breathe.

She doesn't know why she expected Aemma would be any different in the gym. Usually, when Aemma invites her downstairs to their condo's workout studio, Luce rolls over in bed and pretends she didn't hear her ask.

That morning, she lifts her head and asks if Aemma would wait for her to get ready. Her smile alone is almost enough to make getting up early and exercising worth it. She likes early afternoon breakfast and after dinner walks for activity.

They get downstairs and are fortunately the only people there.

"I like to start with cardio." Aemma says. Luce likes cardio. Cardio is sex and jumping rope.

Aemma, apparently, doesn't like fun cardio. She starts them both on treadmills. Luce is out of breath after thirty seconds of sprinting on a speed that looks like a jog to Aemond.

"Fuck you." Luce pants. "And fuck your long legs."

Aemma laughs, not even breaking a sweat.

"Don't be a baby. You haven't set an incline yet." Aemma jokes. Luce blows a raspberry and immediately regrets using her extra air.

Aemma finally gives her mercy after a marathon. Dramaticized only the tiniest bit, Luce steps off the machine and lays on the ground.

"All done?" She asks.

"You wish." Aemma laughs because she's a gloating show off. At least she walks away with her back toward Luce. She deserves a little ass for her mocking.

Aemma takes them on an intensive workout. Each exercise hurts more than the last and she doesn't stop for a snack even once. Luce is huffing, puffing, red, beyond wet, and committed to never working out again when Aemma reminds her that she does this five days a week.

Luce's only consolation in feeling like a failure is the consummate magnetism that is Aemma's strength and competency. She adjusts Luce's form a few times and each time it feels like they're in the beginning of a porno.

"No. Like this." She breathes into Luce's ear at the rowing machine.

Luce shivers and turns her head back for a kiss. Aemma indulges her, wet and messy for only a second. Then, she finishes adjusting Luce and sits at the machine next to her.

It takes everything Luce has not to trap her on the machine, sit in her lap, and make her carry Luce up to bed. The rowing machine is the only one she almost keeps up with Aemma on. She imagines them in bed together, meeting Aemma's movements and matching her speed.

She feels the overexertion when she stands up. Her legs shake and Luce sits down to keep from embarrassing herself.

"I think I'm gonna sit this one out." Luce eyes the barbells Aemma sets up at their next activity. "I'll cheer you on, though."

"You better." Aemma winks.

Luce crawls to a better spot on the ground and barely blinks through all of Aemma's reps. She's been thrown around more than a few times by her girlfriend, but watching her squat her weight and Luce's together with only a few of the sexiest grunts she's ever heard, she has to lean back and give her lungs room to expand on her deep breaths.

"You're amazing." Luce breathes out as Aemma racks the weight.

"I know."

"Since you've got a big head about it. I take it back."

"Really?" Aemma leans her head back and squirts a long pull of water into her mouth. Watching her throat work, Luce thinks she might be the amazing one. It takes a person with amazing will power not to jump her right fucking there.

"Time to hit the shower?" Luce asks hopefully. Aemma raises an eyebrow.

"Done already?"

"I was done after the treadmill."

"I like to finish with more cardio."

Luce rolls her eyes. She'd haul Aemma out of there herself if she wasn't sure her girlfriend's sweaty arm would slip out of her grasp and give her enough reaction time to strap Luce back into the rowing machine or something equally horrific. She's done working out.

"There are other ways to do cardio." She ducks behind Aemma and puts both her hands on the small of her back and starts pushing her toward the exit.

"Like what?" Aemma laughs. Luce appreciates that she lets herself be pushed. If she fought back, she has no doubt she'd be flattened in a moment. She's seen it happen to Aegon and Jace in real time.

"I'll show you in the shower."

They don't even make it there. Aemma has Luce's heart racing and her leg over her shoulder before either of them are out of their sweat-wicking leggings.

Aemma never lets Luce catch her breath.

#lucemond #u keep sending sapphic lucemond prompts and i just... can't stop writing them #lilsfic

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cog5 · 5 months

Text

12.31. The Electric Triptych

Three empty recesses line the wall. Along their perimeters, rows of pin sockets, each with a unique pattern. Behind each recess, a sealed vault encased by the finest steel.

Adventure parties who have collected any portion of the Electric Triptych can plug their panels into the corresponding recess at this time.

West Panel - Memory of the Machine

Found in the Factory. Inside the vault: Magnetic film encased in a plastic sleeve. Time has degraded its contents. If read, what little can be recovered shows that the information is not from this century. It holds the first sliver of knowledge that Baltharius recovered from the future.

Introducing this knowledge back into the time stream may undo any attempts to thwart the Tetric Necromancer’s evil schemes.

Center Panel - Preservation of the Flesh

Found in the Northern Keep. Inside the vault: A ring granting immortality, for as long as it is worn. Once removed from the owner, the body will age rapidly.

Especially troublesome in the hands of an ephemeral clone who may wish to usurp their creator.

East Panel - A Bargain with Death

Found in the Monastery. Inside the vault: An amulet capable of bringing the dead back to life, though a bargain must be struck first.

The amulet was once used to revive the Queen from death — to a state of undeath.

When all three panels are added to the triptych, they complete a circuit and become electrified to the touch. Each vault can now be opened, unlocked by a phrase uttered by only the Tetric Necromancer himself.

/end dungeon

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pearlsinmyhair · 11 months

Text

༄ breath of venus ༄

chapter four • eywa’s will

word count: 4.9k

warnings: cursing. cannon typical violence and weapon use. the recombinants make fun of venus and make some crude remarks. mansk and venus have a few moments. venus goes through a moment of slight mental distress towards the end.

a/n: a few this time! first, in this au mansk is younger. his exact age will be discussed in later chapters, but know that his mental age in this story is at twenty one. second, venus is a child. she makes some immature decisions and has a few moments of uncertainty that would happen to most young people in her situation. this is a traumatic experience, so please try to understand why she does certain things. last, rutxïryo is here! his name is pronounced “root-z-eye-row” with a rolled r. it translated to “strong wind/loyal heart”. and yes, he’s BIG. he has a wingspan of 14.5 meters, or about 47 feet.

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“you are so brave and quiet i forget you are suffering.” ~ Earnest Hemingway.

༄

The recombinant soldiers stood in a circle at the beginning of the tarmac, joking and rough housing just as they did when they were human. It was almost enough to forget that they were now blue and nine feet tall. But then a soldier or pilot would walk past them, casting a cautious glance that made them snap back into reality.

“They’re just jealous” Lyle was saying as he knocked his shoulder against Ja. “We can breathe, they can’t do shit. We got carbon reinforced bones that take tons to break. Who wouldn’t be glaring?”

Of course, they chose not to dwell on the truth behind said glares. The truth being that they now looked like the enemy. As well as that they were resurrected humans that had been dead for sixteen years.

Zdog was laughing at Lyle when her posture stiffened. Her eyes widened slightly at something over Quaritch’s shoulder, and he turned to look.

He internally balked at what he saw.

Mansk and Lopez escorted a muzzled Venus to where they stood. Her wrists were bound, and as they neared Quaritch could see where the skin of her cheek pushed against the metal of the mask.

It was too damn tight. It looked like it was suffocating her.

Maybe that was the intention.

The whole time her eyes were on him. They weren’t alight with rage, nor were they stubborn as they had been in her cell. While those emotions had set him off before, he would gladly trade the empty look she gave him now for them.

He glanced at Lopez and Mansk, noting the stiffness of their shoulders and the grim set of their mouths. He cracked his neck in an attempt to dismiss whatever tension had settled onto his own body.

He called out to his squad, and they began walking across the tarmac quickly to an awaiting scorpion. He placed a hand onto the back of Venus’s neck to guide her.

She flinched, hard.

When he pulled his hand away, he saw the two purple bruises from the prongs of the interrogation machine. He winced. He moved his hand lower, to the base of her neck.

She kept pace with them easily, keeping her head slightly down.

“Get on the ship, find a seat and keep out of the way.” he yelled over the sound of the choppers blades. He gave her a little push and she jogged onto the ship, seating herself right behind a mounted gun.

“Hold on there hot shot” he called, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her down into a seated position. Now, he could see a bit of humor in her eyes, and a little bit of irritation as she was tugged away from the gun.

“Listen up. The tracker in your arm has a very strong magnetic signature that can be seen and heard even through the flux vortex. You hit the ground running, I will have you back in two minutes, and I will give you an old school ass whippin’. Understood?”

She raised her eyebrow at him before she dipped her chin. He supposed that was going to be the only answer that he could get since she couldn’t exactly speak.

He and his soldiers hung out the open doors of the aircraft, watching the landscape go by with the same childlike awe that they had the first time they flew over the trees. Venus stayed planted in her seat.

He supposed that she had seen this all before, especially if she had a banshee. She would be more than familiar with trees and such.

But instead of closing her eyes or looking around the craft, she watched them, and she didn’t seem too concerned with hiding her curiosity. Her ears pricked forward, swerving as she listened in on their conversations. Her eyes had a warmer look to them, but there was still something missing.

Whenever she breathed, there was a soft wheezing sound. Quaritch glanced down to her chest, watching how her ribs expanded unsteadily, and when he glanced back up her eyes had fluttered closed. When she started to lean forward he caught her with his hand, moving her so that her weight rested back against the seat. Her eyes peaked open at him, before she closed them once more.

Wheeze went the mask as she tried to breathe. Quaritch’s ears flicked back.

He turned away from her to find the soldiers already staring at him. Their eyes held the same thoughts as his most likely did.

It seemed that Parker Selfridge’s agenda to conserve their public image was long forgotten. The RDA, or at least Ardmore, had no problem restraining a teenage girl like an animal.

༄

The chopper landed, and Quaritch gave the pilot a thumbs-up as they lifted off without them. Wainfleet had woken Venus, and she leaned against a fallen tree not to far from where the squad circled up.

The group was silent except for the sound of her ragged breath.

She watched as Quaritch nodded to Wainfleet. The man took his knife from its holder and approached her, raising the blade. She flinched away.

This is it. It’s over. I’m done.

She closed her eyes, bracing for the feeling of cold steel cutting through her body.

She was therefore unprepared when it slipped under the strap of the muzzle and sliced. She gulped fresh air down like water, coughing. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Quaritch held the muzzle.

Without once looking at her he set it down against a large boulder, picked up a rock, and smashed it.

Venus lifted her hand and traced the indents of the mask. Seeing her concern, Ja walked over and examined her for cuts. He shook his head at her expression.

“There shouldn’t be any permanent marks, it’ll just itch a bit.” he said, voice surprisingly soft.

She nodded, moving to sit on the log behind her, finding a ray of sun to absorb.

Quaritch arranged himself in the middle of the circle, turning to address his squad.

“Sully’s gone to ground, but that doesn’t matter. Well find them, and his batshit crazy wife too.” he said, self-righteous and proud.

He flinched when Venus let out a low hiss. He turned to her, making an effort to have a blank face.

“You got something to add, princess?” he asked her, and she bit her tongue at the nickname. “My mother is not ‘bat shit crazy’ , she was protecting her children. If you do not want to elicit that reaction from her, then you should call off this mission.”

Quaritch scoffed, and the other recombinants laughed at her outburst.

My mother will gut you, all of you, with no remorse. You forget I am her daughter.

Oh, how she longed for her knife and bow.

He continued, ignoring her. “To do so, we go na’vi. We eat na’vi, we ride na’vi, we think na’vi. And that starts with speaking the language.”

She couldn’t suppress the small chuckle that escaped her lips.

He turned to her with a glower. “Something funny?”

“Your na’vi is barely passable. A three year old can speak better.” she answered in na’vi. He sounded like an over-eager child, far too confident in his pronunciation.

She could tell from his face that he didn’t know most of what she said, but that he had understood it was an insult.

He rolled his shoulders and puffed his chest, turning fully to her. “Okay, smartass. You just went from being our little mascot to our official translator.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead opting for a small, albeit fake, smile. “Thank you for the promotion, Colonel. I won’t let you down.” she said sarcastically with a mock-salute.

Quaritch glared.

She tossed her head back and let out a short laugh.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

༄

Venus tried so hard to make them understand how loud they were. So hard.

Did they not understand that they were stomping? Did they not see how the bugs and birds scattered as they approached?

It was a little funny at first. Now Venus wondered if a predator would come and find them. Their thrashing and laughing served as a beacon.

She pushed her irritation aside.

They are babies. They don’t know. They are learning.

Except that they wouldn’t learn. They had chuckled at her advice on where to walk. They had glanced at each other when she tried to teach them.

It was downright demeaning. Patronizing, even.

So she took some pleasure when they couldn’t keep up with her. Or when Lopez’s boot got stuck in mud. Or when Pragar hit a stinging plant. Or when Zdog stumbled over tree roots.

She couldn’t stand how slow they were. A part of her thanked the Great Mother; any time wasted was time that kept her family safe.

But Eywa, she was going to have to drag these soldiers if they were going to get anything done.

Eclipse was already starting to set it, and she noticed how Quaritch and Wainfleet spoke in low tones.

She slowed her step, dropping from a tree limb that she had been walking on to stride alongside Lyle.

“I would not recommend traveling at night. It is very dangerous on the forest floor.” A pause as she contemplated her next statement. “There is an abandoned hunting post that only I use nearby. We could camp there for the night.”

Quaritch gave her an incredulous look. “Like hell we’re stopping. We’ll keep traveling.”

Venus raised an eyebrow.

“How intact are your old memories?” she asked simply. Quaritch looked at her quizzically.

“Intact enough.”

Venus smiled. “So then you remember what happened to your face when you were human.” The infamous three marks, the thing that stopped the old quaritch from allowing night patrols.

She watched as it slowly dawned on him. It was odd, seeing him experience past memories. There was clearly a disconnect.

Questions for a later time.

“I still don’t like the idea of you leading us somewhere.” he said, looking at her fully.

Venus shrugged. “It’s our best option. There’s strong branches to rest on, and we shouldn’t be bothered by predatory wildlife.” she took a step ahead of them. “Or we can continue and risk the nantang.”

Zdog eyed her “And those are?”

Venus took some relish with translating. “Viperwolves.” She walked through a bush, taking the lead. She didn’t need to see their faces to know that they were picturing them. It was only a matter of time when Wainfleet’s hand closed around her forearm.

She spun so fast that he had to take a step back. “Do not touch me.” she said, looking hard up into his eyes. He let go.

“Colonel has decided that your base is a good idea. But he doesn’t want you to lead.”

Venus shrugged, allowing some of the soldiers to pass her as she gave Lyle coordinates. When he nodded to her, she fell into step beside Mansk.

Mansk. She had learned his name from the conversations in the copter. She had tried the word on her tongue when she had her muzzle taken off, finding it hard to say. Only Mansk had noticed when she uttered it, and she had flushed in embarrassment.

Now, she looked up at the soldier beside her, trying to discern if it suited him. He had a first name, but she had gathered that he chose not to reveal it. She was so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed that his face had turned to her.

“You’re glaring” he said, voice low in the hush of the group.

Venus blinked. She hadn’t heard him speak yet, but his voice sounded pleasant to her. Not too loud, unlike most of the marines. It also confirmed her suspicions that Mansk may be younger than the others.

“I’m sorry” she said softly, tail lashing once. “It’s your glasses. I can’t see your eyes. Covering them is unusual.”

He reached up and put his glasses on top of his head, allowing her to finally see his face.

Oh.

Her father had explained to her what the term ‘baby face’ meant when he said Neteyam had one.

Mansk was baby faced.

His nose was more pointed than a typical na’vi’s, but that wasn’t unexpected. His face was slightly round, his cheekbones not too sharp.

But what stunned her were his eyes.

They were a pretty lime green, with long eyelashes framing them. She briefly noted how unfair that was, but didn’t dwell.

Because he was looking at her in a way that made her heart stutter.

It was empathetic and unyielding. Yes, he was pretty, and she couldn’t be blamed for admiring. But what startled her was he looked like he was seeing her.

And that was terrifying from a recombinant soldier who was on a mission to kill her father.

Her fingers twitched, and she had to fight the urge to reach up to bring his face down closer to study. Her mother had always warned her against her tendency to reach out, and she exercised the same restraint of her curious instincts that she had in her youth.

She realized that they had been standing there for far too long when Wainfleet cleared his throat and she noticed that it was only three of them. The others must have kept walking.

She looked away as Mansk gave a small cough, and they rejoined the group. Lopez reached out and jostled Mansk by his shoulder, and the soldier pulled his sunglasses back down. Venus tried not to be too upset at that.

He’s an enemy. He cuffed you. He held you while you were muzzled. He will kill your father if given the chance.

But that was the problem with being an interpreter of Eywa. She was too empathetic to ignore any possibility of nonviolent solutions. It was something that haunted her, the possibility that these soldiers could be redeemed.

The only problem? They had to want it.

They neared the base of the tree, and Venus looked up, easily finding a path up the branches. She looked back at the recombinants expectantly.

“Let’s go.” was all she said before she leapt, grabbing a branch and climbing up expertly. The soldiers followed, this time heeding her words of guidance.

Soon, they were well into the canopy, concealed from most fauna. Branches intertwined with one another to form nest-like structures, and they were thinker than their bodies. It was a very old tree, and she chose it for that reason. Even now as she ran her fingertips over the bark, she could feel the whisper of history.

She reached into an alcove, pulling out a stowed bag of clothing and an empty water flask. This was her hunting spot, where she would stay during long trips for large game. She made sure that clean clothes stayed there just incase.

She looped the bag over her shoulder and turned to the group. “There is a spring nearby. I’m going to wash up, if anyone else is interested.”

She took one step before Quaritch stated “You’re not going anywhere.”

She turned slowly. “I’m covered in muck and blood. You all got showers, id like to atleast scrub myself.” she said, voice low and dangerous. She was tired of being a mess, tired of the way mud stuck to her skin and red gathered under her fingernails.

Quaritch looked torn. Probably because she was a teenage girl who so happened to be his daughter. It made his commitment to treating her like a prisoner much muddier.

“You can’t go alone.”

“Then send someone with me.” she gritted out, loosing her patience. “There’s a tracker in my arm. What was it you said? You’ll have me back in two minutes if I escape?”

Quaritch pointedly ignored the second half of her statement, looking at Zdog. The sole female recom nodded, rising to walk towards Venus.

They descended, and she carefully led the woman through the trees to the babbling spring nearby.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Venus mumbled. All she got was a soft chuckle in response.

When they got to the water, she suggested a spot for Z to sit before walking into the spring.

She had no qualms about stripping in front of her. They were both women, and Venus had grown used to showing skin.

She sank under the cool water, scrubbing her body with a nearby aüti. It gave off a thyme-like aroma, and she felt the urge to sink into sleep. She took her hair out of its braid, combing through it and removing mud and gunk.

When she was satisfied, she reached towards the bag and pulled out a na’vi sized towel, a gift from the avatars that she was eternally grateful for. She then slipped a woven top over her head, tying a matching tewng around her lower body. It was hunting apparel, much more appropriate for whatever long term flight they were about to embark on.

She forwent the riding chaps, electing to put them on in the morning. She stashed her other clothes in the bag. She patted her hair down with a towel and left it long to dry. Zdog looked up as she rose, clean and dressed. The woman nodded at her, and they went back to the tree.

When they reached the branches once more, she felt their eyes linger. Particularly on a certain scar on her waist.

“You have questions.” she said. The silence was enough of an answer as she turned to them.

Eclipse set in as she settled into one of the little nests, and she watched as their tanhí began to glow. She wondered if they realized the full extent of their…transformation. She laid down on her belly, resting her head on her hands as Ja spoke.

“The scar.” he said simply.

She nodded. “I got it while taming my Ikran. By all accounts it was a quick bonding, but he was able to slam me against a cliff. I was impaled by a sharp rock, and I hid it for as long as I could. Because I hid it, it made it hard for the scar to be cleanly stitched and it wouldn’t fade. But I don’t mind how it looks.”

She observed their reactions. They had come to tame an ikran, and now they were beginning to realize how hard it would be.

This time it was Lopez who asked “How long?”

She smiled. “Six seconds.”

Lopez let out a small whistle, and she realized from their faces that she had just set a record for them to beat.

Good luck. They’ll kill you in six seconds if you’re lucky.

A soft voice. “How old were you?”

She looked at Mansk. He had taken his glasses off, making direct eye contact with her.

“Eleven.” she answered, and she made an effort to keep her tail from lashing happily when he nodded and the recombinants gave her looks of shock.

She decided that now would not be a good time to explain the logistics of what would occur in less than twenty-four hours. Besides, maybe she could kill two birds with one stone: Eywa would decide their fate, removing the decision from her conscious, and the ikran would throw them from the rookery, freeing her.

The hair on her skin suddenly raised, and whispers filled her ears. Breath tickled the back of her neck.

An atokirina floated down slowly to Quaritch. The man had remained silent since she had returned, ears pricked forward as she spoke. Now, his ears pinned back, and he reeled back a hand and slapped it.

“No!” She lunged up and forward, throwing herself off balance. The exhaustion of the past twenty four hours finally caught up to her as her vision swam.

Mansk’s hand caught her upper arm, keeping her from tilting over the branch and falling to her death.

But she didn’t focus on him.

“Mawey!” she cried out of instinct, then translated “Be calm! It will not hurt you!”

Quaritch watched her with wide eyes as the wood sprite drifted down to rest on his raised fingers. She watched as he made an effort to not move. She didn’t miss a note of recognition in his eyes as he looked at it.

She reached forward, grabbing his hand and carefully flipping it so it sat in his palm. He looked down at it right as another landed on his head.

Venus looked around to find a whole swarm around her and the recoms. They lit up the darkness of the canopy, casting soft white and blue glow to their faces.

The soldiers mimicked their colonel, allowing the sprites to touch them but not engaging with them either.

Venus sat back into her spot right as an atokirina swam towards Mansk. He moved to push it away (gently, she noted). She reached out and grabbed his hand, moving it down to the space between them.

It’s alright, her eyes said as he glanced at her.

The sprite drifted to their touching hands, hovering over them. She glanced up to find Mansk already staring at her. Then, his eyes moved slightly to her shoulder.

When she turned her head, a sprite came into view. She lifted her face to it, and it landed on her nose, moving with her breath.

I am here, it whispered.

All at once, the atokirina floated up and away from them, disappearing into the night.

Wainfleet was the first to break the silence.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, pointedly glancing down at the hand that rested over Mansk’s. Venus removed it. “Wood sprites. We call them atokirina. They are the seeds of the spirit tree, and they are said to be the spirit of eywa in physical form.” She made eye contact with Quaritch. “They are very pure.”

They cast a few disbelieving looks at each other, some even smirking in amusement. She simply rolled her shoulders and curled up in her branch-nest.

“Get some rest. You will need it tomorrow.”

She listened as they all settled down, waiting as their breathes slowed into sleep.

Eywa had made her decision.

They are strong hearted, my little one. But they need guidance.

Venus knew that already. But having it be blessed made it more…tangible. She clenched her eyes closed and prayed for the exhaustion that had taken over her body only minutes ago.

It did not come.

༄

She had finally convinced the recoms to leave their boots.

After one slip on behalf of lopez when they were making their way to the ground, the group decided that maybe rubber soled combat boots weren’t the best thing for pandoran forest terrain. Venus had to fight to not say ‘I told you so’.

Now, they walked through the forest towards the step stones to the ikran rookery. It was mostly silent, but occasionally they asked her questions.

“Is it difficult?”

“Very.”

“How exactly?”

“They’ll kill you.”

Silence. She was becoming uneasy with the fact that she was leading them to such a sacred space. They didn’t deserve ikran, not yet. The forest hadn’t accepted them yet.

Venus had already denied Quaritch the right to hunt, explaining that Eywa had not given her approval for him to take a life. The group had laughed at her, and she heard their whispers from behind her as she led the way.

Hippie. Native. Savage Princess. Tree Hugger.

She could ignore it. She had been called much worse and much more barbed names in her youth. These soldiers with their fragile egos and broken minds would not disturb her.

Babies, she reminded herself. Babies.

But even infants and toddlers had manners.

“Bet you her crazy bitch of a mother taught her all her tricks. She’ll probably go ballistic the moment we’re not looking. You saw how she fought against Lopez when he dragged her back. She’s a fucking monster.” whispered Pragar.

Her gut churned and her fist tightened. Her father had always taught her to command respect with silence and maturity. But this was hopeless.

She settled on glaring over her shoulder. “If you are going to speak so candidly about me, then you could at least raise your voice. No point of hiding your words if you are confident enough to say them out loud.” She promptly strode away, faster than the others were capable of.

She didn’t care as thorns sliced her thighs, or as she stepped on rocks. Tears stung in her eyes.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

She wouldn’t break in the way they wanted her to. She wouldn’t reveal her secrets.

But she may just snap and slit someone’s throat.

She was walking fast when a hand caught her upper arm and wrenched her backwards.

She was pulled against the solid form of Quaritch, and she beat her open palms against his chest. She took a step back to glare up at him, but his hand tightened, keeping her from going any further.

“You will not antagonize my corporals, you hear? You will shut up until it is necessary for you to speak-“

“Oh, so you want me to be a fucking blank slate then? How the hell am i supposed to remain calm when they’re insulting me constantly?” She didn’t care how childish she sounded, didn’t care how her voice cracked as she forced the words out.

“If you wanted me silent why did you take the muzzle off?”

The question was like a gunshot. They both went still, at a draw in the conversation. Quaritch worked his jaw thoughtfully, and Venus waited for an answer. Why free her mouth if he did not want to hear it?

But the sympathy that he had shown her then was gone from his gaze now.

He just ‘tsk’ed and pulled her back towards the group. She dug her heels down. “No” she said, firm as she tugged against him. “Let me go.”

He, of course, did not. He yanked her arm, making her inhale in pain. “Let me go.” she said against, voice rising in slight panic.

Trapped. I’m trapped. Help me.

He ripped her arm towards him. Venus hissed in his face, reeling back to try and-

A squeal. A cry of loyalty and anger. A sound that made her heart sing in gratitude and palpitate in fear.

A massive blue ikran pinned Quaritch to the ground, using his body to separate him from her. The striking orange stripes and dots down his wings were his mark of familiarity. She almost sobbed in relief before the rest of the squad burst into the clearing, guns raised.

Rutxïryo didn’t seem to care. He simply leaned down to Quaritch’s face, opened his jaws, and roared.

Quaritch at least had the sense to lay still under the beast, allowing him to hiss and spit.

“Venus, call it off!” shouted Wainfleet, gun pointed directly at Rutxïryo’s chest. Venus hissed.

This is a warning. This is what I am capable of. This is what we’re capable of.

She chirped, and Rutxïryo peeled himself off of the Colonel, cooing at her as he approached. The ikran pushed his forehead against her chest, giving her a small shove in greeting. He slipped his face under her arm, circling her until he stood at her shoulder. He used his beak to tug her back towards his chest, safe in the blue and white of his wings.

The marines did not lower their guns. She couldn’t blame them. Rutx was much bigger than a usual ikran, his wingspan at least a meter longer on each side. It was something that her brothers were always envious of before they bonded their own.

She sighed, choosing her next words.

Rutx extended his queue to her, and she lifted her braid to connect to him. Almost instantly, he flooded her brain.

They were not speaking the same language. It was hard to explain how she could feel what he was telling her, but the emotions materialized into words easily in her head.

Of course, nearly eight years of partnership had honed their bond.

Are you alright? Do you want me to kill him? I’ll kill him. He’s your father? That one, really? He looks tasty. Is your arm ok? Are you sure? It feels hurt. You look tired. We should take a nap.

She brushed his smooth skin, looking into one of his eyes.

You will not eat him, if you try and hurt him you will die.

And his answer made her heart crack.

I do not mind.

She turned her attention back to the recombinants.

“The tracker in my arm will lead you to where you need to go. You scoff at my advice, you mock my way. Let’s see how you enjoy traveling on your own.”

She leapt up onto Rutxïryo’s back easily, settling herself into the saddle. It must have been on since she went foraging, she realized, and she reached a hand under the leather to itch his skin.

Quaritch stood. “You’re not going anywhere. Get off the ikran, now.” he commanded.

If she had been one of his soldiers, it would have worked. But she saw the bluff in his eyes.

“Then shoot me, Ranger Rick.” she said as she flipped her visor down.

Rutxïryo let out a cry of victory and glee as they took off into the sky, racing to the clouds.

༄

tag list ~

@avatar4eva @lisedanie @xstarsmvxz

#avatar the way of water #avatar #recombinant #recom lyle wainfleet #avatar x oc #recom mansk #oc #recom quaritch #the way of water #jake sully #mansk x oc #miles quaritch #atwow quaritch

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mimilind · 4 months

Text

A Magical Classmate - Part 2

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2500

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

Your new classmate is an excellent lab partner, and turns out to be a resourceful ally at a party as well. Especially if someone tries to mug you…

2. Lab Partner and Party Protector

The next morning you hauled out your cleanest jeans and best t-shirt, and spent far too long in front of the mirror before you rode your bike to campus. But when you arrived at the lecture hall you found that Catrine and Martin had already monopolized Drake, taking the seats on either side of him.

Feeling defeated, you realized he was probably a lost case, and felt embarrassed for dressing up like you had. As if he would ever notice you when there were attractive, fun people like them to hang out with.

Morosely you took a seat in the row behind the trio. You knew you were overly dramatic and silly for feeling so jealous and left out, but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

During lunch break, Drake went to a nearby restaurant while the rest of you sat in a student lounge to eat your packed lunches.

“I wish I could afford to eat out every day too.” Catrine took a bite of her dry cheese sandwich.

“It’s not very healthy though,” said Filip, the only vegan in the class.

You had brought leftover macaroni and meatballs and ate them in silence, still feeling a bit low. When you had finished you decided to indulge yourself and bought a chocolate bar in the vending machine to cheer you up.

It didn’t help.

Drake returned in the afternoon when it was time for labs, and to your surprise and delight he chose you as his lab partner. You tried not to look smug when Catrine and Martin gave you long, jealous looks.

“Whew, saved by the bell,” he murmured. “Is Catrine silent, like, ever?”

You grinned. “Rarely.” Just like that, your mood had changed from glum to cheerful.

“Even if I had understood Swedish I wouldn’t have caught one word of today’s lecture with her prattling in my ear the entire morning.”

“I still don’t get why you attend lectures.”

He shrugged. “Bored, I guess.”

It was time to begin and you tried to translate the lab instructions. Drake turned out to be adept at practical chemistry as well – except for a few very strange instances. The first one was when you had to help him turn on the light and the fan in the fume hood. Apparently he didn’t understand that he had to press the red button with ‘on’ printed on it.

His next difficulty was with the magnetic stirrer. This time he found the power switch, but didn’t put the plug in the socket.

”You need to plug it in,” you said, trying not to smile.

”Oh.” He turned the appliance over with a perplexed look.

”Here.” You helped him again.

First when you began the titration, Drake showed how talented he really was. He claimed to have never done it before, yet managed to create perfect solutions every time, and his calculations – written down with the neatest handwriting you ever saw from a guy – were made with ease. Though you wondered a bit why he used an old-fashioned ink pen.

A gleam drew your attention. From under the lab coat, Drake’s shirt sleeves peeked through, and you saw he wore actual cufflinks.

Seriously?

He had a matching silver ring on his index finger, with a serpentine pattern. It struck you he had really nice hands. Large but with a soft touch; he had no problem handling the fragile equipment.

”Wow, we’re already finished,” you exclaimed, looking around and finding that nobody else was done by far. ”Can I always be your lab partner?”

He just grinned and shrugged.

”Let’s go make the lab report now.” You figured it would be a win-win combination; he knew what to write in it, you knew Swedish.

As you went to a study area and sat around the small, round table, Drake removed his suit jacket and loosened the tie so he could open the top button of his shirt.

Your stomach flipped and filled with flutters. Damn, what a body he had! He must work out a lot. You wondered why he kept hiding it under suits and dress coats – all muscular guys you knew wore tight t-shirts to make it show.

Then you began on the report, leaning your heads over the paper. His semi-long hair fell forward and made his face look softer, less controlled.

Sitting so close, his pleasant perfume filled your nostrils and you had to refrain from sniffing him like an enthusiastic dog. It was increasingly hard to focus on the report.

There was no denying it anymore; you had to admit to yourself you were getting a huge crush on this guy. He was just so perfect in every way!

You were nearly finished when Catrine and Martin joined you. Like you, they hadn’t quite understood the lab and had many questions, which Drake seemed glad to answer. In the end, both the reports became mostly his doing, but since you others had translated and written them you figured you weren’t really cheating. Much.

Unsurprisingly, after that, Drake became everyone’s favorite lab partner. He took turns and changed partners each time, and though you were disappointed, you weren’t really expecting anything else. He had no reason to single you out.

A couple of weeks passed and Halloween was coming up. The following Friday there would be a big costume Halloween party hosted by Chalmers, the city’s famous university of technology. Since it was open to other academic departments as well, Catrine, Martin and you decided to go, and she managed to convince Drake to tag along.

“But remember this will be Swedish Halloween, not American,” said Martin. “Here we only dress up as evil and nasty things, like vampires, ghosts, witches and stuff.”

“Ah. Then I can dress as a dark wizard,” said Drake with a wry smile you couldn’t quite interpret.

The evening came, and as arranged you went to the Karl IX statue which was where everyone met up in this city. You had spent a long time picking your outfit – wanting to wear something that both matched the Halloween theme and made you look good – and at last settled on a bat face mask and a wide, black cloak that flowed around you dramatically as you walked.

Shortly afterwards, Drake arrived. “Neat!” He indicated your cape. “You look a bit like a dungeon bat I know, but much cuter.”

The compliment filled you with a pleasant warmth.

Drake also wore a black cloak, his with wide sleeves, and held an old-fashioned broomstick in one hand. He had used makeup to make his face paler, except for dark red shades around his eyes, and with his blond hair snugly combed back it gave the impression of a skull. His attractive smile took away part of the effect though.

“You look great too,” you said, meaning it wholeheartedly. He was exceedingly handsome no matter what he did. “Only a bit too nice for a dark wizard.”

“Nice?” His smile disappeared and he lowered his eyebrows, piercing you with a dangerous, sharp look. He loomed over you, a hand menacingly hovering near his sleeve like he prepared to draw a gun from it.

You took a step backwards, a nervous throb in your chest. The transformation was uncanny. Drake suddenly looked lethal.

He relaxed and grinned widely, his face perfectly friendly again. “Were you afraid?” he teased.

“Of course not!” you lied, laughing sheepishly.

Now the others had arrived and the four of you walked up the Avenyn boulevard. Along the way, you passed a beggar with a cup in front of him.

Drake stopped, pulling out his wallet.

“Don’t,” whispered Catrine. “He will just buy booze.”

He shrugged and put a hundred-crown note in the cup. “Then so be it.”

The beggar’s eyes became round and he grinned toothlessly, quickly snatching up the note. “Tack så mycket,” he repeated several times.

“It means ‘thanks a lot’,” you translated.

Drake chuckled. “I figured.”

“Are you always this generous?” asked Catrine, giving his thick wallet a speculative look as he put it away. You were all poor students and she probably hoped he would offer to share with you also.

“Nowadays I am.”

“But not before?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Shall we continue?”

The Halloween party was held in a large student union building and the loud music met you already outside. Drake got that same pained look you had seen at the pub the other week.

“Don’t you like pop music?” you asked.

“It’s just a bit loud. But I suppose I’ll get used to it.”

Soon your group was swept along by the many cheerful partygoers, each more scarily dressed than the other, and it didn’t take long until you got separated. Catrine and Martin wanted to dance, and you too, but Drake disappeared before you could invite him.

Biting down the disappointment, you danced with your friends instead. At least you felt unusually cool and interesting in your outfit. You were not used to drawing others’ looks, but tonight a random guy even bought you a drink unprompted.

It had become quite late when you finally saw Drake again. He was standing outside the entrance, talking with your classmate Andreas who was a bit of a lone wolf.

“There you are!” you said.

“The volume was more bearable here,” Drake explained. “Is it time to leave soon, you think?” He had a longing tone in his voice.

You immediately decided it was. “I’ll fetch Catrine and Martin.”

Catrine was easy to find, dancing like there was no tomorrow in her demon costume, and after a while you found Martin too, closely embracing a handsome ginger guy.

“We’re going home. You coming?”

“Don’t wait for me; I’ll be sleeping elsewhere tonight,” he said with a proud grin.

Secretly very pleased, you returned to Drake. Martin had always appeared to be your most serious rival for the object of your crush, so it was a relief he had found himself another guy.

A few blocks away, the silence was nearly deafening after the noisy, crowded hall. The fresh fall air was cool against your heated face, with a light drizzle making the dark streets glisten.

Andreas had been tagging along, now he fell into step with you. “He is such a nice guy,” he murmured in Swedish, nodding discreetly at Drake. “I didn’t see anyone I knew at the party and felt out of place at first, but then he came. He kept me company all evening, and even tried to match me with a girl I found pretty.”

“He’s super nice,” you agreed. “How did it go?”

“Well, she only had eyes for him, so not good unfortunately.” He smiled wistfully. “Still, I had a lot of fun for a change.”

His words gave you a pang of bad conscience. Andreas had been nearby when Catrine and you others asked Drake to come with you to the party – why had neither of you thought to ask Andreas too? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf, just lonely and left out.

You decided to be more like Drake and be kinder to fellow students from now on.

After a while, you noticed two strangers following you. Something about them made you uneasy, and you involuntarily increased your step.

The strangers did likewise.

Drake had seen them too, and cast many nervous glances across his shoulder. He had become tense and alert.

Suddenly he stopped, turning to face them. “What do you want?” he asked in a low, threatening voice very different from his usual one. He looked dangerous. Like a tiger ready to pounce.

“Oo an English tourist,” sneered the bigger of the two. He wore a frayed leather vest and his bare arms were covered in tattoos. A biker.

“We just want to talk,” said his companion. You suddenly noticed he had a knife in his hand.

Cold to the marrow with fear, you tugged at Drake’s sleeve. “Let’s go!”

“Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “These gentlemen were just going to leave.” For some strange reason his stance had become less taut, as if he found a couple of professional criminals no big deal at all. As if he had expected someone worse.

“No we aren’t, you little shit.” The big one drew a knife too. It looked nasty.

“I’m calling the police,” said Catrine in a trembling voice. She was fumbling with the buttons of her Nokia.

“Don’t.” Drake didn’t take his eyes off the thugs. “You go ahead. I will catch up with you.”

When you hesitated, heart pounding, he swiftly turned around. “I said go.” There was a steely edge to his tone.

“But–”

“Get the hell out of here,” he growled, looking so stern and intimidating you didn’t dare disobey.

Together with Catrine and Andreas you scrambled away a few meters, but then stopped again. You couldn’t just cowardly flee when your friend was in danger!

One of the bikers charged and Drake caught his knife with his bare hand. Blood trickled between his fingers.

You yelped, hands flying to your mouth.

Drake said something in a foreign language and his other hand moved too fast for you to see what he did.

The bikers cried out and dropped their knives with a clatter of steel against asphalt. Their voices changed pitch, becoming shrill as they turned around, stumbling over each other in their hurry to run away.

You dashed to Drake’s side, shaking with excess adrenaline. “How are you?”

“Fine. They were just bullies.”

“Your hand…” Your voice trailed off, breath hitching. His hand was uninjured. No blood, nothing… but you had seen it!

“What about it?” He calmly flexed his fingers. There was not a mark on them.

“I can’t believe you scared them away,” said Catrine, joining you. “How did you do it?”

“Oh, I just… what’s that technique called, uh…”

“Martial art? Karate?” Andreas suggested.

“That’s it, yes. That’s how I scared them.”

You shook your head, trying to clear it. You had a few drinks at the party, perhaps you had seen wrong… the injury and the blood must be your imagination.

Warm relief filled you then, making your legs go weak. Drake was alright! You were all safe!

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said, voice again soft and kind. “I was afraid they would go for you too if you stayed.”

You looked at him mutely, at the same time immensely grateful and awed over how heroic and selfless he was. Your throat constricted with emotions and you couldn’t stop yourself from giving him an impulsive hug. “Thank you,” you mumbled against his cloak. “That was so brave.”

At first he stiffened, then he hugged you back. “It was nothing. I’ve trained for this, you haven’t.”

You shyly drew back, wiping your eyes from tears that had appeared out of nowhere.

He patted your shoulder soothingly. “It’s alright.” The motion made his cloak sleeve slide up, exposing the cuff of the black shirt he wore underneath.

That was when you saw it: there was a drop of fresh blood on his silver cufflink.

A/N:

Oops hehe. He should have been more thorough with his scourgify, but I suppose he was a bit in a hurry…

Thanks (or 'tack så mycket!') for reading! :)

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#draco malfoy #draco #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #draco x you #fanfiction #draco malfoy is nice #muggle reader #tom felton #a magical classmate #mimi lind

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lila-rose · 10 months

Text

pairing: marc-andre fleury x ofc words: 18.6K warnings: cursing, mentions of bullying, light underage drinking, light violence

this is my story for @callsign-denmark as part of the 2K23 summer fic exchange.

when demi first messaged me a month ago that i would be writing for you, i immediately jumped out of bed and screamed because you know i'm excellent at coming up with story ideas, but i'm terrible at forcing myself to sit down and write. so this will be the first story i have ever shared with anyone, and i'm so delighted you are the person i received.

although, that may have been a good thing because, as you can see from the notes, this ended up being 18.5k because i really wanted to flesh out marc's relationship and explain why he chose what he chose at the end. but like marc's psycho-babble, once i started, i couldn't stop. i actually had a sex scene that i had to cut because of crunch time, and the story was already getting super long. i may write an epilogue once i finish birthday bingo.

as a result, take all the time you need to read this. additionally, another by-product of my hyperactive brain is that i was able to edit it truly. i ran it through grammarly, so i hope i got most of the grammatical errors. but grammarly isn't perfect, meaning there may be a word or two missing or a plot hole, for which i hope you can forgive me.

additional tags: @kurlyteuvo @hoesforthecanes @behoright @wyattjohnston @comphy-and-cozy

the radiant sun reflected in the gentle waves of the richelieu river as the tributary snaked its way through southwestern quebec from lake champlain to the st. lawrence. verdant branches of trees on the street corners gently danced in a refreshing spring breeze, guiding the sorellers strolling down the sidewalks on a gorgeous friday afternoon. the pedestrians pass modest, middle-class homes inherited through generations, where parents stood on their driveways and monitored their children playing with a football in a minuscule adjacent field.

"bonjour! ça va?" they greeted their neighbors, stopping to have a quick tête-à-tête about the town's local gossip or their plans for the weekend.

such was life in the hardworking french-canadian community of sorel-tracy, domiciled on the richelieu's eastern bank.

across the river, on the western bank, a looming metallurgy complex stood in contrast against the town's quiet, idyllic existence. massive gray and brown buildings with multiple wires and large copper ventilation pipes, stretching upward and scraping the clear azure sky, produced a steady stream of dark gray smoke. inside, men and women threw large bricks of titanium into an industrial furnace to smelt it and turn it molten before joining it with liquid oxygen to create titanium dioxide. the metallurgists then set aside the compound to cool before grinding it into a fine white powder and shipping it to suppliers.

several large, black clocks ticked away on the factory's cement walls, slowly inching to the long-awaited shift end. when the hour hands finally reached five, a loud alarm resounded through the factory, signifying the end of the workday. the filthy and exhausted employees wiped the sweat from their foreheads with their arms as the factory foreman instructed them to cool their machines down. once everything was off and tucked away, a crowd exited through a pair of large doors into a barren white hallway, where some excitedly chatted before entering their respective locker rooms.

andré fleury, a tall, burly man with crystal blue eyes and statuesque features, wandered the rows of metal lockers until he arrived at a door with his initials written in big, bold letters. unlocking it, he set his hard hat, eye protection, and heat-resistant gloves onto the little shelf inside and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, which grew increasingly gray each year.

a small polaroid hung by a magnet inside the locker's door depicts andré's children — his son marc-andré and his daughter marylène. the photograph showed the children swimming together during the first summer the family had their above-ground pool. there were tons of photos andré could've had in his locker, but this one was special because it represented why he went to work every day to perform hard labor in the metallurgy factory. the siblings begged their father to get them a pool, but andré insisted they could go to the local sports complex if they wanted to swim.

but his gracious wife, france, took her quiet husband aside and reminded him that their children were getting older. marc would likely go off to play hockey in the quebec junior hockey league or the canadian hockey league. furthermore, there was only one cegep in sorel-tracy, meaning marylène may have to move to montréal or québec city to continue her education after grade 11. andré rubbed his callous hands together as he reflected on his wife's words; it would be nice for the children to have another opportunity to make memories before they flew the coup. after a few moments, the fleury patriarch finally relented and promised to save enough money to get his kids a pool, earning him a kiss from france.

he tied the laces of his steel-toed boots, took more hours at the factory, and carefully budgeted his family's money so they could have a little left over to set aside for that pool. it took a few months, but andré finally found enough to install the structure in the backyard. when the day came to reveal the surprise, marylène emitted an ear-bleeding scream that startled the entire street as she leaped off the back porch and raced to embrace her father. a disoriented marc eventually regained his senses and rushed to envelop mr. fleury in a tight embrace.

"thank you! thank you! thank you!" they chanted in quebecois, nearly knocking over andré with their combined weight.

the siblings eventually dashed back inside to change into bathing suits and grabbed a pair of fresh towels. marylène also scooped up her vintage polaroid camera from the desk in her room as they flew back down the stairs and into the backyard. marc immediately climbed the ladder and dunked into the pool's crystal waters.

meanwhile, marylène extended her polaroid camera to her father. "papa, will you take a picture of us?" she asked.

andré took the camera from his daughter and waited as she climbed the ladder and lowered herself into the pool. marylène waded around for a bit, getting acclimated to the temperature, when she felt a hand grab her ankle underwater.

"marc!" she shrieked as she attempted to shake her brother from her leg.

the imp suddenly rose to the surface. "i'm sorry! i couldn't resist!" he said between giggles, earning him an admonishing splash from marylène.

"behave, you two!" andré commanded. "now, come over to the edge so i can get a good shot of you."

marc and marylène followed their father's request, made their way over to the pool's wall, and flashed their pearlescent fleury teeth as the camera's shutter clicked. there were a lot of memories surrounding that pool, good and bad — from the neighborhood parties andré and france hosted to the time they had to stop marc from hurting himself because his stupid teenage brain wondered if he could get a better splash by launching cannonballs from the roof. regardless, andré's heart filled with warmth whenever his eyes glanced upon that picture. wherever his children ended up, whatever they did, he would always have them immortalized as youths grinning ear-to-ear because of his labor.

andré would walk to the earth's ends to make his children happy. and he was so grateful to france for keeping him focused on that path.

dragging his mind back to reality, he focused on the pack of marlboro's at the bottom of the locker. his eyes widen at the thought of getting another lecture from his wife about how he would meet an early grave if he didn't quit smoking, causing him to unzip his work bag and shove the box into a hidden pocket where france couldn't find it. andré wiped the dirt from his face with a towel before undoing the top half of his heat-resistant suit. at the other end of the row, a group of workers discussed how springtime meant that a new generation of kids would soon join the factory.

"i just hate that another generation of young ones will be stuck at this factory for the rest of their lives," someone grumbled.

"you know they could always leave the factory to study at university, right?" another person responded.

"you know as well as i do that this place is like a black hole — once you get sucked in, you can't escape."

"i wish my son was as good a goaltender as andré's son. maybe i could get out of this dump."

a few men at the other end of the row turned and looked at andré, who downcasted his eyes to avoid their glares as he threw on a plain white t-shirt. like many so-called young ones, he joined the factory shortly after receiving his college diploma, as there were only a few career choices for sorellers in 1972. some would leave for higher education and return with engineering, chemistry, or business administration degrees to secure one of the more lucrative positions at the factory. others would come home with expensive doctorates, like a juris doctorate or a doctorate of medicine, to open up a practice or work at the local hospital. but it seldom lasted as the lure of bigger and better positions in one of the neighboring metropolises proved too tempting, leaving people like andré and his fellow manual laborers behind.

andré operated nearly every machine in the complex over several decades since his employment, and he was always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. but despite his affable nature, there were always whispers that haunted him about how marc would be able to use his goaltending skills to get out of this small town and break the cycle that so many other families found themselves in.

the men must've been talking loudly for the other rows to hear because from around the corner came another worker who rested his hand on andré's shoulder. "it's not his fault he spent weekends teaching his son to skate instead of hanging out with the other guys in the cantine," the kind worker said.

"and at least your houses didn't smell like sweat almost every afternoon," jested andré, attempting to lightning the mood.

some of the guys gave andré half-hearted smiles to show they had no hard feelings against him as they continued packing their things.

"don't worry!" the kind worker said. "they're all jealous that you'll get front-row seats to see a professional hockey game one day, and they won't."

"thanks. i appreciate the help," andré replied as the kind worker bid him goodbye with a nod and turned around the corner again.

he stripped himself of the bottom half of his suit, stuffed it into his bag, and replaced it with a pair of old blue jeans. gathering his lunch box and belongings, andré locked his locker door and headed for the exit. the hallway separating the factory floor and the locker rooms was now almost barren, except for a straggler or two still engaged in their conversations nearly 15 minutes later. they waved goodbye and wished andré a pleasant weekend as he passed by and exited the building.

as he stepped onto the dirt road, andré took a deep breath of fresh air, grateful that he could finally breathe after spending hours surrounded by titanium dioxide fumes. he opened his eyes again and focused on sorel-tracy's skyline in the distance. near the horizon, his eyes made out the oval outline of the colisée cardin's roof. his mind couldn't help but reflect on what those men had said in the locker room about marc, who was more than likely at the arena right now for practice. he hoped his son's hockey abilities would propel him to be more than a simple factory worker, but only time would tell. shaking his head, andré dug out his keys from an outer pocket and headed toward the parking lot where his pickup awaited him back in town.

opened in 1954, the colisée cardin was small but functional, like most things in sorel-tracy. it sat about 3,000 people in hard maroon seats, often leaving most spectators standing on the upper levels by the end of the game. there were banners dedicated to various quebecois businesses all around the concourse. in one of the rafters above were a few black and red banners with a logo resembling an indigenous man, similar to the chicago blackhawks. they read the numbers that the sorel-tracy éperviers, the town's north american hockey league team, retired. marc's large brown eyes stared at them, wondering to whom they belonged and what their stories were — what positions they played, who they were as people, and where they ended up.

he shifted his gaze to his teammates, who laughed as they chased and checked each other after a productive practice. the champlain saints felt rejuvenated and prepared for their upcoming game against the quebec high falcons in a few days. marc and the saints had seen a lot of success over the past couple of years, making them one of the best teams in both quebec and canadian scholastic sports. their spectacular goalie tandem and foisting defense often made scoring hard for opponents.

but ice hockey would always be a chaotic sport. you never knew what momentum and spark a team would bring into the arena. for example, the saints faced the harold sheppard cavaliers at the cardin several days ago. the two clubs played each other a few times during the season, and the saints easily won the series. the cavaliers couldn't skate or keep control of the puck against the saints' impressive roster. however, along with warming weather and gorgeous flowers, springtime also brought the arrival of the canadian nationals, the country's most significant academic hockey tournament.

scouts from canada's nine junior hockey teams attend the tourney to search for players that display that special sparkle of growing into something beyond high school ice hockey. every team in school sport canada gripped their twigs a little tighter, made their skates sharper, and worked to make their dekes a bit smoother for the right to compete in nationals. the cavaliers, who sat just below the playoff threshold, could qualify for the post-season if they could turn their record around. that is why the cavaliers had an extra bounce during their previous match against the saints.

the saints had almost all the momentum in the first period. they locked their eyes on whichever cavalier had control of the puck and tried to isolate him, like a hunter stalking its prey.

a panic began to set in as the defenseman surrounded the player, forcing him to cautiously handle the puck as he looked around for any open teammates before someone him up for a check. the cavalier had no choice but to risk a dangerous pass if his team ever wanted an opportunity to get the puck on marc's net. but the wrong timing, direction, or velocity would cause the biscuit to stop in open ice, allowing one of the saints' defensemen to scoop it up and send it down to one of their attackers.

the saints' aggressive strategy impelled the cavaliers into a 4-0 hole by the end of the first period.

but the cavaliers refused to go down without a fight and resolved to fight fire with fire during the second period by using the saints' aggression against them. their defensemen began making the opposing forwards increasingly uncomfortable with controlling the puck in their zone. in contrast, the forwards lured the saints' defensemen away, exposing marc for a snapshot or a wrist shot. the team's valiant effort closed the deficit to 4-3 by the sound of the final buzzer, but the saints remained steadfast. an excited cacophony erupted through the cardin as the cavaliers sighed and bowed their heads as the coveted canadian cup slipped further from their grasp. in the meantime, the saints lined up to exchange appreciative head bumps with marc.

the coaches took the team to celebrate at a north american fusion restaurant in an abandoned 19th-century ironwork factory before the town switched to titanium dioxide. they weren't thrilled that the boys ordered pizza and poutine but promised to look the other way if the guys put in a few extra hours in the gym to work off the calories. skills and talent could only carry a team so far if they didn't also didn't have chemistry. however, the falcons meant a new team, a new match, and a new chance to perfect the faults exploited by the cavaliers.

"heads up, marc!" someone shouted, diverting marc's attention from the rafters to a teammate moving the puck through the zone. he lowered himself onto his haunches as the player lifted the puck onto the blade of his stick and tried launching between the pipes, but his makeshift spear went wide and clattered into the wall behind.

"so close, but close on counts in horseshoes!" marc giggled as he removed his glove to pick up the twig and return it to its owner.

"and grenades!" pointed out marc's goaltending partner, charles, resting on the goal frame.

charles-antonine de fumée was the peanut butter to marc's jelly, the eggs to marc's bacon. the two goaltenders first met a few years earlier when they tried out for the division 2 team upon graduating from primary school to secondary i. marc still recalled the butterflies that floated around in his stomach when he opened the door to the cardin and headed to the homely locker room with his hockey bag. he hoped that arriving thirty minutes early would mean nobody else would be there so that he could give himself a pep talk in front of the mirror and reassure himself that the coaches wouldn't kick him off the team after only a few bad performances. as marc opened the door, his shoulders tensed upon seeing the calm, poised charles lacing up his skates in the opposite stall.

the sound of the door banging on the door frame caused charles to look up from his skates. "hey, you must be marc! i'm charles!" he said with a smile.

marc readjusted his circular wire-frame glasses as he silently nodded and took the stall next to his future goaltending partner. the two boys talked about their lives as charles waited for marc to put on his socks and skates before taking the ice to shoot some pucks. slowly but surely, cracks began to appear in marc's reticent facade, and the seeds of friendship took root.

a whistle resounded through the rink as marc handed the stick back to his teammate, turning every head toward a middle-aged man standing on the rink near the door. he had fair skin, a greying full beard, and medium-length gray hair underneath a black team cap. the matching black tracksuit had the team's fleur-de-lis logo and the phrase "t. dallaire, head coach" embroidered on the upper left breast.

theodore dallaire has been around the cardin as long as any could remember. it was where he first learned to skate and got his start in hockey. faded pictures of him lifting the canada cup and different rosters throughout the years, from playing for the saints to his seasons as an épervier, filled the trophy case in the arena's lobby. he had a fledgling professional career, having made a few appearances in the nhl with the pittsburgh penguins and the canadian men's national team at the olympics. but mostly, dallaire saw action as a member of the penguins' 90s affiliate, the cleveland lumberjacks. it took him some time and a couple of therapy sessions to rationalize that he would never be as good as gretzky and messier, and that was okay. he was theodore dallaire and had plenty of stories that only theodore dallaire could tell. after he retired from competitive hockey, coach dallaire spent a few years as an advisor to hockey canada before securing a position as the division 1 hockey coach at the école samuel de champlain, where he could teach the next generation of quebecois players the skills and experience gretzky and messier wish they had.

for marc, it meant fighting through sweat and tears to put the team on his back to try to catch a scout's eye. and for charles, it meant grappling with the ghosts of insecurity as he devised a contingency plan for the next two years after secondary school. but to dallaire, they were boys who wanted to play hockey, and he wanted them to carry that memory forever. he often arrived early in the morning when the rising sun painted the sky in blue and orange hues until late at night under a sea of stars. the staff of the cardin would often try to shut down the arena, powering down the lights, when the bulb of dallaire's office shining in the darkness caught their eyes. they would find the head coach nursing a cup of coffee while watching game tapes and tell him to go home and get some rest. dallaire put in countless hours, tailoring custom game plans to each player's need to help push them to be the best athlete they could be within their boundaries.

the result of his dedication not only showed in the multiple awards he brought home to the school, how his players looked upon him, and the tone of their voices.

everyone on the ice slowly approached where dallaire stood, forming a half-circle around him. "good work, everyone!" he commended. "i hope you're excited as i am to show the falcons why the champlain saints are the best team in the league. go home, rest, and i'll see you back next week for the game!"

with that, dallaire reached over the bench, unlatched the door, and swung it open as the players rose. he encouraged every player as they lined up to exit the ice and head into the locker rooms.

as he waited for his turn, marc turned his attention once again back to the rafters. everyone told him he would be amongst the next generation of nhl players, but would he ever be good enough to see his name on a banner at the end of his career?

"is everything okay, marc?" dallaire asked, noticing the young goalie lost in thought.

"oh, yes. everything's fine. i think i'm just tired."

"well, like i said, you have nothing to worry about. you are one of the biggest stars on the team, but you're still human. and the guys now understand that they must be adaptable to change like a goalie must constantly change his position in his crease. we'll be fine, especially if you keep that charming smile."

marc couldn't help but curve his thin, heart-shaped lips into a small smile as dallaire got him a few reassuring pats on the shoulder. he watched as the coach turned and meandered past the seats toward his office, leaving marc to head into the locker room.

he walked down the hallway, decorated with a beautiful mural displaying sorel-tracy's ice hockey history, and placed his twig in the rack before entering the locker room to join half-naked teammates chatting happily. to marc's immediate right, charles undid his dirty blond shoulder-length hair from the little ponytail he always had during practice and ran his fingers through his messy locks. marc sat beside him and untied his goalie pads from his skate, which had a beautiful pink and blue cherry blossom pattern designed by marylène.

"are we still going to see star wars this weekend?" charles asked as he set aside his own smokey blue and white pads.

marc sighed. "we can try, but my english essay will finish by next friday. and if i don't get a good grade, i'll get a 1 in english studies."

"well, maybe phantom menace can help your english comprehension," teased charles.

"starting an essay with luke skywalker returning to tatooine will not win any favors with our esl teacher.

"that's because that's the plot to the return of the jedi, not the phantom menace."

"my point is, charlie, that some of us have more important things to do than think about intergalactic space battles."

charles nodded his head. "alright, how about this? we get some takeout and spend the weekend tackling this paper," he offered, extending his hand.

another grin spread across marc's face as he and charles did their secret handshake. "that's a plan i can get behind!"

marc continued to undress, dumping his padding into his hockey gear and making himself decent with a pair of gym shorts. he then gathered his shower essentials, contact case, and a fresh change of clothes before heading into the shower room. the showers were relatively unimpressive, just four or five white tile stalls facing a large mirror and a series of sinks built into a gray granite counter. a few of the guys studied their reflections, brushing or applying deodorant, while little plumes of smoke emerged from four of the five stalls. marc noticed charles' black slip-on sandals outside the fourth stall and immediately took the one beside it.

he quickly dumped his shower stuff onto the little wooden bench in the attached changing booth and turned the shower nozzle. marc placed his shampoo and body wash on a small white floating shelf opposite the shower head as the water warmed. the contacts he wore during practice returned to their solution and placed on a neatly folded t-shirt and pair of sweat pants. marc dropped his shorts and stepped into the water, allowing the rivulets to wash away the sweat, dirt, and worries from his muscles. some time passed, and marc stepped out to dry himself and change into his sweatpants. he freshened up a bit before throwing his plain white t-shirt over his head and returning to the locker room.

the locker room was empty except for charles, who bid his time by looking over his new messages on his nokia while marc finished his shower.

"are you ready? the guys are out in the lobby," charles said, looking up from his phone as marc placed the rest of his belongings into his bag.

"let's go!" marc responded, swinging his hockey bag over his shoulder.

charles mimicked marc's actions as marc let him out and through the maze of hallways to the lobby. compared to most of the rink, the entrance had a warm design with mismatched yellow and white walls and wooden accents. a pair of fellow seniors — a defenseman and a forward, who were friendly acquaintances of charles and marc, lounged in two of the many blue chairs interspersed throughout the space. they greeted marc and charles, grabbed their bags, and headed out to a van that was just large enough to transport four sets of hockey equipment. the group climbed in and fired up "livin' la vida loca" by ricky martin as they headed back into town.

marc was always the first to get dropped off because his house was the closest to the coliseum. but as the boys turned onto the appropriate street, the curious sight of a large moving truck quickly dampened their jam session. the house next to marc's was a vintage, square brick duplex with black siding. a lovely little older lady who sometimes watched marc and marylène when they were younger lived on the lower level. but the family on the upper was a younger family that marc didn't know well aside from brief interactions to gift his mother's homemade maple pudding. one day, the fleury family returned home and discovered a man they assumed was the landlord, staking a fence post with a red for rent sign into the lawn. no one knew or saw anything, and the home remained vacant for several months until now.

the moving truck didn't block the fleury home, a medium, two-story home with grey siding, a white trim, and a blooming magnolia tree out front. however, the vehicle did make it difficult to turn into the driveway. "you can stop here," marc instructed, saving the driver the headache of squeezing past the truck's bumper.

marc climbed out of the back seat and retrieved his hockey gear from the rear of the van before walking around the back of the moving truck to his front lawn, where his mother and father conversed with a man and woman that marc could only assume were his new neighbors.

the man carried an air of savoir-faire with his white button-up shirt and capri jean pants. he had his dark brown hair parted to the side and a trimmed beard. on the wrist of his right armed, marc espied a fancy gold watch, suggesting that whatever he did for work paid well. his left arm draped over his petite wife.

she looked like a model ripped from his mother's fashion magazine pages. her stature was tiny, and her features were soft. one of her delicate hands rested on her husband's arm, whereas the other reached up now and then to brush the light brown curls out of her face.

"marc, come over and meet our new neighbors!" andré shouted, interrupting his son's thoughts.

marc swallowed and gripped his bag tightly as he walked to join his parents, who stood on the neighboring lawn.

"it's a pleasure to meet you, marc." the gentleman greeted. "i'm etienne rhéaume, and this is my wife, ilidia. from what i heard from your father, you will be in the same grade as our daughter, idalia.

"have fun with your new neighbors, marc!" the defenseman called from the passenger's side, and the driver put the van back into drive and sped.

"papa, may i go inside to put my hockey gear away?" marc whispered to his father, earning him a nod from andré. "it was a pleasure to meet you," he addressed the rhéaume with a bow before disappearing inside.

but as he turned to enter the home, he noticed a young girl standing in the driveway, watching the movers walk various furniture and boxes down the unloading ramp. it was evident that she got her beauty from her mother. she wore a pastel blue romper with a small brown accent belt and white sneakers. light brown hair sat on top of her hair in a messy bun with adorable little curls poking out from behind her ears, framing her heart-shaped face. eventually, she noticed marc staring at her, forming her full rose-colored lips into a smile and giving him a little wave. marc's freckled cheeks blushed as he realized he was caught staring at his new neighbor and gave an awkward back before heading into the house.

the entrance to the fleury home led into a small mud room, where the family stored their shoes and other miscellaneous outdoor items like scarves and mittens. marc sat down on the little white and dark mahogany bench to unlace his boots and store them in the shoe rack underneath. one of france's many rules in her home was that marc's hockey gear must stay in the laundry room for proper cleaning. the family's washer and drier were stored in a little annex off the entryway, where marc dumped his hockey bag on the floor. he dug out of his socks and gave them the old sniff test, trying to determine if they needed an immediate wash. it didn't smell too putrid, meaning he could leave it alone for a few days before giving it a good scrub.

entering the kitchen, marc grabbed the blender out of the kitchen and plugged it into one of the outlets. he retrieved frozen blueberries, strawberries, bananas, milk, yogurt, cinnamon, and protein powder to make his after-practice smoothies. once his smoothie was secured, marc took it upstairs to his room.

"hi, marylène!" marc called out to his sister as he ventured down the narrow hallway past her room. he received no response, figuring she was probably doing something on her computer while listening to her cd player.

he closed the door behind him and set his drink on his tidy desk, using his foot to turn on the modem in the leg space underneath. as he waited for windows to boot up, his mind couldn't help but drift back to idalia. it was a bit strange that a family with plenty of money would suddenly move to a small town like sorel-tracy, especially considering that their daughter is probably weeks away from earning her secondary studies diploma if what mr. rhéaume said was true. there was a story there, but one marc needed to set aside for later as he opened microsoft word and watched the blinking, searching every synapse in his head for a glimmer of inspiration for his english essay.

the weekend dashed by without little progress made on his project as marc stood at the entrance of the école samuel de champlain. charles proposed that english is often used as a lingua franca to build bridges between different people, given that 1.35 billion people speak it. marc wrinkled his nose at such a boring idea but quickly acquiesced, given that he was running out of time.

students dressed in dark blue sweaters with white collared undershirts and khaki pants passed marc as he watched the crowd. he didn't know why, but he wanted to escort idalia to her first class and show her around the school.

"she's probably already in class, marc," charles stated as the swarm of students began to thin out. "and if we don't get going, we'll be late too."

marc sighed and turned, walking past charles into the aging academics building. the boys trekked down the hallway until they arrived at a large brown door with a brass nameplate that labeled the classrooms as english v. kids sat at their desks and on their desks, engaged in their little conversations as they waited for the bell to ring and their teacher to begin the lecture. marc found his seat in the back of the room but soon stood in his tracks upon discovering idalia sitting at the desk behind him.

"um, hi!" a sheepish marc stammered after a few moments of fighting to vocalize.

"hi! you're marc, right? marc-andré fleury?" she asked in a sweet soprano voice.

marc nodded as he hung the straps of his backpack on the back of his chair and took his seat, warning his inner conscious not to mess this interaction up.

sensing his friend's anxiety, charles helped break the tension with a gleeful, "i like your bow!"

"oh, thank you!" idalia responded, touching the silk hair accessory which sat above her ponytail. "my mama bought it for me as part of my uniform and said it would help make a nice first impression."

"so, you're in english v, too?" marc finally managed to ask.

"yeah, it's one of my best subjects. i have enough credits to graduate, but i need one more course for the semester and thought it wouldn't hurt to have a refresher."

marc bit his lip as the opportunity to ask the question on his mind for several days finally presented itself. "i hope you don't mind my prying, but your family seems a little … "

"out of place in a small mining town?"

"i was going to say different, but your description works too."

"it's okay. i knew that kind of question would come eventually," idalia confessed as her manicured fingers rolled the pencil in her hands. a sense of melancholy flooded her jade eyes as she focused on the writing device, opening her mouth multiple times as if looking for the appropriate words. "my father is a doctor and had a good practice in quebec city. but something happened between myself, a boy, and a group of popular girls, leading my father to believe it would be best to open a new office here in his hometown and give us a fresh start."

"aww, i'm sorry!" apologized marc. "if it makes you feel any better, i think you're really pretty. i mean, a really nice person. it's not that you're not pretty because you clearly are. i've seen your mother … which sounded a lot better in my head that out loud…"

charles let out a suppressed laugh as marc continued to vomit words before tapping idalia on her shoulder. "he thinks you're cute."

"well, if being showered with compliments is the worst thing i could expect from sorel boys, then i think i'm going to like it here," idalia responded.

the bell finally runs as an old hag entered the room with an esl textbook and various papers sticking out from the pages. "hello! hello!" she rasped. "today, we are going to continue our conversational skills.

she placed the book on the teacher's desk in the front room before picking up a stick of chalk in her wrinkly hand and writing a bunch of english words on the blackboard. the minutes melted away from the lecture as the esl teacher asked questions about how to say different phrases in english, which became a low buzzing sound in the back of his brain. while marc could only pick up a few words from the crone's harangue, idalia raised her hand to answer every question. but the gorgon quickly picked up on the fact that the same pupils were raising their hands and decided to select a victim from one of the students trying their hardest to slide down into their desk chair.

"marc, answer this question!" she instructed.

his mouth quickly dried up as he frantically searched through his notebook, looking for clues about the teacher's question.

suddenly, he heard idalia's soft voice in his ear, like a guardian angel coming to save him. "she wants to know if you have any plans for the summer."

"i think my family is planning to visit new brunswick," marc stated.

the esl teacher nodded, satisfied with the answer. "very good, miss rhéaume. but please allow mr. fleury to answer the question himself next time."

marc looked over his shoulder and chuckled with idalia, softly thanking her.

after what seemed like forever, the bell finally rang, signaling the arrival of the transition period. everyone packed up their textbooks and grabbed their backpacks as the mulish lecturer reminded her students filing out the door about their deadline at the end of the week. marc, charles, and idalia pushed through crowds of people hanging out in the hallway until they reached an empty area near the foot of the stairs.

"what's next on your schedule?" marc inquired of idalia.

idalia checked the piece of paper in the protective sleeve of her binder cover. "i think i have art next in the laurier building."

"so do i!" charles chimed. "i could show you the way if you like."

"i have mathematics," marc said, gesturing to the upward stairs behind him. "and afterward, charles and i usually part ways for a few classes, but we usually reconvene at the cafeteria. you're welcome to join us if you'd like."

"that sounds nice. i'll see you later!" idalia responded before turning to follow charles down the hall toward that walkway that connected the main academic building with the laurier building.

as soon as the two were out of sight, marc couldn't help but let out a little squeak and make micro taps with his brown loafers. most often, charles brought in girls thanks to his sophisticated and forthcoming personality. he set marc up with a few dates here and there, mostly the girlfriends of whatever lucky lass found herself on charles's arm that week. marc would nod and pick at his food as the chatterbox would go on about some boy band he did not care about, leading him to regret the money he spent. idalia, on the other hand, seemed to be different. she was sweet, kind, and genuinely interested in his well-being, traits he had never seen in a girl before.

could his awkward, babbling personality have had the same effect on her?

suddenly, the second-period bell echoed through the now-empty hallway.

"shit! shit!" marc exclaimed as he flew up the stairs, nearly tripping over the steps as he raced to the second floor.

over the next few weeks, it became evident to everyone around them that romantic feelings started to bloom between the town's meek and quiet star goaltender and the intelligent, elegant daughter of the town's doctor. they fell into a pattern of eating lunch together almost every day at school, where marc retold the tales of his locker room escapades, like the time the equipment managers arrived to find the team's hockey sticks stuck together with a soluble adhesive. charles could see it in how they leaned into each other from across the table or when marc just randomly started wearing a few buttons of his uniform open, earning him a mark or two from one of the school monitors.

to mr. and mrs. fleury, they would sometimes peek into marc's room through the crack of the ajar door to see marc and idalia sitting on marc's bed as idalia worked marc through how to use the oxford comma.

the rhéaumes occasionally look out the blinds of their living room window to see their daughter, who would wake up and prepare herself for school much earlier than anticipated, for the chance to walk with marc to their bus stop.

and coach dallaire would have to remind marc to focus on practicing as the goalie tried to sneak glances into the nearby stands to see if idalia had come to see him play.

it was like a small-town romantic comedy playing out before their very eyes, and they eagerly awaited the moment when the two main leads acknowledged their feelings for each other and shared their first kiss.

eventually, spring slowly turned to summer. thanks to idalia's help, marc earned a 3 in english studies, meaning he wouldn't have to make up the course in summer school if he wanted to receive his secondary education diploma. he gently went over his black graduation robe with a lint roller, ensuring that the numerous photos his mother would take after he received his certificate would look pristine. marc looked at the gown one last time before throwing it over his head and adjusting the collar of his light blue dress shirt and the red plaid tie around his neck. he draped his burgundy and white shawl over his shoulders and grabbed the graduation tam hanging on a hook in the closet.

a realization suddenly dawned on marc that by this time next year, he would have a new life in a new city, playing for a new team. the diminutive bedroom that he called his sanctuary for the past 16 years — filled with collectible action figures, video games, awards, and pictures of famous goalies — will slowly fade into his memories as his junior league thrust him into the adult world of contracts and agents. no more going to the cinema with charles, picnics with his family on canada day, or getting lost in nature at the greves regional park.

but most importantly, he would have to leave idalia.

a delectable aroma of freshly baked cookies beckoned marc from the kitchen, forcing him to place the hat atop his head. various plates of cookies, cupcakes, and other party foods sat on the kitchen island and table, most likely for the block party that the neighborhood planned to celebrate the graduates. marc bit his lip as he looked from side to side for any sign of life before reaching to sneak one of the red velvet cupcakes.

"hi-yah!" marylène yelled as she whacked marc's hand with her purse, causing her brother to wince. "what the hell do you think you're doing? mama and i worked extremely hard on those!"

"it's my graduation!" retorted marc.

"yeah, well, these sweets are for everyone. you can have one when we get back from the ceremony."

"and what are you going to do to stop me?" marc asked, leaning over his sister to remind her that he was at least several inches taller.

whatever bravado marc mustered quickly disappeared as an expressionless marylène pulled her arm back and whipped her brother again without a second thought, this type across the bridge of his grecian nose. marc let out a howl of pain as he stumbled back and gripped his face, removing his hand now and again to double-check to see if the purse's buckle drew any blood. fortunately, his sister didn't break any skin, but his nose still throbbed with pain.

the commotion caused a din of clacking heels marching down the hall. "what is going on here?" mrs. fleury demanded while trying to secure a dangling pear earring in one of her ears.

"marc was trying to steal a cupcake!"

"marylène hit me in the face with her purse!"

"both of you calm down," said mrs. fleury. "marc, please apologize to marylène for trying to sneak a cupcake before the party."

"i'm sorry!" marc apologized, leaning backward and keeping his appendages far away from his sister as he could.

"and marylène, it's a cupcake and doesn't warrant attacking him with your purse. if he does take one, we could always make more. say you're sorry!"

"sorry!" marylène grumbled with her arms across her chest.

"now go outside and wait by the car while i finish putting on my things."

marylène made one final lunging motion at marc before resting her purse on her shoulder and heading out the door. an anxious marc waited a few more moments, nursing his poor nose, until he felt it was safe enough to emerge from the house and step out onto the driveway.

some neighbors were already working hard to raise a giant balloon arch made with the school colors and a message that read, "congratulations, class of 1999." others laid out bright orange street cones to try and direct traffic away from the party or set up grey folding tables and coolers to help store the food and drinks.

at the rhéaume household, a neat row of vehicles that marc had never seen before stood arranged in a way that made him think there was a tetris master in the family. the front door opened, and idalia stepped outside on the porch for fresh air from all the relatives filling up her home. it took a few minutes, but she eventually noticed marc and stepped onto the sidewalk to greet him.

"wow, you look gorgeous!" marc complimented as idalia approached.

"thank you, but am i as beautiful as my mama?" idalia teased.

the same lump that marc felt in his throat several weeks earlier returned. but it wasn't because he didn't know what to say this time; it was because he had too much to say. he wanted to tell her that she was more beautiful than aphrodite, that her eyes were like precious gemstones, that her voice sounded like an angel's, and that her smile filled him with warmth. marc wanted to leave sorel with the knowledge that idalia would patiently wait for him to return, allowing him to work through the trials and tribulations of being a professional hockey player.

"i think you're the most beautiful girl in the world," marc whispered, tucking the loose strands of her chestnut hair in a low-sitting chignon.

marc held his breath as he watched the blood rush to idalia's cheeks and her chin dip down to her chest. a thousand thoughts descended upon him as he attempted to analyze her body language. perhaps he had confessed too early, or maybe she was already dating someone, or she didn't feel like he did. whatever the reason, marc felt the need to example himself, rising in his throat and spilling over like the flood of '54.

"i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to make you feel horrible. i'm likely going to leave for another part of canada in the next few months to progress my hockey career, and you'll probably be going off to college to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. and i don't know where you'll be in twenty years, but i hope i can be there for you like you were there for me. the problem is that i've liked you for the past few weeks and wanted to tell you. but i didn't want to mess up our friendship, make things awkward like i did a few minutes ago…"

to silence marc's psycho-babble, idalia pulled him in by his tie for a gentle kiss. a warmth spread across marc's chest as he adjusted to the new but welcomed session of idalia's lips on his. they were just as soft as he imagined them to be, and he could also detect the faintest hint of strawberry, most likely from the chapstick that she liked to wear. marc wanted to wrap his hands around her waist, pull her in closer, and savor the sensation — let idalia know it was okay to go deeper.

but marc and idalia quickly separated upon remembering that their families were around.

"i want you to be in my life twenty years from now," idalia said, gesturing to the waiting car behind marc. "but i think we should save that until after we graduate."

"marc, stop exchanging saliva with your new girlfriend and get in the damn car!" marylène screeched with the finesse of a foghorn.

idalia gave marc one last peck on his cheek. "i'll see you at the campus."

the still-stunned marc nodded and returned to the family car. as he climbed into the back next to his sister, he prayed that only marylène had seen the kiss, sparing him questions he didn't have answers to. thankfully, the ride was relatively uneventful, with mr. and mrs. fleury mostly talking about how proud they were of their son.

the family arrived at the school and drove around the campus, searching for the perfect parking spot through the families and graduates making their way toward the ceremony fields. eventually, after some time, mr. fleury discovered a good slot near the stands where the spectators would sit and where the students gathered for their procession. marc joined the other students in the fieldhouse, who stood around chatting in groups organized by their last names. he looked around, noticed a few classmates with similar surnames, and got in line. sir edward elgar's "pomp and circumstance" started to play through speakers outside as the doors to the fieldhouse opened, and the a group filed to their chairs.

it was a beautiful ceremony with a large red runner decorated with white flower petals, a velvet curtain backdrop, and large simple vases filled with wisteria branches. still, most attendees would've been content with the faculty handing out the diplomas and wishing the students the best of luck in therapy. some students fell asleep in their seats as the school's principal and valedictorian gave uninspiring speeches about the future or something. marc was one of the fortunate ones, as someone in his group had snuck in shell-less pistachios under their gown and started sharing them.

everyone had lost years of their lives by the time the school was ready for the graduating class to walk across the stage. marc, idalia, and charles received their diplomas and shook hands with their teachers when the master of ceremonies offered them their cue. once the certificates changed hands, a surge of hats flew into the air as the now-alumni shared hugs.

a few people tried to find their tam as things began to quiet down, and marc took off toward his party's designated meeting spot — a massive oak tree where he and charles sometimes skipped class. he was the first to arrive, but over time, the fleurys, the rhéaumes, and de fumeés wandered over to the rendezvous point for photographs. once the families used their film rolls, they returned home for the party.

the fleury family immediately jumped out of their sedan and flew into the house to change their stuffy formal wear into something more comfortable. marc tossed his regalia on the floor, making a mental note to hang it up later so his mother could preserve it, and grabbed an old band t-shirt and pair of cargo shorts.

outside, the neighborhood came to live with music and meat sizzling on the grill. the young ones ran around the street, blowing bubbles at each other, while the adults stood around discussing boring topics like lawnmowers or the appropriate amount of spices to use during your grilling. a good buzz, however, was going amongst the graduates as someone worked to create a secret stash of light beers disguised as rootbeer bottles. festivities continued well into the evening as the sun began to set against the horizon. people distributed take-home portions of the leftover food and took down the decorations. family friends congratulated each other as they packed their cars or escorted the children into their homes for bedtime.

marc sat on the back porch, watching the sunset with charles, as he picked from the cake portion of the red velvet cupcake marylène brought him as a peace offering.

"have you decided what you will do in the fall?" marc asked charles, whipping buttercream frosting off his mouth.

"well, i know i'm not going to have a lucrative hockey career, unlike someone i know," charles confessed, giving marc a quick elbow in the side to tell him no hard feelings. "so, i thought i may find a different route, like going to college for biology studies and becoming a sports trainer."

"i like that idea. maybe you could stitch back up the egos of the nhl players that i stop," marc laughed with a wiggle.

"what are you going to do about idalia?'

marc narrowed his eyes. "what do you mean?"

"i saw you and her kissing before the ceremony," a smirking charles revealed, causing marc to smack himself in the forehead with a groan. "it was about time too. we were about to start taking bets on how long it would take for you two to recognize your feelings for each other. but now that we're graduated, you need to sit down and figure some stuff out."

"well, we did promise to speak afterward," marc suddenly remembered.

charles rested his hand on marc's shoulder. "go find her and tell her how you really feel, but try not to psycho-babble this time," he instructed.

marc nodded, shoved the last bit of cupcake into his mouth, and stood up to set off to find idalia.

"give me the details when you're done!" charles called after him.

but marc rolled his eyes and wandered between the houses for his lady love. it didn't take him long to find idalia standing in her driveway, saying goodbyes to the family members that had come to the ceremony. marc watched as she exchanged some words and hugged everyone. upon giving her final, idalia turned and locked eyes with marc. a smile appeared on her face as she sauntered over to marc.

"i believe we have some unfinished business, you and i," she said.

"i believe we do," marc replied. "i think you're kind and gorgeous, and i hope we can be more than friends. but the problem is that we may have to go our separate ways within the next couple of months, and i don't want to do that."

"i want that too."

an awkward silence permeated the air as marc rubbed his neck, and idalia shuffled her feet.

"i have an idea!" idalia exclaimed, breaking the silence. "how about if you get a shutout during the canadian nationals, we can go on a date? give you a little motivation for the tournament."

marc tilted his head. "you think i'm good enough to get a shutout?" he asked with a stifled laugh.

"of course. i've you seen play. you're andré fleury — the next star goaltender from quebec. if anyone could get a shutout, it's you!"

"and if i don't get a shutout, what happens then?

idalia hummed and taped her finger against her chin. "if you don't get a shutout, we have to bring along charles."

"okay, sounds fair enough. i guess i should start practicing my goaltending, then. could we … um … seal the deal with another kiss?"

idalia stepped closer, allowing marc to place his hands on her hips and pull her in for another kiss. marc still felt little butterflies floating around his stomach because having a girlfriend — or, at least, the beginning stages of a relationship — was a new experience for him. he didn't know how to nurture his feelings or whether this new path would leave, but idalia was willing to give him a chance, which was good enough for marc.

"dali, my love!" mrs. rhéaume called from the front entrance, causing marc and idalia to separate. "it's getting late."

"i should get going," a coy idalia stated to marc as she turned to meet her mother at the doorstep.

marc watched as she disappeared into her house. once the door closed, he quickly returned behind the house to tell charles he had a potential date with idalia.

a few families decorated their homes in blue and grey to cheer on the harold sheppard school, scheduled to face new foundland in the nationals. others had black and gold banners to cheer on quebec high against new brunswick. but most of sorel-tracy wore the champlain red and white to support école samuel de champlain against the earl haig royals from toronto. the royals played in the ontario scholastic sports association during the regular season, meaning quebecois teams didn't encounter them often. but whispers on the wind from the border towns suggested they were the team to beat in ontario.

sorellers surrounded the terminus de sorel, waving their flags and shouting their best wishes to the players as they loaded their hockey and overnight bags into the undercarriage compart and loaded on the bus. the marquee on the front labeled their destination as the bell centre in montreal, courtesy of the canadiens. marc and charles sat at the back of the bus and dug out their chargers and headphones as they settled in for the hour-long trip.

outside the window, marc saw idalia wearing his letterman from beyond the crowd control barriers and unhooked the tiny window from his latch. "bye, idalia! we'll see you in a few days!" he and charles yelled out the window.

the players gave their final goodbyes to their friends and families as the bus driver put the vehicle in drive and pulled out onto the main road toward la metropole. others also cracked their windows, sending a welcomed draft rippling through the stuffy bus. snacks got passed around as the boys discussed what they wanted to do when they arrived in the city.

"look, we're here!" someone shouted, pointing to the window.

everyone got up from their seats and made their way over to the left side of the bus, where glimpses of a massive red and yellow sign reading "bonjour montreal" passed them by. prominent glass skyscrapers came into view and stunned the guys into silence as they admired the modern city and its residents. the bus turned onto rue de la montagne, where the magnificent brick and steel centre bell sat on its corners. gasps fell from the guy's mouths as large red and blue signs with motifs of their favorite canadiens smiling back at them, welcoming them to the arena.

the bus pulled off into the parking lot of a nearby marriott and put itself into park. dallaire and a few other coaches stood up from the seats in the back and instructed the team to stay in their spots while they got everything squared away with the receptionist. after some time, dallaire returned to the bus and gave the boys the all-clear to deboard and grab their luggage. everyone took off individually to their rooms as they received their hotel keycards. true to form, the saints roomed charles with marc.

"this place is huge!" charles exclaimed as he dropped his suitcase on the floor and flopped onto the bed.

"you haven't been to a hotel before?" marc giggled as he pocketed the keycard.

"i have, but it just feels so good," charles mumbled into the sheets.

marc shook his head as he walked to the other bed, sat down, and untied his shoes. the team gave the boys an hour to rest and relax before a call went out that it was time for the team to walk across the road for practice. they entered a garage under the rink, where a kind arena attendant greeted them and led them toward the locker room. as expected, the centre bell was about five-time the size of the cardin. there were all sorts of equipment tucked away in various nooks and crannies — cameras, brooms, microphones, trollies, trunks.

call it bias, but the canadiens had to give up their home locker room to the team from quebec. the arena attendant stopped at two double doors bearing the le bleu-blanc-rouge. as she pushed them open, the boys rushed in, ignoring dallaire's request not to break anything. they marveled at the large wooden benches with their uniforms and equipment arranged under their nameplates. attached to the locker room sat a sizeable hang-out room with comfy lounge chairs, multiple tvs, a billiards table, and a small kitchenette.

"alright, that's enough! gather around!" dallaire called out after letting his guys have some fun.

the players eagerly listened as dallaire gave a rousing speech about how it was usually the montreal canadiens that served as the pride of quebec during the nhl season. but now that summer had arrived, it was their turn to lead the province to victory, to show the others not to mess with the quebecois. and it will take everything within them to get them there. everyone dawned their jerseys and pads, like soldiers putting on their armor for battle, and took the ice. blades clashing against the ice and pucks hitting the rink boards echoed through the empty stadium as the players tried to commit the earl haig habits to memory and steeled themselves for the chaos awaiting them.

the following night, several sorellers, montréalais, quebecois, and torontonians filled the 21,000-seat arena as the saints hyped themselves in the tunnel for the game. they could hear a man over the loudspeaker give safety instructions to the spectators in english and french as the remaining minutes until the game began to countdown. in the corner of the room, marc continued to stretch and try to get his head in the game.

"are you ready for this?" charles asked marc.

"i am," marc responded.

"and who is going to be the next nhl star?" asked charles at a louder volume.

"i am!" cried marc.

"and who is going to get a date with idalia tonight?"

"i am!"

"that's right! let's go!" bellowed charles as he banged his blocker and mitt onto marc's chestpad.

"let's go! c'mon! let's go! go, marc! go, charles!" the players echoed, offering fist bumps as they exited the locker room onto the ice.

a hush fell over the crowd as the first line skated onto the ice while charles and the other three lines took their spot on the bench. the fans rose to their feet as the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight illuminated members of the royal canadian mounted police carrying the flag of ontario and the flag of quebec, separated by canada's maple leaf. the canadiens' national anthem singer, who agreed to lend their melodious voice so long as a quebec team remained in the tournament, began to sing the french lyrics to "o' canada."

marc closed his eyes and let the anthem's lyrics settle in his heart as he silently sang along, inspiring him to stand guard for the école and quebec. the english words, however, were an enigma to him, though he could pick out a few choice words here and there. marc's eyes fluttered back open, and looked around at the crowd. through the darkness, he could make out a faint group of familiar outlines — his father, his mother, charles' parents, and idalia. idalia blew marc a kiss, which marc envisioned floating through the glass and landing on his fleur-de-lis on his chest, like a love interest empowering a superhero to go off and fight his archrival. suddenly, the melody to o' canada ended, and the lights came back on. marc placed his helmet over his, skated back to his crease, and turned to face the face-off at center ice. after a few agonizing seconds, the linesman dropped the puck, and one of the saints forwards passed it through his legs toward a defenseman, giving marc a little reprieve.

if there was one thing that the saints would take away from this tournament, it's that the earl haig royals lived up to their reputation. they had spent many hours studying tapes of the saints as they were able to match the team in every aspect of the game, from their physical on-ice presence to their playmaking. marc had many close calls that probably made a few hearts skip a beat. but with the assistance of his chaotic goaltending style, aptly named "fists of fleury" due to all of the kungfu movies he and charles watched over the years, marc kept the puck out of the net through two play periods.

beads of sweat dripped down his face as the minute left in regulation ticked away on the game clock. the scoreboard reflected a saints' lead of 2-0, which the team tried to hold onto by playing keep-away with the royals at the other end of the ice. then, a missed pass caused the puck to scatter past the blue line and got picked up by a royals' forward. marc assumed his defensive position, watching the opposing player enter the offensive zone. his positioning showed that the royal would attempt to cut across and try a wrist shot on marc's left side once he got close enough. but fortunately for marc, the player choked and shot the puck too early, causing the biscuit to land safely in marc's glove as the final buzzer sounded.

a din of excitement erupted through the arena as the saints' found themselves a third of the way to moving onto the next round. the saints' coaching staff exchanged fist bumps as marc's teammates lept over the bench to offer him helmet boops. after everyone had a chance to thank you, marc turned around to remove his helmet and gloves and formed a heart with his hands, letting idalia know he loved her while she gathered her things. she mimicked marc's gesture and over-enunciated that she would meet marc outside.

marc nodded, grabbed his equipment, and joined his teammates to return to the locker room. he went around the room once more, giving everyone congratulatory high fives to everyone before sitting down in his stall and removing his jersey.

"way to go, guys! way to go! that's what i like to see," dallaire said as the players relaxed. "that's the kind of drive that will win us that trophy. but things will only get tougher from here, so we need to bring that performance every night. get washed up, and i'll meet you outside, where we'll head back to the hotel, have a nice dinner, and get some shuteye."

the boys started stripping themselves of their gear and throwing their jerseys into the laundry bin. marc gathered a fresh pair of boxers, trousers, and a dress shirt as he headed into the canadiens' bathroom to go through his shower routine.

like most things in the centre bell, the bathrooms put the cardin's shower room to shame. marc took a fresh white towel from the gold-plated towel rack, took one of the gray stalls roughly the size of his bedroom at home, and locked the door.

"are you going out with idalia tonight?" charles inquired as he ran mousse through his hair with his fingers.

"no, i think it would probably be best if we did that when we get back to sorel," marc explained as he attempted to brush a few misbehaving strands of his dark brown hair out of his face. "but we were planning to meet outside, and i figured that clean marc would be better than stinky marc."

"here, give me your head!" charles said, noticing marc's dilemma. he squirted another dollop of mousse into his hand and gently applied it to marc's scalp. "try it now!"

marc attempted to comb his hair once more and watched in amazement as his hair began to flatten down. "charles the suave strikes again!" he said with a click of his tongue.

"that's what i'm here for!"

marc put his glasses back on his face, threw his toiletries back into his little pouch, and adjusted his shirt sleeves. "how do i look?"

"you should be teaching french history at cegep sorel-tracy," teased charles.

"well, that's good because idalia is considering studying that in the fall. don't take too long, beauty queen!" marc replied, grabbing his bag and tapping charles on the shoulder as his best friend accidentally sprayed a cologne onto his reflection in the mirror.

marc gathered his belongings and stepped outside. the rest of the team gathered around the garage door, waiting for charles and a few others to finish cleaning up.

"this is rhéaume's chance to score the game-winning goal," marc heard a female voice say as if the person was narrating a game. "but she'll have to get the puck past the up-and-coming goaltender, marc-andré fleury."

marc turned his head to the attention of the sound where a playful idalia displayed a crumpled-up piece of paper in her hand, pretending it was a puck.

"she jumps dekes left. she dekes right," idalia said as she jumped back and forth. "and she fires…"

but before idalia's imaginary puck could score, marc allowed his bag to fall off his shoulder and dramatically caught the paper ball in his hand like he did the puck during the game, earning him a giggle and a small round of applause from idalia. he quickly embraced her and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

"did it satisfy your expectations?" marc asked.

"you did," answered idalia. "and i do believe that i owe you a date."

"i believe you, but i wanted to wait until i finished all of this to go on our date. we only get one chance to go on a first date, and it should be somewhere special that we can make our special little place."

"so, you're kind, funny, and handsome? do you have any flaws?"

"aside from the psycho-babbling? umm, sometimes i can be a little bit boring."

"well, i'll be the judge of that."

"marc!" charles shouted, catching his best friend's attention. he gestured for marc to follow as most of the team had already started to cross the straight and return to the hotel.

"i have to go, but can i call you tomorrow?" mark asked idalia.

"do you even have to ask?" idalia said with a giggle.

"good point!" marc gave idalia one last kiss on her cheek and waved before retrieving his bag and taking off down the street to catch up with his teammates.

as promised, marc called idalia the remaining two days he was away. sometimes, it would be in the morning after the team sat down for the coach's breakfast and discussed their game plan for the day. other times, he would call her at night, either before or after the game, to talk about their days and wish each other good night so that the last thing they heard was their voice. whatever the day held, marc made sure that idalia knew that he loved her.

despite a valiant effort, the earl haig royals fell to the champlain saints 2-1, sending école samuel de champlain to the second round. the team's swift victory meant that the school would have a day or two of respite while they awaited the news if their boys would face the harry ainlay titans from alberta or the sisler spartans from manitoba as they packed up their things to return home. everybody on the team prayed that sisler high school would advance because a three-hour flight from montreal to winnipeg was preferable to a four-and-a-half-hour flight to edmonton. but they needed to prepare for either possibility to become the national champions.

marc and idalia decided that while edmonton and alberta hashed out their differences, it would be an excellent time for them to fulfill their bet. as marc said, he wanted to bring idalia somewhere special, where they could get their kids and grandkids once they age. there was a little diner in the middle of town, tucked away in a small, unassuming building, desperately needing a fresh coat of white paint. the undersized interior only had enough room for a few booths and a row of stools at the counter, forcing many people to get their food to go. but looks could be deceiving as this eatery has some of the best food in town. marc unearthed the cash he had earned from helping his dad mow the lawn and other odd chores around the house from his underwear draw and counted it out — just enough for him to pay for their meals and maybe an ice cream afterward.

he put together a nice business casual outfit from his mother and sister, made himself look presentable, shoved his wallet and cell phone into his pants pocket, and bid his goodbyes. stepping outside, marc crossed to idalia's home and rang the doorbell. he waited until idalia opened the door, dressed in a beautiful flowy lilac-colored dress that brought out her eyes and curled hair. marc, making a humorous display of chivalry, bowed and offered his hand to idalia, which she promptly took.

they walked hand in hand down to the restaurant, discussing what the others missed during their separation. fortunately, upon entering the dinner, only a few souls were grabbing a bite to eat. the waitress tending to the counter greeted the couple and invited them to sit anywhere they wanted. marc and idalia took two of the stools and perused the menu. given that he was still in the middle of a hockey tournament, a dutiful marc ordered a salad and a glass of water with the promise that he could purloin some fries off idalia's plate. idalia indulged a little by getting a soft drink and a chicken sandwich. the two continued their conversation as they dined, like how marc hoped to get drafted by the montreal canadiens or idalia hoped to get a position with a company that would allow her to travel abroad to france. and, of course, no date would be complete at the dinner without a scoop of freshly-churned vanilla ice cream and homemade hot fudge.

once he and idalia had eaten their fill, marc placed a dollar bill on the check and promised the kind waitress they would return. he escorted idalia back home as the sun began to set. the couple soon arrived at the rhéaume estate, exchanged kisses, and agreed that if that tiny dinner remained in business, that would be their to-go spot for dates in sorel.

within the next few days, word had arrived that the champlain saints would face the sisler spartans in the second round, meaning marc would be farther away from idalia than before. but idalia understood that if marc wanted to soar to hockey stardom, he would need to spread his wings and fly and her right alongside him.

the saints found it tougher to defeat the spartans, who forced a game three to determine a winner. schools and provinces began to fizzle out of the competition — manitoba, alberta, prince edward island, yukon — until only quebec and british columbia remained, specifically the killarney cougars out of vancouver. hockey fans from the eastern provinces found protection in the saints camp, while most people from the western areas decided to go on the hunt with the cougars. wherever a canadian called home, they glued their eyes to their television for mackenzie king cup.

if anyone asked marc or another member of the 1999 champlain saints, they would say that the killarney cougars was their most challenging opponent by far. everything came down to luck, with many periods spent simply trying to get the puck down the ice or past marc. but the saints pulled every trip out of the bag to become the mackenzie king champions in front of thousands of their adoring fans. red and white confetti fluttered down from the ceiling of the centre bell as players nearly broke their legs, toppling over the bench to form an emotional mass around marc. the players took turns raising the trophy over their heads on the ice, relishing their success, while scouts whispered amongst themselves in the media booth.

marc and his teammates brought the mackenzie king cup back to sorel to cheers and applause. the town's mayor organized a parade where residents could see the trophy, and even premier bouchard traveled from quebec city to extend his commendations to the saints. news of the team's victory spread from league to league, commissioner to president, as hockey canada prepared to welcome a new generation of professional hockey players into their ranks. marc sat on top of the draft scores thanks to his impressive performance during the nationals. multiple representatives scrambled to schedule meetings with his new agent, but marc clarified that he would only meet with teams from the quebec junior hockey league to stay as close as he could to home.

the qjhl draft was not as flashy as the nhl draft, just a microphone, a few tables, and a draft board in some random office at the hockey canada headquarters in calgary. but the fleurys, rhéaumes, de fumées decided to make it one. the families assembled their plates from various dishes, like pâté chinois, fèves au lard, pouding chômeur. cape breton's screaming eagles won the first draft pick for the 1999 draft, meaning marc would likely be moving to cape breton unless something went awry. as a result, marc looked incredibly dapper in his black and gold screaming eagles jersey while shoveling beans into his mouth.

"it's starting!" charles yelled from the living room as the families hurried in front of the tv, careful not to drip or spill anything onto france's floor.

after a brief introduction, president corteau introduced the first draft pick. "with the first selection, the cape breton screaming eagles select from the école samuel de champlain, marc-andré fleury."

a hockey canada employee slid marc's name, denoted by a white placard that read "m. fleury," into the spot next to cape brenton as corteau continued with the following selection. three thousand kilometers away, idalia and marc lept from the couch and wrapped their arms around each other in a giant embrace. everyone around them responded with gaiety while andré assisted charles, who had taken a bite to eat as the announcement was made, through a coughing fit.

marc moved to nova scotia the following autumn. he saw idalia off to collège charles-lemoyne in montreal before packing a couple of boxes filled with his memories into charles's car and heading southeast. marc could see the formidable road ahead as the signs turned from french to english. he had to improve a language he had only learned in an academic environment and learn an entirely new culture.

in addition, the opponents in the qjhl were in a league of their own. no longer did marc face shots from high schoolers who may be good enough to secure a spot on a college ice hockey team if they worked hard. these guys were more brutal, faster, and muscular, wanting the same thing marc wanted — a chance to play in the nhl. multiple times, he phoned idalia late at night, crying and saying that trying to become a professional hockey player was a mistake when he wanted to come home.

idalia sat at her dorm desk, surrounded by mountains of books and a desk lamp, and listened as marc sobbed until he finally stopped to breathe. "i know this is hard, but this is the life you always wanted. you've dreamed of being a pro hockey player since you were young, and it will come with its trials and tribulations. why don't you go to bed and call me in the morning after you get some sleep."

marc would sniffle, nod, and apologize to idalia for making her sit and listen to his problems when she should be reviewing the history of the french revolution. but idalia would wave away his concerns and tell him he could call her any time because he was the first boy to treat her as a serious romantic partner and not some party fling like the boys at her old school did. to lighten the mood, idalia would always finish the conversation by relating to marc a funny story that happened to her or a joke. and most often, this would earn her a happy giggle or a smile from her boyfriend that would help him relax and put things into perspective. the couple affirmed their love for each other before disconnecting, allowing idalia to return to her studies and marc to fall asleep.

idalia acted as marc's rock in multiple cases as he transformed from a cherub-cheeked high schooler into a stanley cup-winning goalie. when the pittsburgh penguins drafted marc in 2003, idalia transferred all her credits from charles lemoyne to the university of pittsburgh to support marc's budding nhl career. and when the players found themselves without a league in 2004 due to labor disputes, idalia would rub marc's back after long days of playing wilkes-barre/scranton and tell him everything would be okay.

his draft to las vegas, his trade to chicago, his vezina, and everything in between — none of it would have happened if idalia wasn't right by marc's side.

marc's eyes opened, and looked down the tunnel toward the ice, which flashed with red and forest-green lights. a similar green, red, and white bearing the silhouette of a bear head, overlayed with the scenery of the minnesota wilderness, replaced the red and white fleur-de-lis jersey he had worn all those years ago. but the nerves of stepping out onto the ice in an elimination game remained the same as the ones he felt during the mckenzsie king cup.

"please welcome your minnesota wild!" a man's voice thundered through the loudspeaker as filip gustavsson and wild's starting lineup stepped onto the ice. marc followed the team out of the tunnel and took his spot on the bench, watching the 20,500 wild attend waving rallying towels over their head.

the team's performance against the stars wasn't the best. minnesota and dallas had faced each other four times during the season and split their series 2-2. but the stars still sat five points above the wild, meaning that dean evason and the other coaches had their work cut out for them. there existed a small glimmer of hope that they could find six extra points and usurp the top spot in the division from the colorado avalanche, which would set them up to face the seattle kraken, whom they defeated more easily. but as april approached, it became clear that minnesota would have to do its best against de boer's men.

like the rest of the season, minnesota and dallas went back and forth. minnesota had a lead, and then dallas would dig in deep and claw back into the series, forcing spurgeon and the guys to fight back. marc desperately wanted to assist in the effort. however, his only start during the post-season was a complete disaster, resulting in a 7-3 loss. it didn't affect the team's record overall because it was only game 2, and minnesota still had time to win their lead back.

regardless, the horrendous performance still stung marc to the very core of his soul. he had grown up hearing about how a fantastic goaltender he was, but his prowess didn't show when he needed it most. a lump formed in his throat as he fought back the tears while speaking to the media, telling them he felt embarrassed by his performance. but his words were calculated, cold. upon arriving home to idalia, he unleashed everything he held during the interview in a fit of psycho-babble and tears in his girlfriend's arms — he felt old, broken, and unwanted. he could hear the whispers of the fans that he was past his prime and that the wild would be doing everyone a favor by buying out the last season of his contract.

and as she had done many times before, idalia would hold him and calm him down.

marc's fears were reasonable as he was nearing the typical retirement age and would be an unrestricted free agent next summer. but those issues could wait until the wild became stanley cup champions or die trying. everyone in attendance stood up as de causmeaker steeped onto his red carpet and began to sing the lyrics to the "star spangled banner." marc didn't know where the words came from or their significance to the american people, but his english skills had improved enough to sing along silently. the fans and some of the players offered de causmeaker a round of applause as the lights turned back on, and the officials began the game.

the wild did their best to keep their energy up. but from the moment roope hintz scored dallas's first goal halfway through the first period, a sentiment that they were fighting a losing battle began to set in. evason pulled gustavsson after the second period, and the team found themselves in a 3-0 deficit, hoping that marc's multiple years of stanley cup experience would allow them to hold on and force dallas to a game 7. at first, their plan seemed to work when frederick gaudreau snuck a puck behind oettinger, causing a roar of excitement in the arena.

sadly, despite minnesota's bravery, the stars closed out the series as the final buzzer sounded with a score of 4-1. the vigor guaderau's goal inspired quickly fizzled out as the wild players stared in silent disbelief, watching the stars celebrate their series win at their end. a few of the remaining wild on the ice glided over to marc's crease to offer encouragement and thank him for his help before skating off to the locker room together.

high up in the xcel's luxury boxes, the wives and girlfriends also exchanged defeated looks. after some time from the suite, one of the wild attendants arrived and escorted them through the back hallways, where their significant others mulled around, not saying a word. idalia found her 6'2" giant standing against the wall and ran over to wrap her arms around his torso. at first, marc didn't respond, still numb from the idea of elimination. but he eventually rested one of his large, strong hands on her head and bent down to kiss her.

"are you okay?" she asked, receiving no answer — only a simple nod. "let's go home and get you cleaned up."

marc languidly allowed idalia to pull him through the side security door and into the personnel parking lot. a slight drizzle had arrived over minneapolis-st. paul, matching the melancholy marc felt in his soul at the idea of losing possibly the last post-season of his career. idalia started their bmw, pulled out of the parking lot, and joined the traffic leaving xcel energy. marc watched the cars passing them by as the couple made the 30-minute drive back to their apartment in minneapolis's gateway district. he recalled how warmly the minneapolitans received him when he touched down in the twin cities after word broke that he accepted a trade to the wild. memories came rushing back as he stayed in a hotel room for the first couple of days while he and idalia waited for the paperwork for their new apartment to go through. despite not having his lodgings, spuregon and some other guys made marc feel at home by inviting him on a morning jog or bringing him some homemade meals. he wanted to repay them by helping bring lord stanley to the state of hockey, but he failed and failed miserably.

eventually, idalia pulled the car into their spot in the parking garage and turned off the vehicle. marc unbuckled his seatbelt and followed her to the elevator. upon stepping into the foyer, he tossed his keys into a little catch-all bowl, entered the bedroom, and sat on the bed. idalia appeared from the bathroom with a tub of muscle rub and placed it on the side table.

"let me see."

marc sighed as he carefully undid his white button-up, revealing the soft indentation of his abdominal muscles. a few small red spots from when marc blocked the puck with his body began to form on his pectorals, undoubtedly in the process of becoming bruises, which idalia soothed.

"you're extremely quiet. in the 22 years we've dated, you've only been this silent when we received your father's diagnosis. what are you thinking about?" she asked.

"everything, just everything — where i go from here, whether i'm still good enough to play, what's going to happen during the off-season, and what will happen next season," a solemn marc replied.

"as i've said before, you're still relatively young. and if you have to retire, it's not the end of the world," idalia reminded marc as she massaged his shoulders.

"i know."

idalia finished up the massage and gave marc a sweet kiss on the nose. "now, i believe you and i need to catch up on the bureau."

marc's eyes widened as he puckered his lips and looked away, causing idalia to click her tongue and put her fists on her hips.

"marc, did you watch part of the bureau without me?" she demanded like a mother scolding a child.

"i may or may not have watched a few episodes ahead while the team was flying back and forth from dallas-fort worth," he admitted, putting his shirt back on and re-doing a few buttons.

"marc!"

"we can always go back and watch the episodes," marc pointed out as we stood up and walked back into the kitchen.

"fine, but no spoliers!" idalia yelled as she followed him.

idalia sat on the expansive, dark grey couch and turned on the tv using the modern coffee table in front, using the touch screen to select the bureau in amazon prime. the microwave beeped as marc nuked a pre-prepped honey bbq chicken and mac & cheese. he opened the door and rushed to transfer the container to the obsidian countertop behind him. once the dish cooled enough, marc scooped a good portion of the meal for himself and another one for idalia.

"for you, madame!" said marc as he handed idalia a bowl and sat beside her.

"that guy dies at the end," he whispered, pointing to a random character in the intro. idalia lowered her fork back into her bowl and looked at marc in shock. after a few seconds of silence, marc giggled, "no, i'm just messing with you. i haven't gotten that far into the show."

after a few episodes, idalia curled under a grey throw blanket, rested her head on marc's lap, and eventually fell asleep.

"i think it's time for bed," marc whispered as he turned off the tv.

he scooped up idalia, swaddled her in the blanket, and carried her into the main bathroom, where he sat her down before the vanity. his hand gently raised the light lever, giving him enough light to prepare his love for bed but not to disturb her sleep cycle.

"face, please!" requested marc as he dug out a neutrogena wipe from the drawer.

he ripped open the packaging and gently cleaned idalia's face of her makeup with the cloth, ensuring it covered every little corner. "there's that precious face i know and love," he cooed, earning him a soft smile.

marc continued to walk his girlfriend — no, his partner — through her bedtime routine, throwing her hair up into a bun and sliding a chemise over her head. once idalia was in her pajamas, he carried her back to the king-sized mattress and tucked her into the black bamboo sheets.

"goodnight, princess!" he stated as he planted a kiss on her temple.

he removed his clothes and dumped them into the hamper before climbing into bed and pulling idalia close, allowing her to use his torso as a pillow. but as idalia drifted off into rem sleep, probably dreaming about helping her inamorato win the stanley cup, marc's mind continued to race.

she was right. retirement wasn't the end of the world.

he thought about all the times when the people around him sometimes had to make difficult choices — coach dallaire and charles, who understood that they would never be good enough to compete professionally but could still have a hockey career. when he discovered that he had an inoperable lung tumor, his father retired from the factory so his grandchildren could have memories of their grand-père before he passed away. his mother and sister diligently waited long hours at the hospital while his father underwent radiation treatment. idalia uprooted her entire life immediately to follow marc from pittsburgh to las vegas, chicago, and minneapolis-st. paul.

you can't control certain things in life, but you can control how you react to them.

marc leaned over a looked at the digital clock, which read that it was three in the morning, meaning that the time in sorel-tracy would've been 4:00 am. he figured that nobody would be awake back home, but he couldn't wait; he needed something, and he needed it fast. his hands quietly lifted idalia's arms and replaced his torso with a pillow. fortunately, she didn't notice marc's movement as she snuggled deeper into the decoy. he snatched his phone up, snatched up his phone from the wireless charging stand, and stepped down into the hall.

as expected, he received no answer when he dialed his mother's home landline. sorrow filled his heart as his father's voice came over the line, informing the caller that the family could not come to the phone and asking them to leave a message. although mr. fleury passed several years ago, neither his wife nor his children could change the answering message as it helped keep andré's memory alive.

"mama, it's marc!" he said after the beep. "i'm sorry for calling you so late, but i've been thinking. i think i'm ready for the ring, so if you could give me a call back at a more reasonable hour, i would appreciate it. love you!"

marc disconnected the call and turned his attention back to the bedroom. if the following season were his last, he would take control and ensure there was a light at the end of the tunnel as he re-entered the bedroom and tried to get some sleep.

in the ensuing days, marc and idalia slowly adjusted to off-season life. marc shaved his goatee and gave his exit interview, in which he said that he didn't know if he would re-sign for another year but looked forward to spending the summer with his family. they covered their kitchen counter with travel books, looking for a place to visit for a few weeks before spending the rest of the off-season in sorel.

"what about the bahamas?"

"i'm all for familiarity, but we've been to the bahamas several times over the past year. maybe we should find another vacation spot."

this pattern of discussion went back and forth until marc asked one day, "what about geneva?"

"geneva? why geneva?" inquired idalia.

"well, it has gorgeous scenery. and it's in switzerland's french-speaking region, which would benefit us. plus, i've always wanted to try genuine swiss chocolate. we could fly to montreal, stay over for a few days, see our parents and my sister, and then continue to europe."

"that sounds lovely. let's do it!"

a few weeks passed, and marc and idalia packed their suitcases in europe's playground for two weeks. the weather appeared roughly the same as sorel, so they packed as many clothes as possible for their three-and-a-half-month stay in canada and promised to take what they needed for their excursion over the atlantic. marc chartered a light jet from minneapolis-st. paul international to montreal-trudeau international, which surprised idalia as marc knew that she was perfectly comfortable flying first class. but marc explained to her that he wanted to make this trip memorable because it signified their transition into retirement life. idalia narrowed her eyes at him but appeared to have bought marc's excuse.

they had a pleasant flight to montreal-trudeau, landing in a private terminal. after obtaining a rental car, the couple made where they visited marc's niece and nephew. the children, entering their school-age years, happily chattered about how proud they were of their uncle, all that he accomplished, and how they wanted to become a goaltender like him. marc and idalia also visited andré's grave, asking him to watch over marc during his final nhl season. and charles, who recently had a healthy baby boy with his wife.

upon returning to the airport, idalia's mouth fell open as she saw a heavy private jet sitting on the tarmac. she and marc returned the rental car and got checked in at the small, personal terminal they arrived at. a dedicated team of receptionists helped them book their bags to switzerland and forward their passport information to geneva airport to help streamline the customs process. once everything was in order, the couple used the little set of stairs to board the aircraft.

the cabin was immaculate, with several white leather seats and carpeted floors. a large black table with charging stations and cup holders offered guidebooks on the city of geneva, the canon of geneva, and the country of switzerland. further down, a matching couch with blue pillows sat opposite a small flat-screen tv offering complimentary wifi, almost every movie imaginable, and a full menu. there also was a full bathroom — with a shower, freshly steamed towels, and a pair of bulgari amenity kits — and an extra large twin bed with enough space to fit marc and idalia.

a flight attendant gave the couple a pair of cozy pajamas and slippers to change into while the pilots underwent their final pre-flight walkthrough. idalia went first, changing her pajamas and buckling herself into one of the chairs, followed by marc. after a few more minutes, the pilots stepped on board and introduced themselves, saying everything looked good — the plane was perfect, and the weather looked crystal clear. the couple should be in geneva within the next seven hours. their only request is that marc and idalia stay seated with their seatbelts fastened while they ascend to 42,000 feet. once the aircraft reached cruising altitude, the two could move about the cabin.

marc and idalia nodded in agreement and thanked the pilots as they returned to the cockpit to receive their taxiing instructions from air traffic control. the plane eventually reached its desired elevation, and the flight attendant was kind enough to make marc and idalia bowls of sleepytime oatmeal with banana and almond butter as they watched an episode of their favorite television show on little monitors that rose from the table. after acclimating to their new surroundings, the couple agreed that getting some shuteye for their 9:00 arrival time in geneva was best. they snuggled into their complimentary bed and allowed the gentle hum of the plane's engine to lull them to sleep.

when marc re-opened his eyes, he found idalia peacefully sleeping under his arm. a thin crack of orange light emanated from the window shade in the darkened cabin. now marc, having a lapse in judgment, decided to open the shade to see if he could find any significant landmarks that may indicate where the aircraft was. but he quickly shut it as his pupils were not ready to process the blinding rays from the rising sun. fortunately, the built-in tv screen in the bedroom showed that it was around 6:30 am, and the aircraft currently found itself amongst the clouds over france's burgundy region. marc slowly extracted himself from idalia, replaced the bedsheets over her, and closed the door before heading out into the main compartment.

the flight attendant, who already had her uniform primed and perfect, sat in one of the chairs, sipping from a tea cup and reading a book. "oh, mr. fleury!" she exclaimed upon seeing marc. she quickly rose from her seat and smoothed out her skirt. "i am so incredibly sorry. is there anything i can get you?"

"it's okay. would you be able to get an expresso and start a little breakfast, like some muffins and a frittata, if it's not too much trouble?"

"of course not. is there anything you would like in the frittata?"

"ham and cheese would be lovely!"

"i'll get that ready right away," said the flight attendant as she grabbed her cup and brought it into the kitchen.

marc sat and began searching the travel books for ideas while he waited for idalia to wake up. she eventually emerged from the bedroom an hour or two later and promptly climbed into marc's lap as he groaned.

"good morning, baby," said marc, rubbing idalia's back. "we should be landing in switzerland soon, where we can sleep in a large, soft bed. how does that sound?"

but he only received an unintelligible grunt from idalia.

"close enough!" marc giggled as he stood up and placed idalia down on the ground. "let's get cleaned up and then have some breakfast."

marc helped idalia shower, brush her hair, change, and put on her makeup. by the time both were fresh and clean, the flight attendant had brought their breakfast. marc gave the flight attendant one of the blueberry muffins as a peace offering, letting her know there were no hard feelings for what had happened earlier. the senior pilot soon came over the intercom and asked the passengers to take their seats as they were nearing geneva airport.

everyone buckled in and watched as the plane descended and the alps came into view. a swiss marshal on the ground directed the jet away from the taxiway toward a small gate, where the pilots could open the cabin doors and unlatch the stairs. marc and idalia thanked the flight attendant and their pilots for their hospitality as they exited the aircraft and entered the terminal. a gate agent greeted them with a smile and double-checked to ensure everything looked good on the customs form before bidding them welcome to the peace capital. outside, a driver dressed in a black suit, tie and a pair of white drivers waited for them with a town, courtesy of the hotel woodrow wilson.

marc talked with the chauffeur about his hockey career and how it was hard to accept his nearing retirement, but he's proud of everything he accomplished, while idalia looked out the window. she remembered reading about how the french conquered switzerland in 1798 and turned it into the helvetic republic, which would explain why a city like geneva had so many similarities with montreal and sorel. they both had their rivers, the richelieu and the turquoise rhone. genevans passed small cafes and shops under what idalia imagined were apartments in tall, mismatched buildings with little wrought iron window boxes filled with fresh flowers. the city had charm and a lot of history to share, which idailia couldn't wait to explore and find its secrets.

the rhone eventually opened into lac leman as the driver neared the hotel. he parked in front of an entrance with a large glass overhang that read "royal penthouse entrance" in aureate lettering.

"marc, are we really going to stay in the royal penthouse suite?" an incredulous idalia asked marc, who already had a leg out the door.

"trust me. everything is going to be amazing," marc encouraged as he stepped out of the car to help retrieve the couple's luggage.

idalia shrugged as she exited the car and accepted her suitcase from the diver, who placed it on the curb. inside, a personal concierge greeted them and confirmed their information before handing them a pair of keycards and directing them to a private elevator, where the liftman called for the penthouse. as the elevator rose, a picturesque view of the canton appeared, and the liftman kindly offered tips on some sites that the fleurys would like to see.

the couple entered a little foyer with a little glass table with gold legs that depicted effigy of angels and a tall vase with gorgeous white flowers. multiple doors jutted into the right and left hallways, which the couple assumed were bedrooms and bathrooms. a large living room stood complete ahead of them, with a billiards table and a steinway piano. idalia sat on one of the couches as she continued to look around the room.

"this place is huge!" she eventually shouted.

"do you like it?" a sheepish marc asked, gently scratching his chin.

"it's beautiful!" replied idalia as she hugged marc.

"so, what do you think we should do first?"

"i was hoping we could walk down the lake and see the city?"

"your ladyship?" marc said, bowing and extending his hand as he did on their first date all those years ago.

"such a gentleman!" idalia teased with a giggle, fake swooning over marc's chivalry.

just as planned, marc settled into his off-season self. he would sleep late and eat foods that would make john worley, the wild's head athletic trainer blush. he and idalia biked through the mountains, visited the palais des nations, and took a day trip to liechtenstein. but nothing could compare to the day marc took idalia to the rue de rhone, the jewel of geneva, where the city held its luxury stores — chanel, dior, hermes. he bought her a beautiful knee-length red velvet dress with an off-shoulder neckline and a pair of white gloves, matching pumps, a new diamond necklace and earrings, and chanel perfume. marc also paid for idalia to have her makeup and hair professionally.

the only problem is that idalia couldn't figure out why. he didn't need to spend all this money on her because she would've loved him even if they were in a remote cabin in the woods.

when she returned to the suite, a little card addressed to her sat on the table. marc, who tried his best to write the neatest script he could muster, asked her to wear her dress and follow the rose petals out the balcony. she did as instructed, giving herself a final look in the mirror. upon entering the balcony, she found an ornate dining table with two chairs surrounded by even more petals and marc dressed in his black armani tuxedo that they had picked up earlier in the day, standing with his hands on the balcony and watching the sunset.

"marc?" idalia said, causing marc to look over his shoulder.

marc turned around, allowing his eyes to roam over idalia's complete ensemble. "wow!" he eventually replied. "i mean, uh…. wow!"

idalia couldn't help but cover her mouth to stifle a laugh at marc's way with words. "wow is good. i'll take wow."

"i'm sorry. it's just you look so beautiful. and i'm afraid that if i start talking, i may say something that i'm going to regret," marc explained as he pulled out one of the chairs, inviting idalia to sit.

"well, you haven't chased me away yet, and i find it hard that would you will chase me away now," reassured idalia as she took her seat and allowed marc to push her into the table.

marc took the chair opposite her and grasped the knob of the large silver serving dish in the middle of the table. "do you want to open it together?"

idalia nodded and rested her hand on marc's. on the count of three, the couple lifted the lid, revealing the most beautiful piece of filet mignon cut into pieces. the other dishes held cooked asparagus, mashed potatoes, and a boat of gravy.

"did you make this food yourself?" idalia as she arranged food onto her plate.

"i may have sprinkled some salt and pepper on the meat while the chefs cooked it."

"well, maybe you have a career as a chef after this!"

"call me marc-andré fleury, salt and pepper master," he joked as he bit off a piece of asparagus.

as they dined, idalia couldn't help but reflect on the trip, from the private jet to the suite to the luxury shopping and dinner.

"marc, can i ask you something?" idalia asked as she dabbed food away from her face.

marc, too busy with a mouth full of mashed potatoes, nodded and gave a soft affirmative grunt.

"i don't mean to be rude, and i greatly appreciate everything you've done for me on this trip. but it seems out of character for both of us. we don't really care for this luxurious fanfare. all we need is each other to have a good time, which is why i wanted to ask if anything is wrong and if you're feeling ok."

marc swallowed the potatoes and gently placed his fork on the table before sipping his water and clearing his throat.

"there is something that i wanted to talk to you about. i speak two languages — well, one good and one not so good. but you understand what i'm trying to say. anyway, i don't think i could ever find the words to describe how much i love you. you are so beautiful, intelligent, kind, and funny. and you've given so much to me over the years, from taking me to and from my physical therapy appointments to trusting me when i told you i thought i needed to move on from pittsburgh. now, i don't know what will happen after next summer, but i do know that it will all be ok with you by my side. this ring…" marc began as he dug out a small black box from his coat pocket and opened it. inside was a beautiful but plain marquise engagement ring laid into a golden band. "…has been in the fleury family for several generations. my grandfather used it to propose to my grandfather, and my father used it to propose to my mother. and now i want to use it to propose to you. will you marry me?"

tears threatened to spill out of idalia's eyes as she rested her hands on her heart. "yes!" she eventually managed to squeak out as she stood up from the table.

"yes?" asked marc, also rising from the table.

"yes! yes, yes!" reiterated idalia as he stretched out her palm, allowing marc to place the engagement ring on her finger.

it was almost as if time repeated itself as marc grabbed his new fiancee by the hips and planted his lips on hers. the warmth he felt in his chest on the day of their graduation returned, but marc wasn't afraid of it this time. he wasn't fearful of losing idalia or where he would be in twenty years because there was no point in worrying about something you couldn't control. the only thing you could do was make choices along the way that would steer your future in the right direction, and marc had already made the most prominent choice in his life.

after some time, marc and idalia separated for a breath of fresh air, and marc offered idalia the pocket square from his pock to pat away her tears. they resumed their meal and discussed how they would return to sorel-tracy and tell mrs. fleury, marylène, and charles how they became betrothed as the sunset behind the swiss skyline.

soon, stars appeared and reflected in the gentle waves of the rhone, holding untold plans for the new mr. and mrs. fleury.

#minnesota wild #marc andre fleury #nhl fic #2k23 summer fic exchange #feedback is welcome

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