#and also wishing someone would make this into a show because mighty ducks is failing me

[zadien]

My fave SLTS scene to date!

I was thinking about @paperclippedmime's question regarding music and how they work with certain scenes. And it got me thinking about this particular piece of music from Haikyuu that I wrote and edited a Tala scene to (finding this track on youtube is an effort because the album on Spotify is all in Japanese and I DON'T SPEAK IT! But I know this scene and the Trust part gave it away.)

It's from Chapter 39, I think of SLTS. The ending of the Time arc. The Varsity are losing to the JV team because Varsity have lost a few key players (most especially their goalie and they are having teething problems and communication problems and things are not going well). So of course Tala has to step up and save the day, right? (Also featuring Sassy Best Boi Max as the goalie extraordinaire for the JV team and Daichi being Daichi). -----------

As Jefferson moved up with the puck in hand, Tala blew out a breath, cleared his mind, allowed it to frost over until it mimicked the flat surface beneath his skates.

Jefferson glanced between Miguel and Kai, offered his pithy spiel about sportsmanship—probably lifted from a Disney movie—and readied the puck.

Kai nodded, a quick jerk of his head, eyes glued to the black disc. Miguel shifted, his fingers twitching on the stick. Daichi shuffled an inch to the side, a subtle position aimed to block Enrique’s dash up front. Tala’s lips ticked up. Good for them, they’d guessed their tactic. Not that it would help them.

The puck dropped.

Kai blocked Miguel, and knocked the puck back. Tala snatched it and whipped away to clearer ice, out of Kirby’s surprisingly fast reach. He drew back as Kirby chased him and looked around for Enrique.

“You’re going the wrong way!” Kane shouted.

Bryan intercepted Kirby and Tala grinned. Miguel came at him. Tala spun out of his reach, snapping the puck to Enrique as his teammate emerged from the cluster of JV uniforms. Enrique nearly fumbled the pass but then he tore down the ice.

Tala chased after him, aware of Kai coming down the middle to act as interference. Enrique was fast, but Enrique had one vital flaw. He could only go in a straight line and if anyone got in his way, Enrique didn’t have the stick handling or ability to dodge and keep the puck.

A flash of navy shot across the ice and directly into Enrique’s path. Tala cursed under his breath as Tyson got in front of Enrique and swept his stick into the puck’s path. It skittered across the ice, a black blur as Tyson and Enrique collided. Tala changed gears, skates all but slicing through the ice as he veered off after the puck. He could feel Miguel breathing down his neck, knew his cousin was just as intent on getting that puck.

They couldn’t afford that. Once the JV got it they’d waste the remaining time. He could feel the seconds eroding away, like melting snow. Less than four minutes. Sticks hooked at his feet and he evaded. Slamming into the boards, he struggled to free the puck. No corners on a rink but it sure fucking felt like he was boxed in one.

A body crushed him into the boards and he grunted, ribs protesting as he struggled for purchase.

“Give it up, Tala.”

“Why?” Tala asked. “You think you’ve won, Miguel?”

“First goal, and not the last.”

Tala shook his head. Was it a combination of inexperience and naivety that made them so cocky? Had he ever been that arrogant? Probably still was, he thought with a smirk, as the edge of his stick knocked the puck loose.

“Enrique!”

Enrique scooped it up and took it around the back of the net while Miguel growled and shoved at him to right himself. Tala chuckled and followed suit.

He could hear his team shouting from the box but their words were a blur. He didn’t need their instructions, he knew what he had to do.

Crouching low to intercept a pass, he flicked it to Enrique, baring his teeth at Kirby’s sound of annoyance. Using the brief moment of clear ice, he tried to get a better angle on the net. They were swarming, clustering around Max as the JV goalie watched the puck with eagle eyes, not an excess of movement to be seen.

3 minutes.

Enrique swung his stick back and slammed the puck at the net. Max knocked it away like it was an irritant. Not an ounce of concern on his face.

“Clear it!” Miguel ordered.

Kirby seized the puck and passed to Daichi. Enrique shoved his way in front, stick swinging like a metronome and when Daichi tried to pass it was knocked off trajectory by the tip of Enrique’s stick. Kai snagged the puck and whipped around to shoot. It bulleted towards the net and Max snagged it out of the air and froze it.

Kirby patted his helmet as she passed. “Nice save, Max!”

Tala blew out a breath and straightened, rolling his shoulders as he waited for Jefferson to collect the puck.

2 minutes, fifty-three seconds.

“You need a nap, Maxie? I’ll hold the fort for you,” Tala offered through clenched teeth.

All good-natured cheer, Max grinned at him through his visor, dropping the puck into Jefferson’s hand. “No thanks, Tala. This is the first bit of action I’m seeing all game. Was going to go grab lunch earlier since you guys didn’t want to come visit.”

Flipping the boy off, Tala glided over to the circle coming around to Kai’s right. “We need to make the play now.”

“What do you think we’ve been doing?”

Enrique huffed out a breath and swallowed hard, licking his dry lips. “Max is like a steel fort. We can’t get through him.”

“You OAP’s need a rest?” Kirby asked, passing through them to find her spot.

“I can’t move without Tyson sticking to me,” Kai muttered under his breath.

Tala glanced over at the navy-haired teen who was pulling his helmet back over his head and snapping it into place under his chin. “Get me the puck.”

“You think now’s the time?”

“Who better to try it out on than Max?”

With a roll of his shoulders, Kai nodded and Tala drifted to his spot for the face-off. He dropped low as the puck fell and Kai swiped it from under Miguel’s stick. Taking it, Enrique snapped it to Tala. He danced out of Kirby’s path, jumping over her stick when she tried to hook the puck and—

He stumbled forward as a train bulldozed him from behind. Hitting the ice on his knees, he glowered over his shoulder. Dunga picked up the puck and took it around the net. Scrambling to his feet, Tala grabbed his stick and took off after the defenceman.

“Spencer!”

The collision of bodies would have rattled Tala’s bones as Spencer pinned Dunga to the boards. It left their zone wide open with Miguel skating down the ice for a one-on-one confrontation with Kane.

Tala raced after him only to be passed out by Enrique, briskly chasing Miguel down. They crossed the neutral zone and Enrique veered into Miguel, knocking him off balance and sending the puck skittering down the ice to the boards. Kane slipped out of the net and dug out the puck, casting it over to Tala as he circled around.

2 minutes, 30 seconds.

Breath labouring in his chest, Tala guided the puck back down the ice, dodging Daichi and into the offensive zone, taking in the fact that every time Kai tried to shake Tyson, the kid stuck to him like glue. Bryan shifted around, trying to block Dunga and Kirby but with her quick reflexes, she outmanoeuvred her bulky cousin and sprinted to Tala.

He deked and nipped by her, legs working hard to carry him past the net and around the back of it, aware of Max shuffling to keep him in sight.

“Get it in, Tala!”

“Come on, Tala,” Daichi jeered, “show us something fancy.”

Kid was too mouthy for his own good, Tala thought, taking the puck across in front of Max and leading him to the right of the net. As the boy shifted to close off the corner, Tala flicked the puck back between his legs and clipped it up and over Max’s left shoulder.

It struck twine and the lamp lit.

For a second, time stopped and then the roar from the bench hit him. He pumped his fist and spun to grab Enrique.

“The fuck was that!” The blonde roared in his ear as Bryan slapped his helmet hard enough to jar his brain.

Elation filled him, a deep-rooted satisfaction of a damn good goal. He grinned over the babbling blonde’s shoulder at Kai who approached them with a smirk.

“Cutting it close weren’t you?”

Pushing Enrique off him, he bumped his gloved fist against Kai’s. “Still within the five minutes.”

“You’d think they’d never scored before,” Miguel muttered as he muscled past them.

Tyson jostled his captain. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll get another back! Still two minutes on the clock and it doesn’t take that long to score.”

Tala straightened, following them to the face-off but paused when Max called out to him. Tala flinched at his sober expression. He braced himself for the self-doubts. He didn’t want to make Max questions his skills. It was a testament to his talent that Tala had to resort to that kind of shot.

“Hey, Tala, when we get back to school after break, mind showing me that goal again?”

Surprised, Tala propped himself against his stick. “Think I’ll be able to pull it off again? Maybe it was a fluke?”

Max’s blue eyes were bright but serious. “I want to see what I need to do to stop that.”

Recognising that same drive inside the blonde boy, Tala nodded. “I will, if you promise to help us whip Kane into shape. He could do with some one on one time with a goalie.”

Max blinked, then nodded rapidly. “Sure, if you think it’ll help, I’d be glad to.”

[spartanguard]

game changers

Summary: Emma’s son’s hockey team—the one she started when got cut from another—is about to play for the state championship. Along the way, she found assistance—and attraction—with the grumpy ice rink manager where they practice. Winning isn’t the only thing on the line; hearts are, too. (aka the Mighty Ducks: Game Changers AU no one asked for.)

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @thesschesthair​!!!!!!!! wishing you the most awesome, amazing, furry birthday yet!!! After our conversations about the Mighty Ducks series—especially that scene at the end—I couldn’t resist throwing this little thing together in honor of the day. Hope you like it, and thank you for being such an amazing friend!! Love you!!!!

1.6k words | rated G

If someone had told Emma at the beginning of the season that they’d be here, she’d have laughed hysterically and asked what drugs they were on, because she wanted some. There was no way this little ragamuffin team—that, honestly, was half started out of spite—would even make it to the state tournament, let alone to the final.

Yet, here they were, about to face off against the elite team that had cut her son from the roster before the season even started. (She could grumble on for days about the state of youth hockey and the money involved and any other number of social injustices, but what it really amounted to was how it highlighted her own feelings of inadequacy as a young-ish single mom next to all the rich ladies who already had college advisors for their middle schoolers.) 

The puck hadn’t even dropped and she was already a bundle of nervous energy, as much as the pre-teens around her in the locker room. It hadn’t been easy, getting here—god, it hadn’t been that long ago some of these kids could barely even skate—but this was more than they had ever anticipated. She knew she should be dispensing some sage advice, but it’s not like she was ever that experienced in this kind of situation; foster kids didn’t have much of an opportunity to participate in organized sports (part of why she’d been so adamant to make sure Henry had these opportunities).

But then an increasingly familiar presence appeared at her side, gave her a sideways grin she was growing to love, and addressed the kids with a speech that was the perfect combination of encouraging and celebratory.

It may have been a stroke of luck that she found Killian Jones in that run-down ice arena, because none of this would have worked without him. 

And the grin Henry was giving her as they headed out to the rink was worth all of it.

(The way her heart jumped every time Killian was near? Pleasant side effect. But also: not a priority right now.)

The team filed out of the room, leaving her to bring up the rear. “You alright, love?” Killian asked, coming up alongside her, concern furrowing his expressive brow.

“Yeah, just nervous,” she admitted. “Never thought we’d even be here, but now that we are—is it wrong that I really hope we win?” Logically, she knew she’d proven whatever point she’d already set out to prove—that hockey could still be fun, that money was no replacement for drive, that she was capable of running a team. Winning states, though? That would just put it in bold text.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “You’ve done an amazing job with these kids. And Swan: I’ve yet to see you fail.”

The honesty shining in his blue eyes was almost overwhelming, and a sudden tension formed in the narrow space between them; she hadn’t even realized how close he was. Close enough to...no, she couldn’t follow that train of thought. She’d done enough of that for one lifetime, and knew he had, too

So she stepped out of his space, took a deep breath, and started to head out of the room. “Let’s do this, then.”

*********************

She’d hated him, at first. She wasn’t even sure how she managed to convince him to let the team use the rink, despite the “no hockey” signs plastered everywhere. It had to have been Henry—that kid could warm even the hardest heart.

Which was probably the only reason Killian agreed to help coach, too. Emma knew absolutely nothing about the sport other than what she’d seen watching; but how could she teach the kids the difference between icing and offsides if she didn’t even know? Heck, she could barely stop on her (rented, figure) skates without crashing into the boards. 

And she was totally ready to respect Killian’s rule—until Henry found out who he was and couldn’t stop talking about him. About how he actually founded his previous team, and had a pretty respectable minor league playing career until a hand injury ended it, but went on to be a fantastic coach—for a while, ultimately flaming out at the college level. It wasn’t her business how he ended up managing a secondhand rink in the less-nice part of Boston, just that he continued to let them use it. 

It took a couple soul-crushing defeats before he stepped in and helped her teach the kids the basics, and as it turned out, they made a pretty good team. He was fantastic with the kids; Henry liked him a lot; hell, he was even great with her ex. It was perfect—almost too much so.

Because he could also read her far too well.

It only took one run-in with Regina, one of those rich moms, for him to figure out there was more to her starting this team than met the eye.

He sussed out her history with Neal pretty quickly, despite only meeting him once—her reaction said enough.

And when she put distance between them—a lot of it, for almost two weeks—after they shared a rather intense hug after their first win, he called her out on her bullshit.

“Don’t try to tell me you’re not avoiding me, because I’m actually quite perceptive and this? This is avoiding.”

“I know,” she confessed. “But...I can’t take the chance I’m wrong about you.”

They continued to skate around...whatever this was between them. Emma tried to chalk it up to physical attraction—because damn, was he ever: dark, shaggy hair (with a few lighter strands mixed in), piercing blue eyes, the right amount of stubble, and a bit of chest hair that teased her from under the henleys he wore, which also did a good job of showing off the fact that his playing career might be over, but he was still in fine form.

But it was so much more than that. He was a kindred spirit, in a way. She just refused to admit that.

*********************

From the moment the puck dropped, it felt like she didn’t take a breath. She and Killian moved with and around each other fluidly, giving instructions, cheering the kids on, maybe yelling at the referees a bit, but ultimately doing everything they could to support the team.

With less than 30 seconds left in the third period, the game was tied 3-3. “Do you trust me?” Killian asked her at the start of their last time out.

“Of course.” She’d never been more sure of anything.

He nodded at her and then turned to the kids, describing a play that, if all went well, would net them a goal and secure them the win.

She was silent with anxiety as she watched the line skate back out. Killian returned to her side and then squeezed her hand. “This’ll work, I promise,” he said, and gave her one of the soft smiles he didn’t give very often.

All she could do was nod and then turn her attention back to the ice.

She still wasn’t exactly sure what he’d told them to do, but it was genius, whatever it was; the kids were completely in sync, passing the puck surely and accurately, until it was in Henry’s possession—and then it was in the net.

The light lit up, the siren rang out—they’d just won the state championship.

She didn’t know whether to scream or cry, so she settled for some combination of both and instinctively threw her arms around Killian, not giving a fig about propriety. They won.

(It was almost worth it for the sour looks on other mom’s faces—but even more for the unstoppable grin on Henry’s.)

She was barely aware of anything during the awards ceremony—not until Henry was shoving their (surprisingly heavy) trophy in her hands.

Back in the locker room, the kids were passing the trophy around, admiring their medals, taking selfies, and Emma had to brush a tear away at the sight. It was more than she had hoped for at the start of the season. 

She turned away to a corner, so she wouldn’t embarrass Henry or something by getting too emotional, but Killian quickly swam into her vision. “What’d I tell you, Swan?” he said softly, reaching up to brush away a tear. “Bloody brilliant, love.”

“Please,” she scoffed, though it was a bit watery. “That winning play was all you. That was amazing.”

Killian blushed, the tips of his elfin ears turning pink. He was about to say something, but then a cry came from the team, who had suddenly gathered around them. “Hey, coaches!”

They both turned to look—and were immediately drenched in coolers of Gatorade. The kids began to whoop and holler and laugh, but Emma and Killian were frozen in place for a second.

Until she looked across at him, grinning at her through his (very wet) fringe 

If starting a hockey team had been a rash move, it was about to be topped—because she finally caved, grabbed him by the lapel of his coach-like sportcoat, and hauled him into her, finding his lips with hers. 

He tasted like—well, Gatorade, and he stiffened at first, but then wrapped his arms around her and deepened it. He kissed her like he meant it, and she gave it right back. It would probably throw a wrench in a lot of things, but she didn’t care anymore. It just felt good; it felt right.

They did eventually have to come up for air, and not just because the their impromptu shower was making their clothes stick to their skin uncomfortably (she couldn’t help but notice the red-tinged dampness of his chest hair through the open vee of his dress shirt and vest). Some of the kids were playfully gagging, but Henry gave them a thumbs up.

If someone had told Emma at the beginning of the season that she’d end it by kissing her assistant coach in a victory celebration, she’d have thought they were completely mad. But as she dragged Killian in for another kiss (of many more to come), she was so glad it was real.

[sa-gt-tarrius]

A Visitor in Castle Bleck

Part 1/?

G/t content ahead. Nothing raunchy, but still, proceed at your own risk.

***

After thinking about, you decided that you REALLY hate this castle.

There were things you could be grateful for, of course: lots of places to hide, unrelenting silence, and almost no foot traffic. Most borrowers would do anything for such a secure place to live.

However, you quickly decided that you didn’t like this place at all. It was permanently dark and gloomy, and even though the silence was a blessing, it was also a curse. The consistent darkness and deafening silence became unbearable after only a few days of being there. It was ominous... like something bad was always about to happen. You couldn’t stand it.

You sighed, wishing that you were back in the castle where you used to live. Even though that place was filled to the brim with lava and people, it at least wasn’t so... scary.

You weren’t sure how you ended up here, anyway. You woke up inside the castle foyer three days ago (although the lack of a day-night cycle left you unable to tell when a day has passed. You may as well be guessing at this point). All around you laid koopa and goomba soldiers, unconscious and sprawled in unnatural positions. It looked like you were the first to wake up.

During your escape, a few koopas had woken up and spotted you scurrying across the floor. Luckily, they seemed too exhausted to give chase. You slipped into another room before you could be snatched up.

For a while, you kept to the walls, focusing on avoiding anyone who passed by. But then you started to become hungry. Where was food kept in a place like this, anyway? Maybe this was like your old home, with a storage space in the basement? It was a good place to start, so you began to carefully traverse the hallways, ready to duck out of sight if anyone approached.

By some miracle of the stars, you stumbled across the kitchen within the hour. You knew it was a kitchen because it had a fridge and an oven and a table with chairs. Unfortunately, there were also two giants there, arguing about something. They hadn’t seen you enter the room.

Thinking quickly, you slipped under the fridge. It was a tight fit, but you were hidden very nicely. You grunted quietly as you adjusted yourself to get more comfortable. Then, after you were settled, you began to wait for the right moment to snag some food.

“I really don’t like the new guy,” one of the giants grumbled. You didn’t get a good look at her, but you knew she was a young-looking girl with curly pigtails and a colourful dress. “Are we even sure he’s the chosen one or whatever?”

The second giant tapped his finger on the table. His voice was gruff, befitting his large stature and rugged exterior. “Yeh, it’s bogus if yeh ask me. Innit strange that teh lad JOST showed up? How come we’ve never met im before? It’s all mighty fishy.”

The girl huffed in response nodding her head. “I don’t trust him. He’s weird.”

“Well, excuuuuuse me.”

Both giants fell silent. A pair of footsteps entered the room—not too heavy, which meant the giant was on the smaller side, but he was wearing heavy duty boots, so his steps were pretty loud regardless. The thumping came to a halt near the fridge. “Talking shit about me, hmm?”

“Oi vey,” the larger giant groaned, shuffling uncomfortably. “Leave us alone, won’t ya?”

“Let’s eat somewhere else.” The younger giant quickly stood, rushing out of the room. The larger giant followed suite, leaving you and this new giant alone in the room. He huffed quietly and took a seat at the table, facing away from you.

Perfect.

You’d have to be fast, but if you stayed quiet, you’d have no trouble sneaking some food. You spotted the pantry door across the room, door slightly ajar. As long as this guy didn’t notice you, you could camp out under the fridge for a while while you waited for everyone to leave.

Moving slowly, you crawled out from under the fridge, glancing up at the giant for a split second. He was still turned away from you, unmoving and silent. What a creep. You bolted to the pantry with the stealth you’d acquired over years of practice, slipping through the door with ease.

Immediately, your eyes landed on some boxes on the ground, already opened. Perfect. You clambered into the shortest box you could find, digging around for food of some sort. A cheer almost escaped your lips when your hands grasped a package of crackers. Working quickly, you ripped the package open and strapped one cracker onto your back with string. Then you snapped a second cracker in half to make it easier to carry. Man, these giants were stupid. Luck was on your side, despite the unfortunate turns of events this week.

As you were adjusting your grip on your meal, you failed to notice the room darkening slightly. You also failed to notice the sound of quiet footsteps towards you.

“What the hell?”

But you certainly heard the incredulous voice from above.

Relying on raw instinct, you leapt out of the box and made a mad dash for the door, which was unfortunately where the giant was standing. Your plan was to slip between his legs to escape the pantry. What ended up happening was the door slammed shut on your face, knocking you back a few inches. A stream of blood ran down your nose and onto the floor.

The door creaked open ever so slightly again. A single eye peered through, boring its gaze into you. You gulped—this was NOT good.

“Wow,” the giant murmured, utterly entranced by your very presence. “You, uh... you’re a tiny person. Huh.”

He lowered himself slowly, kneeling by the door while he watched you carefully. As soon as your head stopped spinning from the impact of the door, you quickly scrambled behind the cracker box, more out of instinct than for any good reason. You hated that he was staring at you.

“Hey hey whoa, where are you going?” The door opened a bit more, just enough for an gloved hand and an arm clothed in leather to slip through.

The box shifted as he grabbed it, and in a moment of sheer panic, you let out a startled cry. “NO!!”

The box stopped moving as the hand flinched away. The giant was silent for a minute, probably listening to your heavy breathing. “You can... talk?”

Oh god, what have you done?

The giant laughed quietly, clearly in a state of shock. “Wow... Okay, uh... huh. This is new.”

You just revealed yourself. You’ve become trapped in the pantry. And now the giant knows you can talk. How could you be so stupid?

“Are you... gonna come out?”

“No,” you whined. “Please go away.”

The man sighed. “Ah, geez. You’re probably freaking out.” He shuffled again, taking a seat by the door. “My name’s Mr. L. My friends call me Elly.” He let out a laugh. “Well... if I had friends, that’s what they’d call me. I’ve mostly got enemies.”

You remained silent.

“Can you... tell me your name?”

“...N—no.”

“Alright, it’s okay. No pressure.” Mr. L huffed, exasperation crossing his face. “Look, if someone finds you ransacking our food, you’re not gonna get off that easy. Stay out of their way, alright?”

Silence once again.

Mr. L sighed, defeated. “Okay, okay... I get it. I’ll leave you be.” With a grunt, he stood to his full height and quickly left the kitchen. The light was left on, and the pantry door was conveniently left ajar.

It took you a moment to process everything that had just happened. Did he just... let you go? Even after knowing you were stealing his food? What kind of idiot would just leave after discovering you?

Hopefully, you’d never find out. As soon as you’d collected your wits, you escaped back into the hallway, vanishing from sight.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #169: If We Should Fail -- the World Dies Tonight

March, 1978.

This is a bit of an odd duck.

As I’ve mentioned, its a filler issue.

It only features Captain America, Iron Man, and Black Panther.

The cover is neat though. Three dooms so the spiked ball pink energy sort of separates the cover into a sort of triptych of the situations where I guess these three Avengers are looking for the three dooms.

Since there’s no last time context that will make this make any more sense, lets get into it.

We start with Iron Man doing a crossword while Captain America and Black Panther help him, moodily.

Considering that they’re enjoying some downtime, they don’t seem to be, well, enjoying it.

So maybe its no great loss after all when the wall explodes and a green-armored man stomps in promising the Avengers a battle to the death!

The battle doesn’t start off great for the Avengers. Perhaps because of poor planning.

Cap jumps at the guy and just gets grabbed and thrown. Iron Man rushes straight at him and gets multiply missiles for his haste. Black Panther grabs him but the dude can heat his suit up to two hundred degrees.

Also, apparently the green armor is a hyper-suit that this intruder spent millions on.

The Avengers get their shit together and start attacking in unison, managing to get some repulsor and mighty shield hits on him.

But then things get... weird.

And a bit uncomfortable.

The guy starts shouting stuff like “Fight me, Avengers -- fight and kill me!” and “Fire your repulsor rays at me -- until I’m dead! Destroy me! That is my last wish!”

The Avengers realize that there’s more going on here and presumably suspect that they’ve been duped into aiding some guy’s suicide by Avenger or extremely niche fetish.

But since the guy will kill them and is breaking their mansion in the meantime, Iron Man knocks the wind out of his sails with some sustained repulsoring.

Iron Man unmasks the stunned aggressor and discovers... JASON BEERE!?

Well, we don’t know who this is but Iron Man recognizes him. Beere is one of Tony Stark’s major competitors.

So what is this all about? Some extremely niche fetish?

Jason Beere: “Because I am dying... because, when my heart gives out -- when I breathe my last -- I -- I want the world to die with me!”

And then he passes out. Because he’s dying.

Iron Man flies Beere to the Stark Industries Flushing plant and tells the Avengers to meet him there.

And by Avengers I mean Captain America and Black Panther.

I don’t know where Thor, Wonder Man, Vision, Scarlet Witch, Yellowjacket, Beast, or the Wasp are. Probably at the opera.

Anyway, to save Beere, Iron Man uses a spare chest plate and an artificial respirator to keep him alive.

When Cap and Black Panther arrive, Iron Man tells them what he’s learned... somehow.

Iron Man: “Listen, Beere’s a megalomaniac -- he’s planted four bombs somewhere in the world, and they’re all set to explode the moment his heart stops. They’re neutron warheads, powerful enough to obliterate all life on Earth. Friends -- simply said -- Beere wants to take us all with him when he goes!”

Wait, four bombs? Then why three dooms? Cover, you’ve lied to me yet again!

Anyway, maybe Iron Man visited Beere’s office after temporarily saving Beere’s life but before Cap and Black Panther showed up. Because as Cap parachutes into Peru, he thinks to himself about the information they got from the notes in Beere’s office-safe.

For example, the location of three of the bombs.

And that Beere’s wife left him and took the children the previous year.

And how to disarm the bombs.

Anyway, this filler has chapters because. So:

Chapter 2: The Temple of Winged Death!

Cap just finds the first spiky orb neutron bomb chilling out in an alcove of a Peruvian pyramid.

Its not even hidden. Its almost too easy.

Oop, spoke too soon. Cap aggroed some locals.

Now these bird helmed fellows are just defending their sacred temple but Cap is trying to save the world. Its one of those unfortunate ‘smoking gun’ things that fiction sets up.

They also don’t speak English so he can’t communicate with them and since he dives in punching and also swivels one of their number into the path of a poisonous dart attack, I don’t think they’d be too keen to listen to him.

Seriously though, Cap? Dick move.

You have a shield.

I mean, sure, they have a cure for their own poisons so the man will live. Provided someone gets the cure to him in time.

That’s how Cap justifies it to himself anyway while patting himself on the back for not being a killer.

I’m being uncharitable.

Anyway, the priest or perhaps falconer of the tribe shows up. He can speak English.

And it transpires that instead of just defending their land, they were paid by Beere to kill Captain America should he show up.

For shame, comic. Turning the bird hatted people into evil mercenaries to justify Cap’s invasion of their territory and indirect poisoning of one.

This does raise questions though.

Beere evidently knew that the Avengers would find his bombs and made contingencies for it. He also knew that Captain America specifically would go for this bomb. And I guess knew that only three Avengers would be in this issue and that they wouldn’t bother calling others.

Truly an unique mastermind, this Jason Beere.

Anyway, Cap swings from a branch, uses some bees to attack the sacred harpy eagles, sproings off a branch, nabs the neutron spike orb and flees for his Quinjet.

Because putting most of your points into Acrobatics works.

Chapter 3: Black Prowler... White Death!

Meanwhile, Black Panther was sent to the arctic circle so he could wax philosophic about being a prince of a tropical country now alone in a world of eternal cold.

Truly he is misplaced wherever he roams.

Oh and Black Panther pretty easily finds his bomb too. Just sitting right inside an ice cave.

Which happens to be the ice cave ice lair of the biggest polar bear Black Panther has ever seen.

Life hack: You don’t have to pay natives to murder an Avenger if you just put a bomb in a polar bear cave. -taps temple-

So obviously, Black Panther is going to wrestle that polar bear. That’s just the inevitable path that this comic set him on.

Plus, the man once put Silver Surfer in an arm bar. He’ll wrestle anything. He’ll wrestle himself.

He kind of goofed up though. He forced the polar bear to stumble off of a ledge, probably to knock it out, but he misjudged the thickness of the ice.

So down they go into the freezing water.

With the cold numbing him and also a lack of oxygen, Black Panther has to abandon his plan to wrestle the bear.

Instead he breaks an icicle over bjorne’s head and then uses his face as a springboard back to the surface.

Like Cap, Black Panther too doesn’t want to kill. Its not the polar bear’s fault that its a killing machine. It needs to kill to eat. Black Panther just doesn’t want to be eaten. But he wishes him luck with the next meal that isn’t Black Panther.

Also, damn, I don’t think he has a change of clothes and he’s soaked to the bone. Also his costume is explicitly freezing due to the water soaked into it. Walking away from this without hypothermia is a testament to something.

Black Panther’s willpower perhaps.

Chapter 4: Madness Over Moscow!

I notice that all three of these bombs were placed so that the Avengers would have to invade someone else’s turf to retrieve them. I wonder if that’s an overall thematic point or Beere’s just being a dick.

Since he wants the world to die with him and he isn’t a sympathetic anime girl with a cape, its probably the latter.

Iron Man actually wanted to call ahead and get the cooperation of the Soviets (because even if he saves the world from Beere’s bombs, ratcheting up the doomsday clock by annoying the Russians is hardly an ideal outcome) but realized that coming to them and saying hey can I ransack your museum for a bomb that my fellow capitalist countryman hid there wouldn’t come off well.

So he figures its better to never have to ask forgiveness than permission and he’ll sneak this shit.

Problem: Beere’s is a dick.

He set up secret messages for the Soviets to intercept that revealed Iron Man was going to invade the country.

So they were watching for Iron Man.

Specifically.

How did Beere’s know that it would only be these three Avengers? Geez.

Iron Man starts pondering along similar lines as Cap. Obviously Beere knew the Avengers would find his notes and go to retrieve the bombs. Its almost as if he wanted them to find his bombs. But why?

And why any of this? If the plan was for the world to die with him, why involve suicide by Avengers at all? Why not just quietly commit suicide? Why alert the Avengers at all to what was going on?

Iron Man finds the bomb but the museum is booby-trapped to prevent burglars from escaping.

Burglars don’t tend to have power armor though. I mean, yeah, they do. But mostly in New York.

So Iron Man just seals his mask from the knockout gas and OH YEAHs through the wall.

He retrieves the bomb but finds himself surrounded by Russian soldiers with heavy ordinance.

Given that, he asks if they want to hear a story.

Chapter 5: A Fateful Decision!

Iron Man returns with his bomb!

There was a bit of a delay as he had to let Soviet officials examine the device but once they did they were more than willing to let him remove it from their country as soon as possible please.

So with all three bombs, its time to stick them together like in the blueprints.

Black Panther asks if they should follow Beere’s instructions. He is the guy that’s trying to blow up Earth. But Iron Man examined the spike balls and there’s no detonator.

Putting the devices together absolutely will not explode in their faces, guaranteed.

And it doesn’t.

Point to Iron Man.

Instead, it plays a pre-recorded message. I guess they’re really spiky tape players.

Jason Beere: “Greetings, Avengers! I congratulate you on locating my first three devices! But then, I knew you would succeed. You see, my diary and notes were planted for you to discover. They were to lure you away from the real bomb! A bomb primed to explode when my heart beats its last. My doctors say I will die within the month. That is not fair for a man who is worth two hundred million dollars. Therefore I decided, when I go -- the world will go with me! You have been duped Avengers -- sent on fools’ errands! And now... now it is too late. I am dying, and the final bomb has been activated. Farewell, Avengers! We shall met again soon... in the great galactic gameroom -- beyond!”

Captain America slams his fist down on a computer bank in frustration for being snookered and maybe even smeckldorfed.

But not so fast: Beere’s may have been one step ahead but Iron Man was half of a step ahead of him.

When he examined the device, he realized it wasn’t a bomb but a tape player. And with that realization, he deduced most of Beere’s plot. And having heard the tape, he’s also deduced the location of the fourth and real bomb.

Because Beere’s is that kind of asshole. Like Iron Man said, he could have quietly committed suicide and nobody would have been wiser to his plan or able to stop it.

He wanted the Avengers to know, to try, and to fail. I don’t know why. The guy is a megalomaniac. Its not enough that the world dies with him. He wanted to beat the Avengers and have someone know how brilliant he was before he died.

So he couldn’t help but drop a clue because thats what people do, I guess, when they think they’re so much smarter.

The fourth bomb is primed to explode when Beere’s heart beats its last.

The bomb is attached to his heart.

And Beere’s didn’t reckon with something else either. Tony Stark keeps his heart troubles a secret. Nobody knows that Iron Man needs the chest plate to live, even though he keeps keeling over anytime anybody so much as lightly bumps into his chest during fights.

The chestplate is keeping Beere’s heart going. And its giving the Avengers time enough to try to disarm the bomb.

Unfortunately, after running some tests, Iron Man determines that the bomb can’t be removed. If they try, it will detonate.

So plan B.

The Avengers put Beere in a cryogenic chamber. Beere’s heart will be slowed down but non-stop.

Maybe one day they’ll find a way to remove the bomb. But until then, Jason Beere will live. Its no life but he’ll live.

Rather than die young, he’ll probably outlive all the Avengers.

There’s a real something feeling about that. Poignant or ironic or some other thing. Lash out in rage over dying young and end up frozen alive forever.

Iron Man: “He is a true Eternity Man...”

Black Panther: “Whose every heartbeat keeps the world alive!”

And I presume that Eternity Man is frozen to this day. Hopefully Tony Stark doesn’t go bankrupt like the three times that has happened and lose the ability to keep the cryogenic chamber going.

Maybe they’d better just have Jean Grey launch the entire facility into space so it can be safely detonated...

Anyway, that was filler.

It was okay filler.

Iron Man basically solves everything off-panel and wraps everything up in a hurry on the last page but so it goes.

I’ll forever wonder why the other Avengers didn’t get involved but there’s no refunds on opera tickets. And the Ring Cycle was playing.

Next time we get back to the Korvac Saga. Or as I like to think of it Part One of the Peter Henry Gyrich Ruins Everything Saga.

[airanke]

Bet You Wish

OKAY!!! LISTEN!! BEFORE YOU READ THIS I GOTTA LET YOU KNOW A FEW THINGS:

This is not. Canon.

Not to Lascivious Ophidian or any other AU or any RPs OR ANYTHING, it’s kind of like the proverbial “bad end”, if you will. I borrowed @madmadameem‘s Nadia and KIND OF went with a “Something Borrowed, Something Blue” vibe because in this short Nadia and Vol’jin are a thing AND it offered a more interesting relationship dynamic than say, me using Vanira. Whom I didn’t just want to randomly throw into a relationship with Vol’jin for the sake of this one short. LET ME HAVE MY HORRIBLE FEELINGS AND THEN MAKE YOU ALL SUFFER WITH ME.

This entire thing spawned from two ideas I had, the first of which I’m not going to tell you so that I don’t spoil, but the second idea was I just kind of really wanted to write a short fight between Vol’jin and Vadim. Vadim is a relatively... new development in Amita’s story (ie. I was thinking about who could have helped her properly master her moonkin / balance druid form because honestly she had to have SOME help), and so Vadim happened.

And I wanted him and Vol’jin to just hate each other for one reason or another. So. Yeah. It’s also partially brought on because I listened to “Bet U Wish” by Raye a while back and was like “OMG WHAT IF THINGS BETWEEN AMITA AND VOL’JIN WENT REALLY REALLY SOUTH” (aside from the other idea, which I’m not gonna say here because, it’s literally introduced in the first few paragraphs HAHA). Specifically, though, it’s the chorus that got me the most, and it goes like this:

“Everything is gone For you I have nothing, absolutely nothing But I bet you wish, I bet you wish, I bet you wish I bet you wish, I bet you wish, I bet you wish Yeah, it's all gone Oh you wish we had something, we got nothing But I bet you wish, I bet you wish, I bet you wish I bet you wish, I bet you wish, I bet you wish But it's all gone”.

Anyway, I’ll stop rambling here because this is already really fucking long, the actual story is under the cut. Suffer mortals. Suffer with me, SUFFER WITH MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-- I’ll make it all up to you I SWEAR I’LL WRITE CUTE FLUFF FOR YOU I’LL WRITE SMUT I’LL MAKE IT UP TO YOOOOOOOOU

Panic.

That had been the culprit that lead to this. Vol’jin hadn’t anticipated that Amita would be so hostile toward the worgen king after his hostility toward Sylvanas. She had gone so far as to shift into her hydra form, snarling.

The warchief’s hand shook. In his palm, sat a bloodied tusk - and of course it would be bloody. But it was an accident! He’d only meant to pull her back, and the only thing he could think to get her attention was to grab her tusk.

Because he panicked. Because he didn’t think, because he’d magically forgotten that grabbing another troll’s tusk was stupidest decision he could have ever made.

Vol’jin had startled her. When he wrapped his hand around her tusk, she’d jerked back her head.

He should’ve let go.

He should have never grabbed her tusk in the first place.

Vol’jin had never been so mortified in his life. It grew worse when she screamed in pain, reverting back to her troll form, cupping her cheek. Her green eyes left burns on his skin, wide with betrayal.

Then she was gone.

Whisked herself away on dark wings. He couldn’t shake the sight of the blood that had splattered on the ground.

At least when he turned his head to look at Genn, the worgen looked… stunned. Sylvanas seemed equally as stunned, though he was surprised to see her expression change to being appalled. She snapped at Genn for his idiocy, and the king - surprisingly - backed down without much of a fight.

Vol’jin quickly excused himself - and so here he was, staring at his bloodied palm. The entire tusk had come out. He could even see a bit of flesh on the root.

What have I done.

He closed shaking fingers around the tusk, putting on a smile when the door was pushed open.

“Vol’jin?” came the quiet voice. Nadia stood in the doorway, brows furrowed. She didn’t know what had happened. She didn’t need to know - not yet, anyway.

“Nadia,” he greeted, rising from his seat, keeping the smile on his lips, “I be needing ta go somewhere fah a lil’ bit.”

Her brows narrowed further as he walked around the desk, keeping his right hand as hidden as naturally possible so as to not to alert her.

Nadia turned toward him and he caressed her cheek, holding onto his smile.

“Where?” Nadia questioned, her suspicion clear. She glanced at his right hand, and he let her see his hand - to an extent. Vol’jin kept his grip as relaxed as possible without showing that there was something hidden within his fist.

“Ratchet,” he replied. Her suspicion only mounted. He knew that Amita and Nadia were friends. Vol’jin ducked his head to hide his face for a moment. Loa, this was difficult.

“Only fah a few houahs. I’ll be back befah sundown.”

“Why are you going to Ratchet?” Nadia pressed, following him into the hall of the hold.

“I need… ta do sometin’,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her, “don’ worry ‘bout it.”

Nadia obviously wanted to ask more, but he quickly escaped her sight. He was on his raptor the next second. Ratchet was in his sights soon after that.

She had arrived in a flurry of scaly feathers and tears. Her jaw hurt. She could feel the blood steadily dripping down her chin, even in her wind serpent form.

How dare he?

Sure, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so hostile toward the worgen king, but she had no reason to trust him - or any of the Alliance leaders, not after how high and mighty they behaved after the siege.

Amita couldn’t make it to Rath’s bar. She dropped on the ground, shifting into her troll form, and cupped her cheek in her hand.

Moments later she heard quick footsteps, then a cool hand was pressed over hers.

“Amita!” Vadim exclaimed, his voice tinged with worry, “wat happened? Why ya be bleeding--”

She was grateful that she had prepared herself for his flurry of curses when he realized that she was bleeding because her tusk was gone. The coolness emanating from his hand intensified, and Amita let her own hand slip away so he could place his hand directly on her skin. The cold soothed her aching jaw.

Amita hiccuped, choking on her tears. She couldn’t formulate any words. At least Vadim’s presence was calming her, for the most part, even if she was afraid to tell him why she was missing her tusk because she knew it would only fuel his dislike for Vol’jin more.

“Who in de hell did dis to you?” the mage demanded, the blue of his bleeding into his sclera.

“H-He did-- I--”

“He who?”

“The warchief,” Amita finally rasped, dropping into Zandali. Vadim fell into silence.

“Vol’jin,” she reiterated, closing her eyes tightly. Loa, it nearly made the tears worse.

Vadim retracted his hand from her cheek. Amita struggled to compose herself; others in Ratchet had been drawn to the scene. She quickly raised a hand to both hide the fact that one of her tusks was missing, and to rub away the blood that had dried on her chin.

“That son of a bitch,” the mage snarled, frost coating his tusks. Amita lurched to her feet, moving past him. She could feel the chill when he reached for her - but he must have changed his mind, because it was retracted from her shortly thereafter. She hurried into Rath’s bar, ignoring the orc when he greeted her.

She went right to her room, sitting down at the vanity.

Her face looked so… off-kilter. It looked wrong. She could taste the copper in her mouth, her tongue prodding at the bloody space her tusk had left. Her eyes were puffy and red.

Several minutes passed. Then an hour.

Finally, there was a soft knock at her door. She breathed deeply, tearing her eyes away from her reflection.

“Yes…?”

Vadim pushed open the door. The frost was gone from his tusks, and he had Hakto at his shoulder. Amita’s ears flicked down. She averted her gaze when the tauren shaman’s brows narrowed back in concern.

“Let’s have a look at that, Amita,” Hakto said, his voice absent of its usual gruffness. He gently prodded at her cheek and upper jaw, green magic swirling about his large fingertips.

“And… let’s see about removing the other one.”

Vol’jin paced.

He hadn’t been able to walk in the front door to Rath’s bar. At least three hours had passed since the incident - and wasn’t that damn mage here as well? He vaguely recalled Amita mentioning that the man had come to visit. Perhaps stay. She’d seemed happy.

So why did it bother him so damn much?

Vol’jin shook his head. He chalked it up to Amita being his childhood friend - he was only being protective because he didn’t like Vadim, and Vadim had made it abundantly clear he had no love for Vol’jin.

Still, the warchief sighed, and slumped down against the back of the bar. He could hear people talking inside, passing around stories and jokes. Someone was playing a harp. Drink glasses and bottles clinked at the bar.

Rath would most certainly know what had happened. Vol’jin had grabbed Amita’s tusk, she jerked her head back, and that was that. Out came her tusk.

Vol’jin wet his lips. He was about to get up when his ears caught onto the sound of leather against wood.

“... warchief?”

The troll flinched. It wasn’t Rath, no, but it was Inetiel. The blood elf had a bag of garbage in his hand, and was halfway out the back door.

“Inetiel…” Vol’jin muttered, pushing himself up to his feet, “I…”

“So, he shows his face.”

The blood elf made a sound close to a whine, and Rath nudged the Inetiel with his elbow. The old orc had crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze menacing, “go.”

“Yes’sir.”

Vol’jin watched as Inetiel rigidly walked over to a large steel bin. He forced himself to look at Rath as Inetiel hefted the bag into the bin.

“Where she be?”

“Every time you come here, you ask me that question,” Rath said, his voice deadpan, “and every time, without fail, I give you an answer. If you would be so inclined to tell me, Vol’jin, for what reason I should give you an answer now, I’d be most interested in hearing what that reason is.”

The troll’s ears flicked down. He quickly lowered his head to hide the pout. To be treated like a child when he held the position he had, was a blow to his pride.

Vol’jin supposed he deserved that.

Instead of arguing with the orc, and pulling the warchief card like Vol’jin was certain Garrosh would have - and he was better than Garrosh - Vol’jin extended his right hand. He had taken a moment after arriving to wash the tusk, and he held his breath upon seeing Rath’s posture relax.

“I be needing ta… return dis. And, as I be hoping might be obvious… I be needing ta talk ta her, Rath. I swear I didn’t do dis on purpose. I made a mistake. I be wanting to at least try to fix it.”

Rath breathed deeply. Inetiel scurried past the orc back into the bar, and heartily greeted someone who was clearly there for drinks, and not drama.

“Getting past me is the easy part,” the orc mused. He set a harsh gaze on Vol’jin, “I can’t guarantee that someone else will let you near her. That being said, she’s down that way,” Rath nodded in the direction, “there’s some new homes that were built down there; she’s in the bigger one. It belongs to me.”

Vol’jin dipped his head in respect, and held his tongue against saying any thanks. Like Inetiel before him, Vol’jin began to rigidly walk in the direction Rath had gestured. He was grateful that he’d decided to wear more than usual that day, having a pouch around his hips that he could slip the tusk into.

Absently he ran a finger over the blade of his glaive. This someone else could only be Vadim. The bastard had made it a point to get under Vol’jin’s skin when they were first introduced after the Siege.

Damn it.

The sun was already going down. He’d told Nadia he’d be back before then. What a lie that had been, and now that was two things he was going to have to make up for.

Ahead of him was a well constructed home, similar in all ways to the goblin structures, but made for someone bigger than they were. It sat on a raised plot of land, keeping it out of reach of the sea.

Vol’jin hardly made it up the short incline before he lurched back. Bitter cold struck his chest, crawling over his collarbone and down his abdomen.

Vadim had good aim, Vol’jin would give him that. An ice lance, right to the chest. Quickly, Vol’jin pulled his glaive away from his back, parrying a heavy blow from the mage. He would have to watch out for those daggers attached to Vadim’s staff.

The shadow hunter kicked back, baring his teeth, “let me see her.”

“You’ve got some nerve, Vol,” Vadim growled, magic swirling around his hand, “showing up here, expecting everyone to let you have your way, just because you’re the warchief.”

Vol’jin could feel anger blossom between his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t get any respect from this man. Before he could retort, a harsh winds ripped through the area. If that didn’t alert anyone that a fight was going on, well, Volj’in didn’t know what would.

The blizzard was something the shadow hunter ducked into his swift cobra form to avoid. He skirted closer to the main part of Ratchet, and once he left his snake form, he stayed in a low stance. Vadim had the advantage here.

Being a Darkspear, Vol’jin was susceptible to the cold; Vadim knew that. And even if Vol’jin had spent some time in the cold mountains of Pandaria, it was a different cold to that of a frost mage.

Vadim, it seemed, was too angry to care about keeping his distance. He blinked right to Vol’jin’s position, twirling his staff as a monk would. Vol’jin deflected his blows and returned them in kind, until their movements were nearly too fast to see.

The daggers on Vadim’s staff cut into Vol’jin’s side when the mage abruptly changed the direction of his attack mid-blow. Vol’jin staggered, and Vadim’s hand lit up with purple light. The arcane blast sent the warchief tumbling backward. Goblin bruisers were beginning to move in on the scene, but a bark from Hakto stopped them.

Good.

They should know better than to get in between two fighting trolls.

Vol’jin snarled at Vadim once he collected himself, claws digging into the dirt. Vadim sneered, then charged Vol’jin again. This time, Vol’jin ducked inside the mage’s reach, startling him, and caught the other man around the neck. He pivoted around Vadim, tightening his hold on the mage, and locking one of his arms into an awkward position. It forced the mage to drop his staff.

“I need to talk to her, and by the Loa, Vadim, you’re gonna’ be letting me.”

The mage spewed a flurry of chatterings - Thalassian, if Vol’jin recalled the sound of it correctly - then seemed to shift his head.

Ice blossomed over the back of the mage’s head, and Vol’jin stared wide-eyed right before he released a yelp of pain. Vadim had bashed his frost covered head into Vol’jin’s nose. The shadow hunter had felt it break, and he released Vadim in favor of bringing his hand to his face, blinking his eyes furiously to keep them open despite the burning ache.

The mage blinked forward, gasping for air, then blinked twice again to get behind Vol’jin. Vol’jin spun around, holding his glaive ahead of himself defensively. He had to give the mage credit. He’d accurately estimated that his head was just small enough to fit between Vol’jin’s tusks for him to deliver the deadly reverse headbutt.

Vol’jin did take some pride in seeing that there were cuts all over the other troll’s exposed skin, namely Vadim’s face. So the tip of his glaive had nicked the mage more than he thought it had.

“You vekk,” Vadim spat, once again bringing rage to boil in Vol’jin’s blood, “if you think that I’m gonna’ be letting you anywhere--”

Dark roots cut him off. They coiled around Vadim, pinning down his arms and his legs.

Vol’jin felt the ground under him rumble as well. He dropped his glaive, pulled his hand away from his face, and managed to fish the tusk out of his pouch before the roots entangled him too.

Amita’s face was red with fury - and Vol’jin had to avert his gaze. She looked so different without her tusks. He should have known that she would have the other one removed.

From the way she breathed in Vol’jin knew there was much she wanted to say. She spoke to the mage first, “please. Stop. I don’t be needin’ this right now.”

“Amita--”

“Vadim. I don’t. I appreciate it, but I don’t be needin’ it. Please.”

The mage went quiet. Voices reached Vol’jin’s ears, though their conversation was muddled. He didn’t want to look over his shoulder to see how many people had gathered, or how many of them recognized him.

Amita stalked over to him. Under the fury in her eyes he could see her pain. He glanced at his closed fist; her eyes followed.

“And what be you doin’ here?” she asked, the venom in her voice doing little to mask the bitter hurt. Vol’jin wet his lips.

“Can I talk to you?”

“You be talkin’.”

He ducked his head, unable to stop the smile that crossed his lips. He should have known she’d retort with that.

“I be meaning,” Vol’jin raised his gaze, brows narrowing back, “may I be having a moment of your time, to speak in private, Amita.”

A certain weariness crossed her features. She waved her hand to release him of the roots.

“Fine. Follow.”

He took only a moment to stoop and pick up his glaive before hurrying after her. She led him to the bar, where he had been slouched just moments before.

This was where she felt safest. It was also the only reason he knew he had to come to Ratchet, because she felt safest here, because this was where Rath and Hakto and Inetiel were - and by extension, that bastard of a mage.

The two trolls regarded each other in silence. She was wearing warmer clothes, unsuited for the weather of the Barrens, and Vol’jin could only assume it was because Amita was trying them on for one reason or another. He wasn’t used to seeing her wear such “modest” clothing, as it were.

He attempted to break the silence first, “Amita--”

“Hakto said it might not grow back.”

Under his war paint, Vol’jin paled. Amita’s gaze was level with his. She continued, as he remained mortified by the prospect, “of course, the chances are higher that it will. But it be a possibility all the same. My left tusk might not ever grow back right, if at all.”

Vol’jin recalled the flesh he’d seen in the root of the tusk, something that he had to use a dagger to get out. Depending on the amount of violence used to remove a tusk, the damage could be irreversible.

If her tusk didn’t grow back, Vol’jin wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

“Is… is he gonna’ keep tabs on it?” Vol’jin asked quietly, molten eyes fixed on his feet, “to make sure it… don’t be goin’ awry?”

“You best look at me, warchief, or I just might walk off on you.”

Vol’jin jerked up his head, and where anger had rooted itself after Vadim had been so disrespectful in the use of the title, a painful ache now grew. He knew what it meant. Amita had always intended it to be a way of distancing herself from him.

He held out his hand, opening it to reveal the tusk, “Amita, I’m sorry.”

She looked down at his hand, then back up at him, “is that why you be coming here?”

“To return it, yes,” Vol’jin said, clenching his teeth, “and to be apologizing. I didn’t think about how else to be calming you. It was a bad decision on my part. I’m sorry.”

Amita hesitantly moved toward him. She raised her hand, and drew no closer than was necessary for her to take her tusk back. The ache in his chest spread. Loa, he’d really done it. He knew her well enough to understand that for her to physically keep her distance spoke volumes of the amount of trust he’d lost.

The druid looked over the tusk in her hand. Vol’jin watched her nervously. He wanted to make this right. He wanted to fix this, and he didn’t know how.

“I’m going to Northrend.”

This news hit him about as hard as Vadim’s ice lance did. That explained the warmer clothing - and if she was going to Northrend, she was going to need a companion, someone who knew that land like the back of his hand.

Someone like Vadim.

Vol’jin couldn’t accept it. This change couldn’t be caused solely by the fact he had accidentally ripped out her tusk.

“Amita it was an accident,” he said it like that would fix everything. The way she looked at him made his heart plummet into his stomach. Once again she was on the verge of tears. Vol’jin valued his personal relationships too much to let her slip through his fingers because of his mistake. They’d been friends for years. Maybe more than friends, at one point, but neither of them had seen it, and now it was too late--

Amita lowered her gaze. Vol’jin clenched one of his hands into a fist.

“Ami, please.”

She said nothing. He took a step forward and praise the Loa, she didn’t step back.

But a snap reached his ears. He stared at her with wide eyes.

Amita extended a hand toward him. She looked at her fist, then at his hand, and finally, up at him. He hesitantly raised his, palm up.

She lowered her fist into his open hand. When she opened it, the caress of her nails sent a spark up his arm that they really had no business sending. She let her hand rest on his, palm to palm, with something jagged and sharp in between.

It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be.

“Consider this the end of us, son of Sen’jin.”

She lifted her hand away, revealing that she had broken her tusk in half, and had given the upper portion - the part that came to a point - back to him.

Vol’jin’s breaths started coming a little quicker.

“A-Amita,” he sought her gaze, molten eyes burning.

“I can’t be doin’ this anymore,” her green orbs lacked their usual life.

“Amita, I--”

“I dunno how long I’ll be gone.”

“Ami, please--”

“Go back home, warchief.”

Vol’jin stared at her in disbelief. It couldn’t be like this. One little mistake and he’d ruined everything. He could almost hear Vadim laughing. Mocking him. One of his most important relationships, aside from Nadia, Vanira, Rokhan, Baine, and Thrall, and he had ruined it.

The mage would have a field day.

And Amita was still waiting for him to leave.

He intended to make it easier for her. Walk around her, and leave. Walk around her, and leave. Walk around her, and leave.

Vol’jin embraced her tightly instead.

Amita’s whole body shook. He barely felt the touch of her hand at the small of his back. Her face was pressed against his neck, and he buried what he could of his in her hair without tangling her locks in his tusks, and despite the dull ache in his nose.

He didn’t know how long they stood like that, only that he couldn’t seem to hug her close enough.

Finally, she spoke. She sounded defeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Vol’jin, I need you to go, please.”

He stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender, his thumb keeping the piece of tusk she’d given him from falling to the grassy ground. Vol’jin could leave it at that, if only because she’d relented and called him by his name. He walked around her.

Her footsteps whisked through the grass as she ran away from him, once he was no longer looking at her.

Vol’jin tipped his head back, staring at the sky. It was getting dark. He had to get back to Orgrimmar before Nadia got suspicious and came looking for him herself - and he knew she would. She always found some way to get around whatever obstacles he put in her way to try and keep her in the Hold while he was away on business.

Before he could leave, a heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Hold still,” the low voice belonged to Hakto. He reached over and, in one swift move, straightened out Vol’jin’s nose. The warchief hardly flinched. Funny how he had forgotten about the ache in his face when the ache in his chest began. The shaman easily healed not only Vol’jin’s broken nose, but also the rest of the injuries he’d gotten in his short spat with Vadim.

“... when?” came the quiet question. Hakto exhaled through his nose, giving his grand head a shake.

“Two weeks,” he paused, then spoke again, “warchief.”

Vol’jin looked up at the shaman, surprised to find that Hakto was giving him a gentle, almost fatherly gaze, “give her space. This isn’t a decision she just… jumped to in the span of what? Three hours?”

The shadow hunter nodded his head, blinking. Wondering what the tauren was getting at.

“Vadim’s been wanting to get her out of the Barrens for days. Hell, even weeks. He last brought it up when the Siege was over. Even mentioned something about wanting to take her back to Pandaria,” Hakto reached behind himself, hand outstretched as if to silence someone that had come up behind him, “and sometimes, warchief, the best things in your life come to an end.”

Vol’jin glowered at the ground. He tightened his hand around the broken tusk he held. Hakto squeezed his shoulder.

“But that doesn’t mean that they can never be rebuilt.”

Vol’jin clapped a hand to the tauren’s shoulder. Hakto had no reason to bother telling him any of this. He held it together as he looked up at the tauren.

“Tank you.”

Hakto nodded, then gestured toward the warchief’s raptor, “you best go. Before sentries come looking for you.”

Vol’jin muttered his agreement, and it was only when he was a fair distance from Ratchet, between Crossroads and Orgrimmar, that he allowed a few tears to fall.

Nadia had been agitated for the past few days. Vol’jin was acting very strange. Apart from returning long after he said he would, he’d greeted her with the fakest smile she had ever seen cross his features, and then proceeded to distract her from questioning him by kissing her like his life depended on it.

Worse, and somewhat unsettling to the mage, was the fact that Amita had been nowhere to be seen. Nadia knew she could have easily gone to Ratchet to check on her friend herself, but whenever she intended to go, Vol’jin managed to find something he needed her help with.

Oddly, she became aware that he had started wearing a necklace she had never seen before. She would have brought it up already, but…

From what Nadia could tell, part of the necklace was another troll’s tusk. She had to admit, she was afraid to ask whose tusk it was.

Currently, she was wandering around Orgrimmar. The Lunar Festival was just around the corner, and she was humoring Vol’jin by looking for some fabric to use to make into an appropriate outfit for the event - and of course, Nadia was looking for a dress herself, or maybe even some fabric to have one made as well.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders. Looking at all the patterns was making her eyes dizzy, so she glanced to the left.

And immediately staggered forward to latch onto Amita’s wrist because Nadia would know that mass of blue hair anywhere.

“Amita!!” she exclaimed, a wide grin spreading over her lips--

Only to stare in horror when Amita turned her head, eyes wide with surprise.

Amita’s tusks.

They were gone.

Nadia could sense, with perfect clarity, that the druid’s thoughts had just been reduced to a distressed “oh no”.

The mage continued to stare, her grip on Amita’s wrist slackening. Her tusks didn’t even look like they were growing back at all, which meant that they must have been removed recently.

Nadia recalled the necklace in a vivid picture. She recalled the natural color of Amita’s tusks. The images in her mind were identical.

“Ah… Nadia. I, um,” the druid slouched, her ears pinning back.

“Amita, what happened to your tusks,” Nadia deadpanned, her grip on Amita’s wrist regaining its strength. Amita pressed her lips together. This prompted Nadia to drag the other woman into the nearest, quietest space, which happened to be The Broken Tusk - the name of which she vehemently ignored due to the ridiculous irony - and into a dimly lit back corner because thank all the gods above, below, and between that it was mostly empty.

“Amita, what happened to your tusks,” she repeated.

Nadia was not prepared for the tears that spilled down Amita’s cheeks.

“Amita please tell me what happened,” Nadia asked yet again, hoping to get the story out of the druid. Hoping that, despite all logic pointing in that direction, that the broken tusk Vol’jin now wore wasn’t hers.

“Ih-...” Amita pulled her hand out of Nadia’s grasp, rubbing at her face. The mage gave her a moment to compose herself, questions nagging in the back of her mind with the belief that once Amita started her story, they would be answered.

“It be happenin’, ‘bout two weeks ago…” Amita began, constantly brushing tears away from her cheeks, “some o’ de Alliance leadahs be here. Evah since de Siege, I nevah been likin’ dem much. De um, de worgen king, he uh, be gettin’ hostile toward de Banshee Queen.”

Nadia’s eyes tightened.

“I don’ be de biggest fan o’ her, bu’ she still be a de facto leadah of de Horde. I kinda’ snarled back at him. De king, dat is, in my hydra form.”

Nadia’s brows furrowed further in concern. She reached for Amita’s hands, “what--”

“Vol’jin panicked. And den I panicked, cuz I wasn’... I wasn’ expectin’ ‘im to be grabbin’ my tusk--” Amita inhaled sharply to stave off a sob, “he… still had his grip, and den, I be jerkin’ my head back.”

Nadia’s hand hovered centimeters away from Amita’s, until the druid moved it again to brush away the fresh tears.

“De combination, it be rippin’ out my left tusk.”

The mage balled her hand into a fist, and quickly lowered it back to her side.

“I-I’m not gonna’ be here fah much longah. I’m… leavin’.”

“Leaving?!” Nadia exclaimed, startled by the news, “I -- you-- I didn’t hear anything about this!”

“I know. I’m sorreh, Nadia, bu’ I…” she bit her lip, then switched to Zandali, giving the two women more privacy on the matter, “I can’t be here. It hurts too much. Vadim, he be the mage I’m goin’ with, he’ll be here soon.”

Nadia’s heart pounded in her ears, “where? Where are you going? Please tell me you’ll stay in touch, I don’t want to lose you just because Vol’jin --”

“I’m goin’ to Northrend. From there, I dunno. Vadim won’t tell me, wants me to be in the moment, so to speak,” Amita interrupted, “and I’m… not gonna’ make you any promises, Nadia. I can’t. I be thinkin’ about this for some time. I need to put more distance between myself and Vol’jin.”

“Why?” Nadia pleaded, searching Amita’s expression for any explanation, “going all the way to Northrend, and not staying in touch--”

Amita held a finger to Nadia’s lips.

“Because I love him, Nadia.”

The mage stared, shoulders lowered, brows back.

“And I can’t be takin’ it anymore. Seeing him get cozy with you, I-- I need to heal,” Amita paused, letting her hand drop back to her side, “it don’t be your fault. It’s my own fault. I be feelin’ this way for so long, but ever since… ever since I had Bujune, ever since I got back from the Zandalar islands I… I been tryin’ to put a wall between me and Vol’jin.”

Nadia balled her hands into fists. This wasn’t the answer she wanted. There had to be another reason - and what did Amita mean, she had to heal? She didn’t want to ask “why” again - so Nadia resorted to boring holes into the woman before her.

“I’m a nehjo, Nadia, don’t be lookin’ at me like that,” Amita said softly, “how could I ever be with someone like him?”

“You,” Nadia struggled to keep the anger out of her voice - not at Amita, no, but at this situation, “you wrote yourself off because of what happened on the Zandalar islands, because you had a child? Because you happen to enjoy the company of other men - which, you know, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I was used on the islands, Nadia!” Amita said, pain in her voice, “I defined my worth based on whether or not I be good enough to bear a man’s child, and I kept my distance from anyone who be wantin’ more than just one night, because I never wanted children! And that… that included Vol’jin. He talked about children offhandedly sometimes. It was so obvious he wanted kids when he be ready for them.”

Her tears started all over again, “listen, I-I only came here to be seein’ him one last time before I go. And just seeing him, Nadia, I don’t wanna’ talk to him. He already broke my heart. I don’t be needin’ him to shatter it too.”

“I’m not exactly happy to know that you wrote yourself off of your chance to be with someone you loved because you didn’t want kids!” Nadia said hurriedly, wracking her mind for anything to change Amita’s mind, “you-- you could have adopted! That was always an option!”

Amita shook her head, and Nadia grabbed the druid’s hands, “Amita I care about you, if you loved him so much why didn’t you just say something?!”

“Because I am nothing,” Amita choked, her expression enough to bring tears to Nadia’s eyes, “and he, he is everything.”

She pulled her hands out of Nadia’s once again, wiping furiously at her face, “how could I ever be with someone like him? I don’t even be close. I’m a whore, and a single-mother, and I be wanting nothing more than to just be happy for him and for you because I be liking you, but my jealousy be catching up to me. And it be my own fault. So I need to get away from here, and get him off my mind, and out of my heart.”

Nadia trailed desperately after Amita as the druid strode out of the inn, “please. Please write me. I don’t need it to be every day, but once every week, Amita, please--” she grabbed Amita’s hand, brown eyes begging, “please don’t leave like this.”

At the very least, Amita hesitated. Her green eyes seemed all the more brilliant. There was a lot of commotion at the Hold, and Nadia realized with a sinking heart, that Amita knew meeting schedules like the back of her hand. She had come to Orgrimmar specifically at this time because she knew that there would be a break.

To make matters worse, there was a drake circling Orgrimmar - obviously with someone on it’s back, because the wind riders weren’t making a fuss about it - and Nadia could only assume that this was the Vadim fellow that Amita had mentioned.

“Okay.”

The mage’s attention snapped back to Amita, eyes wide with hope.

“I’ll keep in touch.”

Nadia practically had to jump to wrap her arms around Amita’s neck. Part of her wanted to apologize - but the other part reminded her, what difference would it have made, even if Amita told Vol’jin how she felt?

One last time.

She would let herself see him one last time.

Nadia had since let her go. Amita had watched her friend all but storm off after a tight embrace, wondering if that anger was directed at Vol’jin, or the fact that this situation was entirely out of her control. In the end, Amita decided that she shouldn’t worry herself over it.

She did, however, worry over perhaps causing an unnecessary rift between the couple so close to the Lunar Festival.

Vadim was circling the city in a wide arc, as she had requested him to. She didn’t want him to land. She didn’t want Nadia to run the risk of meeting him, because Amita knew he would be snide and flippant with her, chalking her up to being just as terrible as Vol’jin was in his eyes.

Perhaps Amita should have known better than to even think of the devil, because he emerged from the Hold, looking every part the warchief he was required to be. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest at the sight of him. She felt warm and giddy and distraught and envious all at once.

She stared for too long. He raised his head from looking down at someone. His eyes met hers, and his hand flew to the necklace he had around his neck. Amita felt her mouth and her eyes turn down in sadness.

He wore her broken tusk around his neck, so that it would be a constant reminder of his failure - or at least, what he considered to be his failure. Perhaps Amita should make sure that Nadia could make him get rid of the necklace eventually. She had intended for him to throw her broken tusk away, but for him to choose to hold onto it…

Amita hadn’t wanted him to carry it as a burden.

She offered him the best smile she could manage. His expression twisted into one of distress, and with her heart in her throat, Amita turned and ran.

The druid sprinted out of gates, startling a few orcs who were coming into the city, and once free of all the eyes, she shifted into a wind serpent. Her despairing screech brought Vadim and his dragon to her rather quickly.

Amita spent the first hour of her trip crying and crying and crying against Vadim’s back. He let her.

She was so grateful that he let her.

Vekk - according to this post, it means “crooked or dishonourable, but can also be used as an expletive when referring to an untrustworthy” Wanted to have Vadim call Vol’jin that to cement the idea that he really does not like Vo’jin you guys. He’s also be REALLY disrespectful when he drops the “jin” suffix from Vol’jin’s name. Like HELLA disrespectful.

CAN YOU BELIEVE I WANTED TO ADD AN ENTIRE SECTION WHERE NADIA AND VOL’JIN WERE ARGUING ABOUT THIS BECAUSE YOU BETTER BELIEVE THAT I WANTED TO BUT MY GAWD IT’S LONG AND I’M SORRY AAAAAAAAAAAAA

Amita has a lot of self-worth issues I’m cry. Omg I’m so glad this isn’t actually canon but I mean like... //GROSS SOBBING I’M APOLOGIZE??? Aaaaaa

[absoluteabsolem]

I have seen Beauty and the Beast and I have a lot of things to say so.. here I come (spoilers, spoilers everywhere).

I won't lie, I went to the cinema with a lot of skepticism and apprehension because I legit thought it was going to be average at best. See I've always loved the animated version and it holds a sacred place in my Disney-fan small heart, so I was a bit scared they'd ruin it because well, what if the Beast is horrible, what if Lumière and Cogsworth and the whole family are completely messed-up, what if everything goes wrong, what if Emma Watson isn't a good choice for Belle after all, what if Be Our Guest is terrible, what if all the songs lose their magic even though Alan Menken is back for the soundtrack, what if what if what if.

My experience was a bit different than it would've been if I had seen the film in my regular cinema. You see, Beauty and the Beast was my very first IMAX experience (and my eyes took their time to adjust to the incredible visuals). It was amazingly beautiful, especially during a few scenes I'll mention later. Mind you, I didn't love everything in this live-action, but my global impression is more than positive. My expectations were low to say the least, and gods was I wonderfully surprised.

I got chills the moment I heard the first notes of the prologue, mostly because of the nostalgia. I think Alan Menken adapted the soundtrack as best as could be done, but some parts lacked a bit of the original magic in my opinion. The prologue has always been my favourite instrumental part, and the beginning of it wasn't as powerful as the original one (once we get to the enchantress, the instruments take you somewhere else entirely though). The introduction is narrated by Emma Thompson, and that was a wonderful idea. I've always loved her voice and damn she does the job. Everyone needs to know that.

A song was written for the film to present the arrogant and empty Prince as well as the people who lived with him; I disliked it, very much. There are two songs I always skip while listening to the soundtrack, and it's one of them. It made me feel nauseous at the very sight of the Prince, the whole scene was incredibly disgusting to my eyes and ears. Not because the actors and the song were terrible, but because of the toxic atmosphere coming from all these people.

Then the Enchantress showed up. She had some Galadriel vibes, she was mesmerizing. It was my « oh, I guess it won't be so bad » moment, that's when I decided I would stop living in fear of every single scene. The Enchantress my dudes, the Enchantress was perfect. Something I loved in this version is that they covered every narrative error (there might be new ones but I didn't see them); the Prince hasn't been a Beast for 10 years so he wasn't 11 at the time but already a grown-ass bitch; the Enchantress erased everyone's memories of the castle and the people who lived in it, thus why no one ever looked for them. Also, every time a petal falls, the dishes lose a bit of their humanity (until they turn into litteral objects once the rose has died) and the castle crumbles a little. I think it makes the whole thing a bit more adult, it adds a dark side to an already quite gloomy story (when you think about it).

I loved the way Belle's song was filmed, the choregraphy was incredible, and my heart melted when Emma Watson sang the part about the book she's reading. Of course it's also the time we get introduced to Gaston. LeFou and Gaston's dynamic is amazing, they're both far more fabulous in the live-action. Their dialogues never failed to make me laugh, and a few scenes with Maurice were just perfect.

Since I'm talking about Maurice, another moment created for this film was a short song sang by him once Belle comes back home, and I loved it. Maurice has a real personnality here, you get attached to him quite quickly, Kevin Kline did a wonderful job. You learn a lot of things about Belle's mother. Every single character has a real backstory here and it was interesting to discover all these new things (even the Enchantress is a more or less regular character). Even Philippe is still a mighty hero.

The first time Belle and Beast meet was great, they changed it a bit because her father doesn't want to leave so she throws him out of his cell and locks herself in it. Also it's Lumière who opens the door to show Belle her new room, so it clearly shows than the Beast does not give a single fuck about Belle at the time when he was a bit more polite in the animated.

Once we go back to the village, it is of course, time for Gaston's song, and it's beautiful, though less exaggerated as could be anticipated (animation has no limits right). LeFou steals the show here (and he's totally gay for Gaston). There's an instrumental part in the song where everyone is dancing on the tables and all and it was so cool you guys. I was waiting for this scene to come and I was not disappointed.

I didn't rly mention Lumière & Co before please forgive me; Ewan McGregor's completely failed French accent is the best thing I've ever heard, everyone is perfect in their roles but what can I say Lumière has always been my fave. The design of everyone in the castle in so on point my dudes ! I gotta say I have a bit of a problem with the permanent duck-face of the Beast but hey they did their best (plus you only notice it when he's not moving and the camera is focused on his face).

But now my dear friends, now is the time to talk about the very best thing in this film. The song we all waited for (nO I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT EVERMORE YOU LITTLE SHITS), the song that made me wish I could visit that bloody castle when I was a kid..

Be. Our. Guest.

You guys. Fellow bros. You all need to see and listen to Be Our Guest. It's perfect, it's a magical experience, Ewan McGregor is wonderful, the choregraphy is so mind-blowing the special effects team probably had a few nervous breakdowns while doing Be Our Guest and it was worth all the struggle. IT WAS SO FUCKING GORGEOUS ALL THESE COLOURS *coughs* srsly watch this film in IMAX if you can. I couldn't stop smiling during the whole scene (also I cried a little because I loved it so much but shhhh). There are no words to truly express how I felt during that moment, I wanted to sing along and annoy everyone in the cinema but I didn't 'cause I'm a nice person. It was flawless.

The way the Beast and Belle slowly discover each other is still lovely af, especially when he shows her the library (in a different way than he does in the animated and I gotta say I prefer this version, it was funnier but still in character). They spend a lot of time together reading lots of books and you can feel time passing by where it could seem like the story took 3 days to happen in the animated (and thus giving assholes a reason to shout WOW STOCKHOLM SYNDROME WOW WOW)

And while we see a romance blossoming we can also observe Gaston revealing his rotten core, his charming mask falling to show us what a monster he is. Luke Evans is absolutely terrifying in this film. He just seems kinda dumb at the beginning but then LeFou fails to calm him and the real beast of the film is released. We see it when Gaston tries to kill Maurice by leaving him unconscious in the woods after failing to find the castle, but in the Mob Song it's truly terrifying. I've read a few reviews and everyone agrees that the Mob Song in the live-action is far, far better than the animated one. The only complain I have is that the camera doesn't focuse on Gaston during the whole thing, and it's not a very important detail so yeah, the Mob Song slays (also Luke Evans sings divinely and LeFou has a great line in the song you need to listen to it just for that tbh).

(if you've seen the film you'll notice I didn't talk about Evermore because I hate that song even if the idea of the Beast climbing his castle to see Belle leaving breaks my heart, I think it was ridiculous. Sorry guys)

OH ALSO I FORGOT but there's a new song taking place after Belle enters her room for the first time, and everybody sings in it, it's kind of a different version of Human Again but better in my opinion. It's so lovely, the lyrics are simply beautiful.

aNYWAY this is getting quite long so I'll try to make it quick. The battle between Lumière & Co and the villagers is really cool, it's also the moment Gaston betrays LeFou so he decides to join the good guys, because LeFou actually is a nice person.

I'm kinda disappointed Gaston's hair isn't loose when he fights the Beast in this version because I just really love long hair and it made him look even more insane. He also uses a gun instead of a knife and shoots the Beast four times if I recall well. His eyes are cold af while he does it but I think killing someone with a knife is more personal and shows more hatred than using a gun, so I was a tiny bit « meh » during that part, but it was still breath-taking. Gaston telling the Beast he's there to kill him because Belle sent him, then the last spark of hope leaving the Beast's eyes THEN BELLE SHOWS UP AND GASTON GETS FUCKING REKT BY THIS GIGANTIC ANGRY LION anyway it was great I just like to rant about details no one else notices.

But then !! shit happens !!! the Beast dies before Belle tells him she loves him, the last petal falls, Lumière & Co turn into objects, despair and sorrow is everywhere, tHE CURSE IS NOT BROKEN BUT DO NOT FEAR MY DUDES THE ENCHANTRESS ENTERED THE CASTLE WITH ALL THE OTHER VILLAGERS AND SHE SAW THAT BELLE LOVED HIM SO SHE BREAKS THE CURSE HE COMES BACK TO LIFE AND HE TRANSFORMS

THE RIDICULOUS FIREWORKS ARE NOT THERE IN THE LIVE-ACTION

DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I WAITED FOR THOSE SILLY THINGS TO GO AWAY ???

HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW LONG I WAITED ?

TWELVE YEARS

IN AZKA- wait a second

anyway

I absolutely loved the transformation, the music was beautiful and there was a golden mist and petals around the Beast it was so, so perfect. THEN BELLE SEES HIS EYES AND SHE'S LIKE « IT IS YOU » AND I'M LIKE YES IT'S HIM YOU FUCKING IDIOT DIDN'T YOU SEE HIS PORTRAIT IN THE FORBIDDEN WEST WING THAT DOESN'T EXIST okay no I didn't think that but I could have

Then everyone becomes human again and we see Cogsworth trying to run away from his newly-returned wife, Lumière and Plumette discreetly leaving because they're horny af, Mrs Potts hugging Chip and everyone's happy and Gaston's corpse is rotting somewhere and LeFou has a new boyfriend and people sing and everything's fine now, and I'm so happy I saw this film in IMAX it was absolutely worth it and you should all give it a try even if you're an annoying purist motherfucker like me (jfc this is a very long review I'm so sorry).