#''what lop of the top?'' ''yes.'' ''well what's that do except make room for a new top to come and fuck it all up?''

[pinacoladamatata]

blink and you'll miss it moments around skyhold....

[therealvinelle]

Maybe this is bold of me to ask, but are there any deleted scenes from your fics, or scenes you had consideted writing but didn't? And if yes, would you be willing to share them someday?

Oh no problem!

Usually when a scene is deleted it stays deleted, so I don't have a lot to give you. There are a few things that were cut in betaing for various reasons, I can put a few of them below a readmore in this post.

There's the prologue that never was to Nebuchadnezzar's Dream, from back when the fic was supposed to be told alternately from Bella and Carlisle's respective points of view. In the prologue we saw how Bella, Alice, and Edward came to the point where they decided to overthrow the Volturi. Or, we would have, except I didn't actually like that prologue, and found myself jumping straight to writing chapter 2, the "Carlisle is at a party and gets attacked by a werewolf" chapter instead. My good beta @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin asked why I didn't simply make the whole fic from Carlisle's point of view, I realized she had an excellent point, now here we are.

For that matter, this is nowhere near the only significant change that happened to this fic during writing. One example, in the original outline I never brought up Carlisle's gift. Two significant things in the last chapter were not planned until after I published chapters twelve and thirteen, respectively (Luckily for me it'll look like I plotted them all along, so yay for that). For a tightly plotted fic, this one has had a lot of leeway.

Slight caveat, as I’m self-conscious: with most of these you will probably be able to tell why they’re deleted scenes. Especially the prologue. God, that prologue.

(Also, for the record yes I do write other things, but due to 1. being betaed, and 2. being long, I really only have examples for Nebuchadnezzar's Dream.)

The prologue that never was. Apologies for the fluff saturation:

The Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II once had a dream.

There was a statue that was gold on top, then silver, then copper, then iron, then clay and iron. As he watched, a rock struck its feet, and soon the whole statue crumbled, leaving nothing but rubble. The rock then grew into a great mountain that covered all the world.

This, the prophet Daniel told the king, was a message from Jehovah.

The statue represented five great human empires, the golden head being the Babylonian Empire, and the following three being those who would come after. The last would be both iron and clay, a divided kingdom. It will fall, and then the kingdom of Heaven will come, crushing those empires in its path.

Thousands of years later, in 1453, the Byzantine Empire fell. The last of the Roman Empire, a divided kingdom, had fallen.

The Christian world trembled, because reckoning was surely near. With the fall of this last, great human empire, all the world would fall to rubble.

-

Fifteen years had passed.

The Cullens had left Forks behind, settling in the small town of Grafton, Idaho. Carlisle had quickly settled into the new hospital, and Esme had designed a beautiful new home for them while the rest attended the new school. Jasper and Rosalie were Carlisle’s younger siblings while Bella, Edward, Renesmée and Esme comprised another set of siblings. Alice and Emmett were the fosters.

Jacob wasn’t far, he still lived with his old .

«Did you hear they all scored an A on Mr Rosen’s test? Seriously, all of them!»

The words were uttered by Jenna Gilbert, a blonde sophomore who reminded Bella very much of Jessica Stanley. She was sitting on the opposite end of the cafeteria from Bella and her family, though

«Jen, it’s the Cullens, that’s just what they do. You should stop comparing yourself…» her friend said soothingly.

Bella ducked her face into her hand to hide her smile, and winked at Alice, who grinned back at her.

It was Bella and Renesmée’s first time going to high school as a vampire. It was exactly what Edward and Alice had said it would be, for better and for worse.

For the worse, because she spent her days pretending to be a human girl, never using her strength or speed, pretending Edward wasn’t her husband and Renesmée wasn’t her daughter.

For the better, because she got to spend every day with Edward, Renesmée, and the rest of her new family. The others had done the high school routine too many times to see things the way she did, and Renesmée had never known a life without the Cullens, but to Bella, attending high school as one of Dr. Cullen’s adoptive kids felt like she had truly come full circle since that first day she spotted Edward in the cafeteria. She was one of them, truly, irrevocably, and high school was nothing if not a promise of the countless years to come surrounded by the people she loved.

Edward caught her eye, and she smiled back at him. She lowered her shield briefly to show him how happy she was to be with her family.

His face softened into that beautiful, lop-sided smile of his, and he leaned in to whisper into her ear, «You’ll be less happy when you’ve been through English 101,» he said.

«Hey, hey,» Jasper said quickly. «Don’t you dare, Edward, I need all the happiness I can get in this place.» He locked eyes with Bella. «Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.»

Bella laughed, and rested her head on Edward’s shoulder. He placed his hand above hers on the table, and she smiled. «Not a problem, Jazz.»

Jenna’s voice caught her notice again. «Look at how they’re sitting! Try and tell me they’re not incestuous, Cam. Just try.»

Her friend didn’t reply to that one, although a quick glance informed Bella that the girl was staring at the Cullen table with a frown on her face.

Bella and Alice caught each others’ eye again, and this time they couldn’t hold back the giggles.

***********

Later in the day, Alice’s eyes lit up. «You’ll receive a letter from Stefan and Vladimir a week from now,» she chirped.

«Oh!» Bella exclaimed. «What does it say?»

«The usual,» Alice replied, her eyes slightly distant as she concentrated. «They hope we’re all doing well, and they included a new story of how things used to be before the Volturi. It’s the story of how they once built an entire temple for themselves in just one day. Oh, and they have a new phone number. O-seven nine six five nine six.»

Bella’s eyes widened as Alice talked. She hoped they had included drawings of that temple, it sounded incredible.

Bella hadn’t expected the Romanians to stay in touch, when they left after the thwarted battle with the Volturi she thought they would slink back into the old European shadows they had cloaked themselves in for that past several thousand few years, not to be heard from until some new threat to the Volturi loomed.

But no, that very next Christmas Bella had received a gift from them. It was an old, if flaked painting of Ivan the Terrible looking a lot like Vladimir, and a note from Vladimir explaining how he fooled all of Russia into believing he was their ruler for decades, all right beneath Aro’s nose. Carlisle had broken into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles when he heard that, and even agreed to put the painting in the hallway. To this day, he’d huff with silent laughter whenever he walked past it.

After that, Bella and the two Romanians had been in touch. They’d send her gifts, stories, and their own observations about the Volturi, and she’d respond fondly.

It was a very unlikely friendship, but she was was eternally grateful to all those who had stood with her family when the Volturi came. The Romanians were no exception,

«Are you going to call them?» Alice inquired.

Bella nodded. «They were going to tell me about their visit to Thebes.»

(Outline: Prologue of sorts. Status quo update, everyone’s happy except for the part where the Volturi are waiting to kill them. Alice, Bella, and Edward form their plan. Alice sees that she’s going to have to send Carlisle away, and coincidentally his hospital colleagues are having their Christmas weekend in Montana. PERFECT. She talks to him.)

***********

Heavily altered scene from chapter 7

Carlisle makes more jokes than he did in the final product, they're unfunny to the point where my beta said "you can't publish this", the plague joke in particular is a bit too dark for him so I gave it to Jane instead. More importantly, the chapter itself has a very weird, clunky start:

«Is it the gift of being profoundly unimpressed by ridiculous claims?» Carlisle deadpanned. «Because if so, Aro, I think you might be on to something.»

Several seconds had passed since Aro made his ridiculous claim. At first, Carlisle had burst out laughing. Then, as he realized he was the only person in the room laughing and Aro was staring at him in full seriousness, his laughter had trailed off and he’d been left to stare dully at Aro for several long seconds, waiting for Aro to crack up and say «gotcha!».

Aro never cracked up.

Carlisle had absolutely no idea what Aro was playing at, especially not immediately after Carlisle had very reluctantly decided against shutting him out of his life.

«You can’t be serious,» he’d said.

Aro had sighed. «I’m afraid I am.»

And now, at Carlisle’s deadpan guess, Aro only shook his head. «Not quite.»

Carlisle stared at him for another second, before he ventured another, scathing guess. «Are you hoping it’s the power of being highly suggestible? Because I definitely don’t have that, or I would have abandoned my diet centuries centuries ago.»

Aro just looked at him. «If you would let me explain-» he began, but Carlisle cut him off.

«No, no, you want to try and convince me I have some sort of gift, then I want to guess at what you’re going for,» he said, crossing his legs at the knee and propping his chin up on his knuckle in a faux-pensive look.

«Now,» he continued, even as Aro gave him the world’s most unimpressed glare, as if Carlisle was the one who was being ridiculous, «I’m pretty sure I would have noticed the power to throw fireballs by now, so it can’t be that,» he mused aloud. «Same goes for the power of…» he searched his mind, «turning into a bat. That one would definitely have come up at some point. Or maybe I should suspend myself upside down in a cave. See if it triggers anything. Just to be sure.»

«Carlisle,» Aro murmured, but Carlisle wasn’t done.

«Maybe I spread disease. My father certainly thought demons did. Maybe that’s why I get so many interesting patients. Those brain fungi,» he nodded towards Renata, who was still sitting with the book open in her lap, «I’ve had two in one year. That’s a lot.»

«Carlisle-» Aro tried again, but Carlisle held up a finger, a wide grin spreading across his face.

«The power to change my eye color. You see, yesterday they were black-»

Aro actually rolled his eyes at that. Of course, he made the insolent gesture look like a fluid, enchanting movement.

«Yes, quite funny, now if you would let me explain…» Aro tried again while Carlisle tried not to snicker at his own joke.

***********

Two deleted paragraphs from chapter 9. The alteration was made because it was a bit on the nose about what Renesmée does.

Humans were mammals, and mammals were hardwired to protect their young. This extended across species, making mother cats care for puppies and humans care for anything that was small and cute. The instinct to love and cherish anything cute and helpless was an evolutionary necessity, and had to run deeper than anything if a species wanted to survive.

Enter Jane, who was the smallest, cutest thing Carlisle had ever seen, but from a species humans instinctively knew to fear. Maybe the very fact that she was something that humans knew they should want to care for made their fear exponential, made it impossible to deny that something was very wrong about her, that they were looking at a predator.

Perhaps too there was something to vampires having retained some of that human instinct to protect their young, if the countless stories of covens dying to protect their immortal children was anything to go by. Carlisle himself had been no exception when the Volturi came for Renesmée, even as he found himself risking the lives of countless friends.

How far things had come, he thought, from preparing to die along with his loved ones at the hands of the Volturi to sitting across a café table with Jane and pitching costume ideas.

***********

Chapter 9 was heavily altered, mainly as it was too funny the first (and second!) time around and I kept having to return to insert more existential dread. A side effect of this is that Carlisle in the original draft was still undecided on whether he had a gift up until the very end of the chapter, whereas it's proven beyond a doubt much earlier in the published version.

Jane was looking a bit daunted, though it was nothing compared to how Carlisle felt.

Silently, they went to stand in front of one of the many sports stores that Whitefish had to offer.

«This could still be confirmation bias,» Carlisle whispered, and leaned against the wall. For all the human blood that was in his system, his knees felt oddly weak.

Jane let out a startled laugh. «You’re seriously still in denial?»

Carlisle shook his head quietly. «They reacted pretty reasonably, just because they didn’t run away screaming…»

«Reasonably?» Jane echoed dully. «Carlisle, you can’t actually…» she shook her head. «Remember that bubble we talked about?»

Carlisle put his head in his hands, and let his fingers move up, under the wig, pulling it off in one neat motion.

Jane shook her head at him. «You look even more glamorous with your real hair.»

Carlisle still said nothing, balling the wig together in his hands.

Could it be he actually had a gift?

***********

The chapter 11 outline originally had Renata and Carlisle failing to communicate like normal people because they've spent too much time with Aro, and unintentional innuendo keeps ruining their attempts to make polite small talk. Sadly (or happily) this is a lot easier to conceptualize than carry out in actual writing, and their conversation wound up being far too serious for that, so it was cut. Luckily for you I did pen Carlisle flashbacking to a time his foot got in his mouth:

The moment after the words were out her face scrunched up.

Carlisle snorted. «Aro is a horrible influence on us all.»

He remembered one of his first talks with Jasper, when they were still getting to know each other.

Jasper had been a little starstruck when he learned Carlisle’s friends in Italy were those Italians.

He’d asked Carlisle a lot of questions once he got past a misplaced sense of awe, wanting to put a face to the eternal, petrified, leaders of the vampire world.

During a hunt with just the two of them, Jasper had been asking about Aro’s gift.

«What do you even think about when you’re with him?» Jasper had marvelled aloud, and he would later explain that the way he say it, this was like the way the Egyptian gods supposedly measured souls.

Place your heart upon the balancing scale against the weight of a feather, and if your heart weighs heavier it is devoured by the demon Ammit.

Place your hand in Aro’s, and if he deems you guilty of breaking his law, you will be torn to pieces in the space of a second.

Being friends with the man sounded unbearably stressful to Jasper.

Unfortunately, Carlisle’s mind had gone in the opposite direction, and what came out of his mouth before he could stop himself was, «England.»

He’d covered well enough for that, or he hoped he had. Jasper never asked.

***********

Chapter 11 was also supposed to have Renata being brave enough to ask for a selfie with Carlisle when they're both in black robes, this because I just really want Edward to sift through the Volturi group chat after all this and finding that. Alas, I couldn't work it in there. (Determined to not lose the joke, I had Aro take the photos in chapter 12 instead.)

***********

Chapter 12, the fandom ghost requested I include another butt slap and offered me fanart if I fulfilled her wish.

And so:

He held up a hand, presumably to touch Carlisle’s arm in comfort, but just then Alec started retching.

«He ate human food,» Jane deadpanned to Demetri, Felix, and Renata. Shaking her head, she brushed Alec’s hair out of his face as he hurled into the river.

Aro grimaced slightly, his hand hovering in the air.

Carlisle felt all the bread, corn flakes, and water that he’d swallowed press uncomfortably against his esophagus. «I’ll do you one better, Alec,» he choked, before he span around, fell to his knees and started retching, much like a cat.

Aro, evidently not sure what to do with his arm but not about to let it drop purposelessly, gave Carlisle a supportive pat on the bum before kneeling beside him to hold his hair as he hurled.

It was funny, but simply didn't fit the tone considering what happened after. It had to go. But hey, I got the art.

[thespottedcreature]

Marvel preference: Pets

Tony: Let's face it, Tony can barely take care of his own needs, let alone the ones of a pet. He's always busy, and Pepper has told him multiple times that NO, she will not take care of a dog in addition to Tony, the company and about a million other things she has to take care of. So Tony decided to build himself a mechanic dog, but due to Peter and Clint changing the plans as a joke, it turned out to be a bunny as Tony was half asleep as he built it.

Not to worry, Fluffy (yes, Peter named him), is a beloved mascot of the Avengers, and sort of a guard dog for the base. Because even if he looks like a lop-eared bunny and is the size of a loaf of bread, he carries a mean kick. And by a mean kick, I mean enough ammunition to change a fully equipped tank into a holey hunk of metal. And best yet, he is basically indestructible. Well, the Hulk could crush him but when his fist was about to go down on to do it, he froze and muttered "Hulk not hurt bunny." and went to destroy one of Tony's suits. But that's a story for another day. 

Steve: Steves pet is a gift from Tony, and it's a parrot called Captain (no, Tony did not name him, he came with the name but Tony thinks it is hilarious). He's not just any parrot but one that has lived in a bar for the beginning of its life and as a result, it curses like a pirate. A really bad mouthed pirate. Steve is very fond of his pet, as he could never even go close to birds before the serum because of well... asthma and allergies etc. Now he can, but sometimes he wishes his parrot had a cleaner mouth.

He's working on training it not to curse as much, but the training is not going very well. Mostly because Clint likes to sneak into Steves room and teach the parrot new (bad) words and encourage it to curse more. Steve is to yet to find out.

Bucky: Bucky has a dalmatian dog called Popcorn. She was firstly owned by an animal hoarder and didn't see the outside for the first two years of its life, so she's very hyper. Like jumps-up-the-walls -hyper. She has light brown patches on her skin, hence the name. (Also, it was inspired by the way she moves. Like a popped popcorn, totally unpredictable where it will go and fully charged with of energy)

The whole team takes part in making sure that she gets to let out her energy. In addition to the high-quality dog walker Tony hired, she trains on the stairs with Clint, does tricks with Peter, plays fetch with Thor, he also runs for hours with Bucky, Steve, and Nat in turns, who are the only ones with high enough stamina to keep up with her endless energy. (Sam claims that he does not like Popcorn, and therefore does not run with her, Bucky knows that it's bullcrap because he caught him watching Lassie with her the other week while curled up on the couch. He can't wait to rub it in Sam's face when the right moment comes.)

Thor: Thor does not have pets, but you do. A big Samoyed dog named Thor. 

Loki: Loki claims that he does not need or want pets because they are "pathetic mortal stuff". But everyone in the tower knows that he has a goldfish called Destroyer. Enough said.

Pietro: No pets. No animal can keep up with his speed. But he has always wanted to race a cheetah.

Bruce: Bruce has a lazy Persian cat called Matthew who lives at the lab. And I mean lazy, nothing will move him if he wants to sleep. Want your notes that are under him? Forget it. Need to use the microscope he happens to be laying in front of? Not gonna happen. Hulk making an appearance? He will not care. He will just open his eye a smidge to see what the hell is interrupting his sleep and go back to sleep.

Peter plays a game of "how many paper cups I can make a pyramid of on top of him before he moves and it collapses." At the moment, the record is one hundred and thirty-seven. Next time Peter's going for two hundred and he will bring a ladder. And Clint to help him with it.

Sam: He’s not a fan of animals. You own a leopard gecko, named Macy. She’s a bit of a old lady, being but she’s still lively and happy.

Stephen: No pets. You beg him nearly daily that you could get a dog, but so far, he's not giving in to your puppy dog eyes and constant begging. 

Clint: He found a completely white kitten with blue eyes from the shelter, and upon asking more about him, he learned that the kitten was deaf. To cut the long story short, he was home with Clint the next day. Even Nat isn't completely immune to Ghost's cuteness. Ghost and Popcorn (Bucky's dog) are best pals and Popcorn will go above and beyond to protect her little friend.

Peter P.: You own three hamsters named Alvin, Simon, and Theodore. Peter is super jealous, he has no pets as May is allergic but you always let him play with your pet trio. 

Peter Q.: Peter found a gray cat while he was cruizing space and thought it would be a perfect surprise for you. It was, and even more so when she ate a burglar that tried to force you out of the apartment. Upon asking the Avengers for help, Thor declared that it was a flerken. You still loved her with all your heart and refused to part with her, even if the others said she was dangerous. Her name is Hermione.

T'Challa: No pets.

Eddie/Venom: You cannot keep pets in the same apartment Venom is in, it is just impossible. So no pets. You tried a goldfish once, but it was gone the next morning, even after telling Venom not to eat it multiple times, so you decided to give up. 

Nat: She owns a completely black ferret, and the little critter carries the name Bullet. She’s feisty like her momma.

Wanda: Wanda has a black and white cat called Pippin. She's a Ragdoll and she is an absolute lovebug and loves to cuddle with everyone. She is almost constantly purring and she spends most of her days walking around the tower to see if anyone would pet her. If you are doing pushups you can be damn sure that she is sitting on your back, purring in a few minutes. No exceptions. Napping on the couch? Soon you have a purring roll next to your head. Or arm. Or leg. Wherever there is room.

A/n: I’m clearing my book list in Wattpad and an ancient volume of Marvel oneshots and found this and a couple of other works there, and I’m posting them here. But they will probably be my only Marvel ones I will write.

I will post a few probably today.

[anika-ann]

What I’d Never Say or Do (Had I Been in My Right Mind) - Pt.1

We Both Break Free (…if We Make It on Top)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count (Ch1): 2050

Series summary: A story in which you officially come back from the dead, Tony with Natasha decide to take the blame for the whole mess and organize a party with unexpected party crashers and Bucky should consider thinking before speaking.

Fic title applicable to Tony, Natasha, Steve and his soulmate (aka the Reader), Bucky and his sort-of-buddy Matt Murdock and possibly few more.

Ch.1 summary.: In which Natasha and Tony go mad.

A/N: This series will be just a smaller thing, snippets set around The Age of Ultron (and later, Endgame). Later will be referred to as WINSoD because the title is a monster.

Warnings (ch1): mention of death and resurrection, mention of superntural creatures (see Errare Humanum Est), language, fluff

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Tony Stark was a ridiculously theatrical person.

While that was no news to anyone who knew as much as his name at least, but he still managed to outlive the legend, the reputation that preceded him.

He left you standing by the door, walked in to gain the undivided attention of the person inside the office and wanted you to reveal yourself in the exact right moment – a moment he trusted you to recognize.

Well. You assumed with a revelation like yours, it was rather hard to keep the drama away. But leave it to Tony Stark that he would blow it to proportion just to have fun.

“Tamara, darling!” the billionaire howled, the door opened only for a crack, so you could hear the reaction. You rolled your eyes, sighed and nervously looked around. The department was empty safe for the woman in the office, but it still made you feel uneasy; probably the effect of having to hide for the past weeks to avoid detection that could lead to a major scandal.

“Oh god, what happened?” Tamara asked, sounding as horrified as annoyed.

“Why do you assume— okay, that’s fair. How’s you hubby doing?”

“Alright,” the poor woman answered, clearly suspicious. “I more or less cleaned up the latest mess, so I’ve been coming home early…”

“Yeeeeah, about that. I have good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?” Tony offered cheerily.

“Bad news. Always. Let me just sit down-- no, no, don’t let me sit down, I have a feeling I’ll wanna pace irritably.”

That caused the corners of your lips to turn up. You were starting to like this woman already.

“I’m gonna need you to deal with a major scandal worthy of your skills.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere and I assumed as much.” Now you officially loved her – and you saw why Tony did too. Sass and snark; Tony’s language. “So, care to elaborate?”

“Nah, I’ll give you the good news. You’re gonna get some help. I brought reinforcements. She doesn’t have much experience with PR-” Try none. “-but I’m pretty sure she’ll be the one all the questions will be aimed at.”

“Oh my god, Anthony, did you get a woman pregnant?!” the woman hissed, not bothering lowering her voice. She sounded… kinda pissed. Which was reasonable, given the fact Tony Stark was happily-not-single with one amazing Pepper Potts.

“What? No! I have Pepper!” he opposed her, having the nerve to be offended. You smirked, hoping Jarvis caught that one line too. “This is all on Capsicle-“

“Captain Rogers got a woman pregnant?! What the-“

You felt like this was the moment.

“No, Mrs…. Tamara,” you said it the end, realizing Tony never told you the poor woman’s last name, and entered the room. “But his soulmate sort of came back from the death.”

Tamara was a middle-aged woman, with blonde medium-length hair and huge majestic glasses, business suit in a bloody-red colour and lips perfectly shaped in an “O” as you demonstrated the problem at hand.

“Holy. Shit.”

Leave it to Tony Stark he would flee the moment an actual explanation was needed, letting the others deal with the aftermath of his dramatic tendencies. To be fair, this was more of your drama, so…

“Good. Looks like introductions are not needed. I’ll send you the necessary data. Have fun.”

He strode through the door, winking over his shoulder at you and sending an air kiss to Tamara and you nervously smiled at the woman, your awkward side showing when you raised your hand to a reluctant wave before you could realize a handshake would be more appropriate.

“Uhm. Hi…”

The blonde blinked several times, shook her head with an incredulous chuckle and stuck out her hand.

“Hi. I’m Tamara, Antony Stark’s cleaning service. What can I do for you?”

Oh yeah. You’d get along just fine.

…

The story was simple and yet enough to make at least two Avengers very much hated.

Tony and Natasha, perhaps from some residual guilt of which you weren’t sure where was coming from, were determined to be thrown to the wolves of public.

Apparently, it had been all their idea – to have Steve and you kidnapped in the first place by the bomb enthusiast psycho. They had caught something fishy, been aware of it for a long time and opted for drawing the something rotten within SHIELD and company out by leaking early info on where you and Steve would be going to dates for several nights in a row without your or Steve’s knowledge. Perfect bait with nearly perfect surveillance background and safety measures.

Predictably, it had gone to shit and while you had never been blown up to death, which was something Steve had had zero clue about, you had been recovering from your life-threatening injuries for weeks in a hidden facility of top-secret location with way too much security. Still without Captain America’s knowledge.

Admittedly, this tale was a PR nightmare in making, not to mention a complete bullshit. Yet, the Avengers (sans Steve so far) unanimously approved of it. Tony and Natasha would be the first to blame, while the rest would reluctantly admit they knew as well and they had all kept it from Steve.

“You can’t be serious,” was all you managed to come up with, Steve sitting on the couch next to you while the rest of the team, the part that was momentarily on Earth, gathered around you to break you the news. This was what they came up with? “People will hate you.”

“And their hearts would still bleed for their golden boy, who would forgive us in time, especially since we offered his girl a job and an apartment she can��t quite refuse.”

“Wait, what kind of a job?!” Steve snapped, waking up from the deep thoughts he had fallen into with this stupid talk.

“The non-dangerous kind, Steve, calm down, please,” Natasha cooled him off flatly, but you could see her sincere gaze when it met with Steve’s. We wouldn’t endanger her, not again, it whispered. Steve’s shoulders slumped.

“What kind of a job?” you echoed, still worried. You assumed the apartment Tony mentioned was a place in the Tower, not bothering to ask about that part.

“PR. Unless you want to deal with your old job of which I have no doubt your best buddy would give back. I’d just like to remind you how the public reacted to you dying.”

Right. You wouldn’t mind a little privacy and safe space. You liked your old job, but it didn’t seem like an option now. Except… this was crazy.

“But they will still hate you. It makes you guys terrible friends and teammates. Frankly, it makes you kind of… terrible people,” you said slowly, taking time to examine everyone’s face.

“She’s got a point,” Steve agreed, wheels in his head clearly turning in a lightning speed.

“Meh. You should know what Fury’s up to during his ‘the end justifies the means’ periods – which is non-stop. I wouldn’t worry about that,” Natasha shrugged it off, pursing her lips a bit.

“Wasn’t it you who said you weren’t sure how to get her back to the world without having to explain she was literally led by an angel from Heaven?” Clint reacted to Steve, who sighed.

“Yes, of course, but this-“

“-is perfectly believable,” Natasha interrupted him, raising an eyebrow before beckoning to Tony and herself. “Me and Tony came up with the operation – a spy and a billionaire with questionable conscience. We pulled the rest of the team into the charade. This can work.”

“I can’t say I’ll enjoy this,” Bruce entered the conversation for the first time, surprising everyone. “However, it will allow you to walk the streets freely – with uncomfortable questions, yes, but it is a reasonable deal for us.”

“Steve? Thoughts?” the spy turned to him again.

Your soulmate observed his team for a long time, just like you, watching each of them individually, trying to read them as he himself was conflicted and undecisive. Finally, his eyes settled on you, a hint of an encouraging smile on his lips.

“Doll? How do you feel about that?”

The softness of his voice, the actual freedom he gave you when it came to this decision warmed your heart and made you shudder at the same time. You had no doubt he had come to a decision; but the final step was on you and you only. He would be affected too, of course, but this was your life that could turn upside down for like… what, the third time since you had met him?

You worried your teeth over your lower lip. “I mean… I’d really appreciate not having to hide in here all the time, but… I don’t want people to hate you, guys. I feel like I caused enough problems-“

“No, doll,” Steve whispered, his hand covering yours and squeezing firmly as he locked his gaze with yours and didn’t let go. “I’m not asking about them. I’m asking about you. They are clearly willing to do this.”

“Are you?” you questioned despite being confident about his answer.

“Do I love you?”

That caught you off guard. “Huh? That’s not what I-…?”

What did that even mean? Did he love— come again? How was this about his feelings towards you all of sudden? Was it time to question them? God, you hoped NOT.

“That the newest version of asking whether the sky is blue, doll,” he explained with a lop-sided smile and you released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Idiot. Sap. Sweet-talker.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it,” he hummed confidently. You smiled despite your better judgement. You loved him. And yeah, you loved this silliness too.

“I do.”

“So… are we doing this? Together?” His smiled grew a little wider, the twinkle you adored appearing in his eyes and you couldn’t but squeeze his hand back.

“Yeah. Together.”

“Jarvis, send Dum-E with some insulin shots,” Tony cleared his throat and you felt your cheek dust with a blush, roughly pulled out of the haze Steve managed to put you in once again. “We’re all having unhealthy sugar rush.”

The captain rolled his eyes. “Har, har, Stark. Are you guys really okay with this?”

Clint huffed. “It’s not like people will start planning our assassination more than they do already.”

“Tamara might,” Natasha opposed, amused.

“Ah, poor Tamara, I better bring a wine with me when asking…” Tony mused, scratching his goatee.

You turned to the red-head spy, not happy about being out of the loop.

“Who’s Tamara?”

Tamara, the head of the PR department for Tony (and sometimes for the Avengers too, because those two clients, so to speak, often came as a package deal), was currently starring at you speechless when you told her the tale of what actually happened and what lie they had decided to feed the public.

The silence lasted long enough for you to start worrying.

“Are you alri-“

“Angels are real?!” she burst out, nearly making you jump out of your skin with the sudden exclaim. You placed your palm over your chest to keep your racing heart inside your ribcage.

“…yes. But so are demons, shapeshifters, witches and so on, so…”

“Not a good thing to go public with. Got it. I understand the cover-up now. Though people being able to be resurrected would be enough on its own even without the… creatures. My my… we have a lot of work to do.”

“I’d imagine,” you agreed, not having a clue how to do this and where to start.

The woman looked at you over the rim of her glasses, her smile kind, in the Stark contrast to her loud cry only few second ago.

“…you don’t have any experience with PR at all, do you?”

“Nope,” you admitted, accenting the P and looking away, ashamed that Tony threw you into this without giving you anything helpful.

Now Tamara had to deal with the scandal and with you trying to help. That woman was worthy of some serious pay raise (though you had no doubt Tony paid her enough for her to own a villa or something, exactly as much as she deserved for dealing with his shit).

“I’m gonna kill Anthony, I swear…. Okay,  let’s get this shit on the road. Also, Jarvis? Tell Antony to get the freakin’ wine ASAP.”

Oh yeah. You would actually adore Tamara, you were sure of it.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 2

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Here we go! The final part of the series. Admittedly, I’m not sure about quality of this thing, but I’m trying.

Chapter titles are taken from the chorus of Les Friction’s What You Need

Thank you for reading ♥

(I’ll be tagging my Errare Humanum Est taggies, if you don’t want ot be taggged anymore, let me know)

[draconica]

Oooo, for the writing prompt, a little 7+4+1? Or just one, I might be a little greedy 😖🤣

7: Engagement sex 4: Petnames 1: Spicing things up in the bedroom

I made it work, anon   ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I also headcanon Ellis can be a powerbottom so enjoy that

When Ellis returned home from the shop one warm evening, he was humming softly to himself. There was a sly smile to his features as he gently jostled the plastic bag he had brought home. There was no groceries or anything that mundane inside. No, there was something very special inside of this particular carrier.

“Niiick?” he crooned in the hope that his boyfriend was home, and in the mood. Now, he was home, but as Ellis turned the corner into the living room he was met with a sight he wasn't quite expecting to see.

Nick was stood in a black suit - a proper, swanky, three-piece number – and holding a red rose. A soft song was playing on their stereo system, and the lights were turned down low. He had definitely been stood here for some time, waiting for Ellis to return home, and Ellis dropped his smile briefly. The gambler was smooth as silk at the best of times, but this was unexpected.

“Welcome home, sweet peach,” Nick led with, making Ellis blush – that damn pet name of his. “You good?”

Ellis scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I'm jus' fine,” he smiled, setting down his bag for now, and gesturing to Nick as he took a step towards him. “What's this for?”

In a second, Nick's smile slipped a little, arching his brow. “...You forgot, didn't you?” He rolled his eyes, but that smile soon came right back as he stepped forward also, closing the gap between them and offering him the rose. “July 12th? The day we got out of quarantine?” Nick chuckled, leaning in closer and making it more personal. “The day we moved in together, made the new place official?”

A million thoughts swarmed Ellis's head at that point, taking the rose and knowing he was absolutely overcome with blushes. “O-oh… damn, I guess I did forget,” he giggled, tilting his head a little as his boyfriend leered closer. Even now, Nick was still the most damn attractive man he'd ever met, let alone dated. “M'sorry, darlin', just had a lot on my mind, I guess?” he shrugged.

Nick seemed to understand, nodding once before pulling Ellis in for a kiss. “It's all good, sport. You can make it up to me later. But for now...” he turned and clicked a remote in love control, turning down the music a touch, before his hand returned to where it belonged – holding his lover's.

“Ellis,” he began, looking down at his thumb caressing the back of El's hand. “It's been a hell of a ride to get here, huh? Fighting for our lives every day in the apocalypse, a year of quarantine, and now three years of living together. Before the Green Flu, I was at my lowest point. I… well, wouldn't be alive if I hadn't met you. The zombies were a distraction, but you were a reason to live. You mean the Goddamn world to me, Fireball, and I want to spend every day by your side. So… I have one question for you.” Ellis watched on, mouth dropping, as his boyfriend got down on one knee and produced a velvet box containing a thick silver ring. In the center, there was set a dark blue gemstone. “Ellis, mi tesoro, will you marry me?”

Needless to say, Ellis had not been expecting this today, and that was obvious given the absolute astonishment on his face at that moment. It almost made Nick want to laugh, but he was slightly too nervous for that.

Thankfully, Ellis broke into his lop-sided, brilliant Southern smile. “You sly sumbitch,” he chuckled. “Hell yeah, I'll marry ya!”

The gambler got to his feet, immediately bringing his lover closer into his arms with an unbreakable smile. The ring was a perfect fit onto Ellis's fourth finger, something else that Nick had been worried about, but seeing how snugly it sat made the older man's heart swell. “I love you, Overalls.”

“Love you, too, darlin',” Ellis responded as he brought Nick's face in for a kiss... and then another... and then his arms were around Nick's neck. Any distance between them was suddenly gone.

It wasn't unusual for their kisses to get out of hand, certainly in their earlier days where it seemed like sex was on the table every day (not literally, except for a few times Ellis can remember where they'd gotten adventurous…). That's when Ellis remembered what was in the bag he had brought home. Well, now he had no choice but to surprise his lover with its contents.

By now, Nick's kisses had moved to the mechanic's neck, and Ellis couldn't suppress a shiver as he found his favorite spot just below his ear. Many a hickey had been placed there before, and it was near-enough a certainty that he'd be getting a new one tonight.

“Nick,” he whispered, shifting his hand through the hustler's hair and smiling when he caught sight of the shiny new engagement ring on his finger. “Take me to the bedroom.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Nick chuckled before tightening his grip around Ellis's waist and hoisting him up, causing the younger man to gasp against his lips. “You don't have to tell me twice.”

Of course, Nick couldn't possibly carry Ellis up a whole staircase and into said bedroom. He wasn't a young man anymore, after all. Not that Ellis minded – it actually gave him a chance to grab the bag he'd brought home. Nick gave him an odd look as he did so, but his young fiancé had simply smiled, told him not to worry about it with a pat to the cheek.

Once they both stepped into the bedroom together, Ellis set the bag down once more and brought Nick into more kisses, having missed them in the thirty seconds they had stopped.

“How long were ya plannin' that for?” asked Ellis curiously as he slipped the black tie from Nick's neck, smiling at him.

Nick shrugged a little. “Few months,” he admitted. “Knew I wanted to marry you someday, seemed like the anniversary of getting out of that Goddamn pandemic was a good time.”

Ellis was now working on those pesky shirt buttons, granting him access to that chest hair he loved so much on Nick. “Romantic as usual,” he mused. “Gotta be honest… I was plannin' a lil' somethin' for us tonight, too. Nothin' big like askin' ya to marry me, so kinda puts my gesture in the shade.”

“Don't be modest, sweet peach,” Nick chuckled, allowing Ellis to remove his suit jacket and leave it on the floor – something he usually gets very picky about.

“Well...” Ellis slipped Nick's belt from his pants, and was pleased at the choice his lover had made – a black leather strap. Yes, this'll do nicely. “I know you like bein' in control 'n all, but I wanna show ya how we ride in the South.”

That piqued the gambler's interest, not in the least because Ellis was looping the belt around his hand, pulling it taught for Nick to see, and something about the sight was enough to set his erection at full mast.

“Ace...” he paused, needing to wet his lips when he found his mouth suddenly dry. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You certainly get to pick the safe word,” mused the mechanic, shifting his weight slightly on his hips as he played with the leather strap some more.

Nick must've been mad, or at least deeply in love, as he decided to shift control over to his little fiancé for the night. “All right,” he conceded, stepping out of his pants which, with lack of support, had pooled onto the floor. “Where do you want me, sugar?”

The mechanic's grin spread further up his cheeks. He led Nick over to their king-sized bed and sat him down. “Now, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, mister gamblin' man, and I'll go slip outta these here greasy clothes.” With a little canter to his steps, he grabbed the bag once more and headed to their en-suite bathroom, shooting a look over his shoulder. “Recommend losing those there briefs, too. Won't be needin' them at the rodeo.” And with that, he disappeared into the next room, door shutting slowly behind him.

Nick had always been good at following instructions, and Ellis's were about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face. So, as he stripped himself down completely and got comfortable, he took the time while Ellis was gone to think about some of the more memorable trysts in their relationship.

There was the very first time which had been during the apocalypse. It had been rough and hurried, considering they had just escaped death by the skin of their teeth, and it was more a carnal desire of the most basic of human instincts. Ellis had almost alerted a horde with how loud he'd been.

There was another time, during quarantine, where love had for the first time been entered into the equation. Namely, the first time they had said 'I love you' to each other. Nick had topped then, too. And he wasn't a picky partner by any means – after all, Ellis was young and full of testosterone, and sometimes he needed to fuck just as much as anyone else. Nick had come to enjoy bottoming, absolutely, but he was more or less the one in charge on most nights. Ellis never complained; quite the opposite, in fact. Nick was still lost in thought when suddenly the bathroom door opened at last, revealing Ellis in his attire for the evening: Nothing but a cowboy hat (and one engagement ring).

“Howdy,” he drawled as he leant against the door frame, still playing with Nick's belt in his hands. “Heard there was a no-good city slicker that I needed to take good care of. Assumin' that's you, handsome?”

Nick couldn't' help but smirk up at him, raising an eyebrow. Ellis was unbelievably adorable, especially whenever he was making effort to please him. That included… this. “Goddamn it, Ace,” he shook his head. “Didn't think this was how my night was gonna go.”

Ellis shot him an amused look, then slipped right back into character. “I'm the best darn rodeo rider this side'a Georgia,” he boasted, sauntering closer to the bed. “Ain't no wild stallion I can't tame. So, reck'n you'll be my best ride yet.” The mechanic reached into the bedside drawer to fetch the lube, and took a moment to stand beside the bed, looking over his naked lover. “Safe word?” he asked.

Nick nodded up at him. “Witch.”

Ellis frowned. “Damn, Nick, really? All the words in the entire American language and you had to pick one that reminds me of the time you almost got yourself killed?”

“You almost got me killed,” retorted the hustler, squinting at him. “You're the one who spooked the bitch.” But he shook his head, letting a smile return to his red face. “Fine. Safe word is 'wedding'.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ellis blushed a little as he set the lube down on the table for now. “Good 'nough for me.” Slipping back into character once more, the Southerner crawled his way onto the bed and straddled his lover, halfway up his chest, at one point his erection bobbing near Nick's face. The gambler just watched on with hungry eyes. “Now then… one thing I know about tamin' the wilder beasts is that they need to be trained, sometimes with force.” Ellis looped the leather belt around Nick's neck gently, watching the older's green eyes for any signs of discomfort or fear. There was nothing but trust, and a lot of hunger.

Ellis cinched the belt, not tightly, but enough for Nick to feel the presence of his around his throat. With a twist of his hand, Ellis curled the leather around his wrist and tested the length. There was plenty to work with, and he grinned. “Damn, look at'chu, city boy.” Ellis backed up his hips, grinding himself backwards onto Nick's cock, and watching in triumph as Nick's eyelids fluttered slightly. “I think I'm gonna really enjoy ridin' you.”

The helpless gambler chuckled as he rested his hands on Ellis's thighs, watching those hips move back and forth and craning his neck back a little. A moan almost made it's way out of his mouth, but not quite. Ellis had to try harder. “You're getting more into the kinky sex, Overalls,” he smiled, throwing in a wink. “I'll take credit for that.”

With a tilt of his head, Ellis's hand pulled back, tightening the belt a little like pulling on the leash of a disobedient dog. Nick gasped beneath him, moaning in the afterthought, which made the cowboy grin. “You speak outta turn like that again and you'll be in the doghouse,” he threatened. Reaching over to the nightstand, he took the open tube of lubricant and squirted the thick liquid onto two fingers. The look in his baby blue eyes was so very kinky, and Nick could feel his cock give a twitch in appreciation as he pictured what Ellis was about to do with those fingers.

Picking up the belt once more with his clean hand, those fingers then went behind Ellis, slipped between his cheeks and found his pucker. The younger man was a dab hand at prepping himself, and knew his own body inside and out. While he worked his magic, he moaned aloud and reintroduced his bucking hips back into the mix. The sight was amazingly erotic, and Nick couldn't resist reaching over to play with Ellis's neglected dick. Ellis, for the most part, seemed to allow it, even bucking up again into the gambler's grasp.

“You're thinkin' about it now, aren't ya, city boy?” Ellis chuckled with an open-mouthed grin. “Thinkin' about me ridin' ya real good, getting' ya all hot 'n bothered...” He leant in slightly, pulling once more on Nick's restraint until the man was a little closer. “Thinkin' about how fuckin' good I'm gonna feel around your cock once I'm wet n' ready?”

That accent was so thick, deep with lust, and it was driving Nick crazy. The gambler gave a groan, just as the belt loosened again and allowed him is breath back. His head fell back to the pillow, already seeing a black fuzz around his vision. “God… sweet peach…”

“Yes, my darlin'?” Ellis crooned, by now with three fingers knuckle deep inside of himself.

“Ple…” Nick panted as he closed his eyes. “Please.”

That was all Ellis needed to hear. With another lop-sided smile, the mechanic shifted until he was kneeling and scooted back a little on Nick's body. He kept a keen eye on his fiancé's face, even as he reached behind, took Nick's cock in hand, and slipped himself down onto it like he'd done it a hundred times before.

The card shark grunted and turned his head a little, and Ellis could hear a shift behind him as Nick moved his legs. His feet was planting themselves onto the mattress and knees bending up, in order to provide him with the leverage he needed. Ellis leant back, slipping down further onto Nick's cock while at the same time resting against Nick's thighs like a back rest. He was grateful for that.

“How about that?” Ellis nearly sang as he shifted on Nicolas's lap. “You're bein' a good boy after all.”

Nick said nothing, just looked up at his Southern lover with a smile on his face, throwing in a wink for good measure. Ellis chuckled and wrapped the belt once more around his wrist for another harsh tug, at the same time, lifting his hips and slamming back down in a harsh bounce. The leather crackled in his grip, and Nick drew another breath. His face was getting redder. “El,” he managed, grinding out the noise, and Ellis was careful to make sure he had enough air to speak, should his next breath utter the safe word.

“Giddy up,” purred the cowboy, reaching up to hold his hat before beginning his ride. Putting all his power to his thighs, up and down Ellis's hips went as he bounced away. The sweetest moans left his throat – couldn't rightly help it, as Nick had always been the best lay of his life.

Nick's hands found their way to Ellis's hips, gripping him there and guiding him on and off his dick. In no time at all, Ellis was fully into the sex, letting go of his hat to reach back and steady himself on Nick's knee as he continued to ride him hard.

“Fuck yeah,” Nick murmured to himself as he gazed up at the scene Ellis was blessing him with. He groaned soon afterwards, craning his neck, and smiled up at his lover. “The belt… please… fuck...”

Ellis grinned and slowed his thrusts down a little in order to tug the belt once more, harsher and tighter than previously. Nick's knuckles went white around Ellis's hips.

“Look at ya… enjoyin' yourself so much,” Ellis praised and drove his hips down once more, grinding back on Nick's length. “C'mon, city boy, you know you wanna come inside'a me...”

Nick could hear the blood rushing around his head, fell the pleasure begin to whirlpool around his cock, and did the only thing he knew he could do. He moved a hand to Ellis's dancing erection and gave him a tight sleeve to fuck into, watching with watering eyes. The Southerner groaned and dropped the leather strap in favor of bracing both hands on Nick's legs, rocking himself like crazy. The gambler drew a gasp of air, Ellis threw his head back, and then it all went white.

“NICK!” Ellis broke character at the last minute to shout his fiancé's name in orgasm. He spilled semen all up Nick's chest and some managed to hit his chin. The sight was erotic enough to send the older man tumbling off the precipice himself, filling Ellis up until he was overflowing. Ellis moaned and lifted himself off for the last time, feeling warm liquid seep down the insides of his thighs.

With a sigh, Ellis leant forward and braced his hands on Nick's shoulders to prevent himself from falling atop him. The cowboy hat fell from his head and onto the floor beside the blunt end of the belt. The mechanic looked up at last, seeing Nick with his eyes closed and drawing in large breaths. He blushed as he reached up to carefully removed the leather from his neck, letting it clatter to the carpet.

“Darlin'?” Ellis whispered as he lifted himself off of Nick, in the process grabbing some tissues in order to clear them both up. “Nick.”

Nick opened his eyes at last, letting them fall onto his cute young lover as he grinned. “Even after all these years...” He reached out to cup El's cheek, rubbing his thumb there. “...you still surprise me, Overalls.”

Once the necessary clean-up had been finished, Ellis crawled back onto the bed and cuddled right up to his gambler, running his hand through his fine chest hair. “Glad you enjoyed the show, Nick.” He looked down, admired the ring still snugly on his finger. “Yeah, not quite how you pictured your night goin', huh?”

“No, sir,” agreed Nick and moved his hand up to lace their fingers together. “But if this is how the rest of my life is gonna go, I think I'm okay with that.”

With a short laugh, Ellis reached up to kiss him, rubbing his thumb along Nick's jaw. “Love you, city boy.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 25

Summary:

Erik is whisked away from Tony by a Monaco Princess and discovers they have more in common than he suspects.

NSFW. Mature Audience. 18+. Smut.

"The ego, gotta be vetoed if you want a free-throw The evils, stay with the scripture what your mama read you You gotta milk the game, son, I couldn't bottle feed you This next bar was 'bout to do some Logic shit But now I gotta stop the shit and let me pop my shit Drama still added on, stayin' positive All my niggas on my side, on the opposite…"

Denzel Curry—"Diet"

Vivienne dragged Erik through diplomatic guests and rooms until they were back at the entrance of the palace. A dark SUV with tinted windows whipped around and a guard opened the door for her and Erik.

"Get in!" she said.

Erik climbed into the back seat with her as light snow fell down.

"It snows here?" Erik asked.

"It's rare."

"Where are we going?"

"A surprise."

Vivienne pulled a small cell phone from inside her bra cup.

"Don't look so shocked!" she teased.

She made a call and Erik was able to make out part of her conversation with his basic French.

"Stark is not going to let me just hang out—"

"I'll handle Tony. You're the first interesting person I've met in a long time. I want to show you off."

"To who?"

"My friends—"

"Aye, driver…stop the car."

"Gasper, arrête la voiture…"

The SUV came to a stop just outside the palace property line.

"Stark has me on a tight leash here."

Vivienne pouted.

"Can't we just hang out in the palace?" he asked.

"Too many eyes and ears. I want to talk freely."

Going to his hotel was out of the question.

Vivienne gave instructions to Gaspar and texted someone.

Erik's cell buzzed. He pulled it out of his jacket.

"Where are you?"

Stark's voice was rushed.

"The Princess kidnapped me."

Tony didn't sound happy. Vivienne grabbed Erik's cell.

"I will bring him back safe to your hotel…it's boring there. He's young and should hang out with people his age…so what…you are such a bore right now! I don't care. I will call my Uncle and tell him. Yes…I will tell him. Goodbye, Tony. Stop acting like an old tired father."

She tossed Erik his phone.

"My Uncle wants you tomorrow night. I will keep you until tomorrow morning."

"Like some pet."

"And a sweet pet you are," she said patting his forehead.

Erik grabbed her hand and tossed it from his face.

"Easy now," she whispered.

Erik sat back and watched fat snowflakes fall from the sky. Forty minutes into their ride they were climbing up mountainous terrain until they passed through massive black metal gates. The snow had grown thick and at least three inches covered the ground. Two black Great Danes circled the car before being ushered away by a butler who held an umbrella to protect Vivienne from the snow.

Erik shivered as they stepped out of the SUV in front of a large chateau, but the Princess had them inside the secured hideaway quickly. Within the overly warm residence at least thirty twenty-somethings sat and stood around a cozy open space with dark furnishings drinking, smoking, and listening to music. Erik looked around and saw French antiques mixed with modern touches. Like the palace, it smelled old and decadent.

A fire roared in a tall and wide fireplace big enough to roast ten pigs on a spit. Above the massive ornate mantel was an aged oil painting of seventeenth-century royalty in a pastoral scene.

"Tu t'es échappé!"

A young man with oily dark hair and a lop-sided grin rushed over to Vivienne giving her cheek kisses.

"S'il vous plait parlez anglaise, Durant," Vivienne said.

"Is this him?" Durant asked.

"No. Don't even mention that bastard," Vivienne snapped.

She grabbed Erik's hand and pulled him to the center of the opulent gathering of blue-bloods.

"Vivienne, he has been calling here non-stop. He threatened to fly here and find you. You should speak with him," a young woman with flaxen hair pinned in a severe chignon said.

There was an urgency in her voice.

"Everyone, this is Erik. He works for Tony Stark. He is my Uncle's special guest. Erik these are my friends and that is my cousin Durant and my cousin Remy. Erik is American. "

"Do you speak French?" the flaxen-hair woman asked.

Erik lied.

"No."

The butler poured Erik a glass of medium brown liquor from a crystal decanter.

"No worries, Erik, we all speak English here," Durant said.

A raven-haired woman with thin glossy lips leaned into another white woman next to her as Vivienne turned her back.

"…hommes noirs…"

Erik caught the two white women snickering about Vivienne and Black men. He tried not to glare at them as he felt out the energy in the room. The decrepit rich. Millionaires would be shunned as peasants among this slick bunch.

Erik sipped his drink. Old rich bourbon. The kind not sold in stores.

The liquid beat a warm trail down his throat.

Durant gave Erik a tour of the first floor and Vivienne was cornered by her friends and berated for something that he couldn't hear nor understand that well.

"Where were you educated?" Remy asked.

Plump, bow-lipped, and nattily dressed, Remy smoked the same clove-flavored cigarette that Vivienne favored. Blowing smoke above Erik's head, Remy's ruddy cheeks looked influenced by too much liquor and whatever else they were snorting or popping by the blown-out wet look in his light blue eyes.

"I'll be attending grad school at M.I.T. soon," he said.

There was no sense lying. Erik knew they were just trying to place him in the proper hierarchy for their comfort.

"How long have you been with Tony Stark?"

"Almost a year now."

Erik swirled his glass and sipped a little more bourbon. He moved freely about the room admiring a few sculptures. One, in particular, caught his eye as it sat on a cherry wood console table. He pointed to it.

"This is a nice replica of the Actaeon and Diana statues at the Caserta Royal Palace."

"You've been there?"

"Twice. With my family. It was a museum tour."

"You know the story behind the work?" Remy asked inching closer to Erik.

"Diana was bathing with her nymphs in attendance and Actaeon was out with his hunting dogs. He accidentally saw Diana naked and she sent his own dogs after him. She punished him for his transgression. Turned him into a deer."

Erik let his fingertip touch the top of Actaeon's face transforming into a hunted stag. The head of the mythical man was all deer while the rest was still human in a dead run for his life.

"He commanded that his pack recognize him as he slowly morphed into a stag."

Ten various breeds of dogs surrounded poor Actaeon as the human and animal transformation disfigured his face.

"The gardens there are extensive," Durant said.

"Very beautiful. Like Tivoli itself."

"Well-traveled?"

"Try to be as much as I can."

Erik turned away from the sculpture and returned to the round wooden table that held the decanter of bourbon.

"More?"

A sharp-featured strawberry blonde seated on a beige double high-back chair pointed to the bourbon. She seemed amused to have Erik in her presence.

"Sure," Erik said holding his glass out to her.

Her eyes shifted from amusement to flustered surprise. She wasn't wearing pearls, but her expression sure was clutching some. Remy chuckled and Erik waited for the woman to pour.

She sat forward and lifted the decanter.

"Say when…" she said.

He let her go halfway before he held up his free hand.

"Thanks," he said. He took a big swig and turned away from her.

Vivienne's amused face beamed at him. He took a seat on a small couch and Vivienne swept over to sit with him.

There was small talk and Erik endured the irritating fishing into his past and personal life. Strawberry blonde and the raven-haired woman spoke in French, absorbed in their own world with not-so-subtle glances at Erik. He made out most of their conversation and grew bored with the idle chatter about men and parties. His focus moved back to Vivienne. She was the most beautiful woman in the room and the least invested in everyone else except for him. Her perfume tickled his nostrils.

"Anglais!" Vivienne scolded.

"Sorry," Strawberry said.

"So rude to my guest," she grumbled.

Vivienne grabbed his hand and pulled him off of the couch and moved him toward a staircase.

"We're off!" Vivienne called to her clique.

On the second floor, Erik followed Vivienne down a long hall. He glanced at more dynastic family oil paintings on the walls. He stopped at one that featured Vivienne. She stood next to him staring up at the gold-framed painting. Her father looked like a milkier Francesco, but much younger and with more hair. He had a pronounced large mouth and a weak chin. Cold gray eyes evoked a stern Monégasque aristocracy.

"My father Prince Julien, and my mother, Princess Ndaté."

Her mother was a rich warm espresso color with plump lips and a wide undefined nose with the cutest smile on her pixie face. Thick braids were twisted high on her head. Vivienne sat next to her mother on a forest green velvet settee wearing the same dark copper tea dress. Her father stood behind the settee with his hands touching his wife and daughter in a severely pressed dark suit.

"Your Moms became royalty here?"

"She was of royal descent from Senegal—"

"I have a play Aunt from Senegal."

"Oui?"

"Yeah. She's a queen to me."

"It was quite an event when they were married I am told. They met at Oxford. That's where I go to school."

"Only child?"

"Oui."

"Me too."

"Come…"

He followed her to another hall that led to a bedroom on the end.

"This your house?"

"Belongs to the family. We use it for special events. My cousins and I hide out here when we are between official duties at the palace. Unfortunately, having a father first in line to the throne makes my cousin Clara the sad puppy tonight. She had to stay behind for all the diplomatic duties."

"What's your shot at the throne?"

She cackled.

"My father is sixth in line. No chance. I will just be the speculative royal."

"A Black Princess in a white line. That's a big deal to a lot of people."

Vivienne unpinned her hair and the dark tresses fell even longer down her back.

"Close the door," she said.

Erik locked it and she stood in front of him.

"Unzip me," she demanded, her doe-like eyes seductive in the dim lighting of the room.

She turned away from him. Erik unhooked her and then zipped the dress down to her lower back.

"Merci."

She stepped out of the dress then tossed it on a pecan wood-stained rococo bed embellished with swirly scrolls and foliage fretwork. Her black silk underwear and strapless bra stayed on as she kicked off her heels. She had on sheer black thigh-high stockings and he watched her roll her hips as she walked to a delicate-looking bronze and leather Louis the Fifteenth writing desk with a matching leather chair. Her European Pops may have given her light skin and a loose curl pattern, but her African Mama most definitely gave her shelf booty and thighs for days. Her lack of modesty was much like his own when he was at home.

A chrome laptop was on the desk and Vivienne turned it on. Erik looked around the room and saw a pair of Bulgari sunglasses on a dresser. He put them on and admired his face in a dressing mirror. Her laptop powered up and she sauntered over to him. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of his head.

"I take off my clothes and you barely blink," she teased.

"I've seen a lot of bodies, Ma. Ain't no thang—"

"Ah, I saw you! Your eyes looked at my breasts just then."

He grinned.

"You're kinda spilling out there a bit."

She was.

Erik could see she had big light chestnut areolas that peeked out. Her snatched waist made her hips look wide from the front and enhanced the physical beauty that she displayed. Her eyes studied his face and she stepped closer to him. She unfastened his suit jacket and pulled it off of him, flinging it on top of her dress. He could feel her body heat.

"Get comfortable," she commanded.

Her fingers lifted and undid the first three buttons on his shirt. Erik clasped her fingers inside his hand.

"You're moving fast, girl. Don't even know me—"

"I know you're a liar," she whispered in his ear.

He frowned.

She tried stepping away from him but he held her wrists tight.

"I'm a liar?"

"You've been vetted by Tony. He doesn't just let anyone get close to him. And my Uncle hates commoners. You're not who you say you are."

He let her go. Her fingers went behind her back and she unclasped the hooks on her bra and let it fall to the floor. Her breasts dropped two inches on her chest from their heaviness, but as much as he was interested in playing with them and stretching his mouth over them, the smug look on her face had him edgy.

"Erik Stevens. American sounding name. But I've watched you. The way you walk. The way you talk and carry yourself. You remind me of my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend. You swaggered into my family's humble abode like you owned it. Even in the palace you moved around like others were beneath you or not worth your time. You don't suck up to Tony like I've seen others do. Either your family is very rich and well connected, or you have royalty in your background…oh, see? Your eyes gave you away…"

Vivienne stared at him. Some type of recognition colored her face.

"Someone in your family is from the motherland, oui? The east? It's so evident—"

"Oakland through and through, girl."

"No. Menteur. You are African. More like Halfrican…as am I."

She poked his chest.

Erik swiped the dark glasses back down over his eyes. He sat on her bed and felt his belly churn with tension. Vivienne's intuition had him shook. He tried to deflect.

"Come bring your fine ass here."

He held out his hand.

She walked over to her computer and turned on some music. He grimaced.

"I don't know what kind of mood you're trying to set, but that ain't it," he said.

He moved from the bed to her side and turned off the dreadful Europop sounds. He typed in the search engine and pulled up the M.I.T. website.

Her voice came into the room and the energy shifted.

Buttafly.

His muse.

"What is this?" Vivienne asked.

"A radio station I listen to. It streams worldwide."

"I like it."

Vivienne swayed her body, her hips circling with little dips. Her bare feet took tiny steps as she latched on to the hypnotic dreamy beats. Erik's eyes raked over her curves and the slight bounce of her tits.

"How many guys do you bring here the first time you meet them?"

"Guys? Mon doudou, do I look like I interact with guys?"

Her hands fluttered around her body.

"I only entertain the powerful and worthy."

Something within Erik stirred. Vivienne rolled her body and the music transitioned to something even more sensual.

"If the night brings you gossamer wings made of starlight and sable dreams, you better fly…"

Erik imagined moist lips with Buttafly's honey mouth whispering the words in his ear that he heard from the computer. Since he couldn't have the unseen girl of his aural fantasies on the radio, Vivienne was perfect compensation. He stepped to her and entwined his fingers with hers and shook his hips. Twirling her around to face him, Erik led Vivienne in some Chi-town two-steppin' that his grandfather taught him.

"I love this!" Vivienne squealed.

He pulled her in close and she was able to follow his lead.

"That's it, Princess," he encouraged.

She pulled the dark glasses from his eyes and tossed them on her bed as they stepped in time together. He spun and dipped adding the Oaktown drip to their partnering. Drawing her in tight, her breasts mashed into his chest and he liked the pressure she started to put on his loins as he felt his dick grow fat in his tailored slacks.

"I feel that," she sighed grinding on him.

"It's yours if you want it, Princess."

Vivienne turned and backed her ass against his groin.

"Let me be your heartbeat…"

Whatever poem Buttafly was reciting on top of the erotic beats made Vivienne gasp as she stood still and let him dry hump her ass. Erik's dick turned to iron and the heavy print beating against the split in her backside made her panties wet. His fingers stroked the front of her underwear forcefully to let her know what time it was. Her legs shook. Erik gripped her waist and held her in place as he thrust against her.

He wanted that weight bouncing on him so he pulled her back with him as he sat on the bed with her seated on his lap. She gave him what he wanted, lifting and dropping on his dick, the friction from his pants adding to the pleasure he was enjoying. He reached up and yanked on her long hair, threading his fingers through the thicker strands.

"Big ole ass…girl you know you got a big ole ass…look at you!"

Vivienne laughed and he tugged harder on her hair forcing her head back.

"Who takes care of all of this, huh? I know these white boys ain't handling you right. Look how you're acting. Your man know you wilding right now?"

"He's old news. There are other fish."

"You're sinking some hooks, Ma."

Vivienne spun around on him and straddled his thighs, her breasts sitting on his chest.

"You have protection?" she asked.

"Yeah. Will we be disturbed?"

"No."

She slid her fingers down to the last fastened buttons on his shirt and freed him from it. The skin on skin contact made his dick harder. Erik pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and fumbled for one of his condoms as she nibbled along his neck.

"I won't cause no international incident fucking a Princess will I?"

Her lips smothered his and her tongue was aggressive with his open mouth. Her kisses were desperate.

"You need me bad," he whispered in her ear as he snaked his tongue inside it.

Her greedy fingers went to work on his pants and he let her take them off along with his dark briefs.

"This is what I need," she groaned wrapping her fingers around his wood.

She stroked him nice and slow, teasing pre-cum out of his slit before she engulfed him with her lips. Resting on his elbows, Erik enjoyed watching her slather his dick with warm saliva and moans.

"Damn, baby. You know how to handle my shit. Rub them big titties on it."

Vivienne knelt down and lifted her breasts. He sandwiched his length in the deep valley of her cleavage and she interlocked her fingers together making his erection snug and secure. She rubbed her tits up and down and he had memories of Athena as he watched his dick disappear. He fingered around her areolas and tugged on her nipples.

"Nasty girl…just met me and got my dick like this. You like being a good slut?"

Vivienne lunged for his mouth and they kissed until the throbbing in the root of his dick made him antsy for pussy. He wasn't sure how much privacy they really would have, so he didn't want to waste time eating the box and then being interrupted without having a crack at royal walls. She seemed to be hot for his erection right away too. He could taste her folds after he pounded her good and proper. It was time for royal fucking and he planned on giving her Wakandan Prince dick.

Buttafly was providing the soundtrack he needed to serenade Vivienne into submission. She was about to quench the female drought he was experiencing. He tore open the gold magnum condom wrapper and slipped the rubber down his thick inches. The bed didn't feel sturdy to him so he pulled her over to the solid-looking cream vintage chaise lounge.

"Wait," she whispered and quickly walked to a door he thought was an ornate closet but was actually a bathroom.

She came back with a dark towel and spread it on the lounge. Erik sat down and helped her climb back onto his lap. They kissed once more and she moaned into his throat as he gave her deep soul kisses. He held the back of her neck and plundered her lusty mouth until she was whimpering.

"Fuck me," she begged.

"You want this dick?"

The mewling sound from her voice made him so horny. It was obvious they both hadn't had it in a long time. He didn't give her time to pull her panties off or slide them to the side. He just ripped them off and tossed the scraps on the floor. Gripping the bottom of her ass cheeks and lifting her up, she eased down on his length with only two adjustments with the angle. His abundant size didn't bother her at all. She was so wet that he knew she could slide down even more inches if he had them. Feeling more confident after a few false starts and gripping the back of the lounge for balance, Vivienne started dropping her pussy on him forcing harsh cursing to erupt from his mouth.

"You really tryna break a nigga in!"

"MMMhmmm."

"Okay, Princess. Big ole heavy ass…big heavy ass!"

He slapped her butt and the solid sound made his balls jump.

"Fuck me…fuck me, Princess. Ride that bitch…ride that bitch. Damn you got some weight on that shit."

She knew how to move and shook what her Mama gave her and then some. The clapping of cheeks was so loud that Erik just knew that everyone had to be able to hear it downstairs. She twisted her waist and circled her hips to make that shit even louder and his mouth fell open trying to inhale more air to keep up with her. He jackhammered into her until the music settled him down and he got caught up in a rhythm that had her begging him to wreck her shit for all time. She stopped speaking English then, and her breathy French made his mouth filthy talking back to her. He slid his fingers along her thigh-high stockings.

"Damn, Princess!"

Vivienne turned her body to the side and rested her head on the back of the lounge as she watched Erik's face next to hers. She rode the first four inches on the top of his dick and the sensation of her circling that tight box on him without going all the way down made him press his feet hard into the carpeted floor.

She had his face all scrunched up as he stared into her eyes. Her mouth was open and spilling more moans.

"Fuck me, Princess. Just like that…just like that. Got this big ass clapping!"

"Oui…oui…oui…"

"Fuck me…fuck me…take some more girl…go all the way down. Don't be scared. Fuck me good…take some more. You can get more in there…shit yeah…I like that shit…all the way down. Dassit…more…lemme stretch that shit more…fuck…oh fuck…there it is. Riding the tip so good, baby. Dassit…dassit, Princess. All the way down…all the way bitch…yeah…let a real nigga handle you…mmmmm…"

He pulled out and her eyes looked confused.

"Turn over. Get on your knees."

He forced Vivienne to clutch onto the armrest as he took her from behind.

"Spread them cheeks with your hands…I said spread them. Don't make me fucking repeat myself!"

Erik slapped the shit out of her ass and her body jerked from the punishment. Her hands reached back and pulled her ass cheeks apart for him. Her head rested on the cushion.

"Poke that ass out…dassit. Arch that back for me. Good girl. Make that pussy tight for me. Make it hard for me to get in this shit."

He inserted the bulbous head in and he felt her pushing her vaginal muscles against him.

"Yeah! Just like that! Make it hard for me to get in there…c'mon girl! Fuck!"

Vivienne's head angled back to watch his face.

"Fuck me….please…fuck me hard…" she panted.

"Hold them cheeks open!"

Her pussy was frothy and the creamy fluid dribbled down her thighs every time he pulled out to thrust back in fast.

"Nobody been taking care of this pussy."

"…fuck me, Erik…."

"Ain't no Oxford niggas available to break you off?"

She laughed and it died in her throat when he deep stroked her. He held her left arm back to help him get down deeper. He wasn't going to last.

"Loud pussy, girl…"

Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth stayed lax.

"Oh…oh…oh…oh…"

"Get it, girl! Getcho dick!"

Vivienne clutched onto the armrest with her free hand and lifted up. He released her arm and she rode his dick by rocking back on him with her hands resting on her thighs.

"Do that…do that…" he hissed.

"Erik!"

"…finna nut…"

Her pussy made obscene farting noises and he let loose into the condom.

"Fuucckkkkkk!"

He fell over her back and gripped her shoulders, kissing the side of her face.

"Fucking icy, Princess!" he panted.

He lifted up feeling the hardness in his dick still holding out.

"I ain't forgot you, Ma."

Erik made her turn over and he lifted her legs over his arms and put in work. It didn't take long for her to fall apart all over his dick before he had to grab the base of his length to keep the condom from slipping as he became flaccid.

Vivienne ran her hand across the top of her hair and grinned from ear to ear.

"That was…mon Dieu…" she sighed.

She reached up and caressed his face.

"Are you using your wings? Are you flying above the world Black angel….?"

Buttafly's voice calmed the rapid beating in his heart from the physical exertion. Vivienne took his hand and pulled him onto her bed.

"Viens mon amour," she whispered.

###

They used all of his condoms.

Three in total.

Vivienne was insatiable and he gave it his all until he fell asleep. He awoke to find the two pitch-black Great Danes sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed. When Erik stood up to go urinate, both dogs growled at him, their big ears tall on their heads like radar.

"Chut!" Vivienne hissed.

Both dogs backed down and rested their heads on their large paws.

Dressed in a fluffy ginger-colored robe, Vivienne sat on the bed with her laptop in front of her crossed legs.

"Morning," he said.

"Good morning to you. Sleep well?"

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"One—"

"Shit!"

"Don't worry. Tony knows you're still with me. I called him earlier. You don't have to be back until tonight."

"I have to be with your uncle."

"I know. Take a shower. Everything you need is in the bathroom. Are you hungry? I had lunch brought up since you slept through breakfast."

She pointed to a covered silver serving tray on the writing desk. There was fresh juice and water in glass pitchers with glasses.

"Be right back," he said.

Erik showered and pulled on a thick black robe that covered him down to his feet. A brand new toothbrush with individual toothpaste was sitting on the sink next to an unopened travel size deodorant roll. Stepping back into the bedroom, the two dogs watched him closely but didn't move or growl at him.

"Let them out before you eat anything. They will beg and it is so annoying."

Erik walked past the Great Danes and unlocked the bedroom door. They lifted their heads and Erik whistled. They jumped up and he shooed them out closing the door behind them.

Padding over to the serving tray, Erik lifted the cover and found ham omelets with cheese, resting on top of a large croissant with a side of diced mixed fruit and small finger sandwiches. He nibbled on a grape and poured himself water.

"Merde!" Vivienne snapped.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She glared at her screen.

"What do you want?!"

Her voice was annoyed. Erik tossed another grape into his mouth and drank some water.

"You refuse to take my calls. You make me hunt you down from the palace to your family chateau. I will not tolerate your disrespect!"

Erik froze.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose and his fingers shook so bad that he had to put his glass of water down. He stepped away from the writing desk and walked carefully to the bed, his eyes narrowing and the breath in his body moving rapidly in his chest.

That voice.

It couldn't be.

"T'Challa, we are no more. I told you that when I left—"

"You said we were just taking a step back to evaluate our relationship…who the fuck is that?!"

Blazing dark orbs burned into Erik's face. The hard scowl on T'Challa's mouth matched the one on Erik's own lips.

"That is my friend—"

"Friend? He is wearing a robe—"

"Hey, Princess. We have lunch waiting for us. Hang up."

"No one asked you to speak—"

"I'm talking, nigga and I'm digging out your bitch!"

"Vivienne!"

T'Challa's shout made Vivienne jump. Her eyes darted between them.

"He is a guest, T'Challa. We have a lot of guests here. There was a party last night—"

"You ain't gotta explain shit to him. Hang up!"

"If you hang up. I swear to Bast I will—"

"Do what?" Erik challenged.

Vivienne's eyes grew coy. She brushed her hair back over her shoulder and gave T'Challa a sly smile. She was enjoying it.

"We can talk when I get back."

"We shall talk now. Make him leave!"

Erik plopped down on the bed next to Vivienne and picked up her dark glasses. Pulling them on he placed his face close to the screen. T'Challa's eyes reminded Erik of his father's. For a second, N'Jobu's face loomed in his mind. Staring at his cousin, seeing the dark smooth skin, the flared nostrils, and hearing the haughty entitled voice, Baba was forced into his heart. Not only could Erik see his father in T'Challa's face, but he could see his own too. It was in the eyes. Those damn haunting Udaku eyes. No wonder Vivienne pegged him for royalty. She was fucking his cousin and unknowingly recognized the bloodline. Incredible.

"Where are you going?" Vivienne called out.

Erik stalked to the bedroom door.

"I have to get some air."

"Eat some food—"

"Vivienne!"

"T'Challa stop screaming at me! You'll see me when I let you!"

She slammed the laptop shut and jumped off the bed.

"Erik…Erik…what's wrong?"

Anger coursed through his body and made it rigid as the Princess wrapped her arms around his.

"I was being petty. I shouldn't have taken the chat. Not with you here. He's such an arrogant ass all the time—"

Erik lifted her up and crashed his lips onto her mouth.

Carrying her back to the bed, he pushed her laptop to the side and dropped her on the plush lavender duvet. Snatching off her robe he threw it behind him. Her eyes were ablaze as she watched him disrobe. His dick was ramrod straight and pointed toward her. He fisted the head and when he glanced at his wallet on the nightstand, he remembered he had no more condoms.

"Do you have anything?" he asked. His fingers twirled around the underside ridge of the tip.

She heard the desperate need in his voice. Her head shook and he couldn't hide his disappointment.

"Here," she said spreading her legs.

The faint pubic hairs on her plump mound were already damp and her vulva was swollen, the inner lips wide open revealing glistening pink.

"You sure?"

She lifted her legs up high.

Erik lined himself up with her.

"He wants you back," he said.

"He has to learn to deserve me."

"He don't deserve you. He doesn't deserve shit."

He plunged into Vivienne full over reckless venom. He wasn't gentle and she didn't want him to be.

"…ooh…mon dieu…ahhh…mon dieu…Erik…!"

He put his full weight on her and she clawed his back.

"Oh…oh…oh…oohmmmph…oui…oui…oui…"

He slammed into her, his length splitting her open wide, his aggression overwhelming her. She cried out in pleasure and he pushed her legs all the way back and shifted to his knees so he could break her down.

"You go back to Oxford, he gon' feel this dick!"

"Oui!"

Reckless. Piping her raw. Needing to stretch her out so she would remember him. The indignant anger in his cousin's voice aroused the alpha within himself and he pounded the fuck out of Vivienne to get back at his blood. If he couldn't bust that spoiled bastard in the face with his fist, then he was going to bust his woman down with his dick.

Erik fucked most of the sound out of Vivienne. She couldn't even make coherent words anymore. Her eyes were glued to his with her lips parted in sweet agony. Every few seconds a deep groan would spill from her throat. He kept the pace brutal and she was game for it.

"Hold your damn legs, bitch!"

Vivienne reached up and curved her hands under her thighs and held them in place as he gripped her throat with one hand and held onto the headboard with the other.

"OOooohhh!"

The vibration in her throat was felt in his hand and he pulled all the way out just to thrust back in to hit that bottom of her pussy hard. Her eyes rolled back and shut as tears spilled from her lids. He eased his grip from her neck to allow her more air but she pushed his hand back down harder.

"This my pussy now. Right?"

Her eyes popped open and her breasts bounced distracting him. He reached down and felt all over her chest as she thrashed under him. He plucked at her clit before rotating firm circles into the small nub.

"I'm cumming!" she shouted.

Erik watched her pussy contract around his girth and before she went limp in his arms, he pulled his shiny erection out and stroked it until stringy hot ropes of semen spurt all over her belly.

"Princess!" he choked out.

He milked out all that his balls could give and Vivienne smeared it into her skin. Gulping for air, Erik sat back from her. When he was able to breathe normally, he searched for his clothes and got dressed.

"You won't eat?" she asked.

"I need to get back to the hotel and get ready for tonight."

Disappointment turned her face sour.

"You have plenty of time."

He glanced out of the window. It was snowing again.

"So unusual," she whispered staring at the falling flakes with him.

"Do I need to call a car service?"

"Gaspar will take you where you need to go. Won't you stay longer, Erik? Please?"

Her face was lovely with the glow of their rough sex. Erik hated the man's guts but he had to admit that his cousin had great taste in women.

He sat on the edge of the bed and put on his shoes.

"How long you been with that nigga?"

"T'Challa? We've been on and off for two years."

"You love him?"

"I do. I'm not in love with him though. He makes that difficult."

"How?"

"He only loves himself and some other woman back in his country."

"Where is he from?"

"Wakanda."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No. It's a poor country and I don't do poor. He won't take me there anyway."

"Why not?"

She shrugged.

"He makes excuses. His family is well off. I think his father is a despot. He's been in power forever."

"He have any siblings?"

"A little sister."

This was news to him.

"What's her name?"

"Aren't you a curious one?"

"Sizing up my competition."

"Her name is Shuri. He's crazy about her. Brags about her all the time."

"Have you met his father?"

"King T'Chaka is T'Challa times ten."

She laughed. He tried to smile. His stomach was tight.

"I met him in London once. With T'halla's stepmother Queen Ramonda."

"He re-married…." Erik pondered the information. Another heir. And a wife that could get in the way.

"You know about them?"

"What?"

"You said 'She re-married'. Like that was important to you."

"Nah. Just curious. He seems so uptight."

"He can be a delight…when he gets his way."

"Why do you need a break from him?"

"He's intense. Like you. That can grow tiresome. But the sex is worth it."

She fell onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

"Thank God you both weren't in the same room. It was like watching two male Betta fish circle each other. The expression on his face though when you wouldn't leave! He's never been denied anything in his life!"

Erik stood from the bed. Vivienne crawled over to him and sat up on her knees holding out her arms. He kissed her lips but didn't hug her. She pouted.

"C'mon now, I can't get cum on my clothes."

She sat back on her heels.

"I enjoyed your company," she said.

"I enjoyed yours."

"Can I see you again?" she asked.

"Depends on Tony. We're here a few more days then it's back to L.A."

"I want you to call me."

"If I can. I will—"

"No. You call me. Or I will kidnap you again."

She cradled her breasts.

"You're the one who's spoiled," he said.

She didn't deny it.

###

The private room in the private Gentlemen's club reeked of pungent cigars, cognac, and tired old man cologne doused too liberally on pale pampered skin.

Erik tugged on the tie he had to wear wishing he had some good weed to smoke to help him focus. Tony sat near him cradling a Cuban cigar. The room was filled with high rollers from Saudi Arabia, China, Australia, Argentina, and South Africa. The card table and the dealer was set with chips. They all waited for Prince Francesco. He was late.

Erik's leg began to bounce and Tony kicked the bottom of his chair to make him stop.

"Forgive us!"

The Prince strolled in and Erik was surprised to see Princess Vivienne behind him. They both took seats at the poker table. He couldn't hide the delighted smile on his face when the Princess looked up and saw him sitting across from her.

"My niece, Princess Vivienne. I know the rules say men only, but I couldn't deny you all a chance to play with the best."

Small head bows were given to Vivienne but her eyes were only on Erik's.

The moment all their hands were dealt and bets were wagered, Erik learned the hard way. Never judge a book by its cover.

Princess Vivienne cleaned everyone's clock during the first two games, and as his pile of chips dwindled, Erik knew then that it was going to be a long night.

###

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Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 232: Wicked Game, Pt 2

"Li?" Aphrodite asked curiously.

"Yes Goddess...I am of that Li bloodline and I present to you the sacred jar of my people. The Mu…" he said, as the spectators marveled at the glowing jar.

"Don't let him fool you...he's not the good man his ancestor may have been," Patricia warned.

"I am simply a man that wants the secrets to his heritage unlocked and I believe it is within this jar. Now...the children of the sun will open it for me," he said.

"Truest loves," Snow corrected.

"And what if we don't?" David asked. He smirked.

"Then the blood of every person in this room will be on your hands…" he threatened.

"What do you plan to do if we don't?" Snow asked in alarm. He smirked.

"I believe it is better if you do not know, my dear. It is not for the squeamish and I'm afraid the carnage will be quite severe if you do not open the jar," he urged.

"Do you have any idea what is in the jar?" David asked the Goddess. But she shook her head.

"Tao would never tell me...he never fully trusted me, because my father was Zeus. And he forbade Esteban and Zia from telling me as well," she admitted.

"They did have true love, but it was secrets and mistrust like this that led to all the corruption around them and eventually their untimely deaths," Aphrodite said.

"Evil was never meant to fester like it did, but there was six hundred years without a pair of truest loves to stand for good and justice. I think you both know how dark things can be without love," she added. Snow squeezed his hand and leaned her head against his arm. She knew all too well. She had once taken a potion to forget him and became the worst version of herself.

"Yes...their abysmal failure has fallen on you, their successors. Unfortunately, you shall fail too," Li said.

"Clearly you don't know us…" David said.

"There are no secrets between us...no mistrust," he added, as he looked at her and gently cupped her cheek in his palm, making her smile.

"And we're surrounded by friends and family that have our backs," Snow added.

"That is why I knew you two would be my greatest champions, so you will most certainly fail, Mr. Li. Not even the likes of Seth, a God killer, could stand against this true love," Aphrodite added. He smirked.

"Oh, I don't intend to stand against them. I intend for them to release whatever is inside this jar and take hold of its power. Your refusal will bring this entire building down upon our heads," he warned.

"With what? What have you done?" Regina asked.

"The lower levels of this museum have been wired with explosives. This entire thing can collapse in on itself, killing everyone here and destroying all this history...unless I get what I want," he threatened.

"You're bluffing," David challenged. He smirked.

"I do not bluff, Your Highness. I care nothing for these people. Their lives are insignificant," Li responded.

"No one is insignificant," Snow argued.

"Then do something!" Goldie snapped, as she now became concerned that he would make good on his threat.

"Just leave if you're so worried," Snow snapped at her.

"I don't think we have a choice. It's too risky to take a chance that the Chalice might be able to stop the blasts without knowing where he put the explosives," David whispered to her. She nodded and swallowed thickly, as they approached the pedestal where the jar rested. It glowed incessantly the closer they got to it and they could only wonder what was inside and if it would unleash horror. Snow and David touched the jar and were immediately thrust into a vision. It was hazy, but they were in what looked like a Throne room of a palace and they recognized the people in the room.

~*~

"You must never open the jar...for anyone, no matter what," Tao warned.

"My friend...we have seen what is in the jar. I hardly see why it's important," Esteban replied.

"You should know by now that things are rarely what they seem," Tao warned.

"What does it do?" Zia asked.

"It's sacred to my people. That's all you or your Goddess friend need to know," Tao replied shortly.

"When are you ever going to trust me," Zia questioned.

"It's not you...it's her. She is the daughter of Zeus," he argued.

"The Goddess is an ally…" Esteban assured him.

"Don't be naïve and even if she is, everyone around her isn't," he replied and they were quiet at that.

"And if something happens and we cannot guard the jar...you must have a backup plan," Esteban said.

"If the children of the sun cannot guard the key to my people's legacy...then it will be up to the sire of my bloodline to do so. Even then...you need more than the jar to unlock its secrets," Tao replied.

"And where are those secrets?" Zia asked. He smirked.

"Where else?" he asked in amusement.

"A book," she realized.

~*~

The vision ended and they exchanged a glance. They had no idea what was in that jar, but whatever object was concealed inside must have looked unexceptional to the eye. It was more riddles too, which was par for the course at this point. But whatever came out of that jar, they only hoped that Ichiro Suun Li had no idea what to do with it, for if he did have the knowledge, there was telling what that might mean.

"Fine...we'll open the jar for you and then you'll let everyone go," David said. He gave a curt nod and the jar glowed brightly, as they touched it. Snow touched the top of the jar and the seal closure dissolved. A poof of mist was released from the jar and they cautiously looked inside.

"Give me what's inside now!" Li demanded. David dumped the contents into his hands and he looked at the object in awe.

~*~

Once Killian docked the ship, Leroy was there with a van and took them all back to the station. Rose waited anxiously and ran to him the moment she saw him, throwing her arms around him. He smiled and ensconced her in his firm embrace, as she kissed him passionately.

"I was so worried…" she fretted, as their lips parted.

"I know, my angel...but I'm fine and the mission was a success," he replied, as he held her in his arms.

"I'm so glad you rescued them and no one was hurt," she said.

"No one except the doctor," Hyde mentioned, which drew their attention.

"What?" Emma asked.

"He's alive...but I lopped off his hands. He wasn't able to use his demon magic to regrow his limbs. While I'm sure he'll find a way to regain what he has now lost, it was still a victory since it seems that Hyde invented something that was definitely a match for him," Fandral replied.

"And that combination of science with the magic of the chalice could be the key. It might give my parents exactly what they need to end him for good," Emma realized.

"Yes...we were thinking that exactly," Fandral said.

"Which is good...considering the horror he has planned," Zorro replied, as Killian joined Emma and put his arm around her.

"He wants your star gem," he said wearily.

"Mine?" she asked.

"And your parents...siblings too and he has a way to do it," he revealed.

"I'm so sorry...I developed what he asked for. I didn't want to...but I couldn't let him hurt my daughter," Hiram apologized. She nodded.

"It's not your fault. Any of us would do anything for our kids," Emma said.

"So...what is this device?" Rose asked.

"A pair of gloves, not unlike the magic ones he has made for Rodmilla Tremaine. Except instead of giving the user synthetic magic, these gloves will allow him to rip hearts and extract the star gems, without damage to the heart," Fandral explained.

"He also built a staff of sorts to harness the gems and channel their power," Zorro said.

"Oh my God...he'd have control over us, wouldn't he?" Emma asked.

"I'm afraid so...we destroyed these abominations, but I'm afraid it's only a matter of time before he rebuilds them," Fandral replied.

"Yes...he has my blueprints, which means he can recreate my work now," Hiram said regrettably.

"Well...at least we know what he's up to now. But even with magic, Cora couldn't rip my heart when she tried. Though somehow I doubt Jekyll will have the same problem. He always seems to bypass our magic with science," Emma replied.

"But like you said, we know what he plans now and we can prepare," Fandral said. They nodded.

"Yeah...getting him away from that damned island is key I think and that won't be easy," Killian said.

"Yeah...but I know my parents. Between them, Gold, and Regina, they'll come up with something," Emma assured him, as she turned to Hiram and his daughter.

"Your place is still a mess, but we can drop you off at Granny's until your place can be cleaned up and repaired," Emma said.

"Thank you, but I have plenty of room at my place. They can stay with me," Hyde replied. She nodded.

"Thanks again for all the help. I'll tell my parents about everything and your new invention," she said. He nodded and turned to Fandral, before putting his hand out. Fandral accepted the gesture and shook his hand.

"Thank you for helping to save them," Hyde said.

"Anything for family," Fandral replied, as Rose put her arms around him and they watched them go. He looked down at her and rested his hand on the small swell there.

"Let's return home to our family," he suggested, as he kissed her gently.

"Us too," Emma agreed, as Leroy took over for the night shift and they went home for the evening.

~*~

King Runeard took a late night stroll that evening in Arendelle. He wore a thick cloak and a hood so as to not be recognized. But there were very few out and about in the twilight hours. It seemed his Kingdom knew peace, but peace had always made him a restless soul. He had great ambitions for Arendelle. Eliminating the threat of magic would have ensured that he could have grown Arendelle's armed forces and eventually invaded certain Kingdoms with no magical protection. At least, that had been the plan. The Northuldra posed a great threat if they decided to help other Kingdoms and that was why he had targeted them first. He planned to take them out and then move on the Kingdom furthest north in Misthaven.

At that time, few Kingdoms had magical protection and he knew enough about fairies to know that they wouldn't intervene in mortal wars. Zeus had rarely ever involved himself in mortal quarrels, unless his wayward family members found themselves entangled with mortals. Arendelle was to become a conquering nation and assimilate Misthaven accordingly. Peace meant nothing if you had no power to keep the peace. Or at least his version of peace, which meant control of anything and everything he could see.

Magic could spoil it all. Magic, to him, was the pathway to everything unnatural. He believed in working for everything you had and yet someone with magic could have it all with no effort at all. To him, the easy path was the path to destruction. Magic always came with a price, after all. But instead of his adversaries paying the price for their magic, he had paid that price. He had only been trying to rid the world of power no one should have and as a result, he was banished when that power sought to destroy him. He took pride in that. He had disrupted the balance and was punished for it.

His first years, wandering the desolate netherworld, had been uneventful. But one day, a vision came to him and he saw Arendelle under the onslaught of magic. Magic unleashed by his own bloodline, proving to him how devastating such power could be. The spirit of the Northuldra apparently had lived on, not only in his own bloodline, but another as well. The Northuldra had chosen a new bloodline to bestow its gifts upon. The children of parents, championed by a Goddess. In his absence, the magic had grown and spread like a disease, ensuring that no order could ever be restored. Unless he restored it. A reset could fix the problem.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" a female voice said, as he watched magic rule this world.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Gothel...and I wanted the same as you. To unmake the world and return it to a former glory. But I failed, thanks to that little family," she said.

"You have magic too…" he said in disgust. She smirked.

"No longer...I don't even exist anymore. They erased me and now I am this," she said, as she touched a small sprout that had managed to grow from the desolate ground. He watched it wither and turn to ash.

"Everything I now touch dies...I now kill my lovely creations," she said sadly.

"A terrible existence, indeed. For you anyway," he said, as he approached.

"For me though...I would use such to unmake the world too. Magic must die. Only then can order be restored," he replied.

"Touch me and it will be you that turns to ash," she warned. But he surprised her and gripped her throat. His skin began to slowly turn gray, but he persisted to choke her, until the gray receded and began to turn on her. She looked at him with wide eyes, alarmed that he had easily overpowered her.

"I'm afraid not. I have been here much longer and know the tricks of this place," he boasted.

"And you are no longer a flower...you are nothing more than a weed that needs yanked out. You will wither...but this ability you have will pass to me," he added.

"And then...when I get free, the realms will get a do-over with me at the helm," he said. She barely screamed, as she turned to dust and her ability to drain life transferred to him.

In this new land, magic meant life and most importantly love. Light magic dueled with dark magic, but as far as he was concerned, it all needed wiped out. Only then would the elements go back to being balanced. Only when people were not wielding them could things be right. He looked at his hands in amazement. He had the power to shred everything down to nothing and start anew. And if he was ever freed, he would do so.

Now that he was free, he had spent his first few days observing this world and as he stared at his grand castle before him, his anger only grew. His own bloodline had been infected by the last of the Northuldra. But worse than that, an outsider sat on his former Throne; one from the very family chosen by the elements. It was an abomination, but he would soon rectify that.

The earlier scuffle with Dr. Jekyll had proven that he would only stand in the way of what Runeard wanted. He didn't like that the demon was impervious to his ability, but he was a patient man. He would let the doctor war with the Charmings and eventually lose. The other peons were of little concern. If they crossed him, then one touch would rid him of their nuisance. He turned back toward the Fjord and smirked, as he saw the waters beginning to churn violently. He would enjoy leaving these types of parting gifts in his wake though. As he made his way back to the sanctuary of Pleasure Island, a storm began to rage in Arendelle once again.

~*~

"What is this?" Li asked, as his face twisted in disgust.

"A rock? This is what you've been going on about for years?" Charles asked.

"All we've heard is the story of this stupid jar and how it's got some all magical power inside," Ginger agreed.

"Shut up!" Li snapped at his cohorts, as he looked curiously at the green stone that looked to be shaped like a heavily stylized fish hook.

"There must be more to this! Get it to work!" he demanded, as he placed it in Snow's hand.

"And what exactly do you expect us to do with this?" Snow asked. They remembered their vision, but if there was something significant about this rock, they weren't about to tell him.

"Make it work!" he shouted.

"Dude...it's a rock," Bobby said, as he looked at it and picked it up to examine it.

"It's a pretty cool rock though," he mentioned.

"No...there has to be more! This cannot be all there is to the secrets of my ancestors!" Li ranted.

"We did as you asked. Now you'll disarm the explosives and let everyone go," David said sternly.

"No...you'll figure out what this is! Or everyone dies...starting with her!" Li threatened, as he grabbed Snow's arm and pulled her toward him. He pulled a curved blade from his belt and put it to her throat.

"Well, that was stupid," Bobby commented.

"Very," David agreed, as Snow knocked her head back into his face and he held his nose in pain. The three perpetrators were suddenly stricken and unable to move, thanks to Rumple and David and Xander cuffed all three.

"There were five of you supposed to be in attendance tonight," Patricia said, as she moved to interrogate them.

"Now, I know General Mendoza is likely in the shadows somewhere and using his own, innocent soldiers to protect him. But that still leaves one of you out there," she added and they heard a slow, mocking clap. They could hear the tapping of high heels on the floor, as a woman emerged from the shadows.

"Bravissimo, truest loves. A magnificent show, indeed," a stunning blonde said, as she came forward.

"Who the hell are you?" David asked bluntly. She smirked and blew out a breath.

"My...so abrasive. No tact...and sinfully handsome too. How exciting," she commented.

"I recognize you...you're…" Snow said, with scrutiny and blocked her path to Charming.

"Callista Stavros...and you must be the famed and fairest Snow White," she said, with an edge in her voice.

"Clayton was quite obsessed with you...and her," she added, as she looked at Aphrodite. Her distaste for the Goddess was evident in the daggers she was shooting at the other blonde. Snow rolled her eyes.

"Well, whatever grievances you have with us are misplaced. Clayton was a creep and it's on you for getting involved with him," the raven haired beauty said.

"Oh, you don't need to lecture me, princess. I know exactly what he was...but he still gave me my son, who you have locked away. You're going to release him or a lot of innocent people are going to die," Callista threatened," as her eyes scanned the room and landed on Natalie. She smirked.

"Looks like I'm going to be a grandmother soon," she said. Robert and Thalia blocked her path to Natalie, as did Snow and Charming.

"Not happening...Clayton's line is one that needs to die with him and your son," David responded. She smirked.

"I warned you...and now you're all going to pay," she hissed, as they heard a boom of thunder from outside. They saw her eyes begin to glow yellow.

"Oh...it's been so long since I have felt magic coursing through my veins," she said.

"How do you have magic?" Snow questioned.

"She's a Goddess...now I know why you're familiar…" Aphrodite said, as the roof above them was suddenly ripped off by her magic. The sea from the ocean churned off the coastline and threatened to breach the land.

"Who is she?" Regina asked.

"Calypso…" Aphrodite answered, as they watched her arms become tentacles. She immediately went for James and wrapped a tentacle around him, snapping him away from his wife.

"Looks like Clayton had a child with a Goddess, after all...just not the one he wanted," Rumple commented.

"James!" she cried, as she ran after him, but the other Goddess batted her away.

"Hey Succubus...I can do that too!" Bobby called, as vines erupted from the floor and wrapped around her. She screamed in agony, as the thorny vines pierced her skin. David swung his blade and sliced through her tentacle, releasing his twin, who he helped pull back.

"Thanks...Aphrodite!" he called, as he found his wife getting up, after being hurled into a wall.

"I'm fine," she assured him, as they watched Calypso grow in size.

"Let's see if you can stop a flood...boy," she roared and they hurried outside, only to see that she had created a waterspout; a twister over the water that was threatening serious damage to the whole city, endangering thousands.

"Emma...now would be the time for backup," David said into his phone. Within minutes, a sparkling orange portal opened up, depositing Emma there.

"Holy crap on a cracker," she uttered, as she joined her family.

"Who the hell is that?" Leo asked, as he and Elsa came through another portal.

"Calypso...also Johnny's mother," Snow told them.

"Well...she seems a lot different than the myths I read," Eva said, as a portal deposited her as well.

"She is...she is not a recluse waiting on an island for wayward sailors at all," Aphrodite replied.

"Wow…I guess one of the heads of these families being immortal makes sense," Summer said, as she was the final one to join them. Her tentacles whipped around and damaged the buildings around her, sending chunks of them flying and turning them into dangerous falling objects. Summer gasped and started putting as many of the falling pieces into bubbles as she could. But one large piece fell directly on the three heads of the families they had arrested, including Mr. Li, crushing them all. It was a gruesome end, but these three had probably ruined many lives and were all heartless and none would shed a tear.

"We need to shut this down quickly or there are going to be some innocent people that get hurt!" Emma called.

"Storm bubble...like we did with Seth!" Leo suggested.

"That's perfect!" Bobby said, as they prepared to isolate her and themselves inside a combination of their powers.

"She's flailing around too much for me to get a bubble around her!" Summer cried, as the Goddess continued her ballistic assault on the city.

"Leave that to me," Elsa said, as she created an icy path for herself and then used it like she was ice skating to get close enough to Calypso. She unleashed her powers and slid all the way around her, freezing her legs to the ground.

"You insolent brat!" Calypso cried, as she found herself immobile from the waist down. She slapped Elsa away with one of her tentacles and she went flying through the air.

"Elsa!" Leo cried, but Summer released a bubble and captured her safely inside, allowing her to float to safety.

"Thanks," Leo said in relief. Summer smiled at him.

"Okay...one big bubble coming up," she said, as she released one and encased her and all of them inside.

"What is this!?" Calypso growled, as she tried to burst through the bubble.

"Eye of the Storm," Bobby said.

"Eye of the Storm," his siblings agreed.

"I'll crush you all!" she threatened, as her tentacles snapped at them, trying to capture one of them in her coils. Snow aimed and fired an arrow, hitting her in the chest. She screeched in pain and plucked the arrow out of her chest, glaring down at her.

"You'll have to do better than that, fairest one," she hissed, but the arrow in her hand exploded and burned one tentacle very badly.

"Those exploding arrows were a really good idea," David said, as he put his arm around her.

"They were...Henry's love of comic books usually serves us well," she agreed, as Calypso looked at the damage done to her.

"You little bitch! If I wasn't hearing about the Goddess, Clayton was going on about you!" she raged, as she flailed her tentacles in their direction.

"You weren't even a Goddess...and he wanted you over me! I was just the convenient choice in case he couldn't use you or that blonde bimbo to have his spawn!" she hissed.

"I've cursed your name many times and now I'm going to squeeze the life out of you and make your beloved watch!" she growled, but Leo stepped in front of his parents.

"Nope…" he said, as he unleashed his powers, adding an electric layer to the barrier around them. There was a sharp gust of wind, as Eva added her pink colored magic to her twin's. Emma joined them, adding her white fire to the bubble around them.

"What do you brats think you're doing?!" she screamed.

"Oh, you're about to find out, Octopus breath," Bobby quipped, as he harnessed the power of the bubble and used his own power to shrink it down around them.

"You think this little bubble is going to destroy me?" she asked.

"No...but I am," Bobby replied, as his siblings and parents all put their hands on his shoulders, channeling their elements through him. His eyes glowed rainbow and he drew the power into a bright, multi colored ball. She barely had time to scream, as it hit her and they exited the bubble, before she was destroyed. When the explosion ceased and they lifted the shield, they saw that there was nothing left of her but ash. The damage to the city around them was done though, but four heads of these families had been taken out.

"Any idea where your General friend is?" David asked.

"Probably watching all this right now from a well insulated place. Getting to him will be the hardest, but four out of five tonight was quite a blow. The rest of them will be on high alert after this," Patricia replied.

"Then let's repair the damage and go home," Regina said, as she and Rumple assisted Emma and Bobby in repairing all the damage to the city that they could. Summer used her powers to help the water recede back into the ocean and David sheathed his sword.

"As usual...we make a pretty good team," Snow said. He smiled down at her and then kissed her tenderly.

"Only you two would make out after you drop four bodies," Goldie commented, as their lips parted.

"First of all, we didn't kill those three and Calypso would have killed us all, including you, unless we destroyed her first," David argued.

"Perhaps...but before you two and your magical brats came along, this land didn't have to deal with monsters like that. Something tells me that many would be happy to see you go and never come back," Goldie said, as they saw the army trucks arriving.

"We're helping free them from some very bad people. Maybe you could report the truth for once," Snow snapped.

"People they don't even know exist. You may think you're doing good, but that's not how a lot of people will see it. They didn't ask for a Savior. Maybe you two should stop forcing your kids to be those saviors," Goldie argued.

"Oh shut up, you two bit hack. Our parents don't force us to do anything," Bobby said, with irritation.

"Excuse me?" she questioned.

"You heard me. Find your own way back to Storybrooke," he said. Snow and David smirked, as they made their way through the portal, leaving her and Grimm behind.

"Oh I loathe them," Goldie growled.

"Come on, let's get back. I could only smuggle one bean out of the field without getting caught. We'll need to rent a car and drive back," he said.

"That's fine...we can podcast in the car," she replied.

~*~

"So all that crap and all that's in the jar is a rock?" Emma asked, as she shoveled onion rings in her face. It was late, but they were starving and Joe and Frankie insisted on cooking for them before they closed up, for which they were grateful.

"Yeah...but it's a cool rock. I think I'm gonna put it on a lanyard and wear it," Bobby said. Regina helped him out and attached it one for him with magic.

"Thanks Nana," he said, as he put it on, just as his parents exchanged a glance again.

"Okay you two...what do you know about this? I can tell there's something," Regina said.

"Well...we sort of had a vision when we got close to the jar and it glowed," Snow said.

"This thing doesn't even look like a jar," Leo commented, as he looked it over and inside.

"What did you see?" Summer asked.

"Our predecessors and their advisor," David revealed.

"Tao was his name," Aphrodite recalled. They nodded.

"Whatever this rock is...I think there is more to it," Snow said.

"And whatever secrets this thing has...apparently, it's in a book," David replied.

"Of course...it's always a book, isn't it?" Regina questioned.

"Do you think the people of Mu might know what it is?" Eva asked.

"It's worth a shot going and talking to Queen Nubia and then if they can tell us about this book, it will give Rose a bit more to go on," Natalie replied, as she examined the artifact. Bobby knew his Aunt loved artifacts like this.

"I think...this is a Pounama stone," she said.

"A what?" Bobby asked. She smiled.

"It's a durable stone, usually found in New Zealand and sometimes on other Pacific Islands. It wouldn't surprise me if they were common on Mu," Natalie replied.

"Cool...can I come with you when you go tomorrow?" Bobby asked.

"To see Zia?" Leo asked, as he nudged his baby brother.

"No…" Bobby protested, as all eyes looked at him.

"Maybe," he muttered and Snow smiled.

"Of course sweetie...but for now, I think we should all go home and get some sleep," Snow said.

"Uh there's more that went on while you were gone, but it can wait till morning. I'll tell you then," Emma said. They nodded and parted ways for the night.

~*~

The small private plane landed on the equally as private airstrip. Mendoza, in his full military uniform, complete with all his decorations as the three star General he was, stepped off and made his way inside the building where a car awaited him. He got in and nodded curtly to the woman there, drinking expensive wine. The car drove them to the undisclosed location where they would meet with the rest of the heads of their secret organization.

"Seven," she finally said.

"Ms. Blaine…" Mendoza started to say.

"Save it," she snapped.

"They have killed seven of us, including Ms. Stavros!" she hissed.

"Operations all over the world are on the verge of collapsing with this news! She took over for Clayton when he was killed. Without her...it's a serious blow!" she shouted.

"Relax…I have a plan," Mendoza insisted.

"Your last plan to lure them to Washington DC for ambush worked out splendidly," she pointed out.

"How was I supposed to know that Callista has really been the Goddess Calypso this whole time and allowed the lure of magic to play her hand too soon?" he snapped back and she was silent. That had been a surprise to all of them.

"The others are refusing to agree to anymore appearances. These two...and their children can kill Gods and Goddesses. They want a solution and I seriously hope you have one or you might join the others," she threatened.

"I do have a new plan. It will take time, but it's in the works," he said.

"It better be good," she said, as the car continued on. Once at the undisclosed location, he would reveal his plan…

~*~

Snow mewled, as he kissed her passionately, moving his lips over hers in a sensual rhythm. She felt boneless and sated after her husband made love to her. She sighed, as his lips trailed down her jawline and to her neck, giving her goosebumps all over.

"Charming…" she murmured, as he moved back up and kissed her lips again. Eventually, they settled down and she rested half atop him, as their legs remained entangled beneath the bedclothes. She rested against his chest and he gently stroked her naked back.

"It's good to be home," she said. He dropped a kiss to her hair.

"Definitely…I'll be glad when we don't have to leave. This is where we belong," he said.

"Mmm…I agree. We just keep running into monsters. Here and out there," she replied.

"I know...but I also know our love is always going to win out. I have faith," he assured her. She smiled and kissed him tenderly, while stroking his handsome face.

"Me too, my love," she agreed, as they settled down and sleep finally took them. Tomorrow was likely another busy day in their fight against the forces of darkness around them. But they would never hesitate to face it head on and knew love would always light the way...

[very-volatile]

(this writing is a more glorified version of how me and my best friend would handle a bully. This is not as much based on a true story, as much as it is based on how I know we would react to the situation. Again, not a true story, just a fun thing i wrote. Enjoy!)

First there is laughter. Cold, malicious laughter. Springing from the throat of the offender, as they stare down at the poor angel they have chosen to torment. The laughter spreads like a plague, filling the lungs of every person in the room, booming so loud, threatening to cause the drums inside the angels head to burst. The offender had hurt this angel, this innocent soul, and thought it was a joy, all in good fun. But what this person called fun was cruel, and such cruelty deserves punishment.

 Within moments the laughter starts to quiet, as footsteps fill the room. Two pairs of feet walking without fear into the center of the group. All go silent, except for the offender, who’s laughter has gone down to a chuckle, but eventually they go quiet as they stare at the two figures before them. One kneels down to check upon the angel.

The eyes on that one, The offender thought, They seem... deeper than they should be. Older. Stronger.

The second figure approaches the offender, who smiles calmly as he stares the offender dead in the eyes.

The offender looks away, shocked by the mans smile. it just felt so.... crooked, So... wrong.

The one with the Smile, opened his jaws, and started to speak.

“Tell me, what is your name?”

the offender felt confused “what did you just ask me?”

The one with the Eyes rolled them “Can you hear, he asked your name dumbass” The Eyes said this while he helped the Angel to their feet.

Smile shakes his head “Never mind there name friend, its not worth our time” Smile takes a step forward, causing offender to take a step back

“Do you know who I am? Who my friend is? who we are?”

the offender seemed more confused “no, and I don’t fucking care, so get out of my face” the offender swings their fist, punching Smile right across his jaw.

Smile’s head snaps to the side, and for moment he is quiet, smiles, and turns back to them, blood trickling from there nose, and calmly says “that was a bad move”

the offender laughs “give me one good rea- GAH”

before the offender could react, Eyes had kicked them right in the stomach, causing him to bend forward in pain, as Smile moved quick and kicks them across the face with his heel, knocking the offender to the ground.

Smile put his boot on top of the offenders head, holding them down as Eyes crouch's down to look down at the offender.

“if you ever, touch him again, or hurt anyone for that matter” Eyes looks with no emotion “I will lop of your fucking fingers”

“what my friend means to say is” Smile bends down to whisper in the offenders ear “what you do onto us, we do worse. And what you think we are capable of, we are capable of even more, and even worse.”

The offender is now scared, snarling “who are you guys” which makes both Smile and Eyes smirk at the same time.

Eyes smirks “well, this is Nicodemus” gesturing at the one we had called Smile

Nicodemus smiles that crooked grin “and this is Locke, think of us as the Angels to the fallen, the devils to the cruel, the saviors of the damaged and broken, the-”

“The guys you don’t fuck with” Locke says, tired of Nicodemus’s long speeches

Nicodemus sighs “the guys you don’t fuck with” Nicodemus removes his foot, goes over to check on the angel who had been hurt by the offender. Once he knows they are ok, he turns back to Locke who has been watching the offender as they groan on the floor.

“come on Locke, lets go, Spit Spot” Nicodemus chuckles and clicks his heels. Locke gets up and walks away with Nicodemus.

As they walk away, you can hear them bicker, so loud and so often it almost makes you wonder how they were so quiet approaching the group.

“spit spot? really?”

“come on, I thought it was funny.”

“bro it was so stupid! You were like ‘oh yes we kick your ass, now spit spot we run away”

“you know for a second there, I thought we were having a moment.”

“we were, and then you ruined it!”

“Fuck you Locke”

“Fuck you Nicodemus”

then not a moment later, you hear Nicodemus say “I love you.”, to which Locke mumbled back “I love you too.”

[peonybane]

Agape and Pragma: Chapter 6

Pairings: OT7 (BTS) x Reader

Word Count: 2.4 k

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Angst, Sci-Fi, Crack (?), Smut (eventually)

Chapter Specific Notes: Little bit of fluff, lots of angst.

Summary: Your entire world had be torn asunder by just one lab test. Time heals all wounds, but does it really? What will it take to feel whole again?

Hybrid Types: Peacock Jin, Serval Yoongi, Golden Retriever Hoseok, Gray Wolf Namjoon, Scottish Fold House Cat Jimin, Great Dane Taehyung, and French Lop Eared Rabbit Jungkook

a/n: So after the two massive chapters, 6 is going to be short as hell. TL;DR: I wrote it in one day and my best friend is currently helping me out, editing it. Chapter 6 is full of angst and therefore I would like to thank my best friend, @ropeseok for helping me edit this chapter. I wouldn’t have been able to write this chapter without her. Special guest appearance of Kai from EXO.

<— Previous (Chapter 5)

As the stewardess did her spiel on what to do in an emergency, you couldn’t help but clench your fingers around the armrest of your chair. This business trip was much needed. You needed space from your roommates who were pushing you over the edge. They had been, quite frankly, fiends. Namjoon had progressively gotten worse. For instance, the moment you two were in public together, his hand would either go to the small of your back, or the back of your neck, stroking it possessively. Instead of feeling angry, like you know you should, you feel… at peace. And that’s the most upsetting part: you’re not bothered by any of their behavior, at least, not a baser, emotional level. Intellectually though, you’re utterly distraught by the changes.

After a week in another country to meet in person with one of your authors (they had invited you as partially a social thing since it had been far too long since you had last seen each other), you were finally heading home. As much as the seven of them had been annoying the snot out of you, you still missed them greatly. Their nightly calls (or early morning for them) were precious to you. Even half way across the world, you felt protected.

Except for right now. You normally weren’t bothered by plane rides, having to take several a year. But the flight in did a number on you. There was an unusual amount of turbulence. It was so bad that it ended up throwing a stewardess around the cabin at its suddenness. That had freaked you out more than you cared to admit. So here you were, clenching your armrests for dear life, your eyes screwed shut as you inhaled slowly, and exhaled even more slowly. 

As the plane lurched forward, you jumped slightly. Suddenly, a hand was grasping yours and you heard a soft… purring. Opening your eyes, you looked over at your row neighbor. You had only taken notice of him when you sat down, but otherwise had ignored him, too stressed to really take note of anything around you. 

Quite frankly, he was… beautiful. Angular jaw, long face, small nose, gentle eyes resting above a sweet smile and under a concerned brow. His hair was ashen colored towards his neck and it faded to black towards the top, which cushioned a set of black cat ears. You couldn’t help but blush and look down at his hand that was grasping yours. While his arm was pale, it faded to more tanned skin just above his wrist, similarly to a Siamese cat. 

You met his gaze once again. His voice was sweet. “You feeling a little better?”

Swallowing, you nodded, but didn’t remove your hand from his. It felt… it felt comforting. Just like how Yoongi or Jimin would grasp your hand out in public. “Thanks.”

He blushed a little. “First time flying?”

You didn’t answer for a minute as the plane began to ascend into the air. Once you had reached a nice cruising height, you answered him, “No, far from it. Just, the last time I flew, the stewardess got thrown around. It scared me more than I care to admit.”

He started to rub your knuckles with his thumb soothingly. “Fair enough. I’m Jongin, by the way.”

You smiled and gave him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Jongin.”

“You know, I’m surprised. Most people pull away, especially women, when an unknown man, a Hybrid at that, grabs their hand.”

You let out a small chuckle. “Well, my roommates are all Hybrids. They’re all very touchy. Kinda know when I or the others need that contact. So, I don’t really mind. If anything I appreciate it.”

Jongin smiled. “How many is that? I don’t really smell any prominent Hybrid scents on you.”

You bit the inside of your mouth. Somehow, you felt guilty at the mention of lack of scent. “Seven. And I’m on my way home, actually.”

Much louder than he intended, Jongin almost yelled, “Seven!?”

The shushing and dirty looks made him shrink in on himself, heavily blushing. “S-Sorry.”

It took everything in you not to laugh. “Yes, seven. But it’s alright. Everything’s surprisingly… peaceful.” Not a lie… mostly.

“I can’t imagine. I have a group of eleven friends, well seven or eight that I see regularly, but that’s beside the point. There is no way we could even live as neighbors with each other without taking each others’ heads off.”

You giggled at this, which earned you a small smile from Jongin. “What about you? You heading home or going somewhere?”

“Home. Finally. Been traveling for months.”

Jongin told you about himself. And you, him. It was sweet. Relaxing. Distracting. You spent the rest of the flight like this, talking about your lives.

^~^~^~^~^ 

“You sure,” Jongin asked as he handed off his bag to his friend, Sehun.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Jongin. I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough distracting me on that flight.”

“But seriously, Sehun and I wouldn’t mind driving you home.”

“I know. But I’m sure you both are absolutely exhausted.”

“Alright. Fair enough. But, why aren’t your roommates here?”

Jongin looked around the pick up area, not seeing any Hybrids matching the description you gave him of them. “Jongin, it’s the middle of the night. On a weekday. And they all work. Like hell, I’m making them come pick me up.”

He looked at the ground, his hands stuffed in his pockets as his tail flicked, mumbling, “I’d pick you up, day or night.”

Your gaze on him softened just as your Uber pulled up to the curb. “Well, this is me.”

Your driver got out and helped you load your luggage into the trunk of his car. Before you could step into the vehicle, Jongin grabbed your arm. Looking over at him, startled, Jongin stared at you with heated eyes. “I— I don’t want this to be the last I see of you. I really, really like you. And… I’d like to take you out.”

Swallowing, you gnawed on your bottom lip. It struck you in that moment, as he looked at you with complete and utter earnest, did you realized that you had never dated a Hybrid before. Not entirely sure why, you just never really had anyone approach you. It had always been normal men. But they always left when they realized you could not bear them children, or they didn’t want to deal with your occasional nightmares, or your roommates. 

Maybe… maybe this was a chance. This was someone who couldn’t have children himself and didn’t expect you to bear them, this was someone who was truly sweet and understanding, this was someone who didn’t seem threatened by your roommates. 

“Yes.”

His eyes grew large in disbelief. Taking out your pen from your purse, you pulled his hand to you and wrote your number on his palm. You smiled shyly at him, before sitting down in your Uber. Just as you were to close the door, Jongin reached in and grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles. You blushed brightly, prompting him to smile mischievously at you. He pulled away and closed the door. Your Uber got out of there like a bat out of hell, leaving you in near silence as you contemplated what you just did. And honestly, you didn’t regret it one bit.

^~^~^~^~^ 

After the Uber driver helped you get your stuff out of his car, you thanked him as he drove away. Dragging your suitcase behind you, you yawned, wanting nothing more than to leave your stuff in the foyer and trudge up to your room and pass out. You might not even make it there, electing to maybe settle for the couch. One of your roommates no doubt would carry you to your room at some point in the night when they’d find you.

You found yourself startled awake at the sound of yelling. Practically running to the house, you pulled out your keys, frantically trying to shove them into the lock.

Once you had the door unlocked, you rushed inside, abandoning your bags in the hallway and your keys in the door. You rushed towards the yelling. It was… Jin yelling. Like actually, yelling. Not the usual loud voice he used when he was responding to the others making fun of him. It wasn’t the usual frustrated rage. It was unadulterated, malicious rage. It terrified you.

“—The hell, Jungkook! How could you do this? It’s perverted! It’s wrong. We— You shouldn’t be hoarding her dirty underwear!”

The moment of anger at him for stealing your underwear quickly died at the sound of a scuffle, followed by more unintelligible yelling. The yelling was coming from the laundry room. As you entered the hallway, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi were just… standing there. Jimin and Taehyung nowhere nearby. It took a moment, but you heard the faint sound Jimin yelling. You only assumed that Taehyung was with him to keep him from rushing in to try to diffuse the situation. That was the scuffling you had heard.

The sound of Jungkook’s voice broke you out of your shock. “What? Like you can talk. I’m the only one with the guts to actually take what we all want. At least I don’t shamelessly call her name in the bathroom when I don’t think anyone else can h—”

Jin let out a guttural noise. The sound of a fist colliding with flesh flew you into action. You rushed to force your way past Yoongi and Namjoon, but Namjoon, the bastard, must have known you were already here because he grabbed you around the waist, stopping you. 

“Namjoon! Let me fucking go! We need to stop them!”

“No, this is something they need to figure out themselves.”

You continued to thrash against Namjoon’s hold. Jin managed to dodge a hit from Jungkook then pinned him to the wall; you wiggled out of Namjoon’s grip during the brief distraction.

Everything seemed to slow down for you as soon as you were out of his grip. You dodged Hoseok and Yoongi as they grabbed for you, calling your name.

With strength you didn’t know you had, you grabbed Jin by the nape of his shirt, pulling him away from Jungkook. He turned to you, the beginning of a squawk rose in his throat before his gaze fell on you. His brow knit together, his gaze softened and his face flushed.

Jin called your name, reaching out to cup your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “Sweetie… it’s nothing. Jungkook and I were just messing around. Nothing to get worked up over.”

For a moment, you believed him. But looking past him at Jungkook’s face, you knew that wasn’t true. Between the seething heat behind Jungkook’s eyes and the split lip, your anger flared up again. “Like hell it is, Jin! ‘Nothing’ is not hitting each other. ‘Nothing’ is not screaming at each other. ‘Nothing’ is not using me as an excuse to throw fists!”

Jin sighed and reached with his other hand to stroke your hair. “Sweetie—“

You smacked his hand away. His face immediately fell, brow knit together and lips pouting. “Don’t you ‘sweetie’ me. I don’t entirely understand what made you two fight, but I know it’s about me and I hate it! I hate seeing you two fight!”

Hoseok reached a hand out to you, his ears flush against his head. There was a hot acidic feeling rising up in your throat and you smacked his hand away, not done pouring your angry, exhausted heart out.

“All of you! Get out! Go to your rooms! I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, all of you!” Hot tears battled their way to your eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. “Is it something I’ve done? Am I causing you all to act like this? You’ve been weird to me! You’ve been a-aggressive to each other. I-I’ve had enough!”

Tears started to slide down your cheeks as you marched past them. Yoongi called your name and grabbed your arm. Immediately, you yanked out of his hold. “No! I-I don’t want want to be the reason you all are not yourselves.”

You raced up the stairs, tears falling freely. As you reached the top of the steps, Taehyung and Jimin stood there, having heard the commotion. They both muttered your name. Once again, you pushed past them. Taehyung bellowed your name. You shouted back, “No! Not now— I just— I need to be alone! I need to be away from all of you. I just— I don’t know anymore.”

You marched towards your room, Taehyung on your heels. As you slammed your door behind you, you heard Jimin call Taehyung’s name, telling him you needed time right now. He paused at your door, tempted to defy Jimin. You made the decision for him, locking your door. Taehyung sighed from the other side of the door before leaning against it, he whispered your name. “Please. Don’t be mad. We’d never do anything to hurt you. Things… things are changing right now, but it’ll be alright.”

As he walked away, you threw your weight against your door, sliding down it until you sat there, knees to your chest. A cry scratched its way out of your throat. You finally let loose, bawling into your knees. After a few minutes you were reduced to sniffles, letting your head rest against the door. 

You were too wired now to sleep, so instead, you settled for listening to your roommates, take themselves off to bed. It was amazing really. You knew who was walking where just based on the sound of their gait alone. You held a breath when you heard Namjoon’s footsteps stop at your door, paused for a moment, then reconsidered, making his way over to his room.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you wondered… was your relationship was even vaguely salvageable? After all, you had yelled at them and said such horrible things. Could they forgive you for your words? You knew some of them would forgive and forget easy, the others… you weren’t so sure. One thing was for sure, though: your relationship had changed.

It was a matter of figuring out now if it was for the better or not.

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Also, please note that I do NOT do tagging lists. Please see my FAQ for why.

Next (Chapter 7) —>

Agape and Pragma Masterlist

Masterlist

All rights reserved. © Copyrighted 2019.

[bending-sickle]

motherfuckers be like “oh just enjoy doing the craft it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t come out perfect” and i’m like “karen, it’s clothes i want to wear. in public. and feel good in. i have Standards.”

so do y’all want to hear about Ye Saga of how i have failed to make a dress? that i started in may of last year? and have put in i think over 50 hours? unless it’s 80. (i had to redo another dress last year because again, fuckery, and my sewing log gets confusing.)

so literally every step of this has been discouraging and has had to be done at least twice and every time the potential end result just keeps getting worse and worse.

we start off with the cloth. it’s polyester and therefore shit. double-shit because it’s for a summer dress and i might as well wrap myself in seran wrap. The pattern is floral but not quite enchanting but i buy it anyway because it’s a shitload of cloth and only 3 euros because it’s from the scrap heap.

and then i try to make a pattern for it, frankensteining two or three different historical options for which i only have the vaguest of “this is kinda what the pieces looked like. good luck scaling it up to anything usuable.” so there was a lot of drafting, redrafting, measuring, re-redrafting.

then there were the mock-ups to test out the pattern. so many mock ups. so many oh god. pins everywhere. all the contortionism to try and pin the cloth and not myself. more sewing. trying to scavange cloth bits to try and make yet another tester. it was hell.

then i went on to the lining, because even though the cloth was literally plastic, it was slightly see-through and idk, fancy clothes have lining, right? so i piece together the lining from my mom’s old pants’ lining. i sew it up all nice with great seams. let’s leave that tragedy waiting because then

then i started on the bodice of the dress. and i really wanted to put piping in between the seams so you could actually see all the nice piecing - especially in the back - that i had worked so hard on. i was super excited because i had ribbon just the perfect shade and it would be so, so very pretty. i sew up so much piping. (this is cord wrapped in rippon, like you can find on pillow edgins and stuff.) i sew the dress top, putting in the piping. the piping decides to be the boss and fuck up every curve. there is no using the piping and still having a dress that won’t stand up by itself and prance around like madonna’s bullet bra. the piping has to go. this makes the dress not as cool as i’d been hoping. in fact, the main point of all the effort in the pattern design has just gone out the window because you can’t see the nice shapes i’ve made with each piece. but whatever. it fits. so i resew the bodice.

bodice is looking good. i attach the lining, which, i mean “attach” is such a short word for all the sewing, pinning, more sewing, cutting, and fussing that happened. but i get it done. half of the dress is now done.

but no. remember the tragedy we left hanging with no period after the senence up there, a couple paragraphs back? yeah.

you can see the lining seams through the dress. which. not good. so i redo the lining. and i mean i just could have redone the gone that went down the center front, now that i think of it, and just accepted the blazing white lines of seams under the dress in the other parts, but no, i wanted things done right.

but i couldn’t do things right because i’d done them perfect before. meaning opening up the seams meant i now had much less seam space to work with, meaning OH HAI THE LINING CLOTH IS JUST GOING TO RIP APART BECAUSE YOU HAVE SO LITTLE TO WORK WITH OH MY BAD. so i do a shitty job of the lining.

whatever. the skirt

i gather up the skirt so it has nice little scrunchy bits at the waist. i redo this long, ong process at least three times.

i put the skirt together with the bodice. i also do this attempt so many times. eight months later, i’ll realize i did it wrong and could have avoided so many hours of work and headache but no. no, i put it on the way i did, because fuck my life right now.

but we’re not done with the lining.

i try and put it in with the skirt. won’t work won’t fit. redo it a few times. the cloth starts screaming and dissolving. i try and save the edges even though theyre now hideous. i end up just sewing little anchor lines to the lining, making it officially the most ugly lining in the history of any atempts.

this next step is what made me give up for half a year, because there’s the hem. and remember how i fucked up putting in the skirt? yeah. so the waist of the dress isn’t a straight line, making the hem...not a straight line, if i just take a ruler from the bottom and say “yeah let’s lop off some 50 cms and it’ll be level and good” then the bottom of the skirt is going to be a droopy, wavy mess, waving in shame at all other dresses.

so i fold, pin, hand-sew, re-fold, re-pin, re-resew the goddamned hem again, so many times, trying to just get the damned bottomg of the skirt level, at whatever length. i sort of managed.

then i gave up for half a year, meaning that summer dress was not seeing  peek of that year’s summer.

so i took my gonads in both hands this week and tried again with the skirt and that’s when i realized how difficult i’d made everything for myself because there was all that folding, pinning, sewing fun factory again, in triplicate. but i managed to get the hem to the length i wanted and i tried it on.

and the lining tore. just shredded itself to little pieces like the little fucker it was.

which means that after sewing that thing up twice, sewing it down twice - or was it thrice - i had to take the scissors to it and chop it off. chop, i say, because i was not going to unsew all the bodice bits. there were SLEEVES involved.

speaking of sleeves while i was cutting off the lining with all the care in the world i ended up cutting a little hole in one of the sleeves. because fuck everything. and since this is polyester shit, i couldn’t sew the hle up because the edges kept fraying like they were trying to become one with the dust bunnies. so i tried sewing it up like it was a buttng hole or something only apparently my fingers and eyes and skills and everything were in another room because wow it ugly.

so that was a great achievement in the unfucking of this dress fiasco.

so now i had a dress with no lining except the little shreds of shame along the edge of the bodice and a wonky hem.and the bodice was all floaty in the wrong places because it didn’t have the support of the lining helping it out and it’s, again, poly-fucking-ester.

today i did yet more of the same shit i’d done yesterday and got the hem as leastwonky as possible. i then asked my mom to help un-wonkify the hem. as i stood in front of the mirror with the bodice flopping everywhere, the lines of the pices i cut out lost in the sauce of the pattern, the scrunched up waist of the skirt not really giving nice folds but only one big belly balloon, and overall the general image of the dress being “...goddamn fuck no shit god i feel so ugly all that work and it makes me feel ugly” i thought...well, all that, and also how many hours i’d invested into this and how i might just not even wear it after all.

and then i was ironing it and thinking “maybe if i cannibalise it and make it into a skirt only and redo the bodice using the cloth on top of another one like a new lining or just a white cotton, and make it an outfit...”

but that would mean redoing this dress a third time. which, no.

also? i bought two types of ribbon thiking i could still do the piping effect on the seams, make the dress have a little oomf, but it’s just so much work already for such an ugly thing that will make me sweat like a beached whale in summer and be worn like, twice, that just... god, set the damned thing on fire maybe. what is the point.

also? since i’m the one making it, the labour is free, and idiots on the internet would be like “oh, so the cloth was 3 euros? so  it’s a 3 euro dress? cheap! noice! who cares if it isn’t perfect?” and i’ll be like... me and my 50 hours of manual labour say it isn’t 3 euros worth, karen.

so i am incredibly discouraged and disappointed and if this whole experience doesn’t sum up my entire life. like, put in the work. do it perfect. do it again. do everything right and then it’ll all amount to nothing. congratualtions, you’ve just wasted half of your life.

i mean...

dress ugly. me tired. fuck everything.

so yeah i’m going to sew the hem up one of these days and call it quits.

[bonnie-and-cloud]

Hi! First off I love your post . And your bunnies are adorbale . Do you have any tips on a person thinking of getting a bunny?

I don't know when this was sent @fulltoadpicklemuffin so sorry if this is late. I've also taken my time to give you a thoughtful, thorough reply

ALSO HEADS UP THAT I'M ON MOBILE WITH NO ACCESS TO A CUT SO I'M SORRY

So I did a full year of research before getting my girls. I was living on a college campus where animals were banned except for goldfish and other small tank animals, emotional support animals, and service animals. I was in an apartment so I had plenty of space for a rabbit or two but we also had a school policy where we could have a surprise inspection at any point in time. We weren't even allowed to have friends who had pets come into our spaces even to pick us up it was so strict. It was pretty strictly enforced too

I also wasn't working because my mother promised me that so long as I focused on my studies, I wouldn't have to get a job. She paid for textbooks, groceries, my phone, medical expenses including meds, and so on. She helped me get a car and did a lot of heavy lifting. Meaning that between that, being disabled, and the school policy it didn't make sense to even sneak a bun

Well, I only needed one class for my last semester meaning I lost campus housing eligibility so I'd have to pay the campus something stupid like two grand a month to stay there. We moved to a temporary apartment and didn't say anything but like they didn't do inspections like campus did so whatever

So that's part of why I did a whole year of research. I made triple sure to know their proper diet, switching foods, and so on. I was very careful about them playing only with Approved Bunny Toys and didn't even have a cage for either of them at first as they were in an 8x8 closet with limited access to roam our room. Between that and my research, I have plenty of advice and it'll be stuff you won't necessarily hear from other people

IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU ADOPT FROM A BREEDER, SHOP AT A STORE, OR GET A RESCUE

At the end of the day, a bun got a home that otherwise might not have. And that's more important, to me at least, than other factors. I don't recommend getting a pet store bunno because they are horribly mistreated but you do you. I won't judge either way on that one. I got my girls directly from a reputable breeder

I do recommend different methods for different needs, ability, and whatnot. I had never owned a rabbit before so I had no idea what the baseline for bun behaviors were. I didn't know how destructive they were prone to be had they not been traumatized via abandonment or abuse or whatever. I had no idea the difference between a happy loaf versus a grumpy loaf. I didn't know a happy flop from a passive aggressive one and no amount of reading up on these things or YouTube videos was going to really show me unless I saw them with my own eyes

Not to mention, buns take a long time to get comfortable with you just in general. Bonnie and Cloud took almost two months before they were cool enough with me to cuddle me on my bed. I remember crying thinking they hated me with no idea they were bonding to me very quickly. It would have been even longer with a rescue and I might have sincerely thought I was a bad bun parent and given up on buns entirely

So, for new bun parents, I recommend getting from a reputable breeder two bun siblings of the same gender from the same litter like I did. Not only do you get a better baseline for behavior, you genuinely get to see a lot of things you wouldn't from other bonded pairs. Like these two fight over the same scrap of broccoli when there's a little pile beside them that either of them could choose from. They also play "pranks" on each other like sneaking up on each other, giving surprise boops, and running away. They make WAY more vocalizations than your average rabbit and can easily be mistaken for guinea pigs with their noises. Both in the type of vocalizations but also with how loud they can get. They act very similarly to human siblings

I say reputable breeder for obvious reasons. I contacted a breeder who was willing to promise me 4 week old buns which was a big fat no from me. There was no way they'd be completely weaned let alone emotionally ok with leaving their nest. When he said 4 weeks, I just hard blocked his number. Our breeder gave us ours at 6 or 8 weeks (I forget which) because they were ready. She even texted us saying they were ready to leave their parents earlier than she expected and gave us the option of waiting a couple more weeks to be double sure

So we could tell she knew her stuff and was reputable on top of her sending pictures of her setup and their pedigrees. She sent stuff shows care about too so it wasn't just x parent or whatever like she had genotypes back to their great grandparents which she herself had raised and had pedigrees for. We went ahead and got them early because I was so eager to meet them

My spouses and I have discussed adding two more to the mix but we're going to wait a bit. We're going to look into guinea pigs first and then if we still want two more bunnos, we'll cross that bridge when we get there. But, we'll almost definitely get from a reputable breeder again

As I've had my hip replaced, I can only handle creatures up to a certain weight. After my surgery, our roommate's cat jumped on my leg and opened my surgery wound. I won't get too graphic with it but it opened clear to my metal replacement and she wasn't even that large of a breed. Well, as far as my experience goes, the smallest buns get homes first because they're "cuter" due to their size. Holland lops go especially quickly because of how sweet and friendly they are. And I have needs

There are plenty of other bun parents who get all "well having a creature is a privilege not a right" about this and insist I shouldn't have a bun if I'm going to a breeder. These people can eat me. I have depression and meds and therapy only get you so far. Without these guys, I'd only leave my bed to use the bathroom or run errands. I know because that's where I was prior to them. I also can't have children so I need something to pour my love into or I'll hurt myself. I know that sounds weird or whatever but I shouldn't have to tell other bun owners, or anyone really, "without tiny fur children to love, cherish, protect, and provide for, I'll definitely kill myself" because like. None of their business

Not to mention, there's the question of bonding buns which takes time and a lot of effort. So even if we could get a couple rescue small buns, would they bond to the kids we have already. Rinse and repeat. Only one of us can drive so it's not like we have that much time available to bond either. It's faster, less stressful, and less time consuming for everybody involved to just adopt two babies from a reputable breeder

I say all my reasons why not to be all "breeder all the way!" because that's not where I'm coming from. I'm trying to illustrate why that might be a better option. Someone else may have to drive several hours out of the way to adopt and there is a perfectly good and cute bunno in need of a loving, happy home at a pet shop a street away. Whatever the case, so long as buns that exist get proper homes, I don't care. It's more important to me that buns aren't mistreated

ALL THAT SAID, time to move onto some quicker advice

Get a cage for each of your buns. We got those big ones that go for like 120 a piece or whatever at Petsmart. The big open trays with the wire sides and the side door. This gives them a comfy place to flop so they can nap in whatever hay you put. This will also keep them confined after they get fixed so you're not worrying about an expen or whatever else

THIS SHOULD NOT BE THEIR PRIMARY HOUSING. Now I understand if you can't free roam your buns. Not everyone has the space or living conditions. Frankly, we would put them in separate cages before bed, and release them when we woke up so they were in there 8ish hours. Mostly it was so they got some rest but also to keep them out of mischief while we slept. They turned into more of very large litter boxes over time and have only really functioned as cages post spay or when one (usually Cloud) was being destructive or bitchy and redirection and distraction weren't working so she needed a time out to calm down

Now that we've moved into half of a duplex with three whole separate rooms, an enormous front room, and so on, they're just very large litterboxes/hangout spaces. One will eventually be downstairs so they can be close to us while we do things and the other will be in our bedroom so they're shut with us at night. This is so they spend more time roaming during the day and don't get fat from being lazy babies

Now I won't Totally judge if anyone has an outdoor hutch so long as it's plenty of room and bunnos come in during extreme weather. It's not the safest but like I get it

GI stasis is going to happen. Don't freak out. Yes, it CAN kill bunnies but only if you're not doing what you should. We give ours 80% hay/wood sorrel/grass, 10ish greens/salad, 10ish pellets with a bit of wiggle room for treats. The wood sorrel (commonly called clover across the US) and grass are rare treats but they eat enough to basically replace their hay when they get it. Occasional treats are I'm eating strawberries and they get the tops or the ends of carrots when we're cooking dinner. Sometimes they get Legit pet store treats but these are rare

We see GI signs most often when they're shedding and it's because they're ingesting fur so their poop does the connected string thingy that's the first sign of GI stasis. We also have seen it every time after a move because they've been too stressed to eat enough hay so we up their pellets and greens during that time to compensate. The only other times were when we switched them from alfalfa as babies to Timothy as adults and when they were fixed

A good way to combat this is a product the Hook's Holland Lops lady recommends on her channel. They're digestive tablets made with papaya, ginger, pineapple, peppercorns, banana, and so on. It's all organic and one tablet contains a MINIMUM of 2% crude protein, 15% crude fiber, 0.5% crude fat. A tablet contains a MAXIMUM of 4% moisture, and 0.2 grams of fruit sugar. For mild cases, one tablet every day until they're in the clear is just fine but for a severe case, use one tablet per pound of bun body weight. This should be broken up from one feeding to throughout the day though so it doesn't screw up their systems

How I do it is twice a day because my babies are so small at 4ish lbs and 6ish lbs. They're actually 3.5 and 5.5 but it's easier to just say 4 and 6. I'll give Cloud 2 in the morning and 2 in the evening, and Bonnie 3 at both times. I've only had to do that after their spay. The worst their GI symptoms have ever been, they each needed one tablet twice a day. Now, if either were, say, 12 pounds. I'd split that into 3 tablets 4 times a day or 2 tablets 6 times a day

This has kept them from needing an emergency vet thus far. They've never had hard guts and their weird poops haven't ever lasted too terribly long either. Just keep an eye on how much they're drinking, how much hay they're eating, and so on

Bunnies shed WAAAAY more than you think and nobody can possibly prepare you for it. Literally, every time I go to comb or pluck or otherwise groom either of them, I end up with a pile of fur that is at LEAST as large as they are if not twice or three times as big. And I still have to groom their sides like I've only just cleared their backs

They shed so much that the poor babies were having sneezing fits. We checked their noses and no snuffles. So you'll need to vaccuum to try and keep that down. But like they will leave it on you worse than cats and they shed twice a year, roughly each spring and fall

LISTEN to your buns. Are they abnormally skittish around your new roommate? Keep an eye on that person the same way you would if your dog or cat were abnormally skittish. I promise you they aren't a good person. At the very least, they aren't very good for you and you shouldn't trust them around your buns. They don't want your new partner to pet them? Run the other way. Or at least remember it. My babies have let me know ahead of time when someone or some place is bad news

Not just this, they'll let you know when they're not happy. Whether that's their hay, their bedding, if the carpet feels weird. Listen to them. You'll be around after them but they only have you so make them as happy as you can

Bunnies are deceptively stupid. Now, I know some bun parents who are like "how dare you insult such majestic creatures" when like I ASSURE you, Karen, that Oreo there has nothing going on in his head beside "mmmm monch" when he sees your baseboards. Like they're definitely smarter when fixed because hormones aren't flooding their tiny brains but they're still super dumb and governed by instincts

That isn't to say they have absolutely nothing going on upstairs because that's a lie. They are smart enough to recognize routines and wake you up for stuff, bother you if something is upsetting them. They're about as intelligent as toddlers? If that makes any sense. Like toddlers aren't geniuses by any stretch of the imagination, they're still smart. Like they're tiny little dumbasses ruled by "am hunger so must eat" and so on. So if you act like you've got tiny toddlers with soft fur then you're pretty gold

Also, they like to watch TV. Cloud likes MLP and other animal cartoons like Looney Toons. Bonnie likes dramatic stuff with explosions and her favorite thing is YGO. So like :/ toddlers :/

Bunnies are more expensive than you think but they don't have to break the bank. Bunnies are the most expensive pet I've ever had but I've also only ever had dogs and roommates with cats. Hay can be pretty expensive, plus salad, treats, and that's just food. You also have to take into consideration litter boxes, damage costs, and so on

To cut down on hay, we buy a 75 lbs bale from Tractor Supply for about $15 that lasts quite a few months. Depending on how we use it, it can go as quickly as 3 months because they pee on it (which means mold flakes) or as long as over 6 if rationed appropriately in old pet shop hay bags. Then, we buy fresh stuff in season and take advantage of sales and coupons. Sometimes, we don't give a salad if finances are tight enough but they will always get hay and pellets. We also buy pellets in bulk for cheaper and bought a Brita pitcher for like 20 bucks or so so they get filtered water no matter how hard the water is for much cheaper than water bottles

Get a portable pen for hay like the one here. It helps contain mess a LOT. Like hay is gonna get everywhere, obviously, but if you do the bale like we do, it's super helpful and keeps the mess pretty well contained. On that note, I highly recommend a shop vac which the type of vaccuum wood shops, car repair places, and construction sites tend to use. I just linked an example so you know what you're looking for but get a hose that's at least 1.5 inches in diameter. Ours is close to 2 inches but you need the wide diameter so you can vacuum fur and hay without creating clog issues like a regular vaccuum. Capacity doesn't matter so much as hose size and ours cost us something like $60

Your buns will inevitably eat something they shouldn't. Depending on what it is and how much, your reaction should change. Your bun nosed their way into the trash and got the little chip crumbs at the bottom of a snack bag? Eh they'll be fine. If it's something that's dangerous like plastic or a poisonous food then you should contact your emergency vet. But Cloud has ABSOLUTELY snatched chips and bits of coke from a straw or two and we always have to fight her to stay away from our chips. I have a friend who has a bun who assaults her for pancakes. Like it's fine

Even after you have buns, keep researching. When it was stupid hot and I was worried, I looked up what to do to help keep them cool. When I was worried how much Bonnie was shedding, I asked my discord group. When I'm not sure about a food, I hit up Google

And I think that's it? At least that's all off the top of my head of stuff I wish I'd known going in regarding buns that I didn't see anyone else talking about. Feel free to hit me up with more specific questions!

[amandaoftherosemire]

Bulletproof -- Part Two

Fandom: Marvel/College AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Gamora, Natasha Romanoff

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,150

Format: Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, so much angst, pining.

Summary: Bucky watches for you while he thinks about how things went wrong. You come back from your date with Thor.

A/N: I should probably apologize for this. It’s just angst for days here at the beginning. And I would apologize but we all know I’d be lying, so…  

Beta’d by: The absolutely adorable @hellzzzbelle. Seriously, her comments are either hilarious or super helpful. She’s perfect.

Banner by: The bright and beautiful @hellzzzbelle. She is made of sunshine and kitten dreams.

Part One here

Part Two

Late that night, Bucky sat at his bedroom window watching the traffic go by as he drank another beer and brooded. He was watching for you, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone but himself. You and Gamora shared the other apartment on the same floor as his and Steve’s place which meant he saw you every damn day. Having you right there but as untouchable as the moon was hell but he couldn’t bear to move away either.

Under normal circumstances, when he found himself feeling this broody and sorry for himself, he'd go out looking for a woman to distract him from his thoughts. He couldn't find it in himself to do that tonight, however, not after the things you'd said to him that day.

Frankly, he was embarrassed that he hadn't been able to remember Zelda's name that morning. He knew he had a reputation for being shamelessly sexual and perhaps a little careless with women, but he prided himself on being honest with the women who shared his bed, making it clear that he wasn't interested in anything more than a casual relationship. That said, he felt like a creep for so quickly forgetting his latest partner's name. Casual, after all, didn't have to mean cruel.

To be fair, it wasn't entirely his fault he'd forgotten Zelda's name. How was he supposed to be able to think of anyone else when you were smiling at him like that? Your eyes had been sparkling and a laugh trembling on your lips and he hadn't been sure he could remember his own name. It had been so long since you'd really looked at him. Sitting there with you and Steve while you teased him, and Steve laughed, it had felt like the years had dropped away and you were children again.

As soon as Steve had left, however, you had pulled back inside yourself and he was shut out all over again. Though you never treated him with hostility, you also never treated him with much warmth. Today had been the first time in years that you had felt like his friend. Until, that is, you had told him about your relationship with Thor. He hadn't intended to make you feel like he was judging you. In fact, if he was judging anyone, it was Steve. As far as Bucky was concerned, if Steve had been taking care of you the way you deserved instead of treating you like a sister, you wouldn't be out with Thor this minute. It was infuriating.

Bucky had to admit to himself that the majority of his anger and frustration came from sheer, unrelenting jealousy. He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted you. Plenty who knew him would insist it was because you were the only woman he wouldn't allow himself to touch, but he knew better. He'd want you just as badly even if you'd let him have you a thousand times. There had been a time that you'd wanted him, too, and he'd denied himself because to give in to temptation would have been a betrayal of his oldest and dearest friend. He'd have lopped off his other arm before he'd betray Steve.

Despite himself, he let himself remember that night he’d finally given in and tasted the shape of that temptation. The two of you had been alone on your couch. You had been flirting lightly with him in the same harmless way you had since your early teens. This night, though, you’d given him a look of such sultry promise that his hands had been in your hair and his mouth on yours before he could think twice.

Once he had the taste of your desire on his tongue and was breathing in the sweet scent of your breath, he was already lost. The feel of your body pressed against him and quivering with lust left him dizzy with pure need. If you had let him, he wouldn’t have stopped until he’d discovered your every secret craving and satisfied them all. If Gamora hadn’t walked in when she did, he’d never have found his way out of the labyrinth that was his desperation for you.

Two days later, you’d both attended a huge end of midterms party at Tony’s frat house. You’d walked in on him banging someone on the dryer in the laundry room. After that you’d disappeared and when he’d found out you were sick in the hospital, he’d tried to go see you. Steve wouldn’t let him, telling Bucky you had said you didn’t want to see him. Nothing had been the same since.

Everything that had happened, everything you’d said today made him realize that he’d been running from that mistake for years. You had gotten inside him with that one taste and all the women between now and then had been his pathetic attempt to purge himself.

Bucky knew he should have been honest with you, told you that he hadn't been ready for anything serious, made it clear that he cared too much to treat you casually. If he had been, maybe he’d still have his friend.

The memory of that kiss had branded him as yours forever, no matter what happened from then on. He wondered how you’d feel knowing how that memory tormented him with everything he wanted and couldn’t have. Having you look at him, even for a moment, the way you had before he’d ruined everything reminded him of how much he missed you. Seeing you every day, either visiting Steve in their apartment or in the hall when coming or going, was torture when you couldn’t care less about him. He’d give anything to make it right, but he had no idea how.

When the blue Prius pulled to the curb and you got out laughing, the blast of lust hit Bucky first. In the glare from the streetlight, he could see you were in state of deliciously ravished dishevelment. As his gut tightened in longing, the envy he held for Thor in that moment was almost physically painful.

Suddenly, you looked up at Bucky’s window and though he knew there was no way you could see him in the darkness of his room, it felt like you were staring into him. When you laughed and shook your head before walking toward the door, he wondered if you'd somehow seen him after all. Once you disappeared into the building, Bucky opened the window and lit a cigarette, letting Gamora and Natasha's voices come through from your open balcony door. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but sometimes he missed you so much and was so desperate to hear your voice that he just couldn't help himself.

On the street, you had glanced up as you always did to check if there was a light on in Bucky’s room. You didn't know why you did this. More than once you'd been able to tell that he wasn't alone. You kept hoping that it would stop hurting but it never did. You knew that you shouldn't look for him, but sometimes you missed him so much and were so desperate for the sight of him that you just couldn't help yourself.

For a moment you felt like you could feel his eyes on you, but you laughed at yourself for the thought. Bucky's room was completely dark. It was more than likely that he hadn't yet made it home with the lady du jour. You shook your head and walked inside.

You walked into your apartment to find Gamora and Natasha curled up on the couch together in pajamas. Gamora was painting Nat's toenails while they watched Mad Max: Fury Road. Gamora turned to greet you with a grin that turned into a gape of astonishment at your appearance. "Jesus, girl! What happened to you?"

You dropped the heels you were carrying by their straps next to the door and crossed the room to flop onto the love seat next to the open balcony door. You knew you looked worse for wear. Hell, your uber driver had given you a high five when you got in her Prius. "Thor Odinson," you laughed. "I don't think he's human. I'm not sure I'll be able to walk tomorrow."

Natasha smirked as she rolled her eyes. "Do you have to brag like that?"

Thank you, Bucky thought, jealousy curdling in his gut. He didn't want to hear any more, but he couldn't seem to make himself close the window.

You pretended to consider the question. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Gamora went back to painting Nat's pinky toe. "What'd you guys do?"

"Sushi, sake, and sin."

Nat snorted when Gamora groaned. "Nice alliteration."

You gave Nat a cheeky grin and replied in her native language, "Spasibo."

"You're not welcome."

"Aw," you laughingly groaned as you stretched out your sore thigh muscles, "you love me, and you know it. So, anything fun or weird happen around here tonight?"

Gamora didn't look up from Natasha's feet. "Not really." She paused, unsure if she wanted to tell you, but went on anyway. "Except Bucky came home alone tonight."

Your heart stuttered as it occurred to you he may very well have been in his room after all. You wondered if he had seen you looking up at his window. If he had, would he have thought anything of it. "He did? Huh."

Gamora, who was almost uncannily observant, had seen the way Bucky watched you and knew that despite what had happened in the past, he had never gotten over you. She had tried to tell you more than once, but you wouldn't listen.

"Maybe it was something you said," she murmured.

Nat raised an eyebrow at the top of Gamora's bent head. This was news to her. "What did you say?"

"I gave him some shit for being a walking hard-on." You dismissed it with a wave of your hand. "I was mostly teasing."

"Mostly?"

You glared at Gamora, hearing the touch of censure in her voice. "He got really weird and judge-y when he found out about Thor's and my arrangement, so I got a little harsh right before I took off."

"I should hope so," Nat sneered. "What a fucking hypocrite!"

"I know, right?" you asked, pointedly staring at Gamora.

"Maybe you hurt his feelings."

When you scoffed, Nat's mouth twisted in a half-smile. "If anyone could."

You couldn't believe how ridiculous your friends were being. You knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that nothing you had to say could touch Bucky. "Please," you sneered, and if your voice was harsh with pain, it was only Gamora and Nat there to hear it. "There's no way Bucky gives a shit what I think. He made it abundantly clear two years ago that he doesn't care about me at all." Gamora looked at you with sadness and doubt in her eyes and you couldn't stand it anymore. You stood up.

"Don't give me that look, Gamora. I'm going to bed." Gamora glanced at Nat with concern and you couldn't help but feel guilty for snapping at her. Deliberately you gentled your voice. "I'm meeting Steve for brunch in the morning if you guys want to join us."

Nat smiled a little and you relaxed. "You go out with Thor at night and Steve in the morning? You skank!"

Laughing, you shot back as you walked toward your bedroom, "Pearl clutching isn't a good look for you, Nat. Night, ladies."

Once your door closed, Nat took Gamora's hand. She knew her friend and sometimes lover better than most. "What do you know, Gamora?"

Shrugging, Gamora leaned into Nat's arms. "I don't know anything," she said softly. "I think she closed off the night she almost died and never opened up again. Now she can't see what's right in front of her face."

Natasha sighed. Though she preferred to keep her emotions under lock and key, she still cared deeply. "Thank god for Steve," she murmured.

"Amen," Gamora replied with a wry half-smile.

At his bedroom window, Bucky was horrified. He had known that he wasn't going to hear anything he liked when he opened his window, but he hadn't known how bad it would get. Not even losing his arm had been as bad as hearing you say, your voice raw with pain, that you were certain he didn't care about you. It had taken everything he had not to shout at you the moment the words were out of your mouth. No one mattered more, and the idea that he had made you think for a moment, let alone years, that you weren't vital to him made him ill.

He hadn't thought it could be worse than that until Gamora said the words that destroyed his world. You had almost died, and he hadn't known a damn thing about it.

Part Three here

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[shirinholm]

The Fir Tree by H. C. Andersen (translation by Jean Hersholt) Out in the woods stood such a pretty little fir tree. It grew in a good place, where it had plenty of sun and plenty of fresh air. Around it stood many tall comrades, both fir trees and pines. The little fir tree was in a headlong hurry to grow up. It didn't care a thing for the warm sunshine, or the fresh air, and it took no interest in the peasant children who ran about chattering when they came to pick strawberries or raspberries. Often when the children had picked their pails full, or had gathered long strings of berries threaded on straws, they would sit down to rest near the little fir. "Oh, isn't it a nice little tree?" they would say. "It's the baby of the woods." The little tree didn't like their remarks at all. Next year it shot up a long joint of new growth, and the following year another joint, still longer. You can always tell how old a fir tree is by counting the number of joints it has. "I wish I were a grown-up tree, like my comrades," the little tree sighed. "Then I could stretch out my branches and see from my top what the world is like. The birds would make me their nesting place, and when the wind blew I could bow back and forth with all the great trees." It took no pleasure in the sunshine, nor in the birds. The glowing clouds, that sailed overhead at sunrise and sunset, meant nothing to it. In winter, when the snow lay sparkling on the ground, a hare would often come hopping along and jump right over the little tree. Oh, how irritating that was! That happened for two winters, but when the third winter came the tree was so tall that the hare had to turn aside and hop around it. "Oh, to grow, grow! To get older and taller," the little tree thought. "That is the most wonderful thing in this world." In the autumn, woodcutters came and cut down a few of the largest trees. This happened every year. The young fir was no longer a baby tree, and it trembled to see how those stately great trees crashed to the ground, how their limbs were lopped off, and how lean they looked as the naked trunks were loaded into carts. It could hardly recognize the trees it had known, when the horses pulled them out of the woods. Where were they going? What would become of them? In the springtime, when swallows and storks came back, the tree asked them, "Do you know where the other trees went? Have you met them?" The swallows knew nothing about it, but the stork looked thoughtful and nodded his head. "Yes, I think I met them," he said. "On my way from Egypt I met many new ships, and some had tall, stately masts. They may well have been the trees you mean, for I remember the smell of fir. They wanted to be remembered to you." "Oh, I wish I were old enough to travel on the sea. Please tell me what it really is, and how it looks." "That would take too long to tell," said the stork, and off he strode. "Rejoice in your youth," said the sunbeams. "Take pride in your growing strength and in the stir of life within you." And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew wept over it, for the tree was young and without understanding. When Christmas came near, many young trees were cut down. Some were not even as old or as tall as this fir tree of ours, who was in such a hurry and fret to go traveling. These young trees, which were always the handsomest ones, had their branches left on them when they were loaded on carts and the horses drew them out of the woods. "Where can they be going?" the fir tree wondered. "They are no taller than I am. One was really much smaller than I am. And why are they allowed to keep all their branches? "Where can they be going?" "We know! We know!" the sparrows chirped. "We have been to town and peeped in the windows. We know where they are going. The greatest splendor and glory you can imagine awaits them. We've peeped through windows. We've seen them planted right in the middle of a warm room, and decked out with the most splendid things-gold apples, good gingerbread, gay toys, and many hundreds of candles." "And then?" asked the fir tree, trembling in every twig. "And then? What happens then?" "We saw nothing more. And never have we seen anything that could match it." "I wonder if I was created for such a glorious future?" The fir tree rejoiced. "Why, that is better than to cross the sea. I'm tormented with longing. Oh, if Christmas would only come! I'm just as tall and grown-up as the trees they chose last year. How I wish I were already in the cart, on my way to the warm room where there's so much splendor and glory. Then-then something even better, something still more important is bound to happen, or why should they deck me so fine? Yes, there must be something still grander! But what? Oh, how I long: I don't know what's the matter with me." "Enjoy us while you may," the air and sunlight told him. "Rejoice in the days of your youth, out here in the open." But the tree did not rejoice at all. It just grew. It grew and was green both winter and summer-dark evergreen. People who passed it said, "There's a beautiful tree!" And when Christmas time came again they cut it down first. The ax struck deep into its marrow. The tree sighed as it fell to the ground. It felt faint with pain. Instead of the happiness it had expected, the tree was sorry to leave the home where it had grown up. It knew that never again would it see its dear old comrades, the little bushes and the flowers about it-and perhaps not even the birds. The departure was anything but pleasant. The tree did not get over it until all the trees were unloaded in the yard, and it heard a man say, "That's a splendid one. That's the tree for us." Then two servants came in fine livery, and carried the fir tree into a big splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hung all around the walls. On either side of the white porcelain stove stood great Chinese vases, with lions on the lids of them. There were easy chairs, silk-covered sofas and long tables strewn with picture books, and with toys that were worth a mint of money, or so the children said. The fir tree was planted in a large tub filled with sand, but no one could see that it was a tub, because it was wrapped in a gay green cloth and set on a many-colored carpet. How the tree quivered! What would come next? The servants and even the young ladies helped it on with its fine decorations. From its branches they hung little nets cut out of colored paper, and each net was filled with candies. Gilded apples and walnuts hung in clusters as if they grew there, and a hundred little white, blue, and even red, candles were fastened to its twigs. Among its green branches swayed dolls that it took to be real living people, for the tree had never seen their like before. And up at its very top was set a large gold tinsel star. It was splendid, I tell you, splendid beyond all words! "Tonight," they all said, "ah, tonight how the tree will shine!" "Oh," thought the tree, "if tonight would only come! If only the candles were lit! And after that, what happens then? Will the trees come trooping out of the woods to see me? Will the sparrows flock to the windows? Shall I take root here, and stand in fine ornaments all winter and summer long?" That was how much it knew about it. All its longing had gone to its bark and set it to arching, which is as bad for a tree as a headache is for us. Now the candles were lighted. What dazzling splendor! What a blaze of light! The tree quivered so in every bough that a candle set one of its twigs ablaze. It hurt terribly. "Mercy me!" cried every young lady, and the fire was quickly put out. The tree no longer dared rustle a twig-it was awful! Wouldn't it be terrible if it were to drop one of its ornaments? Its own brilliance dazzled it. Suddenly the folding doors were thrown back, and a whole flock of children burst in as if they would overturn the tree completely. Their elders marched in after them, more sedately. For a moment, but only for a moment, the young ones were stricken speechless. Then they shouted till the rafters rang. They danced about the tree and plucked off one present after another. "What are they up to?" the tree wondered. "What will happen next?" As the candles burned down to the bark they were snuffed out, one by one, and then the children had permission to plunder the tree. They went about it in such earnest that the branches crackled and, if the tree had not been tied to the ceiling by the gold star at top, it would have tumbled headlong. The children danced about with their splendid playthings. No one looked at the tree now, except an old nurse who peered in among the branches, but this was only to make sure that not an apple or fig had been overlooked. "Tell us a story! Tell us a story!" the children clamored, as they towed a fat little man to the tree. He sat down beneath it and said, "Here we are in the woods, and it will do the tree a lot of good to listen to our story. Mind you, I'll tell only one. Which will you have, the story of Ivedy-Avedy, or the one about Humpty-Dumpty who tumbled downstairs, yet ascended the throne and married the Princess?" "Ivedy-Avedy," cried some. "Humpty-Dumpty," cried the others. And there was a great hullabaloo. Only the fir tree held its peace, though it thought to itself, "Am I to be left out of this? Isn't there anything I can do?" For all the fun of the evening had centered upon it, and it had played its part well. The fat little man told them all about Humpty-Dumpty, who tumbled downstairs, yet ascended the throne and married the Princess. And the children clapped and shouted, "Tell us another one! Tell us another one!" For they wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy too, but after Humpty-Dumpty the story telling stopped. The fir tree stood very still as it pondered how the birds in the woods had never told it a story to equal this. "Humpty-Dumpty tumbled downstairs, yet he married the Princess. Imagine! That must be how things happen in the world. You never can tell. Maybe I'll tumble downstairs and marry a princess too," thought the fir tree, who believed every word of the story because such a nice man had told it. The tree looked forward to the following day, when they would deck it again with fruit and toys, candles and gold. "Tomorrow I shall not quiver," it decided. "I'll enjoy my splendor to the full. Tomorrow I shall hear about Humpty-Dumpty again, and perhaps about Ivedy-Avedy too." All night long the tree stood silent as it dreamed its dreams, and next morning the butler and the maid came in with their dusters. "Now my splendor will be renewed," the fir tree thought. But they dragged it upstairs to the garret, and there they left it in a dark corner where no daylight ever came. "What's the meaning of this?" the tree wondered. "What am I going to do here? What stories shall I hear?" It leaned against the wall, lost in dreams. It had plenty of time for dreaming, as the days and the nights went by. Nobody came to the garret. And when at last someone did come, it was only to put many big boxes away in the corner. The tree was quite hidden. One might think it had been entirely forgotten. "It's still winter outside," the tree thought. "The earth is too hard and covered with snow for them to plant me now. I must have been put here for shelter until springtime comes. How thoughtful of them! How good people are! Only, I wish it weren't so dark here, and so very, very lonely. There's not even a little hare. It was so friendly out in the woods when the snow was on the ground and the hare came hopping along. Yes, he was friendly even when he jumped right over me, though I did not think so then. Here it's all so terribly lonely." "Squeak, squeak!" said a little mouse just then. He crept across the floor, and another one followed him. They sniffed the fir tree, and rustled in and out among its branches. "It is fearfully cold," one of them said. "Except for that, it would be very nice here, wouldn't it, you old fir tree?" "I'm not at all old," said the fir tree. "Many trees are much older than I am." "Where did you come from?" the mice asked him. "And what do you know?" They were most inquisitive creatures. "Tell us about the most beautiful place in the world. Have you been there? Were you ever in the larder, where there are cheeses on shelves and hams that hang from the rafters? It's the place where you can dance upon tallow candles-where you can dart in thin and squeeze out fat." "I know nothing of that place," said the tree. "But I know the woods where the sun shines and the little birds sing." Then it told them about its youth. The little mice had never heard the like of it. They listened very intently, and said, "My! How much you have seen! And how happy it must have made you." "I?" the fir tree thought about it. "Yes, those days were rather amusing." And he went on to tell them about Christmas Eve, when it was decked out with candies and candles. "Oh," said the little mice, "how lucky you have been, you old fir tree!" "I am not at all old," it insisted. "I came out of the woods just this winter, and I'm really in the prime of life, though at the moment my growth is suspended." "How nicely you tell things," said the mice. The next night they came with four other mice to hear what the tree had to say. The more it talked, the more clearly it recalled things, and it thought, "Those were happy times. But they may still come back-they may come back again. Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the Princess. Maybe the same thing will happen to me." It thought about a charming little birch tree that grew out in the woods. To the fir tree she was a real and lovely Princess. "Who is Humpty-Dumpty?" the mice asked it. So the fir tree told them the whole story, for it could remember it word by word. The little mice were ready to jump to the top of the tree for joy. The next night many more mice came to see the fir tree, and on Sunday two rats paid it a call, but they said that the story was not very amusing. This made the little mice to sad that they began to find it not so very interesting either. "Is that the only story you know?" the rats asked. "Only that one," the tree answered. "I heard it on the happiest evening of my life, but I did not know then how happy I was." "It's a very silly story. Don't you know one that tells about bacon and candles? Can't you tell us a good larder story?" "No," said the tree. "Then good-by, and we won't be back," the rats said, and went away. At last the little mice took to staying away too. The tree sighed, "Oh, wasn't it pleasant when those gay little mice sat around and listened to all that I had to say. Now that, too, is past and gone. But I will take good care to enjoy myself, once they let me out of here." When would that be? Well, it came to pass on a morning when people came up to clean out the garret. The boxes were moved, the tree was pulled out and thrown-thrown hard-on the floor. But a servant dragged it at once to the stairway, where there was daylight again. "Now my life will start all over," the tree thought. It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeam strike it as if it came out into the courtyard. This all happened so quickly and there was so much going around it, that the tree forgot to give even a glance at itself. The courtyard adjoined a garden, where flowers were blooming. Great masses of fragrant roses hung over the picket fence. The linden trees were in blossom, and between them the swallows skimmed past, calling, "Tilira-lira-lee, my love's come back to me." But it was not the fir tree of whom they spoke. "Now I shall live again," it rejoiced, and tried to stretch out its branches. Alas, they were withered, and brown, and brittle. It was tossed into a corner, among weeds and nettles. But the gold star that was still tied to its top sparkled bravely in the sunlight. Several of the merry children, who had danced around the tree and taken such pleasure in it at Christmas, were playing in the courtyard. One of the youngest seized upon it and tore off the tinsel star. "Look what is still hanging on that ugly old Christmas tree," the child said, and stamped upon the branches until they cracked beneath his shoes. The tree saw the beautiful flowers blooming freshly in the garden. It saw itself, and wished that they had left it in the darkest corner of the garret. It thought of its own young days in the deep woods, and of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice who had been so pleased when it told them the story of Humpty-Dumpty. "My days are over and past," said the poor tree. "Why didn't I enjoy them while I could? Now they are gone-all gone." A servant came and chopped the tree into little pieces. These heaped together quite high. The wood blazed beautifully under the big copper kettle, and the fir tree moaned so deeply that each groan sounded like a muffled shot. That's why the children who were playing near-by ran to make a circle around the flames, staring into the fire and crying, "Pif! Paf!" But as each groans burst from it, the tree thought of a bright summer day in the woods, or a starlit winter night. It thought of Christmas Eve and thought of Humpty-Dumpty, which was the only story it ever heard and knew how to tell. And so the tree was burned completely away. The children played on in the courtyard. The youngest child wore on his breast the gold star that had topped the tree on its happiest night of all. But that was no more, and the tree was no more, and there's no more to my story. No more, nothing more. All stories come to an end.

[adambenkyloren]

THE LAST JEDI: A MIRROR, SLOWLY CRACKING by Chuck Wendig

(This is from Wendig’s NSFW blog, and it’s spot-on in many ways. I disagree with some of his opinions about TLJ and its characters, but I like what he focuses on—the subversion of expectations. Plus, his true joy about the film comes through loud and clear.)

[Warning: deeper into this review, you will be walking onto the muddy streets of lawless SPOILERTOWN. Ye have been warned.]

This will be less a review of The Last Jedi (Episode VIII) than it will be… my thoughts? An analysis? Me opening my head like a flip-top Pac-Men and seeing what globs of brain-goo I can grab and hastily smack into the screen?

If you want my review, it’s this:

WOOOOOO

YAAAAAAY

OH WHOA

WAIT

WOW

AHHHHHH

*pant pant pant*

NO WAY DID THEY JUST

THEY DID

AND NOW

BUT THEN

OH HOLY SHIT

WAIT BUT THAT MEANS

*gesticulates wildly*

And, close.

I fucking loved it.

That’s it. That’s my review. It’s mostly just a series of excitable sounds with the occasional twirling around until I’m dizzy. But I’d rather look past my gibbon-like hoots and my strange, erotic dances and see what lies within. What lurks deeper. What do I see when I enter the DARK SIDE CAVE to have the truth revealed to me?

YOUR EXPECTATIONS WILL NOT BE MET

Fandom is a tricky bear to wrestle. We love a thing so deeply, we entwine ourselves within it. We thread a little bit — sometimes a lot — of our identity into the thing. And we come to believe we own that thing, and further, we join a tribe of fellow owners who all have threaded themselves into it both intellectually and emotionally. We feel excited by what this thing can bring us. We develop pet theories. We craft and conjure the path we would take if we were ever handed the keys to the Thing We Love. We become excited and obsessive, a little bit. Sometimes a lotta bit.

But here’s the thing:

Stories can never be written for the fans.

Fan service isn’t a bad thing, per se, but it is sometimes a fairly lazy thing — it’s a comfortable signal, a soft chair, it’s Norm from Cheers where everybody knows his name. It’s to say, “You’re lost here, but look, here is a familiar friend to help you through. It’s to let you know that despite all the strange flora and the eyes glowing in the dark, you’re still a known quantity in a known land. This is a safe place.” When done overmuch, fan service does more than just introduce a few friendly faces. It burns down the trees. It lights up the dark. It slides a jukebox over and slams the top of it like it’s fucking Fonzie and suddenly, the Greatest Hits begin to play, just as you love them. Maybe in an order you don’t know, but still the songs you know and you adore.

The Last Jedi is not without its fan service moments, but they are few and far-between, and even when they exist, they exist to challenge you more than they do to bring you succor.

The Last Jedi will not meet your expectations.

Oh, it knows them.

It is well-aware of them, in fact, and is well-aware that you have them. And it willfully… I don’t want to say disregards them, precisely, but in a sense, it has weaponized them against you. It knows you’ve seen all the movies. It knows you know the narrative beats, the tropes, the rhyming couplets of George Lucas, and then it gently puts them all in a magician’s hat, and then it reaches into the hat, and instead of pulling them back out, it pulls out a porg.

And then the movie hits you with the porg.

Whap.

That metaphor may have gotten a little out of hand, but I think you grok me.

The Last Jedi cares very much about your expectations.

It’s just not going to meet them.

You, a fan, have explicit ideas about what a Star Wars movie can and should do, and it’s going to use that against you. And it’s going to play for a larger audience, as it must. It can’t work just for you, dear fan — never mind the fact that fandom is not a singular, globular entity, like a giant amoeba with one set of desires to be met. It has to go bigger. It has to please a wide variety of viewers while trying to make new fans along the way.

This message is clear within the first 20 minutes of the movie.

[Once again, turn back, for HERE THERE BE SPOILERS.]

We expect Luke to take his old lightsaber — really, Anakin’s old lightsaber — and regard it as the way one should regard something that was last seen in your pre-severed hand. I mean, if last time I saw a Hummel figurine was in my hand that got lopped off, and then decades later you traipsed up to me on my creepy hermit island and handed me that very Hummel figurine, I’d look at you like you were Jesus Christ Himself, because, what the fuck. But that’s not what Luke does. He regards the lightsaber and instead, chucks it behind him, where a couple of porgs try to murder each other with it.

We expect Poe’s half-wit fly-boy hero plan to work, because in these movies, the dimwit hero plan always works — Han Solo always gets them out of a scrape by doing something very Han Solo, for instance, and so we trust that Poe is living by his instincts, and those will save the day. Except that’s not what happens. His efforts fuck it all up. Arguably, much of the film is based on his gigantic fuck-up. Lives are lost because of Poe Dameron.

We expect Vice Admiral Holdo doesn’t know what she’s doing, and that the snappy man who demands the plan is in the right. But he’s not. We expect incorrectly. She’s right. He’s wrong. She doesn’t owe him shit. And yet he, the demanding man, is assured that he is right and must be told the plan, and his Sexist Hero Man routine gets people killed.

We expect Rey to turn. Or Kylo to turn. They don’t.

We expect Snoke to be a grand puppetmaster, the Emperor Palpatine of the trilogy, and that he’ll — ooh, oops, he’s now cut in half? Or more than half? Was that a hand still sitting on the arm of his throne room chair? Somebody get some antibacterial ointment in that joint, post-haste.

We expect that our heroes must be chosen ones, that they come from special families, that they have been born of destiny — not that they are the children of drunken junkers, not that they once mopped a star destroyer, not that they are a lone mechanic weeping over the loss of a sister.

Often, our expectations are based on what we know of the former films — we know that the big AT-AT battle means a scrappy band will take some of those AT-ATs down and they’ll escape, but this escape is not so plucky, nor does it begin the film. It ends it. And it nearly ends the resistance. The heroic sacrifice of Finn — an expected moment — is thwarted by Rose, who kisses him. (We expected that to be Rey, didn’t we?)

In the throne room, we expect it will go like it did in Return of the Jedi — and it does, a little. Snoke is ultimately the Emperor, in that he’s a Sinister Puppetmaster with a lot of buildup but not a lot of meat on those bones. (Remember: Palpatine/Sidious only gets those deeper character beats much, much later, long after ROTJ left theaters.) The dark apprentice does turn on his master to save another, but Kylo’s turn is not the sacrifice of Vader but rather, a Sith-like move to eradicate the master and take on a new apprentice: Rey. Kylo does not turn to the light-side. He simply turns against Snoke. He fulfills the Dark Side’s wishes. (And then promptly begs and negs Rey when she won’t take his hand. “You’re nobody,” he tells her. “Please.”) And all of this happens in the second film of the trilogy, not the third — another subversion.

And that’s the word to note.

Subversion.

Another word:

Mutation.

Chaos theory.

Butterfly effect.

Ripples from thrown stones.

Or —

A MIRROR, SLOWLY CRACKING

It goes like this:

The Force Awakens was a little bit comfort food. It needed to be. It needed to play off our nostalgia. It needed to have the cut of A New Hope’s jib. We needed a reminder that we know this thing, that we love this thing.

But to go back to the jukebox metaphor, it didn’t play The Greatest Hits only. Or rather, it played them, but they were played by a new band, or performed live, or remixed, or played in a different key. The Force Awakens was comfort food, but with a few odd ingredients thrown in — “Wait, what the fuck is shiso? Is this bison? Are persimmons a real thing? Is this a persimmon or are those fruits you get in Narnia?”

The Force Awakens birthed mutations into the narrative code of Star Wars. It threw rocks into water. It chipped the mirror into which we were all staring — introducing just a few small cracks in the reflective glass. When Kylo Ren faces down Finn and Rey at the end of that film, he tells them, “It’s just us, now.” He’s telling us that the baton has been passed. “It’s not their story anymore. It’s our story.”

And then, The Last Jedi continues that.

The mutations are passed down, and the monster evolves.

The rocks in water created ripples, and now we’re seeing those ripples move toward the shoreline, some of them becoming waves.

The cracks in the mirror are growing bigger, distorting the image we expect to see reflected back at us, ruining the comfort of a mirrored image and breaking our assumptions into shards and islands of glass.

Every time we, as viewers, reach out to touch the mirror — as Rey does, in the cave — we only make more cracks. We don’t resolve the image. We don’t save the mirror. We further the breaking of the glass through our clumsy, monkey-handed expectations.

The comfort food of the Episode VII has become the molecular gastronomy of Episode VIII — ingredients we thought we knew, resolved into new forms: foams and suspensions, gelees and pancakes and cocktails, a thing we expect to be sweet is suddenly sour and salty, another thing is disassembled and deconstructed, a third thing isn’t supposed to be edible but somehow, it is.

The Last Jedi is not our comfort food.

It is not going to let your nostalgia be enough.

IT’S A FUCKING MESS, THIS MOVIE

The movie’s a mess.

And it needs to be.

I love that it’s a mess.

It’s not a formless mess. It’s not without purpose or shape.

But it’s a mess.

Let’s switch gears for a second.

Go to this link and watch the video — no, it’s not porn, it’s a brief clip from A Chef’s Table, featuring chef Grant Achatz talking about — well, you’ll see.

I, as a writer, take a lot of inspiration from this show, A Chef’s Table, not just because I like to watch pretentious chefs plate pretentious food pretentiously (though my word, I do love it!), but rather because I really appreciate seeing how each chef comes to the kitchen and to the plate and to the very idea of food differently. They are each singularly obsessed with their craft, but each in a wildly different direction — how they do it, why they do it, their ethos behind doing it, how they treat their staff, how they frame a plate, how they invent and reinvent themselves and their work? It fascinates me. And it inspires me.

Achatz in that clip says, to paraphrase, that he doesn’t want to be defined by the traditional margins of… well, preparing and serving food. He takes inspiration from modern art and for a dessert, removes the plate from the equation and lets the tablecloth serve as canvas:

That, an image of said dessert at Alinea, his restaurant.

That dish is a mess, in the literal sense of the word.

A wonderful mess. An elegant, articulate mess.

But a mess, just the same.

Now, I don’t want to give the wrong impression that The Last Jedi is quite so avant-garde — it’s not a shattering of the mold, it’s not giving us some David Lynchian view of the Star Warsfranchise, but it is giving us a Rian Johnson view. And I’d argue, without knowing Rian Johnson’s precious and weird and wonderful heart, that he — like Achatz — did not want to be bound by the rigors of the plate. Because he did not make a film that followed the bouncing ball. It does not follow the classic narrative Hollywood blockbuster beats. (Nor, for the record, does Empire Strikes Back, by the way. I talk about how that film subverts the pattern in my book — plug alert— Damn Fine Story.) Johnson does not make a film pinned to the corkboard by the tropes of the Star Wars universe. It sees them. It uses them. And then it willfully discards them, locking eyes with you so you see that it’s doing it. And it results in a messy, bumpy, strange film.

One that needs to be messy, bumpy, and strange.

Because then, only then, are we truly free from the pattern.

I explained to my wife that The Last Jedi is like The Matrix Reloaded, if The Matrix Reloaded was actually good. That second film of the Matrix trilogy is a fucking mess, and it tries very hard to look into its own heart and challenge the assumptions you have about it — but it was too soon, and it too easily betrayed what the first film was without understanding why it was doing it. And it did it all in a haughty, nose-in-the-air, intellectually-elite way. (As with all things here and everywhere, YMMV.)

This film tries and messily succeeds.

And the resultant mess — the splatters, the ripples, the broken glass, the unfolding mutations — changes our understanding. It frees Episode IX from fitting a known pattern. It frees us from knowing what’s to come — we are gloriously, wonderfully lost. Just as the characters are themselves lost. I pondered that this film could’ve just as easily been called The Lost Jedi, because that’s how it feels. Luke is wayward. Rey is lost to her own powers and place in the world. Kylo is lost in his rage, fallen into the chasm of his heart and spirit. Poe is unmoored from his heroism. Finn is pinballing between his cowardice and his own heroism. Rose is lost without her sister. Leia is lost without Han and the Republic. The Resistance is lost under the might of the First Order. Everyone is lost. Everyone is failing. The entire movie presents us with failure after failure: characters trying to do the right thing and missing a step, every damn time.

But it presents failure in the way that the dessert table of Grant Achatz is a failure: it’s broken, yes, but into new shapes, new tastes. It’s failure in the way a mirror is broken: one image becomes many, distorted and new and beautiful in its way. It’s failure as the butterfly effect. It’s failure as Yoda tells it: the greatest teacher, failure is.

This failure of Luke, of Rey, of the Resistance, of all the characters, leads to a resurrection — the Phoenix Firebird of the Rebellion — rising anew.

This failure of these characters is a success for the film.

It’s a mess in the best way. Because in that mess, the patterns are lost, the expectations are destroyed, the tropes are broken and bent. For the first time in a long time, I had literally no idea what was going to happen, and that felt like madness in the best way.

This is a mythic remix. A resetting of the game board.

In being lost, we have become found.

THAT CODA, AT THE ENDING

At the end of the film, we see the fathier stable-boy gently summon a broom to his hand and look to the night sky, a Resistance ring on his finger, the music of Luke Skywalker rising. It’s an odd coda in that none of the Star Wars films give us anything like that — but it’s beautiful to me in several ways. It’s beautiful because:

a) It continues the theme of Rey, Finn, Rose, where power and rebellion and heroism needn’t come from special bloodlines — it’s in all of us, all the way down to this one stable-boy.

b) It serves as a refutation, in fact, of the wealth and spectacle of Canto Bight, full of people who think they’re special but who are decidedly not.

c) It continues what for me is one of the chief themes of Star Wars, in that the actions of a small group can change the galaxy — Rose and Finn meet a boy who one day may become the face of the new Resistance; they have inspired him, they were the spark.

d) It makes me think of our own time, and the need for resistance against a rising autocratic regime, and it tells me that there’s a whole other take waiting on The Last Jedi, showing how it (and Episode VII) are telling us a lot more about our current political climate than we’d like. The film flirts for a while with an angle of Whataboutism, with Bothsidesism, where Kylo tells us that he wants to kill the past, where DJ the slicer tells us that all sides are bad, Luke hates the Jedi — but the movie concertedly, decidedly tells us that’s not true by the end. Rey picks her side, as does Kylo. Finn refutes DJ’s assertion. No Grey Jedi exist. Evil is evil, oppression is oppression, and the light will rise to meet it — here, now, with this young boy and his FORCE-BROOM.

and finally

e) Because my son loved that part. My son is six years old and responded to that kid by wanting to be that kid. HE HAS THE FORCE, my son said immediately after leaving the theater, DID YOU SEE THE BROOM OMG THE BROOM. This storyworld has long been generational: each generation now getting a trilogy for them, unique to them, and this is that, here. I love that. I love that this trilogy is more for him than it is for me. It doesn’t kill all the old stuff, it doesn’t shutter the past entirely, but it does break it apart, and remake it for kids my son’s age — and kids who aren’t just my son, either, kids who don’t look like him, kids who don’t have to look like Luke Skywalker but can instead look like Rose or Finn or Poe or Rey.

THE CHALLENGE

The challenge comes for the viewer is this:

Do you need need your Star Wars to be comfort food? No harm, no foul if you do. Some look to Star Wars and need it to be the perfect mirror it has been — they don’t want that mirror broken so that other stories can be told, so that other people can see themselves in the shared shards. Some want the tropes. They want the familiarity. They need nostalgia.

And this movie burns it all down.

A lightning strike setting fire to a sacred tree.

It’s okay if you didn’t like it.

But it’s worth appreciating what it did, and why, even if you don’t.

Me, I loved it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to my wild gesticulations of joy.

See you around, kid.

(A few complaints and concerns about the film will be in the comments.)

[bunnimew]

Please Have Snow and Mistletoe Chapter 5

@anxiety-jack

Jack Frost/Pitch Black

Rated T for language

Word count at 6.6k and we’re still not done!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 AO3 link Ko-fi Patreon

The pov switching is normal by now.

The room was in chaos.

Every spirit still roped into playing seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement to bullshit as long as possible to delay the start of the next game. There was one in particular who had asked North where the marshmallows were five times already and every time turned in the opposite direction to the one she was told.

A true hero.

Pitch had made his way to the edge of the room, prepared to loom and look uninviting for as long as it took. The silly rodent had already gathered their bag of marshmallows, and the way he was eyeing it, Pitch wasn’t sure they would make it to the game.

Jack and Bunny were already back to arguing with each other. Pitch would be pleased if he didn’t know how little that mattered. They could fight all day and night for weeks at a time and Jack would still, at the end of it all, choose the Guardians over him. Pitch had made his offer more than once. Jack was loyal to his cause. It was as endearing as it was frustrating.

They made it to shoving each other in the shoulder a grand total of three times before Jack gave it up and walked away. After North’s twelve descriptions of where the marshmallows were, Jack had no problem making his way over.

Pitch, however, had a big problem with it.

There was a rather large and… skillfully-put-together, Pitch begrudgingly admitted only in his head, bouquet of mistletoe directly in the path of Jack, and Tooth had just fluttered up beside him as escort to the marshmallows. Pitch did not want to sit through another sweet and silly bonding of Guardians via forced kisses.

Especially with Jack, but Pitch wasn’t looking at that bit too closely right now.

Right now, he just wanted to spare his eyes the chore of enduring chummy Guardians smiling all over each other while Pitch stood in the corner and sulked harder. So Pitch decided not to sulk, and get some revenge instead.

It barely took a thought to summon the puddle of shadows beneath Jack’s feet.

The startled yelp swallowed by the darkness was so satisfying.

Tooth’s glare, doubly so.

The sudden crash over by the marshmallow table was but a cherry on top.

Pitch’s elation lasted only as long as it took for the nudge against his hip to register. The King of Nightmares did a double-take because holy shit, when had the Sandman gotten that close? He hopped to the side as far as his long legs would allow, but...

No.

No.

The little golden ball of imminent doom was pointing up.

Pitch refused to look.

Thankfully, Jack hadn’t actually broken anything in his landing. Overturned a table, yes. Spilled an artistically arranged bowl of fruit, check. Launched every single bag of marshmallows into the air and laid there while every single one came back down to pelt him in the face and chest? Absolutely.

He didn’t know what he’d done to offend Pitch, until he thought about it a second and realized he’d done a lot in the past few months that might have offended Pitch. Okay, yeah, he deserved a little targeted table flipping. Still, Jack wondered why he started his payback now.

An undignified sound of strangled desperation made Jack look up from collecting apples off the floor. He winced, but couldn’t look away from the train wreck that was Sandy dragging Pitch back to the mistletoe by ropes of dreamsand. That could not have been how the Nightmare King meant for this prank to go.

“Okay! Back in line!” North commanded. Apparently he’d taken it upon himself to deliver the bag of marshmallows to the wayward hero of them all, thus rendering them out of time. Jack tossed his bag in the air and caught it, wondering how Bunny and he were gonna fuck this one up.

“Is snowball fight!”

Or not. Jack could definitely nail Bunny with marshmallows, not a problem.

“First throws marshmallow, second catches in mouth!”

Nevermind.

Still, it wasn’t an argument who would be throwing. Bunny could try, but in a snowball fight, no one had better accuracy than Jack. All Bunny would have to do, is catch.

With his mouth.

Surely it was big enough to handle that.

…

It was not big enough to handle that.

The problem wasn’t actually Bunny’s mouth, it was that Bunny’s mouth moved. Jack had excellent aim, but he couldn’t get Bunny to trust that for the life of him. Every perfectly thrown marshmallow was thwarted by Bunny trying to catch it. And Jack was so done.

“Hold. Still.”

“Just throw it!”

“Not until you promise to stay still!”

“We’re gonna lose!”

“Because of you.”

Pitch was, honestly, bored out of his mind. He felt like all he was doing was feeding the gopher in the most difficult way possible. The gopher, as it happened, didn’t seem to mind.

Except, of course, when he missed.

Pitch’s smirk was well settled after the second marshmallow nearly took out an eye. Unintentionally.

It was his only source of amusement. That is, until Jack started throwing marshmallows purposely off-point to make the rabbit dive for them. That.

That was funny.

With Pitch sabotaging his own team anyway, he didn’t see the harm in finding out whether Bunny would dive for just any marshmallow. With as natural an act as possible, the Nightmare King lopped a sweet confectionary away from his own partner toward Jack’s, instead.

And nailed him in the face.

Oops.

“Whaddya think you’re doin’?” the rabbit demanded, and Pitch could understand his ire, but really, if he’d caught it in his mouth, that would have been a point, wouldn’t it?

“Yeah,” Jack echoed, and his words were the same but his expression was not. Jack was obviously entertained. “What’re you doing, Pitch?”

And then he threw a marshmallow at him.

Pitch was so shocked he forgot to dodge.

He was not so shocked that he didn’t retaliate.

The groundhog was disappointed and Bunny was pissed, but there was no stopping them now. Pitch’s aim wasn’t as good as Jack’s, but the frost spirit’s ability to dodge paled next to Pitch. Jack could throw three at a time but that only meant he ran through his half-a-bag of marshmallows first and had to steal another spirit’s to keep going.

They must not have been the only bored spirits because it barely took a minute for the rest of the line to join them. Catching spirits raced to the marshmallow table to grab their own bags and, in one notable case, throw the entire unopened thing across the room to peg friend or foe alike.

It was definitely the minority trying to return to the official game and they went utterly ignored as rivalry upon rivalry exhausted itself in sugary war. Pitch tuned them out, unable to focus on anything but diving away from Jack’s strikes and launching his own. True to his word, the man was good at snowball fights and Pitch was definitely taking more hits than he’d like.

To the face.

Because, of course.

Pitch had one and only one trick up his sleeve. The next time he disappeared into a shadow to escape a not one, not two, but three marshmallow slap to the face, he reappeared in Jack’s shadow, just behind him.

He lifted everything left in his bag over Jack’s head and prepared to flip it over.

He never got the chance.

That spry little nymph of a Guardian must have figured out his plan because he spun around just in time to fucking tackle Pitch to the floor and what had he ever done to deserve that exactly?

They hit the floor hard, but Pitch still went with his plan, repositioning his bag and upending the whole thing over Jack. It was a bit like shooting himself in the foot since Jack was, in turn, over Pitch.

And then the asshole one-upped him by turning his bag over on Pitch’s face.

Fuck everything, would he ever win?

Scratch that. Pitch already knew the answer.

And then a whole goddamn bag hit him on the side from who knows where and the Nightmare King gave up on life right then and there.

But the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that his irritation didn’t even last. Not when Jack’s laugh was so obviously delighted and nowhere near mean.

That wasn’t fair.

All that was left to do was sulk harder.

“Oh my God, Pitch,” Jack could barely keep his chuckles under control, “That… That was… You know what?” Pitch didn’t. “Thank you. Thank you for that, because I think I was actually about to murder Bunny. For real, this time.”

Pitch could think of only one thing to say to that.

“Aw, rats.”

Which just made Jack dissolve into peals of laughter all over again. Pitch minded even less this time, which said something, which meant something, that he was almost ready to deal with.

But not yet.

“I didn’t do it for you, you know. I realize it’s hard for you to imagine, but my world does not, in fact, revolve around you.”

Jack shook his head, broad smile still in place, “No, I know, I know. But you needed to hear it from someone. This was the best thing to happen at this party so far, and you started it.”

“Yes, well, I’m not terribly good at following the rules.”

Jack shrugged one shameless shoulder, “Me neither.”

“Game over! Game over!” North shouted from the other side of the room, and if Pitch wasn’t mistaken, he sounded on the verge of panic, “Yetis, find winners. Everyone else, there is one last game!”

Pitch groaned and dropped his head to the floor, surprised when he heard and felt Jack do the same to his chest. Wasn’t that just a tad too familiar? Then again, it was Jack Frost.

“I guess our break is over,” he heard the Guardian mutter dejectedly.

“And the torture continues,” Pitch agreed.

They untangled themselves and stood up from the floor, brushing off wayward marshmallows as they found them. An impressive five had made a home in the bowl of Jack’s hood, and by the time they were presentable again, a yeti was right there with what was obviously a decorated tissue box attached to a ribbon belt.

“Next game is called,” they heard North announce, “Jingle in the trunk!”

Pitch immediately escaped into the floor and left Jack to deal with that on his own.

[yulon]

The Wrath of Sabellian (pt. 38)

The party finds trouble when encountering a stranger deep in the heart of Blackrock Mountain.

“How long have you been here?”

The group walked through another set of ruins. They still looked Dwarven: squared, sturdy shapes, runic decorations, pillars to keep the ceiling from collapsing. But the more they walked the more draconic elements began to show.

Dragons didn’t have architecture styles of their own. Not really. They had mortals or dragonspawn to make such things for them, and a dragon simply chose what they liked best from what was made.

But hints of obvious draconic activity thicked in every new room. In one, bones and scorch marks littered the floor. In another, pieces of vials, large as Rexxar, sat collecting dust. Piles of metal; shed scales amongst the dirt; claw marks that might have been mistaken for a large basilisk’s to the passing eye.

And then there were the architectural signs, like the dragon-head sculpture that loomed in front of the next entrance.

An entrance that had been smashed through to make it larger, so a dragon’s true form might slip through.

But these were old modifications. The dust had settled long ago, and the smashed-up stone had grown comfortable in its new positioning. It’d no doubt been done when the Black Dragonflight had first come to brood here.

“How long have you been here?” Wrathion asked again. Gravel hadn’t heard him, or had decided to ignore him. The drakonid, who towered over everyone except maybe Rexxar, led the way, his looming form a deep, stalking shadow in front of the quiet party. His two kin, the centaur-like dragonspawn, kept glancing unkindly at Wrathion, so the ex-prince thought it’d be better to question the drakonid instead.

“Since the Cataclysm,” they answered. Then they paused, cocked their head to the side, and said: “No. When the mortals first found the island. I was here during the Cataclysm. Left. Came back.”

Wrathion wrinkled his nose. Since Pandaria, then. “And what do you do here, exactly?”

“Wait.”

“For?”

“Don’t know.”

Helpful. Wrathion mumbled.

“A leader,” said a voice next to him. Wrathion jerked in surprise. Sabellian had materialized nearby. The dragon had been silent since Gravel had begun leading the way, and he had a look on his face, all dark and drawn and brooding. But he had a look like that on his face almost constantly, with various, slight modifications, and Wrathion had grown tired of trying to guess his uncle’s new emotion of the hour.

“What?”

“They have no one to lead them,” Sabellian drawled. “So they wait for someone to come to do so.”

Wrathion snorted, disbelieving. “None of them try to take power?”

“You don’t know how Dragonspawn work, boy. No. Of course none try, because all of these underlings were made to be low-ranking. So they are what they are. No doubt the high-ranking Dragonspawn have all been killed or got themselves murdered elsewhere.”

Wrathion thought of the drakonid, Creed, he’d had killed in Gilneas: the one who had tried to enslave the citizens there. He hummed quietly.

They walked in silence for a time. Deeper and deeper they went into the mountain, and hotter and hotter it became. Wrathion caught Left rolling up her sleeves. She and the other mortals were sweating hard. Even Rexxar, bare-chested and bare-thighed, was slick with it.

But it was a nice warmth to him; calming. Wrathion breathed deep the smell of the earth around him. It was not the smell of fresh dirt, but of a crisp sort of wetness; sharpness. The smell of old rock and ore. Truthfully he had never been so deep underground before, and he decided he rather liked it. It felt right to him.

They walked down a ramp and into yet another room. This place was an absolute labyrinth. How many hidden buildings were down here? How many nooks and crannies, how many places to hide? His skin prickled. Certainly nearly fifty Dragonspawn had been able to hide from him here. He thought, unpleasantly, of what else might be waiting for him. He eyed Gravel as they entered the new room.

It was a tavern of sorts, but destroyed. Wooden tables rotted where they had been abandoned, and the bar was smashed in half as if from one great blow. A chandelier made of gemstone hung from the ceiling. It was dusty, but still in perfect condition. It glowed dimly. Enchanted?

“Boy.”

“Mm.”

Sabellian hadn’t left his side since he’d spoken before. The dragon didn’t look at him, but kept his eyes fixed ahead.

“Is this the same path you had seen before?”

“Remarkably enough,” Wrathion muttered. “I still don’t like this, but you won’t listen to me anyway, so why waste my breath?”

Sabellian curled a lip. A curl of smoke cusped around his lips.

“Will you just shut up?”

“You’re the one who asked me the question!”

A hand grabbed him from behind and stopped him from walking. Wrathion hissed in surprise and turned - in the same beat Sabellian did.

Rexxar had grabbed them both. He nodded to the side.

The tavern had three different exits, all doorless archways, and though Gravel was leading the way to the north, Rexxar pointed out the west.

It led out to another bridge. Someone crouched at the end of the pass.

Wrathion blinked. It was, of all things, a tauren. They were leaning over something - someone.

Sabellian inhaled sharply. His pupils swept down into slits.

“Pyria!”

  ----

   Sabellian knew all the scents of his children. To an outsider, they would smell similar, if not the same.

But Sabellian was a broodfather. Sabellian knew his children well. And Sabellian knew at once that the unmoving form at the end of the bridge was Pyria.

He shoved past Rexxar and Wrathion. In a blur he was on the bridge, his staff summoned to his side and fire crackling in his throat.

“Step away!” he snarled at the tauren.

The mortal flinched. In a whirl of motion, he stood and turned.

A shaman, and a massive one. A skull sat over his face, and from his head grew antlers - not horns. Antlers. Sabellian’s rush of anger tempered for a moment by his surprise. Moose antlers on a tauren? He’d never seen such a ridiculous thing.

“This drake is injured,” the tauren said. “Who are you?”

“I am -”

The tauren’s smell finally reached him. Sabellian grew still.

It wasn’t a tauren’s smell at all.

It was a dragon’s.

A black dragon’s.

Sabellian’s anger curdled and grew bitter and hot like fire becoming lava. “Who are you?”

It seemed Sabellian’s scent reached the “tauren,” then, because the shaman stood up straighter and his ears perked up. He flared his nostrils.

The two stared at one another.

“I am Spiritwalker Ebonhorn,” the tauren said slowly. He pinned his ears back. Distrust, open and scathing, showed clear on his face. “Do you know this drake?”

“She’s my daughter,” Sabellian growled. “Move away.”

Ebonhorn hesitated. His nose twitched.

“If you don’t move, I will make you.” Sabellian took a step forward. He curled his fingers tight around the staff - so tight he felt them go numb. “Move. Now!”

Ebonhorn hesitated for a moment longer.

Then he moved away.

The moment he did, Sabellian rushed forward. He knelt at Pyria’s side and turned her over.

She had a bruise on her temple, red and growing, but otherwise, she looked uninjured. Uninjured and alive. Sabellian breathed out hard. The dragon behind him was forgotten in the face of his daughter’s appearance, bizarre as it was. How had she gotten here? Why was she here?

He sat her up so she was leaning against the wall. She didn’t stir. He brushed the hair from her face and watched in tense silence as her chest rose and fell. Shallow breathing - but breathing nonetheless.

“She was alone,” the deep voice of the tauren - no, dragon - rumbled from behind him. “I found her -”

Sabellian stood and turned with the same grace and speed as Ebonhorn had before. He pointed the top of his staff at him. The point was sharp as a sword and could be tossed like a javelin, and he was thinking of just where to throw it. Eye? Throat? He snarled.

“Are you trying to cover your tracks, lizard?” he said. “Hard to do, when you’ve already been caught.”

Ebonhorn snorted. He stomped his foot. It rang a great clanging sound on the bridge, hoof on stone.

“I have no blood on my hands.”

“She isn’t bleeding, fool!”

“I have no reason to hurt a child,” Ebonhorn insisted, growing more frustrated with each word. He shook his head out. “I only just found her.”

Rexxar appeared at the other side of the bridge, as did Wrathion and Left. At least Wrathion and Left tried; the half-orc was blocking their way, and the whelp had to stand on his tip toes to see through Rexxar’s arm.

“You just happened to come across her?” Who was this “Ebonhorn?” He’d never heard of such a name, let alone known a dragon who took a tauren guise. Especially a tauren with such ridiculous horns.

It would have been safer if it was someone he knew, like Serinar. This dragon was a stranger, a wild card he didn’t know how to play around.

“Yes.” Ebonhorn jerked his head up to motion at the passage next to them, where the bridge led to. “She was simply lying there.”

“Do you know who I -” His anger dulled on his tongue as Pyria groaned behind him.

Ebonhorn was forgotten again. Sabellian was at Pyria’s side once more, his hands on the side of her face as her eyelids fluttered. He tried to hear any change in her breathing.

“Pyria? Pyria. Come, girl, speak. Wake.”

She took in a shuddering breath. Her eyes opened slowly. She looked at him, eyes foggy but seeing.

“Dad?” She blinked once, lop-sidedly. “Oh. Hi.”

Relief rushed through him as quick as a flood. He breathed out hard and squeezed her shoulders.

“Girl, what happened? How did you get here? Did that dragon hurt you?”

She closed her eyes and shimmied up against the wall to straighten up a little.

“Ugh. Sorry. My head hurts.” She breathed in and out, in and out. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him. He nodded at Ebonhorn, who stood nearly a yard away.

“Him? Oh. No. He was trying to wake me up,” she mumbled. Her voice went a little fuzzy, and the distant look in her eyes had yet to fade. She must have been struck harder than he’d thought.

Sabellian frowned and glanced back at Ebonhorn, then back at Pyria before he could see more of his vaguely-smug expression.

“I was… I was tracking Samia,” she mumbled. She rubbed her eyes. “The netherdrakes - hey! Where are they?” Pyria sat up with a jerk, then flinched. Sabellian pressed her back down.

“There are no netherdrakes, girl.”

“But they were all with me -” She glanced behind Sabellian’s shoulder. A flash of paleness sank into her face. “Those!”

“What?”

“Those two!”

Sabellian looked back. The rest of the group had come onto the bridge.

It was not Ebonhorn she was looking at, but the two Dragonspawn that had escorted the group with Gravel.

And Sabellian looked just in time for one of them to charge at Wrathion with a roar.

It never got close. Left materialized on top of his centaur-like back and thrust her dagger into its humanoid back. It screeched and stumbled off to the side - almost falling off the bridge.

Gravel, standing at the very back of the group, tilted their head. They took one very large step back.

“Traitors!” called the second Dragonspawn. “Die!”

He lunged forward with his axe extended while its comrade grappled with Left, still on its back.

Sabellian stood to face it.

Arcane exploded from his hands. The missiles struck the Dragonspawn in the chest. It stumbled with a grunt - but kept coming.

The first Dragonspawn grabbed a hold of Left at last and threw her. Wrathion jerked forward and grabbed the orc before she could fall off the side.

But her weight was too much. Even as the second Dragonspawn charged him again, Sabellian watched as Wrathion began to fall off the edge with his Agent. It happened so fast he couldn’t move to grab him.

He didn’t have to - Rexxar did.

The half-orc struck out a hand and snatched onto the back of Wrathion’s coat. With a tug, he pulled them back onto the bridge; agent and commander fell in a clump.

Then Rexxar turned, grabbed the dagger-struck Dragonspawn by the throat, and threw him off the bridge instead. The creature had no time to cry out, but the sound of his body hitting the rocks far below signaled the death throes he did not get to have.

The remaining Dragonspawn was almost upon Sabellian now, and arcane fizzled into the elder dragon’s hand again. Before he cold let it loose, the bridge rose up in front of him - and exploded in front of the Dragonspawn.

Exploded - then reached out toward him. The Dragonspawn jerked back.

Not quite quick enough. The stone and earth coiled around him and squeezed him into place. He writhed and screamed in anger, but he couldn’t move. The prison allowed no leniency.

Sabellian turned in surprise. Ebonhorn put down his hand, looked at Sabellian, and snorted smoke.

Wonderful. Another earth-bending black dragon. Just what he needed.

“You follow me, Dragonspawn,” he said to the captive, who still wrestled with its prison. “Did you really just try to kill me?”

“I don’t follow you, cretin!” it snarled. Spittle covered its maw, and its eyes fixed on Sabellian. The level of hatred in its gaze was beyond any mortal - even draconic - capabilities. “I follow the true master!”

“I see,” Sabellian said. He understood. How could he not? He tilted his head and studied the corrupted thing in silence, even as it spit and snapped at him like some rabid dog, its teeth closing inches from his face. “And what master is higher than me, servant?”

“Below,” it said. “Below. You disobey! Traitor! You will die! You cannot go against your leader! Traitor! Traitor!”

With each word the Dragonspawn grew more and more angry. His eyes flashed; spit flew from its mouth. He moved and writhed as much as his station would allow.

Until, finally, the earth holding him heaved off to the side and threw him into the darkness. His cries followed, growing more and more distant until finally they stopped with a sudden crunch.

All eyes turned to Gravel.

The Dragonkin blinked once.

They dropped their polearm and put up their hands.

“I live to serve,” they said, and shrugged.

“Yes, and serve who?” Wrathion hissed. “Who they did?”

“Some follow old masters,” Gravel said. “Some hear more than Gravel does.”

“Hear what?”

Gravel considered this. Then he pointed down.

Then all around them.

Sabellian’s chest grew cold. A rush of things had just happened, and only now, in this widening silence, did they all come to him at once.

Sabellian growled and turned back to Pyria. The drake had fallen unconscious again. He picked her up and stood.

“They want us dead, boy,” he called to Wrathion. “I think our family’s old masters are tired of being denied.” He looked at Gravel. Despite what had just happened, he still felt himself trusting the drakonid. They’d had every opportunity to take them by surprise, but hadn’t. He’d have Rexxar keep a closer eye on them, though. Just in case. The drakonid could still be a lingering trap, but if it continued to play along, it’d still be useful until it turned on them like its comrades. They’d been leading them in the right direction, anyway. ”Take us somewhere safe, before any of your other kin with the same mindset as those in the ravine come crawling out for us.”

“As you say,” they said, and bowed their head.

Wrathion grumbled.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” came the rumbly voice of Ebonhorn, “but I should like to follow you, I think. I’m concerned about the drake’s head injury. I can heal her.”

“Aren’t you kind,” Sabellian growled. “No. Whoever you are, you can take a different direction.”

Wrathion glanced dismissively at Ebonhorn, looked away - then looked at him again. He stared.

Finally he made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, put his face in his hands, and went still as ice. Left gave him a sympathetic look.

“Dad, no, let him come.” Pyria had stirred, if just a little, and her words were hardly legible in her dizzy mumble. “I like him. Furry.”

“We don’t even know who he is -”

“Tried to help me, though,” his daughter said, then smiled. Her teeth were bloodied. “That’s pretty nice.”

Sabellian set his lips in a thin line and glanced at Ebonhorn.

“Are you another refugee of the mountain like the dragonspawn?”

“No. I arrived only this morning,” Ebonhorn said. He had a calculating look on his face, and he kept glancing between Wrathion and Sabellian. Did he know who Wrathion was? “I came here because of a vision.”

“A vision,” Sabellian repeated, unimpressed.

Wrathion glanced through a crack in his fingers and eyed the tauren.

“Yes. I have many as a Spiritwalker.” Ebonhorn glared at him, like he wasn’t used to being questioned. Sabellian snorted.

“Ebonhorn is not your real name, is it?”

The tauren pinned his ears back. They sat flush to his skull. He ground his teeth and stomped a foot again.

It was bizarre. If Sabellian hadn’t been able to smell his draconic scent, he would have never have guessed this tauren was a black dragon. He acted so like the race it was almost unnerving.

“Ebyssian.”

“I see. Well, Ebyssian, Black Dragons do nothing for free - especially saving another from an injury. What do you want?”

“I am not like other Black Dragons,” Ebyssian insisted, frustration building again in his voice. “Though you seem sane enough.”

Sabellian narrowed his eyes. Wrathion had dropped his hands from his face.

“I am free from corruption,” Ebyssian said at last. “Let me help.”

The cavern went quiet.

Then Sabellian barked a laugh. No, no, no. No. Not this again.

“Oh? There’s another one of you? Are you a whelp too?”

“What? No, I am - full-grown,” Ebyssian said with a bewildered expression. He shook out his head. “It may be hard to believe, and I don’t mean to make enemies of your party with the admission, but I speak the truth.”

“Every dragon born on Azeroth is taken by the Old Gods,” Sabellian said. His amusement began to fade, and quickly, into anger again. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time to entertain some deluded old dragon. Somehow he had Pyria, but he needed the others too, waiting for them deeper in the mountain. “Enough of this. Go away.”

“I’m coming,” Ebyssian said, and his voice took on a growl, a tone that no normal tauren could take. “That injury will make her weaker and weaker. I don’t know what you plan to do here, but she will get worse if she’s not treated.”

“We could use a shaman,” Rexxar said. Sabellian gave him a look. Traitor. The half-orc shrugged at him. “We have no healers, Baron. We are already bringing this creature,” he added, and nodded to Gravel.

Gravel sniffed.

“Fine. Then you get to guard him,” Sabellian snapped. As if this “Ebonhorn” was actually a shaman with healing abilities! The idea was absurd. “Gravel. Lead us to somewhere to rest. Now! Go on!”

  ---

 They decided to camp in one of the Dwarven ruins: a room sequestered behind a hallway Sabellian hadn’t even noticed until Gravel turned and disappeared.

It was a squat room with a low ceiling, and filled with crushed rock furniture like the tavern from before. Wrathion had his Agents get rid of some lava-spiders inside and then sweep away their webs, which ended up burning off some of their leather armor.

Rexxar and Sabellian got a fire going, and the half-orc took first watch. Gravel insisted that only a handful of Dragonspawn knew of this place, but Rexxar took watch anyway - as well as Misha, who disappeared into the shadows. He still didn’t know what to make of that bear.

Wrathion kept staring at Ebonhorn from the other side of the room. Sabellian had caught him asking Left for alcohol. When she didn’t have any he asked his other Agents, and when they didn’t have any he asked Rexxar. Rexxar had just stared at him until he’d skulked away.

Sabellian wondered when Wrathion would just lay down and give up about being the “last black dragon” venture.

He turned back to Pyria. The drake was still unconscious, but Sabellian had given her his cloak to lay on and Ebonhorn had given her his belt of furs to rest her head. The tauren - dragon - was kneeling down at her side.

Sabellian kept right next to him. No matter his admission about his lack of corruption, he still didn’t trust the dragon - probably even less because he’d said something so stupid. And especially because he’d given no explanation for it.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” the tauren rumbled, but did not look up at Sabellian. He felt at Pyria’s forehead and then at the back of her head.

“I don’t like taking chances with my children.”

Ebonhorn grunted. “Fair.”

Behind them, he heard Left and another agent leave to hunt. They’d brought some rations, but not much, and they were almost gone. It was hard to feed dragons on so little.

Sabellian watched as Ebonhorn bowed his head and closed his eyes. A beat later, warm green light manifested in his hands.

Healing magic. Shamanistic. He really could do it. Sabellian raised his eyebrows. A shamanistic black dragon?

“You haven’t asked why we’re here,” Sabellian said as Ebonhorn put his glowing hands on the drake’s forehead. Pyria sighed.

“I’ll find out.”

Sabellian stood up straighter. “Is that a threat?”

Ebonhorn glanced sidelong at him. “You are a very suspicious person,” he drawled. Then he looked back at Pyria. He moved his hand from her forehead to the back of her head. The glow followed, dancing behind his fingers. “No. Just an observation.”

“Why are you here?”

Ebonhorn sniffed. “You’ll find out.”

Sabellian glared.

“Just some bruising,” Ebonhorn muttered. He pulled his hand back and the glow faded from his fingers. For a moment he slouched, the whole of his body growing lax. Then he shook out his head and stood. “She’ll just need some rest.”

Sabellian frowned. He looked between the two: Pyria, now sleeping soundly, and Ebonhorn watching him. He sighed. What the “tauren” had down really was healing magic - he knew it by the smell - and not something secreted away to harm her. And if he had healed her without asking for anything in return…

Sabellian sighed again.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Ebonhorn bowed his head in a strange, bouncing motion of his neck. It felt very foreign.

“She’s young. It isn’t right for her to get hurt.”

Wrathion cleared his throat by the campfire. Sabellian shot him a glare.

Some shuffling came from the back entrance.Left and another Agent entered from the back carrying a basilisk between them. A dagger protruded in one of its cursed eyes. So quick? It must have been lingering close by.

The smell of blood signaled a deep hunger within him; he hadn’t eaten since last night, and even then it’d been a small meal, just four bony condors and a lost ram. Walking so long had burned that energy off a long time ago.

Judging by how Wrathion and Ebonhorn perked up, they felt the same.

Unfortunately it was just one basilisk and not very good eating for three dragons, a half-orc, and two mortals. They sat around a large piece of flat rock that might have once been an actual table. The air was cold and quiet. Left kept staring at Ebonhorn. So did Wrathion.

Sabellian set his piece aflame; the basilisks in Outland had a sour taste about them when eaten raw.

Ebonhorn opened his mouth wide and touched the flesh with a great array of fire. It seemed dramatic - Sabellian himself had simply cooked it with one hand ablaze- yet some sense of relief and satisfaction relaxed over Ebonhorn’s face after.

“You don’t don your true form much,” Sabellian said. It wasn’t a question. “And I’ve never heard of a dragon - a black dragon - with healing magic.”

Ebonhorn snorted quietly. He ripped off a piece of the still-smoking meat.

“Dragons aren’t common where I come from,” he said. “And I have little need of it.” He popped the flesh into his mouth. “As for healing, I’m not quite learned as I’d like to be. The water elementals don’t enjoy much of my company.”

“Where do you come from, then?” Wrathion asked. He’d been deathly quiet since the bridge; it was the first time he’d spoken since. It was like how he’d been after the Celestial Trial, close off but ever-watching.

“Thunder Totem, in Highmountain.”

Highmountain: someplace in the Broken Isles. He recalled his father making trips there, though not very often

Wrathion’s eyes lit up.

“Are you really? I’ve heard that my-”

“And you learned shamanism from the tauren, I take it,” Sabellian interrupted. “Did they heal away your corruption too?”

Ebonhorn scowled.

“You are free to disbelieve me if you’d like,” he said. “It makes no difference to me.”

“As I was saying… I heard that my father made his lair there,” Wrathion said, more forcefully, in the same moment he snorted smoke at Sabellian. The elder dragon rolled his eyes and took another bite of his steak.

Ebonhorn stopped mid-chew. He looked at Wrathion.

It was not a kind look: all furrowed brows and frowning. It was studying, peering.

“Deathwing was your father?”

Wrathion shrank back, just a little. He grinned. Sabellian knew the boy enough by now that it was a deflection. “I - well, no, not really. But he is in spirit!”

��Ignore him. He’s akin to the village idiot,” Sabellian said. He gave Wrathion a piercing look. “I don’t know why you insist on thinking he is your father after you saw what you did.”

Because what fool would want that monster as a father? Wrathion had seen the vision of Deathwing in Blade’s Edge. Sabellian brushed the vision away, the memory away. Stupid boy.

Wrathion huffed and stuffed a piece of meat in his mouth. His was uncooked, and at once he made a face. It looked like he was about to spit it out, but he managed to swallow it to save face.

“Better than having no father at all,” he said.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You really must come up with some new insults, uncle.”

Ebonhorn sat up a little. “You two are… related?”

“I think he likes to think so,” Sabellian grunted. “If it gives him some tie to my father, he must cling to that.”

Ebonhorn stared at him. “Deathwing was your father, then?”

“Unfortunately.” Sabellian picked at some fat on the bone.

“I see.” Silence. “He was mine, too.”

Sabellian slowly looked at him.

Claiming a lack of corruption and Deathwing’s parentage? Was this a joke? Was he going to have to deal with another Wrathion?

Was he having another bizarre fever-dream?

He swallowed down his temper and said: “Oh? I don’t remember you in my hatching cave.”

Ebonhorn grunted. He shifted his weight on the rock he perched on, awkward.

“Mine was a different cave -”

“Sinestra only had one clutch from Deathwing,” Sabellian interrupted with a snap. He glared at the tauren. His skin prickled. He was not going to explain this a second time to some wanna-be. “Either you were in my hatching cave, or in some nameless broodmother’s. Not Sinestra’s child, and certainly not Deathwing’s.”

Why did these fools want to tie themselves to such a creature, such a heritage? If Sabellian could, he would sever his bloodline with his father, with his brother and sister and mother. Who cared if it might have given him power with some dull Dragonspawn? Who cared if it gave him rank? The Black Dragonflight was dead. All Sabellian cared about was his family - his brood. Not the rest. He forever had a cloak of shame from them, and if he could wrap it around Wrathion and this idiot, he would, and gladly.

Ebonhorn flared his nostrils. For a flash of a moment, his eyes grew a little red. “My clutch was taken to another cave - Deathwing’s lair - to be put in stasis.” He grew stiff. “For safekeeping.”

“Stasis,” Sabellian repeated.

“Yes.” Ebonhorn looked at him, the cooked flesh in his hands forgotten. “I searched for answers as to why, but there was so little records left in the lair after the tauren and drogbar reclaimed it. Most were destroyed in retribution.” He stomped one hoof and snorted. “I know what Deathwing was. I don’t like it either.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like this, and I was my father’s lieutenant in all things!” Sabellian threw his basilisk off to the side in a fit of anger. “Do you really think such a story is believable? Eggs from my mother, stolen into stasis in my father’s lair? For safe-keeping? You stupid cow -”

“Gravel,” Wrathion called, his voice a shout to rise over Sabellian’s voice. “You could tell Sabellian was Deathwing’s son. What about this one?” He gestured to Ebonhorn.

Gravel looked over. The drakonid was standing at the far end of the room, shadowed by some of the still-standing arches. They blinked. They looked at Ebonhorn, then at Sabellian, then back again.

“Powerful blood,” they rasped at last. “Yes. Son of Deathwing, but younger.” They paused, shrugged, then said: “Not by very much…”

Sabellian stared, bewildered and disbelieving, at Gravel. He looked at the drakonid, then at Ebonhorn, then back again.

He bared his teeth.

“You’re lying.”

“I live to serve, master,” Gravel said, and bowed their head low. “I only tell my masters the truth. Never lie.”

Was this some trick? Some scam to throw him off? The other Dragonspawn had been overly corrupt, and Gravel -

He rubbed his hands together, growling. What kind of trick would this even be? A lackadaisical one, with no real consequence. If Ebonhorn was younger, even by a little, Gravel would defer to Sabellian either way; Ebonhorn had no sway over the drakonid.

But did he really want to believe the tauren sitting next to him was somehow -

“My my! You have a brother, uncle!” Wrathion said with a sly grin. The ex-Prince looked more than pleased, a stark contrast to his pouting only moments before. It seemed the boy was taking great pleasure in Sabellian’s growing discomfort. “Is this the part where you hug one another?”

Sabellian snarled at him. He shot from his seat. Left snapped her crossbow up, but it jerked off to the side, away from the dragon. She scowled. She couldn’t harm him.

The room went quiet save for the crackling of the fire. Slowly - slowly - the anger bled from Sabellian’s lungs, from his clenched hands, and he sat back down. Heavily.

Ebonhorn had his ears pinned back close to his skull by then. No one said anything for a long time.

“I’m not one for hugs,” Ebonhorn said at last.

Sabellian set his lips in a thin line.

“Good. Neither am I.”

 ----

   They left early that morning.

At least Sabellian thought it was morning; it was hard to tell down here in the mountain. Gravel waited for them to pack up their belongings - mostly weapons - and began leading the way again.

It was at a quicker pace today. The rest had done them well. Particularly for Pyria, who seemed more and more lucid every time she woke. Even so, she still had to be carried, and spent most of the time sleeping. They’d gotten no other answers or explanations about how she’d managed to track Samia or where the netherdrakes had gone. Sabellian figured the dragonspawn had butchered them, but they’d found no corpses glowing in the din.

Wrathion kept close to Ebonhorn most of the walk, and Sabellian watched them suspiciously. He still didn’t know what to make of the tauren, and Ebonhorn had offered nothing in terms of his lack of corruption, only that it was a “family secret.” The only reason Sabellian had decided not to kick him out was because he was keeping an eye on Pyria, and though his healing abilities were lax, it did seem to be helping her. So what could he do? Push Ebonhorn out and risk Pyria getting worse? Rexxar was right; they did need a healer.

And anyway, if Ebonhorn tried anything funny, Rexxar had set Misha’s eyes on the tauren so that the moment he did anything, the spirit bear would be on him and tearing out his throat within the next beat.

He tried not to think much about how he was his brother, either.

The less he thought about that, the better.

What he also didn’t like Wrathion and Ebonhorn spending so much time together.  He’d overheard Wrathion fill Ebonhorn in on what they were doing there, which angered Sabellian immensely. Brother or not, this dragon could have been sent by the Old Gods just like the Dragonspawn had. He could be lying about everything. But Wrathion, who’d been annoyed at Sabellian’s trusting of Gravel, was now glued to Ebonhorn’s side. Sabellian figured it was just to annoy him, or to get some more information about Deathwing’s old lair.

Sabellian handed Pyria off for Rexxar’s turn to carry her and decided to inch up closer to the two to listen in on their conversation.

“When I hatched, they didn’t really know what to do with me,” Ebonhorn was saying. “Huln took me back to his home in Thunder Totem. I suppose he tried his best. He learned what he could from the dragons traveling from the war, though he could never say or ask too detailed a question. He knew if anyone found out about me…”

The words trailed into silence. They all knew the threat left unsaid: he’d have been killed, or taken away, or stalked by enemies of the Black Dragonflight.

Which meant almost everyone.

“Oh, you hardly have to explain that to me,” Wrathion said with a light laugh. “I’ve had Red dragons stalking me since I was born. Before that, even.”

Ebonhorn grunted and shook out his hair. Sabellian stared at him. He wondered how the dragon could deal with so much… fur.

“It was because of Huln I never had to deal with that, then. I owed him my life. Everything.” Ebonhorn sighed. “Before he passed I promised him I would watch over his family and guide them, as he had guided me. I’ve been in Highmountain ever since.”

“And they know what you are by now, I trust,” Sabellian said. “A ‘Spiritwalker Ebonhorn’ lingering for near-ten-thousand years would grow… suspect.”

“I change my identity when needed,” Ebonhorn said. He glanced back to eye Sabellian. Wrathion did too, but with a glare. “But I am always an advisor to the descendants of Huln.”

“All this for a single mortal?” It sounded as if Ebonhorn hadn’t even tried to seek out any of his real family - or any other dragons, for that matter. No wonder he acted so much like  mortal. He glanced at Wrathion.

And here he’d thought the boy had been the only odd one.

Ebonhorn frowned.

“Huln Highmountain gave me a free life,” he said, “only because he knew it was right. I owe him something I can never truly repay. If I can aid his family with whatever guidance I have to offer, I will do so, and gladly. They are the children of Highmountain, and Highmountain is my home.” He swept aside a boulder in their way with a wave of his hand, and it went tumbling into the abyss. Wrathion caught Sabellian watching this uncomfortably. “It is not just for one mortal. It is for all of them.”

Wrathion tilted his head.

They all had their own purpose, he supposed. They all had their reasons for seclusion. Sabellian his family, Wrathion his defense crusade - or whatever it was - and Ebonhorn… a tribe of fuzzy mortals.

“And a vision led you here?” Wrathion asked.

“Yes. An urgent one.”

Wrathion leaned in a little. “Like?”

Ebonhorn frowned at him.

Ah. This was what Wrathion was after. The dragon had mentioned something about a vision on the bridge.

“The Mountain heaved on roiled on the horizon, as if the very earth was trying to push it off her back,” the tauren said. “There were eyes and shadows that grabbed, but the Earthmother urged me to delve inside. And now I’ve found you all. I don’t know if healing the drake is my only purpose for being here, but - I suppose I’ll find out.”

“The Earthmother?” Sabellian interrupted. “You don’t really believe in such mortal nonsense.”

“Nonsense? It is the furthest from it,” Ebonhorn said with a huff.

“So the Earthmother gives you these visions?” Wrathion piped up. He scooted closer to Ebonhorn. Sabellian squinted at him.

“She does,” the tauren rumbled. “I received my first visions when I was very young.”

“How young?”

It sounded like he was trying - and failing - to sound vaguely disinterested. Instead there was a rapturous look to his eyes, fixed solely on the tauren.

Ebonhorn frowned in thought. “A month, perhaps. It was a simple vision: a spirit reaching toward me. Even in a conscious state I have never felt such comfort.”

Sabellian’s mouth went numb. For a breath he felt the force trying to reach for him in his dream. A force which shied away when he flinched.

He shook himself out.

Wrathion stared at Ebonhorn with wonder: an undisguised wonder that seemed almost dreamy on his face.

“What else does she show you? Prophecies? Warnings?”

“I don’t like being questioned so much,” Ebonhorn rumbled. “Enough for now.”

“Wait! Wait a moment. Wait. I ask only because I have similar experiences.” Wrathion grinned a hungry grin. “I didn’t know other dragons had such things!”

“You have visions as well?” Ebonhorn’s annoyance left his face. He looked at Wrathion with a new interest. Sabellian shifted his weight and grumbled.

“Yes. From Azeroth. I suppose you call her the Earthmother, yes? Fascinating. I always assumed the tauren thought her a different entity entirely.”

“So I do.” Ebonhorn scratched underneath his chin and hummed. “And yes. To answer your question. Prophecies, though - rarely. Very rarely. Warnings, though - yes. Much of those. Much like the one that led me here.”

“What about anything about the Legion?”

“The… Legion?”

“Yes! Destroyed cities? Rivers of blood?”

Ebonhorn stared at him. Wrathion stared back, but began to wilt underneath the older dragon’s look.

“No.”

Wrathion drooped a little. “Oh.”

Sabellian growled softly. Of course he recalled Wrathion telling him of such visions; he’d figured them detritus of corruption, madding images to instill doubt and fear in the boy.

But - truly, from Azeroth? And this other fool received the same?

The two lucky purified ones, receiving blessed images.

Of course.

His thoughts lingered to his dream again.

“No, no Legion visions… but she’s helped guide me and thus guide Highmountain for the span of my life.” Ebonhorn seemed more relaxed now, and like Wrathion, more open. More trusting. It was a fragile trust, but Sabellian saw it in his face.

Sabellian growled again.

“But I’ve only heard from her only a handful of times,” Wrathion said. “It seems like you hear from her constantly.”

“I’ve trained with shamans to better attune with her,” Ebonhorn said.

“Oh. So you call on her, not the other way around?”

“When needed. But sometimes she is the one who reaches out.”

Gravel suddenly stopped in front of them. Wrathion almost rammed into the Dragonspawn.

“Here,” they said.

They’d stopped in front of a large archway. Sabellian looked around them.

It led out into a platform that overlooked an enormous antechamber. The ceiling stretched higher than seemed stable for the mountain, and it rounded nearly fifteen dragon-lengths in all directions. Sculptures of dragon heads lined the circumference of the cavern, all obsidian and gleaming in the darkness. Below there was a large flat area for easy walking - easy walking for dragons. This might have been a dwarven city, once. A long time ago, when the buildings had once been but were now crushed to be sitting areas for creatures far larger.

And that was only the lowest level. There were two others, sitting on one another. They were on the third. These had similar archways like the one they now stood in, which opened up to different, unseen tunnels that delved into deeper areas of the mountain. Skeletons of prey littered the second level in particular, and it smelled like deep earth and mildew. A water source? Rare indeed. But the smell was undeniable.

And so was the other obvious smell: dragon.

“And?” Sabellian pressed.

Gravel cocked their head. “Here,” they said again. “The beginning of their territory.”

Wrathion stiffened. Then Sabellian heard it: a sliding of scales against stone, coming from one of the second level tunnels.

“It’s about time you came back,” a voice echoed from it. A massive shape came lumbering out.

It was not Samia. Or Vaxian. It was someone Sabellian hadn’t seen in years. “You always take so long to hunt, Serinar -”

Furywing stopped as she saw them.

The broodmother, one of the four other dragons to accompany Sabellian to Outland years ago, backed up in a flurry.

“Who are you?” Her eyes, yellow as a new ember, fixed on Sabellian. She hissed, her eyes widening in surprise.

From above, a head popped out from another alcove. Another dragon, full-grown and ram-horned, stared down at them.

“Oh,” she said. “Interesting.”