#my dearest beloveds…. just pocket sized

[deadbaguette]

Odysseus has two hands <3

[gardenerian]

Mel, as a fellow Downton aficionado (derogatory), have you seen this hilarious poster for the new film in which Mary is 8 feet tall and Edith is a tiny ant? 😂

Also, how many affairs is the DC supposed to have had? She was juggling her husband, that Russian noble, and some other guy who left her a French villa? What's the opposite of slut shaming, because I'd like to call her that. Ho hero?

I can't wait for this dumb thing. 🥰

derogatory 😭 truly 😭 i have spent just any many years of my life on downton as i have on shameless, and when i think about it like that… i hate that for me askjfh

but i am still PSYCHED for this movie! look at them! 8 foot tall mary my BELOVED! queen of my heart FOREVER! tiny pocket sized edith! lil baby isobel beside her! WHERE IS MATTHEW GOODE?

WHERE IS MARY’S HUSBAND? this dude has just dipped out of two movies and i am nOT DOWN. is that why we have hugh dancy 👀 look i am not mad about that but 👀 WHAT HAS HAPPENED?

also like. HOW OLD is violet supposed to be by now? like??? my girl. this show took place from 1912-1926…… the first movie was what? ’27? where are we now? HOW OLD IS THIS WOMAN? they did this whole thing about her being ill in the last one….. just for her to show up and be like CHECK OUT MY NEW VILLA? i don’t understaaaaaand it. but in the 300 years she’s been alive ksjdhf she has had many international lovers, and i support that! victorian nonsense, YEAH! ho hero indeed 😇

liz. my love. my dearest love. i cannot wait to talk about this with you skljdfh it’s gonna be THE WORST and also the best???

[lovehotelreservation]

Lineage

Summary: Business or pleasure. 

Respite was hard to attain for the Warrior of Light and the Speaker of the House of Lords. Even now, with you and Aymeric oceans away for a belated honeymoon in Costa del Sol, the two of you weren’t exactly free from your duties.

The task?

To sire an heir to the Borel name.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Plus Size F!Reader/Aymeric

YEEHAW

WHEN I TELL U THE WAY I YELLED WHEN I GOT THIS COMM PROMPT ON MY KO-FI FHAKLFHAKLF 🥺💙💙💙💙💙🥺 THANK YOU TO THE DEAREST COMMISSIONER FOR THIS CHANCE TO WRITE ABOUT MY FAVORITE BISHOUNEN ELF MANS!!!

I HOPE U ALL ENJOY!!!

----------

Night had fallen but the air was still so warm, so humid.

The sound of gently rolling sapphire waves washing up onto pristine white sand, the exotic scent of surrounding tropical fauna mingling with the smoky burn of a BBQ bonfire malms away down the coastline, the gorgeously ethereal shine of moonlight above in the onyx sky.

From where you stood upon the polished wooden floor of your private bungalow suite with your window open, you were in the ideal position to take in all the sights, scents, and sensations that elated each of your senses.

Truly, it was a beautiful night to be in Costa del Sol.

Though, one whiff of the salt-tinged ocean air instantly took you back to the snow swept lands of Ishgard.

The city you had since called to be your home.

Something made official when you were finally wed to the one and only Aymeric de Borel.

He was why the two of you were in Costa del Sol in the first place.

Aside from finally having the proper honeymoon that the two of you did not get to enjoy after your wedding--given that the escalated rebellions in Ala Mhigo and Doma called for your immediate presence--there was one specific reason why you were here to admire this gorgeous Costa del Sol night.

Wearing nothing but an exquisite royal blue lace chemise.

It wasn’t too long ago that you had just finished up assisting Stephanivien with teaching a lecture to a new class of fresh-faced machinists at the Skysteel Manufactory when none other than a beaming Haurchefant came sprinting towards you the moment you emerged through the door.

“Many tidings to you, my splendid friend! I wish you great blessings upon the Borel heir to be!”

The first sentence you were prepared for, the second you were not.

“Borel heir...to be?” You repeated as your mind processed just what Haurchefant chirped to you.

Though, before you could ask for what he meant, the towering knight was suddenly made to bow by none other than one irritated Estinien.

“Oi, we were supposed to head out to Aurum Vale already,” he grumbled, just before looking towards you with a look of resigned exasperation. “As for you, it’s better if you hear what lover boy has planned for you himself.”

Without sparing another word to even begin to clarify, Estinien proceeded to drag Haurchefant--who happily offered you his goodbyes with a supportive thumbs up--away while muttering something about sprout greenling paladins who bit off more they could chew.

Your subsequent return to the Borel Manor where your husband was there to tenderly greet you with a loving embrace and tender kisses resulted in his affectionate expression becoming intensely flustered when you brought up Haurchefant’s sudden declaration.

The parchment letter marked with the seal of one of Costa del Sol’s most luxurious resorts that was tucked in his pocket was thankfully still kept as a surprise at the very least.

Thus, with the reveal that soon followed, you and Aymeric took off from Ishgard’s eternal winter to bask in the endless summer of Costa del Sol.

And why you were gazing out towards the evening tropical scenery with a fluttering heart.

After all, tonight was meant to not only celebrate the union between you and your husband, but to begin the journey of bearing an heir to the Borel name.

Though Ishgard was in the midst of a historical change within its society to break from tradition and move towards a more open-minded one, there was still an expectation for the House of Lords’s speaker to sire a child, the pressure of which had been pushing increasingly upon Aymeric’s shoulders during your absence.

While starting a family was a conversation that the two of you had spoken about in earnest throughout your relationship prior to this night, to do so now with the layer of political presumption from Ishgard’s governing body was enough to twist your nerves into knots.

A feeling that dissipated the moment you felt a pair of arms wrap tenderly around your waist.

Body heat exemplified by a recent hot shower emanated behind you, the sensation deepened by a chiseled bare chest pressing right against your back, pushing the warmth even further into your skin through the flimsy fabric of your chemise, of which contrasted with the thicker material of a bath towel that hung securely on sturdy hips.

And even here, in a tropical paradise that was oceans away from the inescapable snow that enveloped all of Ishgard, a delightful shiver still trailed along your body from the words that was murmured hotly into your ear,

“I must send my regards to the hotel staff for their hospitality. I did not expect to receive such a divinely wrapped present after my bath.”

Your head turned back, your eyes soon captivated by sapphire irises that gazed earnestly into yours with affection.

Almost overwhelmingly so.

You were used to seeing love akin to absolute reverence in Aymeric’s eyes whenever your gaze would meet his.

But unlike the light that glinted in his blue eyes from when he helped out off the boat that carried you to Costa del Sol, here on this night, there was a darkened, longing desire reflected in his gaze.

Though you had faced many a foe whose schemes spelled ruin across every inch of the realm, it was now that you suddenly found yourself shrinking back with shyness. Giggling amidst your overwhelmed nerves, you teased in response, “Must you charm me more, Ser Aymeric? Was our wedding not enough?”

“You know I will never have enough of you, darling.”

You froze.

Aymeric’s voice was already so dulcetly rich and deep, but the tone of his words smoldered with conviction.

His embrace around your ample waist tightened, a sigh of utter satisfaction escaping him as he beheld your full physique, his face finding its way to the crook of your neck for loving nuzzles. “Gods, when was the last time I’ve gotten to hold you like this? Every inch of you is divine--how I never wish to let go of you.”

Each word spoken was laced with need, all while his hands began to trail over your body in soft caresses, even while his fingers ached to tear off the lace that kept him away from your bare skin.

He drew away from your neck, calling out your name huskily as his eyes found yours once more. “Will you pardon this enamored fool for his selfishness during this holiday, my beloved?” His face closed the distance between yours and his as he continued, “I am going to savor this respite like nothing else--the beautiful time spent with turning you into the mother of my children.”

“Aymeric,” you moaned, feeling your knees weaken as you leaned further against him. What more could you even say at this point when he had you reduced to such a state by the conviction in his words alone?

While he looked all too pleased from having you already melting in his arms, his expression turned serious as he remarked, “Before we begin, I want to make this clear and certain—by no means are we doing this for the sake of Ishgard.”

His hands rested protectively upon your soft belly, his heart already thrumming with excitement to witness your stomach grow rounder and full with his child upon the months to follow. “As you know, starting a family with you has been something I’ve craved the moment you captured my heart.”

Aymeric brought his lips to yours for a kiss most tender. “We’re doing this out of our own shared volition--the House of Lords finally granting me respite so I can claim you over and over was just a blessing from Halone herself.”

Already overwhelmed and dazed by your husband’s intense and loving resolve, all you could let out was a breathless yet eager, “Yes...our shared will.”

A smile quirked onto his lips. “And so we shall share our love with no restraint.”

And then Aymeric’s lips smothered yours for a kiss that was most far from chaste.

Away from the window, towards the bed.

From bathing moonlight to flickering candles.

The kiss shared with your husband was broken for a moment, just so he could gently have you lay upon the bed.

But the moment Aymeric assumed his place on top of you, he became a man possessed.

A man possessed by his love for you, by his desire to claim your body with his seed.

He meant his words from earlier, his hands tearing into the lace of your chemise like gift wrap.

The composed and regal speaker of the House of Lords was nowhere to be found by the way Aymeric hungrily sought out your lips, his hands fondling your supple breasts, his mouth watering at the thought of soon getting to suckle on your nipples and lavish your core with the needy flicks of his tongue while your thick thighs squeezed around his head.

The fumbling yet earnest virgin during the first time you were intimate together was but a precious memory at this point.

Instead, here was a man who knew exactly what to do to elicit the sweet moans of his name off of your lips.

To make you mewl with each teasing pinch and indulgent kiss to your nipples.

To cause your back to arch in sheer pleasure with the obscenely noisy manner he stroked your sopping core with his tongue, all while his hands happily fondled your plump thighs as they remained pressed against either side of his head.

But that knowledge was how he kept you ever on the edge, making sure you remained a step away from your orgasm.

Never to be outright malicious--such would be an outright sin to commit against you as your husband!

Rather, to ready your body for the long and indulgent night to come.

He did not even spare a moment for you to savor his cock with your mouth, keeping you right on your back.

Long had he waited for this moment, and he was going to save every dribble of his cum inside of you instead.

Your lips parted for breathless pants, your cheeks kissed with red heat, your thighs quivering with anticipation once your husband was finally sheathing the full heavy length of his cock into your core.

The delighted hiss of your name from Aymeric’s lips would be forever imprinted in your memory, as would the tremendous pressure he soon exerted as he soon worked the tempo of his thrusts into something swift in its neediness and fierce in its fervor.

One hand locked onto your hip as he plunged his cock into you, the other reached for your breast to squeeze before he planted his lips onto your nipple once more, his mind already anticipating when he would be able to gulp down mouthfuls of sweet milk once you were showing with his child.

Such an experience had him pushing into your core with even greater intensity, of which dragged out yet another lovely squeal from your lips.

He could not resist from grinning, even with his mouth full of your breast.

Onwards he continued, the viciousness of his thrusts sounding out by the indecent slaps of his balls against your ass each time his cock plunged inside of you.

So free, so unrestrained.

Aymeric felt alive, he felt deeply in love.

His lips left your nipple with a pop as he lifted his head, driven by the desire to catch sight of the look on your face as he felt his orgasm approach, all while your slick core milked his cock even more with your own imminent release.

The helpless pleads for more of his touch, the obscenely yearning look of desire on your face.

Halone be merciful on whatever was left of his self-restraint.

Your name was uttered out at a gutteral low from the depths of his throat.

His eyes caught yours yet again, holding onto your gaze as his thrusts quickened in his frantic need for release.

“My beloved, you already enamor me so with those elegant curves of yours--”

You felt the drag of his hand along your body, cupping your breasts, caressing your sides, trailing longingly over your belly.

“--but then, when I think of you strolling through Ishgard, shining with a maternal glow as you carry around our child…!”

A visible shudder seized hold of his body, his teeth clenching with pleasure as he readied himself for what was soon to come, a reaction mirrored by you as you prepared for your own orgasm.

“By the Fury, I will not let you out of this bed until your womb is absolutely flooded with my seed!”

With a snarl, Aymeric captured your lips in a scorching kiss as he pounded into your core harder, hot sticky spurts of his seed soon being pumped into you with each thrust that continued on and on afterwards.

Your arms hugged around his neck, pulling him close as the two of you relished in your orgasms, the two of you smiling into your kiss.

Tonight would be the first of many spent away from Ishgard, but oh how the two of you hoped to return to your home together with a newfound soul in your belly.

[sif-the-tsunami]

Freyja Dag

Notes: I’m feeling romantic, a little bit witchy and I have baby fever like a mother. It is presently Friday the 13th, 13 is the number associated with the goddess Freya, Friday (in English anyways) is named after her as well. I also miss Norway, I want to be back there more than any place else in the world. This is half written, I wanted to make it naughty but it was getting there, I just had too many distractions, and I had to push it out today

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader.

Warnings: fluff, impregnation implication, witchcraft?, shenanigans, 

You got off the plane in Oslo, and for the first time in what feels like years, you take a deep breathe. The beautiful clean lines, and warm wooden details welcome you home. The airport was bustling, you make your way to customs, then to baggage claim. You pop up to the little snack shop near the train ticket terminals and get your favorite treats for the ride south. 

“I think Kal can tell you’re in the same country as him again, he won’t calm down. We missed you, Sunflower.” You smile down at your phone. The train ride is blissfully uneventful. Four hours from the airport to Tonsberg but it is worth every minute. Your Henry is filming a period piece in the more rural countryside, but you knew his love of history and adventurous spirit would get him excited this area. When he was walking Kal near the harbor one day, he sent you photos of a replica Viking ship. You knew you had made the right choice staying there, even if he did have to commute to work. 

“Are you sure I can’t have someone pick you up from the train station?” He texts you again.

“If the public transportation is good enough for the Royal Family, it is good enough for me.” 

Your mind wanders for a while, you had some time to kill until you got to the apartment you were renting. Two days ago, you were at the doctor’s office, she made a comment in passing asking if you were going to be trying to have a baby any time soon. You told her that you stopped your birth control a few months ago. She seemed hopeful but the comment she made before you left stung slightly You knew that you weren’t as young as you used to be. The aches in your shoulders and knees told you this when you woke up in the morning now. Another strong vibration in your pocket brought you back to present. 

“I only want the best for my Queen, about to go back on set, I’ll see you tonight. Baby Bear and I love you.”

You make it to the house he’s been staying in one piece. The building itself was over two hundred years old, had been a boys orphanage prior to the first World War, and had a couple of cute little cottages in the back yard. One of the sweet older ladies that stayed on site, saw you and waved from her kitchen window.  Henry had been curious about why you picked this house out of all the available apartments. The first couple of steps in the hallway echoed, you breathed in deeply the smell of multiple layers of oil based paint and climbed the stairs. The apartment was cozy. You liked to call it your tree house.

You had searched for apartments endlessly, but this one seemed to call your name. When you were finally able to tour it, while he had been walking around and looking at the bedroom and kitchen, you walked out onto the balcony. 

“Henry, come look.” There were a row of ancient trees growing beside the road they drove up to the house, and another one growing directly in the line of sight for the house next door. Besides the obvious privacy, the most breathtaking part of the view was the fjord. 

“You found us a great hideaway, my Sunflower.” He said quietly, and kissed your shoulder. 

You had a few more hours before Henry would be home. On the dining table was a box with your name on it. When you open the box you find there is a bottle of wine, a jar of lavender honey, shortbread cookies, sweet smelling candles, a dusty rose colored night gown in your size and an envelope. Inside the envelope is letter and a sachet of tea. 

The letter reads

My darling friend, When we spoke last, you told me that you had been trying to conceive, I thought I might make you a kit to help. You have returned to your beloved on Friday the 13th, a day sacred to Freyja, the Norse sex and fertility goddess. Go take a shower then brew yourself a cup of tea, sweetened with the honey, put on the nightgown. When Henry gets home, share the wine. Place a cookie with honey on it outside on your balcony before you go to bed. Light the candles with good intentions and make it like two teenagers trying not to get caught. If this works, awesome, if not, you two should have a really great night anyways. Love, Sif

You take care of the list, and patiently wait for your dearest to come home. When he finally does, you are napping on the couch, cuddled up with one of Henry’s hoodies draped over you. The snuffling of that beautiful beasty woke you from your dream. You smile at Kal as he makes his happy snorts.

“He says, Mama I missed you, Daddy and I took turns cuddling with the sweater you left.” Henry said while Kal tried to jump on the couch, the giant fluffy dog knocked the sweater you had across you off. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go out and grab some dinner, but I think you aren’t dressed for it.”

“No, not really. Not all the hungry either.”

“No?” He raises a suggestive eyebrow, “What would you like to do instead.”

You bite your lip seductively and tell him, “Well, a friend of mine sent us this really great bottle of wine...”

He looks over the bottle and chuckles, knowing fully well what happens after you have had a couple glasses. He leans down to you and kisses you deeply. “Alright, you talked me into it. I’ll let the bottle breathe a little bit, and you can tell me about your week.”

The wine and cookies had been enjoyed, the conversation had been satisfying. No one else gets this side of him, the funny, soft side that makes obscure World of Warcraft and Warhammer references. When you explain what your friend did for the two of you, he lets out a deep laugh and slaps one of his legs. He looks over the letter, giggling.

“Want to let me in on the joke?”

“Sure, after you go put the cookie on the balcony.” He smiles, with a devilish look about him. When you step back inside, he lifts you up, and hoists you up over his should, loudly proclaiming “Sex for the sex goddess! Nighty for the nighty thrown!”

[captainrexisboo]

THE COUNTDOWN IS OVER. Y’ALL-

I’M AT 501 FOLLOWERS.

Upon reaching this TREMENDOUS milestone, I present, my dearest babe: Witcher ✨

He’s my beloved Clone OC...this is where he came from. Sorry if it reads like a DND background story. It kind of is!!! Witcher holds a very dear space in my heart, I made him while I was hurting pretty bad, threading him into my life through my Nightsister OC. These two are pretty personal to me, and I’d love to share their story with you!

Asva Strasi is an old self-insert/Star Wars DND character I played with that I’m beginning to flesh out, and her story goes hand in hand with Witcher. There can’t be an Asva without a Witcher, nor a Witcher without an Asva.

Witcher’s introduction to this blog is in V pt iv, and more info about him can be found at this ask. (Edit: also here!) Please let me know if you would like to be put on the Witcher tag list (present tags are at the bottom of the backstory)!!!

Thank you all so much with your love and support, I can’t wait to share more with you!!! I love you all!!! And without further ado, I give you:

The First Meeting

It’s the very start of the war, where Asva Strasi is a witch of the Nightsister Clan on planet Dathomir. She’s a younger witch (19 years old, 22 BBY), in the process of completing her training to become one of Mother Talzin’s assassins, she’s never known life outside Dathomir and seeks to change that. Strasi always dreamed of travelling and learning about life outside her planet, like many of her assassin sisters. One day, she was out for athletic training with her sisters. Going a little farther than usual, Strasi came across an armored body. Deciding the body was indeed a male, and close to death, she convinced her sisters to bring him back to base. They brought him to Clan Mother Talzin, who classified him as a Mandalorian based off of the signature T-shaped visor of his helmet, but other than that the armor he wore was strange. It seemed too stark, and not as decorated, not even a clan symbol to be seen. Knowing of the Mandalorians code of honor, as well as their universally praised strength and strategist mind, she thought of bringing him back to health to gain his gratitude, and push for an alliance. Mother Talzin brought her most talented witches together, and as a reward for bringing her the Mandalorian, she allowed Strasi to be a part of the ritual. Once his health was restored and consciousness gained, he was met with the gazes of Mother Talzin and Strasi. Mother Talzin began to answer his questions, and upon learning Strasi saved his life, he was extremely thankful but told them he needed to be off world immediately. He needed to return to the war.

“Ah, of course. You Mandalorians are always in one sort of war, or another. We’ll help get you home-”

“I’m not a Mandalorian ma’am. Well, not technically anyways.”

Talzin and Strasi listened to the soldier, now learning he was only a clone of the Mandalorian Jango Fett. CT-2457, not yet named. He fought alongside the Jedi, lightsiders, for the Republic.

“And who dares defy the Republic?”

“Separatists, ma’am… I’m sorry, who did you say your planet aligns with?”

“We’re a neutral planet, sir.”

Strasi answered for her Mother, assuring the clone they meant him no harm. She explained how she and her sisters' only goal for him was to take him home.

“Asva will accompany you back to Coruscant,” Talzin declared, surprising Strasi, who still had a final trial to go through before becoming a full-fledged assassin to be allowed off-world. CT-2457 left with a respectful thank you to Strasi before going with a duo of witches back to where he had landed to see if he could find any salvageable supplies that might’ve dropped from his crash along with him.

“When you get to the...what did he call it? The GAR headquarters, please extend an offer of our services to the Republic. I’m sending a group to go find and extend the same offer to whoever runs the Separatist forces. When you come home, we’ll put you through your final trial.”

Strasi takes 2457 back to Coruscant...only for them to say due to him being accounted for as deceased, he’ll have to go back to Kamino for them to decide what to do with him. Strasi sees the clone make the slightest twitch of discomfort, and before the nat born GAR officer can alert anyone to take the clone back, she volunteers her service, “I can take him to Kamino. Just let them know we’re coming. My name is Asva Strasi, I’ll be flying a Lancer-class pursuit craft, Vigilance.”

She left with the proper extension of the Nightsister’s services in the future.

Aboard the Vigilance, she spoke to 2457. A little hesitant, he opened up about life on Kamino, raised to be what they are, not who they could be.

“On my planet, males are seen as slaves. Good only for the harvest, sometimes protection, and breeding,” Strasi recounted, chuckling lightly at 2457’s uncomfortable face, “Don’t worry, I won’t treat you as such. I’m just saying, you received a very special treatment on Dathomir. If you can’t find yourself a happy place on Kamino with your brothers, please think of me as your sister. And Dathomir, a place of rest.”

She holds out a small object in front of him, a chunk of dark metal, the size of just the tip of her thumb, the point tinged green with the light hitting it just right.

“What is that?”

“A focus. I use it to help center myself in meditation, to channel my energy and thought into. And now-” she breaks it, the metal really just a shining stone, handing half of it to the clone, “-you’ll always have a part of me with you. Brother clone.”

2457 takes it gently, wary of how brittle the stone may be. He marvels at it for a moment, how the green looked to nearly be glowing, and looked back up to the kind face of the witch in front of him, nodding his head, “Sister Asva.”

She lands on Kamino, and the Kaminoans are already waiting for them, along with a couple of other clones to serve as guards.

“Would you care to tell us exactly your healing methods, miss Strasi?”

“Magicks. Nothing to leave a scar that wasn’t already formed. CT-2457 just needs to be reentered into the system so he can get back to his proper clan.”

“Magic. Clans. Dathomirians,” a different Kaminoan rolled his eyes, spitting out his words, “The primitive ideals of your planet mean nothing for us, we will need to recommission it-”

“No need, sir,” Strasi bit out, venom lacing her formal request, “CT-2457 is perfectly well, Mother Talzin saw the ritual through. Or, I’m sorry, should I word it differently? Perhaps in a way you understand? Kaminoans. CT-2457 was put through our traditional medical procedure, headed by our lead doctor, and he will need nothing more than a regulatory physical to ensure he’s fit for battle with his company again. Is that more clear, sir?”

“Young lady-”

“Am I clear?”

Before the other Kaminoan could speak again, Nala Se stopped him, putting up a hand and motioning Asva to come closer, “Stay for the physical. If anything proves to be out of place, you will be put on trial as representation for your planet, charged with tampering with Republic property. If you’re correct and nothing is wrong, we will hand you a reward and you will be free to leave. Is this fair to you?”

“Yes.”

CT-2457 was getting looks as he passed through the halls, side by side with the white haired young woman dressed in ruddy colors. He didn’t stray from her side, steps falling into line with hers. She brushed her hand against his, causing him to look down to her, to see her tapping her half of the focus against her leg. He nodded once, breathing deeply. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he just thought of the little rock stuffed in his pocket, thought about giving it his entire self, and breathed.

Before he knew it, his physical was over, passed of course, and he was waving goodbye to Strasi’s ship as it left the atmosphere. He was hounded by his vod about where he had been, what had happened, what had been done to him. He told them about Dathomir, the Nightsisters and their magick, Asva Strasi and her focus. By the end of the night, he had a name; he was Witcher.

Tags: @bad-batch-of-fics @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @vesperstalksclones @haloangel391

[theotherackerman]

The Rubble or Our Sins?

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

CHAPTER TWO: YOU’RE THE SOURCE OF MY DREAM

Historia would steal trashy romance novels from the destroyed towns. Then she and Ymir would give dramatic readings of them to the rest of the dorm.

"He loosened his pants to pull out a….what the fuck? I can't read this," Ymir fell over laughing.

"His enlarged, ginormous throbbing….." Historia read with a completely straight face.

"Stop!!!...it does not say throbbing. How can it be throbbing? Is his heart in his dick?" Sasha asked before tossing a pillow at Historia. The pillow missed.

"It does say throbbing," Ymir replied as she chucked the pillow back at Sasha.

"That's the unrealistic part for you? Not that they've stopped to have sex while they're being chased by titans?" Annie said as her head hung over the side of the bed.

"I mean....guess last moments on," Ymir shrugged.

"I guess. Still dumb though," Sasha shrugged.

"Okay. Skip that, get to the good part," Ymir replied as she looked over at Historia.

"He was her better half. The one who the stars aligned to make for her. Her soulmate. He was everything she never knew she needed. He was the balance to her.  But what she didn't know was that he felt the same as her. Due to fighting back against the titans, they never had time to properly express their feelings. But for him, it was her who hung the stars in the sky. She was his last thought as his life was taken. It didn't matter that he died, as long as she survived."

"Well that was depressing," Sasha replied.

"I wonder what it's like to love someone like that," Annie mused out loud.

It was Mikasa who caught the look between Ymir and Historia. Yet Mikasa continued to be silent through it all.

Just like she would be silent when Ymir snuck out with Historia that night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mikasa had gone to bed early on the night of the wedding of Eren and Historia had been announced. She was still trying to process what had happened.

There was a pounding on her door. 

She opened the door. Historia rushed into the room after closing the door behind her.

“I can’t marry him. I can’t. I won’t. I can’t do that to you. I can’t do that to myself. I don’t...love him,” Historia cried.

The Queen was sobbing.

“I don’t want this,” Historia said between sobs.

Mikasa moved to hug her friend but Historia rushed into Mikasa’s arms. So they just held one another while Historia cried.

After Historia ran out of tears to cry, she pulled away and wiped her tears. “I’m sorry,” Historia said as she looked down.

“It’s fine,” Mikasa replied before sitting down on her bed.

The blonde girl reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She began to unfold it.

The door opened behind them. Sasha came in.

“Everything okay?” the girl asked as she closed the door behind her.

“No. The meeting...Historia doesn’t want to marry Eren,” Mikasa explained.

Sasha nodded before sitting down on her bed. “I don’t see how they can just force you to get married. What do you have there, Historia?”

“It’s a letter. Ymir gave it to Reiner to give to me. I haven’t read it since last time...I just...I need her right now,” Historia explained as she unfolded the letter.

“Oh...what does it say?” Sasha asked.

“My dearest….”Historia’s eyes went wide.

Sasha and Mikasa looked at one another.

“Everything okay?” Sasha asked again.

“She’s alive. She’s alive,” Historia whispered. “She’s in a cell. I can see her. Ymir is alive.”

“What?” Sasha asked as she stood from the bed.

“I thought you said they would...make someone inherit her titan,” Mikasa said as she stood up.

“They should have. But no. I could see her. I could see her sitting in her cell. We have to rescue her...maybe...maybe I can marry any titan,” Historia looked to her two friends as she folded the letter back up and put it into her inner pocket. ”I’ll have to figure out a plan.”

“Wait. You can’t just rush into Marley alone. Historia, you’ll need back up. If they catch you….”Mikasa trailed off.

“I know. I know it’s risky. It’s crazy but I can’t sit around having my whole future decided for me. I can’t marry Eren when one of my only friends is in love with him. Ymir...Ymir is my Eren, Mikasa. What would you do?”

Mikasa gulped.

“I’m going with you. Ymir is my friend too,” Sasha said as she moved towards the other two.

“A three person formation would be better than just two. What we’re doing...it’s treason,” Mikasa said as she stood up.

“Is it treason if the Queen does it?” Historia asked. “Who do you think the third should be?”

“Me. I said it was treason. I didn’t say I wasn’t going,” Mikasa said.

“We’ll need a plan. We’ll need a boat, weapons.”

“Oh! The cute Marley guy. The chef! He’ll help us out. Well... at least me!” Sasha added.

So they began to craft their plan.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A boat had gone missing in the harbor, along with a crew. Interestingly enough, Yelena had been left behind. Yelena must have taken the ship to return to Zeke had been the first thought Hange and Levi had.

Yet she was instead found tied up and gagged.

“Historia, Mikasa, and Sasha are missing,” Jean informed the Captain and the Commander.

Eren didn’t want to believe it.

Where would Mikasa go?

They told each other almost everything.

He hadn’t told her what he had seen when he kissed Historia’s hand but that was for her own sanity, right?

It had to be.

Eren had one focus in life. Protect Armin and Mikasa.

He still loved his other friends, Jean, Connie, and Sasha.

But Mikasa and Armin were just a little bit more special.

Armin had been his first friend.

And Mikasa?

Mikasa was everything. She had been everything since that day he found her in that cabin. Maybe he had been too dumb to realize it. Maybe now it was too late.

For the longest time, Eren didn’t understand why Jean’s crush on Mikasa annoyed him so much. He just wanted to punch Jean in the face and tell him that Mikasa was his.

But she wasn’t.

She was a free individual.

He could still remember Jean telling Mikasa her hair was beautiful.

Her hair was beautiful. Everything about Mikasa was beautiful. But what if it caught up in the 3DM Gear? She could seriously hurt. So he had told her to cut it.

It had only been because of safety, right?

In the meadow...the way she had been looking at him...he realized. In that moment, he realized that maybe Mikasa wasn’t just his friend. He had feelings for her.

Not just feelings, he was head over heels in love with her and had been too dumb to realize it.

Eren and Armin search Sasha and Mikasa’s quarters.

They found a note.

Look for our ship. We’ll be back from Marley in time. Do not come looking for us. You’ll only jeopardize our mission.

Mikasa, Sasha, and Historia.

They handed the note over to Levi and Hange.

“What do we do?” Hange asked as they sat down.

“Armin, what size dress do you wear now?” Levi asked before he sat down next to Hange.  

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mikasa stood there in front of Eren.

How could she answer this question?

He was staring at her expectantly.

Her words stuck in her throat.

Her mind was running a thousand miles a moment.

What was she supposed to say to that?

What was Eren?

What was Eren Jaeger to Mikasa Ackerman?

She thought back to the trashy romance novels that Historia had read to them.

Eren Jaeger was everything to Mikasa.

He had hung the stars in the sky. She had been so in love with him from the moment he had wrapped that scarf around her. Her heart was beating out of her chest.

Her most beloved, her most dear. Her best friend. Her soulmate. Her other half. Her everything. Eren was so much to her.

Why was he asking her this?

Why did he want to know?

“You’re….you’re…” she choked on her words but the way Eren was looking at her.

Why did it seem like his heart was breaking?

Was he worried about her?

Wait.

Was this like the trash romance novels where the man finally realized his feelings for her?

Was this Eren finally realizing that maybe….?

“Why?” she finally spoke. “What am I to you?”

Eren reeled back. It was clear that Eren had not expected the question to be thrown back to him.

“I asked you first,” he countered.

“But why did you ask me?”

“That doesn’t matter….”

“I don’t know how to answer because I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Eren threw his hands up in frustration. “Forget it,” he said as he started to walk away.

“Eren...please…”she reached for his arm, grabbing it.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Eren…”

“It’s fine, Mikasa. Just let go…” he sighed.

“No, it’s not. I’ve known you since we were nine. I know when you’re upset. Just...tell me what you’re asking,” Mikasa said as she held onto his hand.

“I’ve got four years left, Mikasa. You know that, right?” he asked her as turned and looked at her.

“I know,” she muttered as she looked down. She hated talking about this. She didn’t want to think about the curse but she knew it was hanging over all of their heads.

“I don’t want to have regrets. I just need to know….what your feelings for me are. Am I just family?”

She looked up at him.

“Why?” Mikasa asked again.

Eren ripped his hand out of her hand before he walked away.

“Oh come on, Mikasa. You’re not stupid. You know why,” he said as he turned and looked at her.

“I don’t. I wouldn’t be asking you if I did.”

“Really? You don’t know why I pick fights with Jean after he talks to you? I constantly tell you to stop thinking of me as a little brother or your kid. You don’t understand why I punched a titan for you? Do you not understand why I got so scared after that? Why I was worried about you when your ribs had been crushed? Or why is it always your voice that always brings me back? Do you not know why I promised to wrap that scarf around you forever? You don’t know why I’ve been going out of my head with worry since you left?  I wanted to come after you. I wanted to go to Marley and tear it apart for you. But if you don’t know, I’ve got my answer then,” Eren moved to push past her but Mikasa grabbed his arm.

“Eren….” she started to say.

“It’s fine. I’m glad you’re back. I’m glad you’re safe. Let’s just….let’s just go, okay?” he didn’t look at her.

It wasn’t okay.

She knew it wasn’t okay.

She knew his heart was breaking like her heart was breaking.

“Don’t. Don’t leave mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, Mikasa,” he sighed before running his free hand through his hair.

“Eren, you’re…”

“It’s okay. It’s fine. We should get back. You need to eat.”

In those trashy romance novels, what did the person always do to get the other to understand when they wouldn’t?

The answer struck Mikasa.

“Eren,” she stepped in front of him, letting go of his hand.

“Let’s just…”

Eren’s words were cut off by Mikasa’s lips meeting his own.

It was a toss up between who was more surprised between Eren and Mikasa.

Mikasa had surprised herself by doing such a thing but it was more surprising when Eren kissed her back.

It was awkward and clumsy but neither of them seemed to care. This had been years of build up, of worrying that the other didn’t feel the same way.

They broke apart, both of them turning red.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No, don’t be sorry. I...you feel the same?” he asked, still unsure of her feelings.

She nodded. “I thought you knew. Everyone teased me about it..”

“I just thought...I don’t know. I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“I only have four years,” he reminded her.

“I know.”

“I’m being selfish by even asking you how you feel...”

“I’m glad you did,” she replied. "We’ll...figure it out.”

“The curse…” Eren started to speak but Mikasa shook her head.

“Just...today…”

Eren took her into his arms. He had missed her more than he could explain. It felt good to have her wrap her arms around him.

He never thought that she felt the same.

The idea had crossed his mind a few times but the way she always disputed it, the way she always called him family, told him she didn’t.

But she had kissed him.

Mikasa had kissed Eren.

It was so hard for him to wrap his head around that.

But for right now, having her in his arms was enough.

“You need to eat. We should go have lunch,” Eren reminded her.

“Okay but can we just stay like this for a bit longer?” Mikasa asked.

“Yeah, we can.”

So they stayed like that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So you told them Marley only had four titans?” Ymir asked as she dressed into her new uniform.

Historia helped Ymir straighten her bolo tie.

“Yeah, that’s right, isn’t it?” Historia asked as she smiled at Ymir.

“No, they have the ninth. They have five titans. It’s been in a family since….I don’t know how long. I don’t know much about it. I only heard about it in passing. It’s called the War Hammer.”

“What does it do?”

“Nothing good. The way they talk...the only thing more powerful is the Founding.”

“If it’s so powerful, why didn’t they send it over here?” Historia asked as she sat down on her bed.

“Because the family is like royalty. I think….I think if we really want to take Marley on and the rest of the world….we’re going to need all four titans that we have in our power. We’re going to either need to convince Annie to our side....”

“Or?”

“Or we need to make another shifter.”

[etlunainmorte]

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

XII

***

"I think we should cancel the wedding, after all."

It's what Avery told V earlier that morning after rushing Nico to the hospital.

But, of course, the poet refused, telling them that Nico wouldn't want it to be cancelled. Therefore, he made a solemn vow to solve the mystery and drive out the evil spirit in their house as soon as he can. He even strictly instructed the couple to stay out of the house and wait for him to solve the case so nobody else could get hurt.

And a few hours later, he's back in the kitchen with his own familiars, reading and rereading (Y/N)'s journal, which manifested three months' worth of entries in a single day, as well as the strange writings on the photographs.

While (Y/N)'s entries on the diary itself bore the same stories of how she and Victor fell in love during those three months, the writings on the photograph were a different case entirely. Bearing messages like, I wish I'm with you right now, I wanted to see you so much, I wish we could read books together again, and Please, forgive me, V could not help but speculate that something happened between her and Victor that most probably tore them apart as lovers. And based on what he has seen the other night, with the way Victor and (Y/N) spent the evenings together? He actually came up with another speculation, a theory, suggesting another thing that could very well change the way Avery looked at her ancestor.

Oh, God, if it is true, then,...

"Young master, you should eat. Or you'll lose your vitality." Maria told him motherly as she patted his shoulder to get his attention.

V looked up from the photographs and saw the kind housekeeper offering him a plate of the most delicious - smelling cherry pie he has ever laid eyes on. "You and your grandchild should have stayed away from here just like your employer. Or you might get hurt."

"My grandchild?" Maria's eyebrows shot upwards at what V said, and when she realized who he was talking about, her face lit up with a smile and then slumped once more into her usual melancholic look. "Oh, that little boy! We're not related in any way." She told him as she placed the plate of pie on the table in front of him.

"If he's not, then,... ?"

"He was a lost little boy who couldn't get out." Maria vaguely confessed, giving V another issue to have a headache on. "Ever since then, he has stayed with us."

Us?

V sighed as he reluctantly took a slice of the pie. He took a bite, letting its wonderfully complimenting flavors explode in his mouth. Then, he took a few more bites, finishing the slice in less than a minute. Overall, it was a really fine meal. Avery really was lucky to have her as a helper,...

"You have not answered my question." V told her a few moments later, almost forgetting it because of the amazing pie. "Why did you choose to stay here despite the danger that is lurking in this place?"

To this, Maria only smiled as he offered him a glass of warm milk. "I have a duty to fulfill to the young lady. I can't leave until it is resolved."

"I see." V replied as he watched her take a seat on the chair next to him, just like on the first day he met her.

Maria nodded, then, all of a sudden, her mud - colored eyes widened as she stopped moving. "And I almost forgot!" She exclaimed as she fished out something from her pocket. She held it out to V. "I think you dropped this last night."

"I'm sorry - ?" Confused, V looked at the slightly crumpled noted in his grasp. He carefully unfolded it and revealed the message in it.

July 27, 1898

My dearest and humblest poet, Victor,

I will never forget the very first time we met. You kneeled before me, took my hand, then you kissed it, reciting to me a very sweet poem as you looked into my eyes.

I will never forget the days after that, of our little talks, of our how are yous and how's your days, of the way we embarrass each other when we caught ourselves looking into each other.

I will never forget the first time I sang for you as you played the piano, of the sweet melody that conveyed how I felt towards you. I will never forget the days, and nights, we read poetry together. I will never forget those mornings we have to sneak away from father to have little chats and laughs in the garden.

And most importantly, I will never forget those nights we wrote to each other and passed those notes through that crack in the door as you sat just outside my room while I waited on the other side.

Such little trivial things that other women might have done for you that I will always remember. You may forget me in the future when you meet others more memorable than I' am. You may tell them amazing stories as you did for me. You may find other reasons to laugh and smile with another as you have laughed and smiled with me. You may play the piano for another belle who would sing willingly for you. You may find more pleasure reciting and reading poetry for someone else. You may call another your "Little Wanderer", "Evening Star", "Beloved Muse", "Little, Innocent One", and "Little Lamb".

And most importantly, you may exchange little notes in the middle of the night with someone else.

All of these may happen when you finally meet the one for you, and you may fall for them just as easily as I have fallen for you.

I'm aware of all these things. How could they not love you? How could anyone not offer their heart to you?

We will part ways within a month, maybe a week, as my father has decided to enroll me in a boarding school in Paris. But, I want you to know how honored I' am to have met you. Of how grateful I' am when you indulged my foolish fantasies.

Of how thankful I' am that, in a very short time, you have made my dull and unhappy life meaningful and filled with hope.

Please, don't forget me, my dear, humble poet, and of those times we spent time together.

I will cherish those moments for as long as I live.

I will never forget May 11. I will never forget I have met the most wonderful man in the whole wide world.

I will never forget you for as long as live, V.

Yours truly,

(Y/N), your Little Wanderer, Evening Star, Beloved Muse, Little, Innocent One, and Little Lamb.

P.S.

I Love You

This letter,...

The one she gave Victor that night before she lost her innocence to him,...

It's the same one! It's -

"Such a curious little thing." V heard Maria say. He looked up and saw her holding his metal cane in her trembling, old, wrinkled hands.

"Maria, give me my cane back." V told her as he stood up, holding out his hand to her.

But, Maria wasn't listening to him. "To have witnessed such happiness, such tragedy,... such unspeakable horror. No wonder it draws out equally unspeakable powers of its own." She, then, looked at him and pointed the tip of his cane at him. "No wonder it has awakened the past." After a few tensed seconds, she finally gave the cane back to V and took the empty plate on the table. And before leaving, she looked at him one more time and spoke, "I think you should stop dwelling on the upper floors and explore other places here. You may find something worthwhile." And with a smile that truly unnerved him after those very vague words, she finally left him.

Her gentle, and yet sick, smile was still on V's mind as he walked around the very quiet ground floor that evening. Despite Maria's weird statements and his growing suspicion of her, he trusted her. After all, she's the one who gave him a clue regarding the second floor and the one who pulled him out of the vision last night.

And now, V was wondering whether he would actually see something on the ground floor -

He almost got a panic attack as he turned to his right and saw Doctor Christopher Lancaster's live - size portrait once more. But, compared to the time he first saw it that morning, the doctor's features somehow looked more sinister and intimidating now. His eyes looked realistically wider and more bloodshot, and the creases and veins in his face looked embossed from the painting, that if he so much as put one finger on it, he would definitely feel the warm blood rushing through it -

V was taken aback as the doctor's eyes unmistakably landed on him. And what startled him even more was when the doctor in the painting turned towards him and stepped out of the rectangular frame, leaving only the empty canvass where he formerly stood. The doctor strode with much resolute steps and easily went through V like he was smoke, feeling the freezing cold that emanated from him from his instant contact with him. He turned and saw the doctor discreetly making his way to the second floor.

V followed suit, and when he caught up with Lancaster, he saw Victor embracing (Y/N) as she cried, his hands going up and down her back to comfort her.

"Sshh, it's alright. I'm here. I will never leave you." Victor whispered to her. V turned to his right and saw Lancaster hiding just in time behind one of the pillars. He was eavesdropping. But, why?

"Father will take me away! He doesn't want me to be with you! He thinks you're too poor to marry me. He - "

"Sshh, now, now,..." Victor gently hummed as he cupped her cheeks and brushed her tears away with his thumbs. "Did I not promise you to give you everything in the world? Now, do you trust me?"

(Y/N) nodded as she laid her hands on his, feeling their warmth and drawing out the energy she needed from them to prevent herself from collapsing.

"Well, then, let us run away from here! Go with me to England, start a family of our own away from these aristocrats!"

"What if father finds out? He will have you thrown in a cell! And worse!"

Victor wrapped her in his arms and held her very close to his heart. "I will die before anyone could lay a single finger on you. This may sound unbelievable but, I have strong connections in Europe. Once we get there, no one here in America would be able to go after us."

"And what about the others? And Daniella?"

"We'll inform them beforehand so they could escape. I'll keep you and the others safe, I promise."

(Y/N) nodded once more as she and him shared a passionate kiss. V looked away just in time when Lancaster narrowed his eyes at the lovers planning their elopement. And when their lips parted, he cupped her cheeks once more.

"Let me know as soon as you have made your decision. I will contact my brother to prepare everything for us. Understood?"

"Yes, V."

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you, V."

"You should take a rest, for now, the moon claims you.”

She nodded and after one final kiss, the lovers parted for the evening.

And so did the doctor.

V swiftly followed after him as he made his way back to the ground floor towards the drawing room where several men were having a conversation. The doctor cleared his throat and caught the attention of the gentlemen.

"What brings you here in this ungodly hour, Lord Lancaster?" The oldest of the gentlemen questioned.

"Your daughter, Lord (L/N)."

The gentleman Lancaster referred to as Lord (L/N) sat up straight and regarded him more seriously now.

"And what about my only beloved daughter, (Y/N)?"

"The impoverished poet is planning to take her away to England. He claims that he has powerful connections there and that he would kill you if you so ever lay a finger on your daughter."

"My God!" Lord (L/N) exclaimed. "I never expected to have a murderer under my roof! Let alone someone as deceitful as Victor Blake!" He thundered, bringing down his fist against the glass top table that trembled beneath his wrath.

Lancaster came forward and went on with his lies even further. "Victor Blake is a traitor, a madman, and, as you have surmised, a murderer. And as we speak, he is shamefully having his way with the pure and innocent (Y/N). He will use her over and over again, and when she's worn out and he has finally become tired of her, he will toss her aside like garbage in the fires of Gehena and look for a new victim."

"And you have proof of this?"

"I do. Roselle?" Lancaster called and a few seconds later, a petite blonde maid stepped forward and curtsied before the gentlemen.

The blonde woman in white,...

The gentlemen's eyes widened as she undressed before them and showed them multiple wounds and bite marks all over her body. There were some ugly bruises on her thighs which looked like they were caused by a blow of a really hard object.

Was it,... from the cane? But, no! It can't be! This is impossible! Victor will never do something like this! He - !

"Victor Blake did this?!" (Y/N)'s father bellowed as the frightened maid put her clothes back on.

The maid didn't say a word and only nodded as her own shame made the tears fall from her tired eyes. Lancaster dismissed her and turned once more to the gentlemen, especially the Lord of the house.

"I beg you before anything like that happens to sweet (Y/N)." Lancaster pleaded. "Allow me to marry her, and then I will protect her. I give you my word as an honorable gentleman."

Not even a few seconds have passed when the oblivious father nodded. "Very well. Then, you shall have my daughter's hand in marriage, Lord Lancaster."

V's eyes widened as the things unfolded right before his very eyes. He closed his eyes and suddenly, he found himself standing amongst the small crowd in the entrance hall of the mansion. The Lord of the house was standing in the grand staircase, and as he loudly cleared his throat, successfully calling the attention of his very few guests, he raised a glass of wine and smiled at them.

"For this evening, we shall all celebrate! As our little summer gathering comes to a close, allow me to partake with you of a very wonderful announcement that would put a smile on your face for many years. Doctor, would you kindly do the honors?" Lancaster came forward, joining Lord (L/N).

The doctor looked at the guests before him, his sinister eyes purposefully lingering at Victor and (Y/N) who were blissfully whispering things to each other, laughing and not paying any attention to him or the Lord of the house.

He, then, smiled, just as V's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed in anger of the manipulative man.

"As you wish, my Lord. And I will not falter. It is of great honor to announce that my beloved (Y/N) has agreed to finally join me in the altar to proclaim our wedding vows."

To this, the smile on Victor's lips vanished, and there was a look of utter shock in (Y/N)'s face. He dropped her hand, feeling the intensity of her supposed betrayal come down upon him like a rocky landslide.

"(Y/N)," Victor breathed in disbelief. " ... why?!"

"A cheers for the newly engaged!" Lord (L/N) announced, finally downing his wine as the others followed suit.

And right then and there, as the last drop of wine made contact with the greedy Lord's lips, he convulsed, collapsing on the stairs and dying in an instant, foam coming out of his opened mouth.

"Father!" (Y/N) called, unable to believe the chain of unlucky events that were crashing down upon her.

As everyone in the room shrieked and panicked, V's surroundings changed once more and he was transported to another room where (Y/N) was talking to the maidservant named Roselle. She and her personal maidservant were both wearing black.

"Roselle, I order you! Tell me what truly happened! Please!" (Y/N) pleaded, her eyes red and worn out due to the many tears she has shed. For her father who mysteriously died of poisoning, and Victor, who was still furious with her.

The poor blonde maid, now with more wounds on her face than ever, cried before (Y/N). "It's Lord Lancaster! He forced me to lie about young master Victor so your father would agree to have the doctor married to you!"

"Why?! Why didn't you tell me about all this?!"

"He threatened to kill me and my family!" Roselle kneeled in front of (Y/N) and clutched at the lacey helm of her black skirt. "Forgive me, my lady, please!"

"YOU, BITCH!"

V heard a furious howl from a distance at the same time the atmosphere around him changed. And as he opened his eyes, he saw several men in white taking away a body covered in a white blanket. It was lying in a stretcher, blonde hair coming out of the thin sheet.

Then, V saw (Y/N) reel in with pain, her face contorting in sheer torture. She held her stomach and kept one hand on her mouth as she ran away from the scene.

And before he could even catch up to her, the atmosphere changed once more, and he saw Daniella and Victor facing (Y/N) in another room.

With a black lace veil covering her face, she turned towards the two most precious people in her life and smiled at them.

"(Y/N), tell me you're lying!" Daniella begged her friend. "Tell me you won't marry that Lancaster! He has a reputation and,… he will kill you!”

"I have made up my mind. I will marry Christopher Lancaster." (Y/N) told them without so much as a pause or a tremble in her voice.

This made Victor inhale sharply as he turned on his heel and walked away from (Y/N) and Daniella. Not a minute has passed when (Y/N) went after him and called his name.

"Victor, please!" She begged as she collapsed on the floor and took hold of his cane.

"PLEASE, WHAT?!" Victor looked down at her, hurt and anguished beyond possibilities. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, (Y/N)?! WHAT IS IT?!"

"Listen to me! Please!" The girl pleaded as she cried and clung to his cane. "Let me explain! I - "

"SHUT UP!"

And then, the unmistakable happened: as Victor forcefully pulled the cane from (Y/N)'s grasp, it hit her face, making her fall sideways and hit her head quite badly.

And as her maidservant came to her, helping her on her feet as she wiped the blood off her nose, Victor left her there.

And (Y/N)? She cried and called him over and over again, begging him to not leave her.

But, he still left.

He left her.

"MR. V!"

He heard a familiar voice from a distance. And when he opened his eyes, he found Roman staring worriedly down at him. He sat up, his eyes stinging, his chest feeling heavy.

"Mr. V, are you okay?" Roman asked him as he and Griffon helped him.

"It's him." V whispered, feeling the pain in his chest increase.

"Who?"

The poet clutched at his chest, feeling his own tears come down his face at what he just witnessed. He looked at Roman and Griffon, and with an anguished voice, he spoke,

"It's Christopher Lancaster. He was the one,... behind (Y/N)'s suffering. And Victor,” V inhaled deeply as he clutched at the metal cane in his hand, his anger overwhelming him and taking over what’s left of his sensible reasoning as he began seeing red in utter madness and hatred. “He,… DID NOT LISTEN TO HER! HE,… LEFT HER!”

***

✒ @la-vita , @micaelagua , @v-vic , and @birdgirl69 . ✒

***

✒✒✒

***

[sky-kiss]

Glaive AU

A/N: In the dark stretches of the night, @morelemons created the ultimate AU. Ardyn, bored of sitting in the Citadel, slaps on some Clark Kent style glasses and infiltrates the Kingsglaive because damn it, he has to kill time somehow before Noct shows up and kills him. It...there’s more than that but it inspired this.

_____

Lunardyn: Allow Me to Introduce Myself. Again.

_____

It was remarkably easy to infiltrate Lestallum. 

Embarrassingly so, really. The last bastion of humanity waved him through without so much as a second glance. Ardyn Izunia, now king of the eternal night, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before stuffing his hands in his pockets. He whistled a jaunty little tune as he went, observing the sullen faces of the Lestallum’s citizens. 

Such pitiful creatures. He could wipe them from the face Eos without breaking stride. 

It would prove counterproductive to his goals but he could do it.

Six months spent cooped up in the Citadel had left him stir crazy. Every attempt to contact Noctis had fallen up deaf ears and the boy king seemed perfectly to sleep his future away.  The world seemed to have fallen into a state of limbo. 

His hordes roamed the eternal night, killing as they pleased. The glaives had rallied at some point in the aftermath, driven by their tedious guilt. They had their part to play in the narrative. They were supposed to carve out a path for their king to tread. 

Alas, they were as ineffectual at daemon killing as they were defending monarchs. 

So here he was, entirely prepared to lend a helping hand. Anything to better facilitate dear Noct’s ascension and end this waking nightmare. If nothing else, it would prove a break in the tedium of his existence. He would right this ship, as it were, and lead these glaives to his own doorstep. 

Or that had been the plan. 

A diminutive figure moved to block his path. A mortal would not recognize the sickly energy radiating off the creature, nor the feverish distortion that accompanied advanced stages of Scourge infestation. A shock of white blonde hair still tumbled out from the dark hood. 

He sighed, glancing heavenward, before dropping into an exaggeratedly low bow. “Ah, the late Lady Lunafreya. What an odious surprise.” Her lips were pursed into a thin line. She was paler than last they met, adorned in Lucian black rather than the raiment of an  Oracle, but it was still unmistakably her. “Might I say: you make a particularly lively corpse.” 

“You cannot be here, Adagium.” 

“My dear, I could argue the same.” He rocked back on his heels. “I do hope the the Draconian didn’t send you all the way back just to look after little old me?” 

“He does not trust you.” 

Ardyn snorted. “Ah, no confidence in his own rhetoric, I see. ‘Man exists by the grace of the gods alone’. And yet.” 

“And yet,” Lunafreya repeated. Her eyes were ringed with deep purple bags. He wondered if she’d been allowed to rest since her abrupt return to her mortal coil. “You were to await Noctis’ coming.” 

“Yes. And our dear Noctis prefers his dramatic entrances. Beyond what is fashionably late, I would wager.” He drummed his fingers against his hip. “If the Old Lizard expects me to languor about in the dark until the boy king arrives, he can confine me to the Citadel himself.” 

The right corner of her lips twitched up, ominous. It said not to tempt her. 

Speaking of. Ardyn took a step nearer. It was perhaps petty to enjoy the way she had to crane her neck to stare up at him. The disparity in their sizes was vast and offered a sickly satisfaction. He stretched his hand out, stopping just short of touching her. “Are you to be my keeper, Lunafreya? It would be a shame for you to come all this way for nothing, after all.” 

“That would depend entirely on your intent…” 

“...oh, my dear, I assure you it’s nothing to fuss over. I am but a weary traveler. Come to seek shelter from the daemons.” 

She snorted. It was as near as she’d come to her former spirit. “They will not believe you.”

“You would be surprised.”

The tightness of her smile suggested otherwise. Luna straightened, comically small and comically slight, and still stalwart in her severity all the same. “You will not inhibit the glaives.” 

“The glaives seem perfectly capable of inhibiting themselves. Like any good neighbor, I came only to offer my assistance.” 

“You only just said you came seeking shelter.” 

He waved her off. “Semantics. The point being: I have no intent of standing in your beloved’s path. Only to alleviate my own boredom.” Her resolved wavered. Some of the tension bled from her shoulders. Lunafreya glanced to the side. The silly thing was probably unaware of the coincidence; she turned her face toward Angelgard, towards Insomnia. Towards her king. Smirking, he closed those final few inches of space. He curled two fingers beneath her chin, turning her attention back on him. There was something delightful about Lunafreya in her obstinance. It tickled him like little else had managed. “Why not stay awhile? Adopt a more...active role in the Draconian’s tale?” 

She arched a brow. “You would have me help you?” 

“No.  Help your king, dearest. While enjoying the pleasure of my companionship.” He traced her jawline with his thumb, pleased by the unnatural heat of her skin. It matched his own. Lunafreya no longer burned with divine magic. Bahamut had returned her as he returned all his toys: broken and corrupted. Ardyn grinned. The daemons crawling beneath her skin called out to his own. “Stay, little Luna.”

She frowned. “To help Noctis.” 

“Of course.” 

“And keep you in line.” 

Ardyn chuckled. “Oh, dearest, I won’t fault you for trying. Now. Come along. What is it the glaives are always shouting? For hearth and home.” He shook his head, offering his arm. Lunafreya took it without comment, falling into step beside him. “How woefully uninspired.”

_____

It did not occur to him that their partnership might not go entirely smoothly until he was halfway through making introductions. Their new ‘brothers-in-arms’ were staring at them with rapt attention, captivated as Ardyn spun his yarn. They were a pair of refugees, you see, seeking shelter from the long night and vengeance for their fallen king. 

“And  allow me to introduce my winsome bride. You may call her,” he paused, regarding Lunafreya with exaggerated intent. “Stella. A lovely name for a lovely lady.” ‘Stella’ flashed him a smile. It boasted far too many teeth. He continued, unbothered. “As for myself? Gentle sirs and madams, you will know me as…”

“Stultus,” Luna said, threading their fingers together. Her pale eyes glittered with challenge. “We are Stultus and Stella. Come to offer our aid to your most noble order.” 

He was unsure if he felt angry or amused. “Yes. I...suppose that’s the jist of it.” 

The little devil had the audacity to smile.

[thefanficmistress]

My Friend, My Beloved: Requested ☆

Requested by @nowiloveandwilllove - You lovely bird you! I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Fluff Pairing: Richard Armitage x Reader, Richard Armitage x Female Character, Richard Armitage x OC Context © me _______________ TAG LIST: @deepestfirefun @shikin83 @catthefearless @patanghill17 @aelinninielelain @xxbyimm @nowiloveandwilllove @nellindreams @hails270105 @armitages-gisborne @jassy2101 @abiwim @anemiechen @nelswp @vaneaustation @fizzyxcustard @purplerain85​ @armitageadoration​ @princecami​ @princess-of-erebor1992​ @leah-halliwell92​ @vaneaustin​ @nellindreams​ @raindrops-on-roses142​ @wilhelmyna 

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged.

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Current Requests: JANUARY - Closed @purplerain85 ( A Kiss in the Wild ) - RA Request : Release 1/6/2019 @deepestfirefun ( Because I love you ) - RA Request - Release date : 1/13/2019 @nowiloveandwilllove ( My Friend, My Beloved ) - RA Request - Release date: 1/20/2019 @deepestfirefun  ( WORKING TITLE ) RA Request - Release Date :1/27/2019

Current Requests: FEBRUARY - OPEN

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Message me if you would like a FanFic Sunday Request. _____________

The snow fell like raindrops, thick and cold. Falling dancing flakes of ice landed on your lashes and cheeks as you looked at the gift in your hand. The blue wrapping paper was decorated with silver snowflakes, was made even more beautiful when the snow frosted the cover; the tag read “To my dearest Richard”.  This time of year, in New York was your most favorite. The snow, the lights, and most of all the giant tree that was put in the middle of Central Park. It was particularly special due to meeting one of the most important people in your life. Richard.  However, you weren’t sure about the events of tonight. You weren’t sure about what you would say to him when you handed him his gift. The words “ I love you.” was ready to leave your lips for some time now, but you were far from the kind of girl he would go for.  You thought back on when you met.  - PAST - 4 years ago, you decided to take your dog Bingo for a walk-through Central Park before it got too dark. You needed to get out of your house and away from your good for nothing boyfriend who was content on drinking on day, sitting his ass on the couch, and playing World of Warcraft with is friends. Don’t get the wrong idea, you LOVED WoW, but you also had a job, and bills to pay, so you knew how to balance yourself. Him on the other hand, didn’t seem to care that you had to pay everything for yourself, and his only concern is if you bought him anything…with your money. What did you expect? It’s not like you were going to meet your Prince Charming on Plenty of Fish. So, you settled. The truth was, you kind of loved him, but not enough to make real plans with him. You figured that you would find no one else, and he was the best you were going to get. You never had much confidence in yourself, and you thought that you were never good enough. You liked some parts of yourself, mostly your face. You had big eyes with thick black lashes, pouty lips, and a natural blush to your skin. Your hair was long, and could fit many types, but you liked it wavy, and bouncy. Everyone complimented you on your “pretty face, and hair”, but that was about it. You knew that you weren’t the type of girl that every guy would throw themselves at. You weren’t a size 2, but more of an 18. You were short, curvy, and had amble breast, a robust hourglass shape that did look good any anything that you wore, but a girl with extra weight, thick thighs, and hips, wasn’t the ideal person a man would want. So, you always shied away from the types of guys you were actually attracted to. You didn’t really want a model kind of guy, but even if you did see a handsome nerd, you were still too shy to say anything.  Needless to say, you knew that you weren’t happy with yourself, or who you were with. But Christmas was a magical time. A magic you only liked sharing with yourself, and Bingo. Once you reached the part, you were greeted by many runners, bums, singing groups, and other pet parents. Your sights however were set on the giant Christmas tree in the center of the park, but Bingo, his eyes caught the sight of a stray cat and he darted from your grasp, and he ran off. Of course, you panicked, and ran after him. You ran through the frozen fields of grass, through bushes, almost knocked over an old couple, and you did manage to run into a vendor who was handing out hot chocolate to everyone on such a cold day. You not only had to pay for the vending cart you damaged, but the price of each lost cup of coco. $1300. Not a good start to your magical Christmas day, but you weren’t going to let that top you. You were going to find Bingo and get to that damn tree.  After a few hours of going through the park, you finally gave up and went to the tree, and looked up at the bright star. You were at of breath, and hope and frankly in tears at the thought of never seeing Bingo again until you heard a familiar bark coming from around the tree. As a dog parent, it must be a sort of power to know the sound of your fur-child’s bark, because when you came around to the other side, you saw him there jumping on another person with a wagging tail. Your heart sank and you smiled with joy as you ran up to him calling his name.  “Bingo! There you are boy!” Running up to him, you dropped to your knees, and threw your arms around his thick neck. Bingo was a rescue dog, that you had for 3 years. A Husky, with one blue eye and one white. He was just as happy to see you, as he yanked from the stranger, and immediately sat in your embrace, and bowed his head to you to show submission, and most likely apology for what he did. His furry tail wagged in the snow behind him.  “Oh my god, thank you so –“your voice was snatched the moment you caught the man in your sights. He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen, and they did a quick scan of his entire being from head to toe. You had to tilt your head up slightly to meet him at his full height.  He was much taller than you, around 6’2 or 6’3, white male, with dark brown hair that was combed back, and fell down to his ears, and small curls. He had a trimmed beard, and piercing blue-grey eyes that mirrored the Christmas sky above your head. You could have sworn you saw flakes falling in them as well. He was warmly dressed for the weather, with an opened black pea coat revealing a black sweater vest, and dark blue shirt underneath. He was still holding onto Bingo’s leash as he met your eyes with a smile.  Then from his lips came the most elegant sound you had ever heard. “Bingo?! Well that’s a lovely name for such a handsome dog.” He said. It was deep, and rich like a warm cup of tea in the morning. Something that could have held your attention for hours or cradle you to sleep at night You swallowed hard and nodded up and down like an idiot not using your words, but continuously staring at him, while trying to comprehend what he just said to you. But it only took you a few moments to see what you were doing. Then your voice came back.  “Thank you so much.” You smiled, as you clothed your eyes to blush and tuck hair behind your ear. You blinked your embarrassment away and looked at him again. It hurt to look at something so pretty. “I almost thought I lost him, and I don’t know what I would do if something happened to him.” you confessed flustered. “I completely understand, I would freak out myself.” He said as he gestured to the tree, “Luck as it was, he came running up to me when I was admiring the tree.”  Bingo started to bounce around you, wanting your attention. He jumped up on his back legs and brought his front paws on your stained coat. You tried to calm him by petting his head and rubbing him behind his ears.  “He must have remembered it from last year. I come here every year to look at it.” You stated as you finally got him to sit, but your hands were sweating in the gloves and you needed to remove them. You pulled one off and then the other placing it in your pocket. You looked down and saw the stain on your coat and clothes. “Oh my god, my clothes.” you opened your coat to see that it definitely ruined the dress you wore. You were so flustered that you didn’t even realize that you were shaking. Your nerves were shot.  “Oh, how did that happen?” he asked, reaching out touch your coat to examine the stain. “I think I have a handkerchief here somewhere.” he started patting around in his coat.  “No, it’s fine, you really don’t have to do that. It was my fault really! I ran all over the place looking for him, nearly killed an old couple” You pointed behind you, and then turned to point to the other side of you to the vendor, “I killed his vending cart, and had to pay a fortune, and got hot coco spilled on me.” You gestured back to your clothes, and then palmed your face, as you tried to hide the embarrassment that was your life at this moment.  “Here,” he held out a white handkerchief out to you. “How about we get you both get you out of the snow and get you some place warm. You’re shaking and I think he may be hungry.” He reached down to pet Bingo on the head, who in return leaned into his touch, with his tongue hanging from his mouth, his breath floating in the air.  “You really don’t have to. You’ve helped me so much already.” You tried to deny, but the strange held his hand up to you. So, you stopped speaking.  “I’m afraid I would have to insist. What kind of man would I be if I left you so upset?” He gentle placed his hand on your shoulder. He was so gentle, and his touch was comforting. “You’re shaking, and I’m sure you were going out of your mind trying to find him. Let me take you somewhere warm, just until you calm down.” You took a deep breath and looked around at your surroundings. It was getting dark, you didn’t get a chance to really enjoy the tree, it was getting colder, and started to snow harder. Bingo would have been hungry, and God knows you were. Some place warm would have been nice and having such a nice escort was even better. You looked back at him with defeated smile and gave in. “Okay.” You sighed. “I can hold him now if you like.” You said reaching out for Bingos leash. “It’s ok, I rather like walking dogs. Plus, I think it would be nice if I gave you a little break for a bit. At least until it’s time for you to go back to your home.” He smiled charmingly as he straightens his back, and bent his arm at the elbow, and looked down at you. “Shall we?” You smiled as you slipped your hand between his arm and body. Your other hand came up to gentle close the circle of your hands on his arm.  “I’m Richard by the way.” He added as pulled you closed, and you both walked towards the east entrance of Central Park. “I’m (Y/N).” _ You and Richard laughed and joked over several cups of coffee, and he even surprised you with a change of clothes when his assistant showed up with a large pink bag from Liana that was located on the Upper West Side. You told him he didn’t have to do that, and he blushed, saying that he couldn’t let you leave with dirty clothes. So, it was a Christmas Gift from Santa. He revealed that he was an actor, and after telling you the roles he was in, you palmed your face from being so stupid and not realizing who he was. He was shocked, but actually thought it was very refreshing to find someone that didn’t know him. You promised him that you would then make it a goal to look at everything he has been in. He quickly blushed and begged you not to. At this point, you needed to get out of your clothes that were starting to smell like mold and chocolate, as scent you would never want to smell again. So, you took the bag, and changed in the restroom. When you came back out, his eyes racked up and down your body. You had let your down from the hat you wore, and it fell over your large breast. As you swiped it away, Richards eyes slowly hovered on them. He pulled in his bottom lip and dragged his eyes away to look out the large window that gave a stunning view of the busy street and falling snow. You blushed and put your coat back on. Has you placed the bag with your dirty clothes next to you, you reached under the table to pet Bingo who was soundly sleeping under the table. The manager was nice enough to let you have him in the shop, but he had to behave. Luckily, he was tired enough to pass out. After an hour or two, Richard escorted you back to your apartment, and hugged you at the door. He said his goodbyes to Bingo and left. However, he did look back at you with flushed cheeks as he walked away. You were so hung up on the day’s events, that by the time you got to bed, you realized you never got his number, but also didn’t offer it. The thought saddened you so much that for weeks after you cried over once again not feeling good enough. He was an actor after all, and you were far from his type. So, as you walked into the new year, you left behind the sorry boyfriend and the thought and memory of the handsome stranger in the past. That was until the following Christmas when saw a familiar face at the tree. He turned to you, with two coffees in hand and smiled as you approached. “Fancy meeting you here again of all places!” He joked, as he handed you the coffee. - PRESENT - You told Richard that you would meet him tonight, and that you needed to talk to him about something very important. He wanted to meet you earlier to see what it was, but you told him that you needed time to think and would explain everything tonight. 

You looked from the present to the large window of a warm living room and warm bodies full of alcohol. Music, and dancing, with the smell of grilled food and fruits swirling in the air. You both were invited to a party that was for both Christmas and a friend’s birthday. Your friend insisted that the day should just be about him, but others, so everyone had to participate in Secret Santa, and you pulled Richards name. 

There he stood with his friends, and a choir of beautiful women around him. One of them was lucky enough to hold his attention a bit longer than the rest. She had long curly brown hair that framed her thin body well, and she wore a bright blue dress. Plying him with compliments on his success, and his talent they all were doing, but, Samantha, his very recent ex and very still close friend was all over him. You could tell that she wanted him back, and she tried everything in her power to not have you near him. She was always so clearly rude to you, and Richard always apologized for her behavior. You didn’t want to make a fuss because, what if you did and he picked her side? What if you lost him for good? You couldn’t take that chance. 

“I can’t do this anymore” you said to yourself. “I can’t compete with those women, and not with Samantha.” You started to back out of the door. “What would he even see in me?” You looked down at yourself. Your body wasn’t right, you weren’t right for him, and he would see you as nothing more than his chubby friend and take pity on you. That’s all it was. That’s all it ever was these pasts few years. He must know how you feel, and just wanted to be polite and not hurt you. 

You looked back at the gift and then back at Richard. Sam had pulled him close and kissed him deeply in front of everyone. His hands remained off of her body, and his eyes opened from surprise, but when she pulled away from him, her eyes locked with yours. She grinned at you, and then went back to pressing her body to Richards. He hadn’t even noticed you were in the room, or that you were around him. 

“What am I even doing here?” you said looking around. Most of these people you didn’t even know and the only person you cared about was surrounded by groupies, and an ex-girlfriend that he would most likely ditch you for. You started to back away from the crowd.

 Something in you broke when you said it. You felt the pain and hurt rise in your chest, and when it hit your eyes, you knew that you had to leave. You couldn’t even bring yourself to walk through the door and speak to him. He wouldn’t have even noticed that you were here or let alone didn’t come.  As your eyes glazed over, your attention was shaken when someone in the room shouted your name, you made eye contact, and then blinked as a tear rolled down your face. You waved them off, and turned to walk out the door, dropping Richards gift in the trash.

 By the time you got back home, you stopped in your tracks, wide eyed at what was waiting for you on your steps. There were 2 dozen roses in front of your door and your entire doorway covered in twinkling lights with post cards, and letters that you recognized. Every letter that you ever wrote him. Every email. Little trinkets of things he took when you both went out together; napkins with doodles, bottle caps from drinks you shared, movie stubs, every single adorable selfie you took and sent him, and ones you took together and a un opened box of your favorite perfume. Everything about your relationship hug on your front door. 

You couldn’t say anything but bite your bottom and look at the door in confusion. 

“What do you think?” came a voice from behind you. You turned to see Richard standing there with his hands in his pocket and a smile on his face. He caught up to you. 

“Why do you still have all this stuff?” you ask, your voice shaking as you try to hold back the tears, and fear of what was going on. 

“Why do you think?” He said as you stepped to your side and slipping his hand into yours, he looked at the door with a smile.

“How…did you even?” you said, as you looked down at your intertwined fingers. The touch of his skin sent shivers down your spine. 

“I’ve loved you since the moment we met.” He said confidently, obviously ignoring your question of how he got all of this here without you knowing. 

“What?” you soft said, in disbelief. You turned your head to look at him. He chuckles as he looks up and over to the left in remembrance. 

“Do you have any idea how many times I came back to that tree the next year when we met? I showed up at different hours, and days with two coffees just hoping you would come back. Waited for hours actually.” He looked down at you with a smile, and twinkling eyes, “I needed to see you again. I even showed up at your flat, but the landlord said you moved, and didn’t have your new address.” He turned his entire body towards you this time, your one hand still intertwined, and as he pulled the other hand out of his pocket, to put it on your hip, he leaned into whisper in your ear. “I couldn’t stop thinking of you.” 

You put your hands on his chest to steady yourself, and gripped the lapels of his shirt, holding him close, your face pressed upward into his neck. Your lips grazed his skin, and you felt him shiver under them. The smell of his skin was so sweet, like honey and lavender. 

“I couldn’t get you off of my mind either.” You confessed, but now you felt so bad. You threw his gift away after such a romantic gesture from him. 

“Richard…” his name slipped through your lips slowly, and you felt as his cheeks grazed yours. His lips were so close to yours. You could feel his heart beating on your hands. “I feel so stupid.”

“Why?”

“I got a little upset and threw your gift in the trash.” you said as you laughed to yourself. 

“I don’t need anything but you.” He whispered onto your lips, “The best gift I have ever asked for.” 

Richard cups your face in his hands and your eyes connect with his.

“I love you.” He says as he connects his lips with yours.

 When your lips meet it was as if a spark went off in you, and now your entire body was ablaze. You grab one of his lapels. He smiles against your lips. You allow one hand to play with his collar, while the other tangle in his hair. He responds, grasping at the back of your clothing. 

A gust of wind rustles your hair, and Richard pulls back when he feels you shiver in his arms. He reaches out to brush a strand out of your eyes. You notice the beginning of the smile on his lips.

“What?” you ask, leaning into his ever so gentle touch. 

“Do you fancy a cup of coffee and walk through the park?” he asked.

“I thought you would never ask.” He smiled charmingly as he straightens his back as he did before, and bent his arm at the elbow, and looked down at you. “Shall we?” 

You beamed up at him as you slipped your hand between his arm and body. Your other hand came up to gentle close the circle of your hands on his arm as you so fondly remember doing every year.  “My name is Richard by the way.” He copied from the first time you met.  “I’m (Y/N)”, you chimed back.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  “And where have you been my entire life?” You replied back, putting your other hand on your chest dramatically like an actress.  Richard chuckled, and picked one of your hands up from his arm, kissed your finger tips, then knuckles, and finally a lingering one on the back of your hand, and said... “Right here my love” He said, almost poetically. As he bent at the waist, and bowed at you with his hand over his heart. You looked up at you and with a smile, he rose, and lifted his arm up for you to twirl under it. after you did, he pulled you close to him, and kissed your forehead. 

You walked off together towards the park, knowing that every year would be magical as long as he was with you.   END

[psychosistr]

A Dance Beneath the Stars

Jonawagon Week- Day 4: Dance/Masquerade

Summary: Jonathan and Speedwagon have a romantic evening planned that involves a show and a nice dinner, but find their night going quite differently than either planned. Still, a dance can be just as enjoyable as any show.

Jonathan walked down the streets of London late one evening while wearing one of his finest suits. He poked his head around every street corner and alleyway in search of one man in particular, but had yet to find him.

The Joestar was looking for his partner, Robert Speedwagon. Jonathan had been given two tickets to the opera tonight and, seeing as his other partner, Erina Pendleton, was working late at the hospital tonight, he had asked Speedwagon to join him. The blonde man had happily agreed to accompany Jonathan tonight, as he had never actually been to see an opera before. They’d made plans to meet in the area half an hour before the show was scheduled to begin so they could take their time walking to the opera house and even set a reservation at a nice restaurant for after the show.

Tonight was going to be a wonderful evening and Jonathan had been quite looking forward to it. There was only one problem…

Speedwagon was nowhere to be seen.

Now, Jonathan was used to Speedwagon running a few minutes late here and there, but it had been nearly twenty minutes now and Jonathan was beginning to worry. Perhaps he had forgotten the time? No, no, they’d both set their pocket watches to make sure they’d remember. Did he have the wrong location? A quick glance at some of the local signs for the currently closed shops confirmed that this was indeed the correct spot. Maybe Speedwagon had gotten lost? Ha, that was even less likely than this being the wrong location- Speedwagon knew every street in London like the back of his hand after years of eluding the authorities.

As Jonathan searched through the further-back alleyways of the area, he heard a sound like something being knocked into a metallic object. Curious and more than a little worried of his partner’s possible involvement, Jonathan hurried towards the sound.

When he arrived, he was shocked to find Speedwagon, dressed in one of his finer suits, standing in the middle of a pack of men who all looked at him with mixed expressions of anger and contempt. As he surveyed the area, which looked to be the backstreet behind a local church with its wrought-iron fencing behind Speedwagon and at least twenty men surrounding him in a half-circle to block his escape, Jonathan took note of a few men already unconscious on the ground- one lying near Speedwagon with his face still pressed into the metal fencing, another lying a few feet outside of the circle down the street, one with a bleeding gash upon his arm on the other side of the fence, and yet another lying face down in a pile of trash opposite the previous one.

Speedwagon himself had a bored, irritated look on his face as he pulled his pocket watch out of his pocket and checked the time. “Really, now…you lot ‘ave gone an’ made me late. Poor Jojo’s probably worried sick.” He closed the watch and looked back at the crowd. “Now then, I’ll say this one more time since you lads seem t’ be a bit ‘ard o’ ‘earin’-” His bored expression turned into a steely-hard glare, one hand already resting on the brim of his hat in both warning and preparation. “Lemme go now or I’ll be wearin’ your guts for garters by the end o’ the night..”

That only seemed to enrage the crowd as they began to attack him, several of them charging him at once.

Jonathan’s first instinct should have been to rush to his beloved’s side and fend off his assailants. However, something happened that left him frozen where he stood: Speedwagon began to hum a tune under his breath.

He was humming a song to himself as he dodged the first two attackers calmly, letting them smack themselves into the fence behind him. He then pivoted on his heel and tossed his hat at a few others who’d been attempting to draw their knives and the bladed cap slashed through their hands in a wide arc that left them with bleeding wounds, causing them to drop their weapons and instead hold their injured appendages. With a spinning step forward to avoid another attacker, Speedwagon caught his hat gracefully on the tip of one finger when it flew back over to him, flipped the cap around so he was instead holding the brim carefully between his thumb and forefinger, and used the razor sharp edge to cut his would-be attacker right across his eyes so that he stumbled back with a scream of pain.

The pattern of graceful dodges and fluid attacks continued while the shorter man hummed, never stopping the soft song known only to himself as one after another he dispatched his enemies. It occurred to Jonathan that Speedwagon was not merely fighting in that moment.

He was dancing.

Many, such as Baron Zeppeli upon first meeting Speedwagon, were prone to underestimating the man simply because he didn’t seem as strong compared to someone as large as Jonathan, or as wise and brimming with power as the baron. However, that was a very costly mistake to make. After all, Speedwagon was practically born and raised on the streets. The man had spent his life fighting for survival, stealing from grown men twice his size when he was still a child, outrunning the police, and had grown to be one of the most feared and respected thugs in all of Ogre Street- the most dangerous location in all of London.

Zombies and vampires would be terrifying and unsurpassable foes to nearly anyone who fought them. Speedwagon had bravely gone up against the forces of the undead, armed with nothing but his own physical strength, wit, and whatever tools laid at his disposal. Jonathan could still recall the strength Speedwagon had shown at being able to wield a sledgehammer with enough strength to shatter a zombie’s skull as if it were glass- a feat no ordinary man could achieve so easily.

While he had never reverted back to the same man driven by the desire for money that Jonathan had first met, the nobleman still saw traces of that wild, brave, slightly over-confident man sometimes when he fought an enemy he knew he could handle. A powerful zombie given unnatural enhancements to their bodies to increase their strength or a full-fledged vampire capable of literally killing people with a cruel look were daunting enough to rattle his confidence, but here, faced with nothing more than ordinary men with everyday weapons, Speedwagon was showing off his true skills. To him, a fight like this was a common affair that he could handle without breaking a sweat- hell, it was one he could actually see as FUN if the way he moved about the small battlefield was any indication.

Jonathan stood as still as a statue, transfixed by the sight of his beloved moving through the sprays of blood and horde of enemies as if it was a staged play that had all been choreographed months ago and he was the star executing a flawless performance. He was not one to engage in fighting for sport, certainly, but he could not deny that there was something truly beautiful in the way Speedwagon moved to the rhythm of his own song amidst the chaos without getting so much as a scratch on him or even a drop of blood on his suit. It felt as if, for the first time since he’d met the man, he was seeing the true king of Ogre Street- the true face of Robert E.O. Speedwagon…and it left his heart thrumming madly in his chest.

Speedwagon himself seemed too involved in his own dance to notice Jonathan’s presence until he had dispatched about half of his attackers. He finally took notice of the larger man after he turned to catch his hat on its return while simultaneously elbowing one man in the diaphragm and knocking him over. This left a gap between the thinned-out circle that allowed him to see Jonathan standing there, still staring at him with wide eyes.

“Jonathan?” Speedwagon blinked in surprise at finally noticing his partner standing in the mouth of the alleyway. “What are y-?”

Distracted by Jonathan’s presence and the rhythm of his earlier motions broken, Speedwagon failed to notice the man attempting to lunge at his exposed left side with a knife drawn.

Jonathan, now free from the trance he’d been in while watching his lover fight, thankfully noticed and reacted quickly.

“Speedwagon!” He cried while leaping into the fray. He grabbed the man’s wrist right before the blade could come into contact with Speedwagon’s waist and proceeded to twist the arm back hard enough to pop it out of place. He gave a firm glare at the man as he fell backwards clutching his arm, then directed his gaze to the others in attendance. “I do not appreciate any of you causing trouble for my dear friend. I would suggest you leave now, else I fear you shall regret your actions rather quickly.”

A couple of them seemed to consider it momentarily, but, at a barked order from the man who was presumably their leader, the remaining ten men moved to charge at the pair with the intent to kill.

“Looks like they ain’t in the mood for listenin’, Jojo.” Speedwagon said while tossing his hat again.

“It would appear so, dear Speedwagon.” Jonathan replied while curling his hands into fists.

Jonathan held back quite a bit, not wanting to use the ripple on ordinary men nor cause them any irreversible harm. Speedwagon did not seem as concerned with leaving scars or removing the odd finger here and there or blinding someone, but he still seemed to be holding back significantly- Jonathan knew firsthand the damage that could be done with that hat and that, if he wished, Speedwagon could be doing far, far worse to these men than their current injuries.

It felt good, fighting alongside one of his dearest loves again. There was a certain energy that thrummed through Jonathan’s body warmer than any spark of hamon as the two men moved together seamlessly. They stepped around each other when appropriate without getting in the way. They covered each other’s blind spots whenever an enemy moved in too close. Speedwagon’s hat spun around them like a feather on the breeze, weaving around and between them but Jonathan never once feared that the dangerous cap would so much as graze him for he  trusted Speedwagon’s judgement and skill.

‘It’s almost like a dance of our own..’ Jonathan thought while finishing off one of the remaining few men still left standing.

“Jojo! On your left!” Speedwagon called to him urgently as he dispatched his own opponent.

“!!” Jonathan dodged out of the way of the last man standing just as he brought his knife down. Thanks to Speedwagon’s warning, the blade missed its mark at his neck, but it still managed slice through the sleeve of his suit and draw a thin line of blood. “Nh!” It stung slightly, but Jonathan had certainly had far worse damage dealt to him before.

He was about to retaliate when the man drew a pistol with his other hand and aimed it right at Jonathan.

His mind raced with ideas for what to do next. He could try to dodge it, reducing most of the damage. He’d never tried using the ripple against a gun before, but it could theoretically set the bullet off before it got to him if he charged it in time. He could-

His planning was interrupted when a familiar mane of blonde hair suddenly slid into his field of vision between himself and the man holding the gun. “Now y’ve gone an’ done it..” Speedwagon said in a low, dangerous tone of voice that even made Jonathan shiver. “Y’ve gone and pissed me off y’ soddin’ pillock!” To Jonathan’s surprise, Speedwagon tackled the man and grabbed the hand holding the gun. The pistol went off, but the momentum caused the shot to be fired upwards into the air on the way down, though part of Speedwagon’s hand started to bleed from where it had been pressed too close to the barrel. “I don’ give a flyin’ fuck if y’ wanna tussle with me.” He growled out while pinning the man to the ground and forcing the gun out of his hand, glaring at the trapped assailant with pure hatred in his eyes. “But anyone that tries t’ lay so much as a finger on that man‘ll ‘ave t’ get through me first!!” He then grabbed the gun and seemed to contemplate shooting him for a moment, before apparently deciding against it and turned it around and instead pistol-whipped their attacker repeatedly. He didn’t stop until well after the man was unconscious, his face bruised, eyes swollen shut and blackened, nose and several teeth broken, and cheek bones likely busted as well.

Jonathan stared at the display with a shocked expression. That was such a feral display of violence for the blonde, even more so than what he had been doing moments ago. Even after it was over Speedwagon remained crouched over the prone and bleeding figure, his body trembling and breath uneven.

“Robert…?” Jonathan tried gently, his voice soft and cautious so as not to startle the blonde.

“……” Speedwagon took a moment to respond. He took a deep breath, exhaled it, then stood and faced Jonathan with an apologetic frown on his face. “Sorry, love. Didn’ mean t’ lose it like that…”

Jonathan gave him an understanding smile, glad to see the earlier rage gone from those usually kind eyes. “It’s quite alright, dear. I would likely do the same if the roles were reversed.” He finally took notice of Speedwagon’s bleeding hand and gasped. “Good lord! Your hand! Are you alright? The bullet didn’t lodge there, did it?” He moved closer to inspect it, gingerly holding the bleeding palm in his large hands.

Speedwagon looked at it and made a contemplative sound. “Hm..” He opened and closed it a few times and even dug his fingers into the flesh around the wound slightly. “Nah, just grazed it.” He seemed confident enough in his own diagnosis and began his own treatment via a handkerchief he produced from his pocket. Jonathan watched as Speedwagon removed his hand from his grasp, wiped away the excess blood, then tied the handkerchief over the wound tightly using only his other hand and his teeth. “There, good as new.” Once it was tight enough and the red had begun to stain the white fabric, he looked back up at Jonathan’s arm. “How ‘bout you?”

Jonathan looked down at the arm in question and shook his head before looking back at Speedwagon. “Merely a surface scratch. It will be gone within a week- sooner if I do a few hamon breaths. Would you like me to have a go at healing your hand?”

Speedwagon considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “Maybe later. It’s fine for now.” He pulled out his watch again and checked the time, a disappointed frown etching itself onto his face. “Damn it..we missed the curtain call…” He looked up at Jonathan again, looking for more guilt-ridden and remorseful than Jonathan had ever seen him before. “I’m awful sorry, Jonathan. I made us late for the show an’ y’ got mixed up in my mess..”

Jonathan quickly shook his head. “Nonsense! From what I saw, those men were the ones that started everything. You owe me no apologies at all, Speedwagon. If anything, I’d dare say I owe you an apology for interfering- you were doing just fine on your own before I went and distracted you. What ever were they accosting you for, if I may ask?”

Speedwagon offered up a reluctant smile at the taller man’s kind words. “Oh, they were jus’ some blokes I used t’ run ‘round with back in the day..didn’ take too kindly t’ me sayin’ I’d gone straight and didn’ wanna ‘elp ‘im break int’ some poor sod’s ‘ouse.” He looked down briefly, looking like he was about to apologize again. “Jojo, I-” Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the sound of heavy, hurried steps approaching from down the street. “Shit, that’s either reinforcements or the yard..” He grabbed Jonathan’s hand and ran with him down one of the side streets. “This way!”

Jonathan followed him without hesitation, allowing Speedwagon to be his guide through the many back alleys and twisting narrow streets of London until they were far enough away from the scene of carnage they’d caused themselves.

Once they were in a safer location, Jonathan took a look around and realized that he recognized this area a bit better than the last. It gave him an idea…

“I wonder..” He muttered aloud before using their still joined hands to turn the tables and lead Speedwagon somewhere this time. “Come, there’s a way into the park from here.”

The blonde obediently followed Jonathan’s lead, though he seemed curious as to why the nobleman would wish to go there. “The park? Y’ don’ wanna try catchin’ the second act?”

Jonathan easily found the low point in the park’s fence that he’d used several times to sneak in when he was younger. “Honestly, I feel I may not be presentable enough to attend such an event at the moment. Besides, I thought of another way we can spend the evening.”

He helped Speedwagon over the fence first and then climbed over himself to join him on the other side. The park was lovely at this time of night, and no one else would be there with how late it was now.

Speedwagon walked alongside Jonathan through the empty greenery, taking in the calming foliage and scenery around them. “Gotta admit, it’s been a while since I snuck in ‘ere at night. Forgot ‘ow peaceful it is..”

“I would come here sometimes to watch the stars whenever father took me into town.” Jonathan reminisced with a fond smile. “Though, my favorite spot was always right over here.” He said while leading Speedwagon towards a weeping willow tree. He pulled the hanging vines aside with a bow. “After you, my dear.” He said with a smile.

Speedwagon smiled and walked through the opening, a repressed laugh lighting up his voice and making his shoulders tremble ever so slightly. “There’s the true gentleman I fell in love with.”

Jonathan followed him into the natural hideaway, allowing the vines to swing shut behind him. “I hope to remain as such for as long as you know me, Robert, my dearest.” Feeling more comfortable now that they were alone and out of view from those around them, Jonathan stepped closer to his beloved and took his uninjured hand in his own so that he could kiss it sweetly. “Now then, my love, may I ask something of you?”

Speedwagon’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly and it made Jonathan smile more at the beautiful sight. “Y’ know y’ can ask me for anythin’, Jojo.”

“That song you were humming earlier, does it have any lyrics?” He inquired while looking into the other’s eyes with a charming smile. When the other man gave a nod, he continued with another question. “Would you mind singing it for me? Watching your dance earlier was quite a spectacle and I would very much enjoy joining you this time.”

Speedwagon glanced away, his cheeks still red but the smile on his face told Jonathan that he was flattered nonetheless. “I ain’t no opera singer, but, if that’s what y’ want…then sure, I can give it a go.”

“Perfect.” Jonathan held onto Speedwagon’s hand while the other came to rest on the smaller man’s waist. “Whenever you’re ready, my dear.”

Speedwagon placed his other hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and began to softly sing the song from earlier. It was a beautiful tune that Jonathan felt would withstand the test of time and be loved by many one day. They swayed to the melody and danced together, hidden away in their own little paradise within the sheltering branches of the willow tree.

Jonathan smiled as they danced together, knowing he would be asking Speedwagon to sing this song to him many, many times in the years to come:

“Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer,

And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow.

What started out this friendship has grown stronger,

I only wish I had the strength to let it show.

 I tell myself that I can't hold out forever.

I said there is no reason for my fear,

'Cause I feel so secure when we're together.

You give my life direction.

You make everything so clear.

 And even as I wander,

I'm keeping you in sight.

You're a candle in the window

On a cold, dark winter's night.

And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.

 And I can't fight this feeling anymore.

I've forgotten what I started fighting for.

It's time to bring this ship into the shore

And throw away the oars, forever.

 'Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore.

I've forgotten what I started fighting for.

And if I have to crawl upon the floor,

Come crashing through your door,

Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore.

 My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you.

I've been running around in circles in my mind.

And it always seems that I'm following you, love,

'Cause you take me to the places

That alone I'd never find.

 And even as I wander,

I'm keeping you in sight.

You're a candle in the window

On a cold, dark winter's night.

And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.

 And I can't fight this feeling anymore.

I've forgotten what I started fighting for.

It's time to bring this ship into the shore

And throw away the oars, forever.

 'Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore.

I've forgotten what I started fighting for.

And if I have to crawl upon the floor,

Come crashing through your door,

Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore.”

[oudenoida]

“I’d rather be someplace warm.” (Kayden & Lyon)

The grumble came from the upper floor of the Wayhouse where Kayden was doing something with a plant roughly the size of the two of them put together. Tucking his glasses into the pocket of the worn flannel he was wearing Apollyon looked up from his spot at the kitchen table, where he’d been editing his manuscript, and cocked his head, “What was that babe? I couldn’t hear you behind Audrey II up there.”

His beloved poked his head through two branches and looked down at him, “I said, dearest, I’d rather be someplace warm.”

Looking out the large windows into the deep old-growth forest beyond Lyon beheld a winter wonderland. The trees were iced with ice and powder and from his spot safe behind the glass and near a roaring fire Lyon was content. He was also content with the fact that they were dozens and dozens of miles away from the nearest person in a home that magically guaranteed their solitude.

They had both earned it.

Capping his fountain pen, a thoughtful gift from Edwin that had bespoke ink to go with it, (It smells like you. Not just you you, the creative you. Kay helped me make it the skinny alchemist had signed and it was true. Words came easier when they smelled like they belonged.) Lyon turned his chair around to look up at Kayden. “Well…” he gestured to their bags settled by the door, two duffels and two garment bags that were filled with the ceremonial clothes they both hated, “Manawa will be warm.” But he paused, looking into his husband’s eyes to try to suss out the true root of the statement, “Or did you mean somewhere else?”

Kay huffed, disappearing back into the plant before wandering his way down the spiral staircase that connected the loft of their bedroom to the main floor, “Is that bad?”

“Where would you want to go?” He knew it was answering a question with another question but that was how their conversations went. They were slow and sometimes circuitous but they had time now. They could afford to have the slow conversations now that they weren’t both running or hiding or trying so hard it almost killed them.

Kay shrugged nonchalantly, completing an orbit of their dining room in a way that left him perfectly open for Lyon to tug into a hug. “You know we don’t have to go to Manawa for Midwinter right? If you wanna go somewhere warm let’s go. Hawai’i, Southern Italy, Bali… we can go wherever we want to go, Kayden.”

He slid a hand under the back of his husband’s shirt, feeling warm skin and hard muscle under his fingers as they embraced, Kay’s face in his neck and the smell of his shampoo and his whole self filling Lyon’s nostrils. “We have a job to do.” Came back muffled by his shoulder and Lyon laughed, twisting himself so that he was looking Kay in the eyes.

“Do we?” He ran his fingers through Kay’s hair, making sure he hit the sweet spot on the back of Kay’s neck that always turned him into a puddle if massaged just right, “You have brothers. You’re not even the oldest. If bonds need to be reforged or reaffirmed they can do it. And frankly it doesn’t seem like my parents care too much about it if they’re only trusting me to do it after I’ve been cast out. If this is what finally strips the wings from my back, so be it. I would rather be forsworn and forsaken by god than have us do anything that makes you unhappy. Divinities come and go… my love for you is forever.”

His lips found Kay’s and he kissed him as deeply as he could. He was a writer and he wasn’t unskilled but sometimes you couldnt’ say what you wanted to say with words. “Every night I pray, and every morning I pray, and I do good and I try to be good. I don’t think the Divinity cares if I’m there or not. It cares that I’m a good husband, that I’m a good friend, that I try to be a good man. I haven’t knelt before the Iconostasis and prayed for years and it hasn’t cast me out yet. I think it thinks I’m doing fine. We do not have to be present at Midwinter… we are now, finally, the masters of our own fates. Eli will understand. Millie will understand. Your brothers will, Emma will, Bas will, Edwin will, every single person gets it. So if you wanna go somewhere else? If you wanna get a hotel room in a foreign country under a fake name and fuck for a week straight? Let’s do it. If you wanna get lost on a beach? Let’s do it. If you wanna sit by the pool and get drunk off tiki drinks and read? Let’s do it. Literally the only thing I need for the holidays is to spend them with you.”

Kay’s smile was mischievous, “really? Fuck for a week straight was the first thing your mind went to?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, loudly and heartily until it filled every corner of their small beautiful home, “That was your takeaway?! From all of that? It was the fucking?! Have I been forsaking my marital duties?!” He let his hand slip down into Kay’s pants, squeezing his ass before pulling him into a hug. “I am serious though. We’ve never had a christmas that was just ours. We’ve always been with our friends.”

“I think we’re overdue then.” It was Kay that kissed him this time, and it was such a kiss that Lyon briefly forgot who he was. Their home was gone, the snow, the tattoos on his back, the scars on his heart, all there was on the whole earth was this man, who he’d go to hell and back for a thousand times over just to see him smile. “How’s Hawai’i sound? I’ve never been there before.”

When Lyon finally regained the ability to speak he nodded somewhat dumbly, “Hawai’i is good. That’s real good. Go put our dress clothes back and pack us some shorts. I’ll text Millie and Eli.”

Tapping out a quick apology and explanation on his phone he watched Kay move around their home, humming softly to himself. It was true, they were finally able to decide what their lives were, and dammit he was going to spend his days in happiness alongside the only man who’d ever made him feel free.

[zblackiez]

I Am Me

"And we are just minutes away, ladies and gentlemen, from announcing our top five contestants that will be progressing in the 2018 Spring Story Contest."

Fingers tapping against the wood, their tips trembling like microscopic earthquakes. Eyes, violet like a newborn galaxy, narrowed with concentration, staring strongly at the computer screen before her.

All around her, the sounds and smells of the library swirled, from the students quietly scribbling on their assignments at the table to the small group of children who read a single story in unison. Beeps rose from the front desk as novels departed their home for a vacation. The double-doored entrance opened, and closed. Opened, and closed. With it came faces of all shapes and sizes, all eager to indulge in their own universes.

But she paid her surroundings zero attention, as if she had already transported herself to another dimension—one where only her and the computer monitor breathed existence.

On the other side of the screen, two men sat behind a desk, both old enough to sport receding gray hair. However, their ancient age lost relevance once the focus shifted to their pristine suits and overall charismatic auras.

"What did you think of this year's entries, Jeralt?" one asked.

"I thought they were all amazing!" the other answered, his smile bright. "Honestly, I would love for each one of them to win."

"Same with me. But, sadly, we can't all win here." The aged man set his fingers to the earpiece he wore. "Hang on." He gave a nod. "I'm receiving confirmation that the winning pieces have finally been selected." Behind the pair, a blank list numbered 1-5 appeared. "We will now announce them, beginning with the fifth slot."

She held her breath, her heartbeats rapid like a thunderous drum.

"At number five, we have Jacqueline Roseman."

She clenched her fist.

"Coming in at number four is Cody Maxwell."

Her muscles tensed. And as each name after was announced, she could feel them growing tighter, could sense the frame of her soul crumble with no rhythm.

Finally, when the full list came to light, she opened her fist and let loose a sigh. She looked over the names, over and over and over again, hoping that one would, by the touch of God, transform into another, whose syllables would retain familiarity. But no matter how long her gaze lasted, the letters would not morph, their disconnect to her remaining everlasting.

One moment—that was all it took for her heart to shatter, its pieces scattering like stars plummeting from the serene night sky. Her eyes grew glassy, and it took every ounce of her strength to not let them spill.

Again, she thought. By now, why should I even be surprised?

With pleasure thin like air, she shut off the monitor, erasing the list that she now had no business with. With that came the blackness of the monitor's screen, allowing the teenage girl to see, to study, her own reflection. Skin white like snow, soft like an infant's, with cheeks permanently marked with a soft blush. Eyes whose size only an anime girl would possess, shielded by a pair of circular, bookworm-esque glasses. Hair as black as a raven fell gracefully to her shoulders, as tousled and unruly as natural bed hair.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her wool sweater.

I just can't catch a break. It's like this every time.

I'm always just no good.

Bzzzzt! Bzzzzt!

As her lament hugged her body close, she felt a gentle vibration race in her skirt pocket, urging the girl to reach her hand in and fish out a smartphone. When she turned the screen on, she saw the notification for a text message from the contact "May ❤" It read, "I'll meet you at the Sugar Factory in ten minutes. Hooray for Super Sweet Saturdays! :)"

Realization popped in the girl's head like a balloon.

That's right, she thought. I'm supposed to meet with May today.

However, the idea of just burying herself in her blankets offered a mountain of temptation.

She shook her head. I can't leave her like that. Besides, maybe talking to her might make me feel better.

In the end, the girl rose from her seat and walked away, leaving behind a den of disappointment for, hopefully, a resort of sunshine and rainbows.

Beautiful, the girl thought, watching her companion eat away at a chocolate sundae. Dressed in a simple gray T-shirt and black cargo shorts, she had delicate, fair skin, along with a slender figure. Irises as green as emeralds blessed her eyes, matching well with the silky orange hair that fell down her head, only to curl up at her ears. Freckles, like natural faded tattoos, dotted her cheeks.

The girl of orange hair swallowed a spoonful by the minute.

"This sure is the best!" she said, shining a teethless smile. "They can take my money any day of the week!"

"Mm," the girl of glasses hummed. She felt her own heart beam, if only by a little. Looks like coming here was the right choice, after all.

Her lips curled into a small smile,

one that came and went.

Even so . . .

No matter how hard the girl tried, she couldn't shake off the raincloud that floated over her head—the gray giant that showered her with deepened sorrow.

The girl of orange hair noticed her soulmate's ice cream, which had melted enough to now be considered a drink.

She lowered her own spoon and asked softly, "Ellequin, what's wrong?"

From the girl of glasses, another tiny smile. "Nothing. I'm having a blast." She twiddled her thumbs. "I'm . . . having a great time."

The two sat on opposite sides of a restaurant booth, with gentle chatter twirling into their ears like notes of a song.

The emerald-eyed girl studied Ellequin for a moment, spotting each and every blotch of sadness that stained her face. She then set her spoon down completely and sent her hand to her partner's.

Ellequin's eyes widened a little at the sudden burst of warmth that spread through her fingers, her skin. And as she looked forward, she caught sight of a sweet smile that stretched across her companion's face.

"Ellequin," she said softly, "we've known each other for twelve years, and we've been together for six, so don't think you can trick me with that smile of yours. You don't have to hide your feelings from me."

At first, Ellequin seemed stunned by those words, but as the seconds passed, she lowered her head, shame clinging to her chest like an ache.

"Sorry, May," she whispered.

The girl of orange hair, May, shook her head. "Don't be. You're entitled to your feelings. I just want to let you know that you don't have to go at it alone. I'm here for you, from now until the end of time."

At those tender syllables, genuine joy bloomed within Ellequin, adding some sunshine to her garden of emotions.

You always know just what to say.

"Thank you, May," she said.

"Why, don't ya mention it," May replied. She straightened her posture but kept her ice cream untouched. "So, is this about the writing contest?"

Ellequin nodded. "Did you see the results?"

"No, but judging by your reaction, I can kinda already tell what they were."

After a light sigh, Ellequin slouched and rested her head in her hands.

"That's the sixth one," she said. "The sixth contest, May, where I didn't even make it to the top five. I bet they didn't even bother looking at my story. I wouldn't blame them."

"Are you kidding me?" May asked. "I bet it was torturing them whether or not to put yours in. You're a good writer, Ellequin. I've seen what you can do."

"Thanks, but I get the feeling you're just saying that out of obligation. You know, a lover's required kindness, or something along those lines."

May leaned in. "Ellequin, you know me. You know I try not to hold anything back. I wouldn't tell you I liked your writing unless I really thought so."

Ellequin planted her head on the table. "Somehow I still find that hard to believe."

To that, May simply rubbed her beloved's head.

A motherly touch.

"It's the truth," she promised.

Ellequin blushed.

"In any case," May said, "I'm sure you'll rock it for sure in the next contest!"

"If there's a next contest," Ellequin told her.

"What do you mean?"

The hopeless writer turned her head so that her gaze could pierce through the window with half-open blinds.

"Maybe I should just throw in the towel," she said. "It's been so long, and I'm not very good at it, so what's the point?"

Then again, what am I good at to begin with?

What's the point of me even being here?

Again, a stroke of the hair—warmth that only a mother could provide.

"Well, I won't tell you not to," May said, her expression a fusion of bliss and blue. "In the end, it's your life, not mine. Just know that whatever path you choose, I'll be right there beside you. The only thing I can do is tell you that you'll be making a big mistake if you quit writing. You'll regret it."

"How's that?"

May sent her stare to another table, where a little boy drew on a menu with an assortment of crayons.

"You'll always think about what could've been," she whispered.

Ellequin finally set her sights on her dearest, noticing the melancholy that painted May's cheeks like makeup.

"May?" she asked.

But when the girl of emerald eyes looked back to her soulmate, the sadness magically vanished, as if Ellequin' very existence acted as the cure.

"Like I said, it's your life," she said. "Whatever choice you make, I just want you to know that I'll always be with you." May brushed her fingers against Ellequin's cheek. "I'll never let you down."

In that moment, a million words rose in Ellequin's chest, longing to rush past her lips, to let the girl before her know just how much that message soothed the shadows of her very soul.

In the end, however, she decided on merely three:

"I love you."

May's lips curved ever so sweetly, and she lovingly kissed her beloved's forehead. "I love you too."

The two then went back to their posture of straightened spines.

"Now, then," May said, picking her spoon back up, "let us enjoy these frosty treats, to celebrate the high scores we got on our tests!"

Rather than shoveling ice cream into her mouth like her lover, Ellequin just allowed another type of shame to invade her from the inside out.

"About that . . ."

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?"

A monstrous roar, powerful enough to make her bones quake. A fear so profound, she wondered if it transcended the very laws of logic.

Ellequin perched herself upon a seat at the dining room table, soaking in the light that shined from the lamps overhead. Beyond the windows, a realm of night smiled at her—a dimension which she longed to escape to.

Before her stood a beefy man dressed in a police uniform. His features matched hers, from the same shade of his short, raven-black hair to his eyes of violet. His shadow towered over the teenage girl, adding more menace to his character, along with his hardened glare.

In his hand, he held a piece of paper.

"What is this?" he growled.

"My . . . My test . . ." Ellequin answered. She wouldn't dare meet his eyes, her head sunk low.

"No, I get that!" He pointed to the C+ written at the top in red ink. "What I wanna know is what this is?"

A bolt twisted upon the girl's lips, maintaining her silence.

Wham!

The table wailed as the man slammed the paper on the table, causing Ellequin to tremble like an frightened puppy.

"ELLEQUIN STARLET!" he hollered. "What do you have to say for yourself!? Hm!?"

"I'm sor—"

"Sorry?" the man mocked. "You're sorry? It's like this every time, Ellequin! I just–I just don't understand how you're bringing in such idiotic grades. I just don't. Look at your brother. Your little brother. He's two years younger than you, and you don't see him bringing me embarrassing grades. Only the best of the best." He leaned his face in towards hers. "Look at me, girl."

No compliance.

Wham!

Again with the table.

"Look at me!"

Terror chewing in her veins, Ellequin tilted her head up, letting her watery eyes meet the man's.

"Are you stupid?" he asked. "I'm genuinely curious: Are you a fucking idiot?"

A weak shake of the head.

"Are you sure?" the man asked. "Because up until now, all you've done is show me how much of a big fucking moron you are!"

Ellequin's lips quivered as she tried to fight back the tears.

The man straightened himself, then shot out a heavy sigh.

"Just get out of my sight," he ordered. "Just go to bed. Go do the one thing you're decent and act like you don't exist. Go!"

Slowly, the terrified girl rose her seat, then trudged to her bedroom, all while letting the streaks of tears dribble down her cheeks.

Darkness enveloped Ellequin like a starving cloud, providing her with bleakness that she could've sworn bled from her own heart. She stared into the ceiling of her room, a blanket covering her from head to toe. Nearby, the window sang a little tune—a simple rhythm that was brought only by the raindrops that clashed against the glass.

The kind girl sniffed the mucus back up her nostrils and wiped her cheeks.

It always ends like this, she thought. No matter what I do, I just can't be good enough. What's the point of me even being here if all I can do is fail?

She shut her eyes tight.

Maybe . . . just maybe . . . I don't belong here.

Maybe I don't belong anywhere.

Krrrrrrrk!

A gentle creak, rising from the door off to the side.

Ellequin kept her eyes shut, maintaining the false slumber. Anything to save herself from the neverending wrath of the beefy man.

"I know you're awake."

A voice lighter than she expected, one belonging to that of a teenage boy.

Still, the girl never moved her eyelids.

"Ellequin," the voice said.

"What?" she answered weakly.

"I, um, I heard what happened between you and Dad."

"Yeah? And? Did you come here to rub it in my face?"

"No. Nothing like that." Awkwardness fluttered in the boy's throat, sticking to every syllable that slipped past his lips. "I just . . . I just wanted to let you know that you're not me."

"I thought you said you weren't gonna rub it in," Ellequin pointed out.

The boy sighed. "I'm not. You didn't let me finish. You're not me, and vice versa, I'm not you." He paused for a second. "I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . you're your own person, Ellequin. Remember that, okay?"

She didn't say a word.

After waiting for an answer, the boy just said, "Good night, Ellequin." And with nothing left to offer, he disappeared back into the night, shutting the door behind him.

Ellequin merely gazed back at the ceiling, her visitor's message bouncing in her mind.

Her response: My own person . . . just isn't good enough.

Silence, drifting around the classroom—a student who had everywhere, yet nowhere, to do her work. Instead, she peered at the other occupants of the space, spectating as they sat within the sea of desks. Some indulged in their assignments, scribbling in their notebooks like mad, while others just doodled on whatever surface they could get their hands on.

Among the mass of students was the sweet girl Ellequin, whose seat resided at the far corner, near the row of windows that made up one of the walls. She had her hands held together, squeezing harder and harder with each passing of time's frames. Her heart raced like a cheetah, pounded like a ball dribbling, went wild like a fresh storm. On her desk lay her notes, written in her beautiful handwriting.

I practiced, she thought. I practiced. I'll be okay. I'll be okay.

Before long, the teacher—an elderly woman—rose from her desk at the front of the room.

"Okay," she said, her voice frail, "I think that's more than enough time for review. Let's get started with our presentations." Behind her, a projector screen descended, blocking the whiteboard. "Who would like to go first?"

No hands went up.

Silence amped up her awkwardness, shooting the off feeling into several spines.

The old woman sighed. "I didn't want to use these, but . . ." She reached into her desk and pulled out a mug filled with popsicle sticks. "I guess we'll let fate decide."

The bile in Ellequin's stomach grew restless.

I practiced. I practiced. I practiced.

That duo of words vibrated in the girl's head, stripping most of her focus away from her peers speaking. Whatever she did manage to pay attention to, though, she considered it amazing. All these people, as confident as ever, their messages flowing from them as smooth as web jetting from a spider.

A display of the lion's heart—a treasure Ellequin could only ever wish for.

Eventually, the dreaded moment came to pass: when the aged teacher pulled a stick and said aloud, "Ellequin."

The young girl's heart plummeted to her gut, disturbing her stomach's contents. Her bones quaked. Her fingers twitched. As all eyes darted her way, Ellequin forgot how to breathe.

"Ellequin?" the teacher asked.

"Y-Yes," Ellequin responded. Slowly, the brave girl lifted herself from her desk, carrying her notes with great care. From there, she marched to the front of the class, a walk that lasted for ten eternities, or so it felt. When she finally managed to reach, she turned to face her peers, the army of gazes that seemed to pierce her very soul. And it was in that moment, that iota of time's design, that she froze.

"U-Um . . ." she uttered.

They waited.

The relevance of her notes vanished, with all words known to humankind disappearing from the girl's vocabulary. Her breaths became nothing more than shallow clouds of air. Her heart, thumping faster than sound itself.

"U-Um . . ."

"Ellequin?" the teacher asked.

No response; only lips that felt as though they'd been sewn together.

The brave, brave girl could feel the moisture rising in her eyes.

The old woman sighed. "I should've expected this from you. Just take a seat, Ellequin. You can hand me something written later for half-credit."

At that order, Ellequin began her humiliating journey back to her desk. But with each step, relief did not supply her systems. No. As her peers stared at her, the girl could recognize only shame—a blend of disgust and defeat so profound, it twisted her very sense of existence.

When she finally sat back down, only one thought whispered in her head:

I'm just a failure.

Fingers wrapped around the handle; the index, rubbing gently against the trigger. The muzzle, the cool metal, pressed against her temple, awaiting the final order to unload.

Tears spilled from her eyes, racing down her cheeks in glistening streams.

Clenched teeth.

Quivering pupils.

A soul that just couldn't take any more cracks.

As Ellequin sat on her bed, the dusk of night drifting all around her, she pressed the handgun against her head.

I'm . . . no good. All I ever do is fail, fail, fail. I don't deserve to be in this world.

The broken girl pushed the handgun deeper into her skull.

It wouldn't matter if I was gone. It wouldn't matter if I just disappeared. Right? Maybe . . . just maybe, it'll be better this way.

Hesitation, slowly fading.

Dad will be happier. Nedri won't have such a poor excuse for a sister. May . . . May . . .

Like a rose blossoming in the desolate garden of her mind, the girl of orange hair and a bright smile emerged. With her appearance, Ellequin thought of that final message she sent to her beloved, that farewell she'd been contemplating for weeks now.

"Thank you for everything, May. Really, thank you. You've always been there for me, no matter how bad I got. You were always there to pick me up, and I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. That's why I love you so much. I promise that I'll always be watching over you, so keep pushing along, okay? You were meant to do amazing things, and I can't wait to see what you accomplish. Goodbye and good luck ^_^"

The response: "Ellequin, what are you talking about? Why are you saying goodbye?"

The brave, brave girl gave no answer.

"What do you mean by you'll be watching over me? Ellequin, please answer!"

The girl who was only human choked on her sobs.

"Ellequin, I'm on my way! Don't move a muscle!"

I'll never be good enough, she thought. I'll never make anyone proud.

May sprinted to the house's front door, then slammed on it with her fist.

"Please!" she screamed into the night, her breaths running short. "Please, someone answer! Ellequin!"

What's the point of being alive if I have nothing to show for it?

Finally, the beefy man opened the door.

"Who the hell is making all this noise?" he growled, his face twisted with rage. When his eyes fell on May, however, his expression morphed to one of a calmer acrimony. "It's you. Do you have any idea what time it is!?"

"Ellequin . . ." May choked, anxiety gripping her throat. "I need to see Ellequin."

"You ain't seeing jack shit!" the man roared. "You're lucky I don't arrest you right now for disturbing the peace!"

Screw this, May decided. I don't have time for this. She needs me.

Her hesitation zero, the young girl bolted past the man and into the home.

"Hey!" he hissed. "What the hell are you doing!?"

Please, May begged. Please, don't let me be too late.

Finally, she mustered the courage, bracing herself for the next world to come.

I don't want to disappoint anymore.

I don't want to be a failure anymore.

I don't want to live like this anymore.

She shut her eyes tight, clenched her teeth hard enough for them to break.

I just . . . want to go.

Suddenly, her bedroom door flew open.

"Ellequin, don't you fucking dare!" May roared.

Pop!

You know, I've never really been good at anything. From the time I was born, I always felt as though I could only disappoint. I could only let the people I care about down, harder than ever. They had such high hopes for me, their expectations higher than any moon I could ever hope to reach. Was it their fault, for putting too much faith in my existence? Or was it me for simply not being strong enough? Time and time again, I pondered upon that question, more often than not concluding that it was me that forced my undoing. That if I had not been born an automatic failure, I could've brought smiles to my loved ones, not frowns.

Though I suppose that that was fate's design from the beginning.

Nothing I can do to change it.

But as I lay here, surrounded by my doubts and demons, my gaze landing upon nothing but dusk everlasting. I can see it—a tiny speck, glimmering in the distance. Always, it shines its weak shine, urging me with a promising smile to come forward. But I shake my head. Surely, my fingers won't reach, not without the almighty lion's heart.

Still, it begs, promises.

Perhaps . . . Perhaps today, I'll listen. I'll view this glistening speck, this dainty star, as something more, something phenomenal.

Let me just stretch my fingertips

and try to hold

this shred of hope.

Breaths, soft. Chest, rising and falling, as calm as an ocean's waves. Heaviness took her eyelids hostage, its willingness to release the prisoners kept nonexistent. However, as the seconds rolled, she became the greater force, opening her eyes with great care.

Instantly, bright lights flooded into her pupils, and she had to shut her vision to spare herself the pain. She blinked a few times. Open, and close, Open, and close. Eventually, her eyes adjusted, allowing the brave, brave girl to witness the world around her.

She lay in a comfy, white bed, within what looked to be a pristine hospital room. Slim monitors beeped to her left, while a window leading to a world of night occupied her right. Warmth enveloped her body from head to toe, courtesy of the blanket that embraced her. But her hand felt hotter than the rest, as if actual tender flames coasted across her fingers.

"Onto the next question!" Following, a round of applause.

That volume. That type of sound.

A television.

She carefully tilted her head up to see the old-school, black box hanging in the upper corner of the room, displaying what appeared to be some sort of game show.

However, her attention on that briskly dissolved as her gaze fell upon another—the source for the extra heat caressing her hand. Despite her blurry vision, the girl in the bed made up the make, the outline, of her visitor: slim figure, fair skin, and hair as orange as could be.

The girl in the bed, as silent as a mouse, reached towards the counter to her side to have her fingers meet the cool touch of her spectacles. She put them on, enhancing her vision tremendously, allowing her to see the TV just in time for the game show host to study his note card.

"All right, Evelyn," he said, "here is your next question: How many moons does the planet Venus possess?"

An instant click for the answer.

"None," Ellequin whispered. "As far as we know, anyway."

A tighter squeeze of the hand.

Calmly, the visitor swiveled her head, letting the bedridden girl admire those emerald eyes.

Ellequin gave a teethless smile.

"Hi, May," she said. "I—"

A hush, as the visitor lunged forward and held Ellequin close.

"You're awake," she said softly. "Thank goodness, you're finally awake." For the embrace, she poured in even more love. "I . . . I didn't think I'd ever see your eyes again."

Just then, as shock pooled in Ellequin's face, the door to the room opened, and in waltzed a slender young man in a lab coat.

"All right, May," he said, looking at his clipboard, "how do think she is tod—" But his words plummeted to an abyss, and his jaw hung as he saw the bedridden girl have full consciousness. "Miss Ellequin, you're awake." He smiled. "You're finally awake!"

May retreated a little from her beloved, wiping her runny nose with her sleeve.

Ellequin sat up.

"I'm Doctor Malvin," the man said.

"Hello," Ellequin said. "Doctor . . . Where am I?"

"The hospital."

"Hospital? Why? What happened?"

Both the doctor and May wore troubled expressions.

"You mean, you don't remember?" May asked.

"No," Ellequin answered, and for those first few moments, that response held true. But as time passed, the realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. The scenes, playing in her head like a rushed film, reminding her of every feeling that latched to her reality.

Slowly, she brushed her hand against her temple.

A bandage.

"You tried to commit suicide, Miss Ellequin," the doctor said. "A few days ago."

"Days?" Ellequin asked. "I've been asleep for that long?"

"Yes. Somehow, you fired the weapon at an angle, and by the grace of God, the bullet did nothing more than leave a deep scrape on your skull."

I . . . I missed? Ellequin wondered. How did I . . . ?

Piece by piece, the puzzle completed itself, until the answer presented itself to the confused girl.

A door suddenly opening.

A startled reaction.

Right . . . I flinched.

Ellequin rubbed her wound once more.

"We patched you up as best we could," Doctor Malvin said. "Replaced the missing bone with some metallic weaving, in order to keep the brain as well-protected as possible. I'd say you're good to go from this room after a couple of days."

"Thank you, Doctor." Ellequin set her sights back on May, who couldn't stop wiping her eyes.

An awkward quiescence.

"I'll, um, I'll let you two talk in private," Doctor Malvin said, backtracking to the exit. "I'll let your father know you've finally come to, Ellequin."

"Thank you," she said.

With a final nod, the doctor fled the scene, transporting the two girls to their own personal bubble.

For a time, not a single syllable dribbled into the air.

Not until Ellequin hung her head in shame.

"I'm sorry, May," she said.

"That's right," May responded. "You should be sorry."

"I—"

Another embrace, with just as much love as before, if not more.

"How dare you try to give up on yourself?" May asked. "You don't deserve that kind of end."

Ellequin, before long, began crying herself. "I . . . I'm just no good. I can't write. I'm not good at school. I can't even talk in front of people. There's nothing I can do. I'm worthless. There's no reason for me to even be alive."

May swallowed this claim in all its false truth, then leaned back so that their faces were only inches apart.

"Ellequin," she said, "you know I love you, right? I love you more than anything. But do you know why?"

The broken girl kept her lips sealed.

"I love you because you're kind," May listed off. "I love you because you genuinely care about other people, even those you barely know. I love you because you always try your best. I love you because you can always make the worst of situations seem like a breeze. You inspire me to be the best I can be.

"It doesn't matter if you can't write. It doesn't matter if you're no good at school. Because at the end of the day, what defines you"—she pointed to Ellequin's chest, where the almighty lion's heart already lived—"is this. Ellequin Starlet, you're an amazing human being, brighter than any of us could ever hope to be. Sweetie, you have to understand: you were not born to live up to anyone's expectations. You were not born to make anyone proud except yourself. Do you understand that?"

As she sobbed her soul out, as her pieces finally stuck back together, the brave, brave girl nodded.

"I am me," May said. "And you are you. Our skills do not define us. We're both only human, and I think we're both doing a great job at being just that."

Another nod.

Another hug.

"Besides," May said, "even if you are bad at something, it doesn't mean you can't get better at it. I know you get what I mean. If you didn't, you wouldn't have entered the story contest six times in a row. You just have to remember that any change has to be because you want it. It has to be you who you want to make proud."

Once more, they separated, their eyes peering into the depths of their souls.

"Don't give up," May said. "I know you can do great things, my love."

Gently, she kissed Ellequin's forehead.

"I'll believe that till the day I die."

Several days later . . .

Backpack, check!

Homework in backpack, check!

She studied herself in the mirror one more time.

Natural bed hair, check!

Then, a smile, albeit a tiny one.

Confidence, half-check!

Ready to head to the jungle of wolf packs and misfits, Ellequin departed from her bedroom and made her way to the front door of the house. Before she left, however, she made a quick pit stop at the kitchen, helping herself to a handful of honey buns. While there, she made sure to make no eye contact with the beefy man in the police uniform, who sat peacefully while enjoying a nice cup of coffee and a newspaper.

She made her way to the front door.

"Ellequin."

From behind, that voice that knew only of sternness.

The girl turned around cautiously and responded, "Y-Yes, Father?"

To her relief, however, no wrath erupted in the household; only clumsiness in the form of verbal language.

"Um," Ellequin's father tried. "Just . . . Just try your best today, okay? I know you can do it."

She nodded, somewhat confused by the lack of rage.

"Have a good day," her father said.

She nodded again, then melted away from the scene, delivering herself to the outside world, where the sun smiled her way.

On her porch, Ellequin spotted the girl of orange hair standing near her lawn.

"My girl Ellequin!" May cheered.

Ellequin waved, then approached her dearest. And when the two could, they interlaced their fingers.

"Let's get to it," May suggested.

"Mm," Ellequin hummed.

Together, the two commenced their journey.

"And it is with this that the Pendulum Theory came to fruition," the aged teacher said.

She presented herself before the sea of students, whose actions ranged from serious note-taking to serious napping. Among the squad of the former, Ellequin's pen scratched her paper like crazy. From a glance, one could've sworn she'd written part of a novel.

Eventually, the elderly woman asked the question, the string of words that always managed to make Ellequin's heart drop to the floor:

"What are your questions?"

No one made any movements, all willing to cage up their confusion.

But Ellequin took the first step, despite how shaky her bones became, despite how hastily her heart raced. She decided that the status quo was meant to be shattered, not maintained, and after taking a deep breath, she did the unthinkable: she raised her hand.

At the sight, the teacher's eyes went as wide as quarters.

"E-Ellequin?" she asked. "You have a question?"

All eyes darted to the girl, causing her cheeks to burn up. But she marched forward, insisting that her lion's heart was no fake.

"Y-Yes," she said. "I just don't understand how it all goes together. Would you mind explaining that part one more time?"

"A-Absolutely!" Excitement coursed through the guidance of the next generation. "It would be my pleasure!"

Ellequin smiled. This time, I'm getting a B.

Two years later . . .

"And we are just minutes away, ladies and gentlemen, from announcing our winner of the 2020 Spring Story Contest."

Fingers tapping against the wood, as steady as a sculpture's. Eyes, violet like a universe in full bloom, narrowed with concentration, staring strongly at the computer screen before her.

She dwelled in the walls of the library, surrounding herself with sounds and smells all too familiar.

"I think our top five this year were amazing!" one of the men on the screen said. "All definite winner material!"

"Without a doubt!" the other acknowledged. "To whoever doesn't make it out of this one, I only hope that they don't give up, because each writer here shows a tremendous amount of talent!"

Heart beating at a regular pace, clear of all forms of panic.

One of the men set his finger on his earpiece.

"Oh, is that so?" he asked. Then, to the audience, "This just in, folks, the results are in!"

She held her breath.

"And the winner of this year's Spring Story Contest is . . . Mister James Wyvin!" On the screen, the image of a teenage boy appeared. "Congratulations, James, on your piece, Souls of the Innocent. A real masterpiece, that one was."

Yet again, a name unfamiliar, along with a face she could never recognize.

However, this time, there were no tears; no fractured souls; no doubt as to how this path would end.

Instead, the brave, brave girl only smiled and clenched her fist.

I'll get 'em next time.

Just you wait.

[storiesof2018]

{Partners in the Storm}

Completed: July 12th 2020

An infectious mantra of the vindictive scourge of New Asgard had calamitously seized him into gluttonous-possessive dregs of Vanaheim conjury; the prevalent valiance—the invincible—thunderous fusion of his warrior—Asier spirit became exceedingly cleaved apart in rapid succession of a hoggish thrall; a nauseous stench raunchily enwreathed over discarded packets of super-size-emptied Cheetos, pizza boxes and KFC buckets of grease-fried drumsticks as implosive hunger accelerated in a heart-wrenching tenfold.

It was a vacuous slop-heap worthy of gourmand Asgardian hog, bowls of iced Coors beer scuzzily adorned over the stone mantle of his crackling hearth; the murkier ambiance reekingly contrasted his unabated torrents of heart-arresting depression within the Nordic environs of Tønsberg���a Misgardian fjord anchorage of western coastline fishing.

Drunkenly Thor had painfully deafened out the apparitional—grievous volumes of his unendurable-plaguing- failure that was staked down the battle-razed Wakandian grasslands as the prophetic harvesting of mortal souls devastatingly scythed the cosmic branches of Yggdrasill with the Nidavellir forged Infinity Gaunlet.

The barbaric general of the Black Order--slayer of Xandar-Proxima Midnight denizen commanded monstrous symbiote ranks of Outriders who berserkly claw through kinetic barriers that were sonically pulsing out of Mount Bashenga-a hellish diversion of mobilized carnage. When Thor arrived with his cybernetically-altered friend Sweet Rabbit and animoprhic Tree by the dimensional-prismatic salvos of Bi-Frost, he had driven his reckoning of merciless vengeance on the slaughterous planet-massacring titian who cataclysmically purged out the refuge cruiser vessels of his Asgardian people-his family. He craved the rancid blood Thano's grotesque head to victoriously drip over his battle-ax Stormbreaker...The blindness of his banked grief careened the ferocity his murderous precision-he missed.

He was on the hairbreadth of a knife-edge of victory-the empyreal vitality of his beloved father-Odin- viscerally pulsed infinite reckoning. In that gracing -controlled fusion, he ferally propelled Stormbreaker into the carnage-reaping dreadnoughts' armored chest with the rampageous momentum of unwarrantable heartache that he stowed for the stout-hearted sentinel of All-fathers Heimdall and his prankish-weasely- brother Loki; only to hear defeat suffocatingly paralyze him in those fissionable—detonative seconds of a titanic-incendiary unity of the Soul Stone. In that earth-breaking snap of his purplish hulking fingers, Thanos had devastatingly conducted his apocalyptic-genocidal holocaust of eradicating humanity into astral remnants of ashy mulch to herald a paradisal rebirth.

' Y-You should've gone for the head...'

After those unprecedented five years of detachedly wallowing in his unstinted grief, Thor was pursuingly beckoned to fight with the Avengers, using the subatomic paradoxes of quantum dimension to engage a Kronos heist-a downsized flashpoint race of seizing all the Infinity Stones with salvaged Pym Particles—a suicidal mission to bridge an unvanquished reality—hope. Everyone who 'blipped' out of existence was resurrected out the celestial dawn of the Soul Realm. The high detriment of their callback victory was unforgivingly staked with an insurmountable price of losing his dearest friends: Tony Stark and the fiery Natasha Romanoff.

Returning to his earthen throne of New Asgard, Thor was severed from his rebellious-brawly- joviality; he chasmically surrendered to the grievous-pathetic reality of being an obese shut-in, listlessly reveling on imported kegs of Scottish ale and Netflix streaming collections of the Hobbit trilogy and Dreamwork animated films- he was hopelessly reaching the breaking point of chubbily being a languorous-indignant hog: ogre.

He was being piggishly induced with a distractive horde of his fattening snacks when the exquisite- viperous maiden of Nordic witchery- Amora; who played a deceptive charade against him, nefariously using Jane's fair maidenly visage to enticingly breach his desolated solace with her sirenical-vengeful tactics of punishingly fouling him into a lovesick thrall, maniacally conceiving a quenchless entity of gorging-bestial impulse that suffused his veins—ushering hunger mania to ignite a revamped onrush of beefier pudginess over his muscled Asier flesh.

Roaringly, in tactless precision, with his grungy blonde tresses shaggily weaved into leonine dreadlocks, grouchily, Thor dug the chubbier flesh of his hand through a bag of Doritos as his bulbously fattish mass was saggily braced against frayed cushions of his sectional couch, his isolated hovel became a domain of junk-food indulgence and Playstation4 video games with the rivalrous basement gamemaster- Noobmaster.

At the moment Thor was engagingly viewing his favorite Midgardian cartoon of a humorous portrayal of Vikings-How to Train Your Dragon-he cherished the scenes with obsidian scaled bat-winged dragon: Toothless. A magnificent beast of skydiving ferocity that was spawned out from Muspelheim, who explosively blasted out electrified salvos of voltaic firebolts. "By Odin, now that's my kind of dragon..." he slurred in bearish pitch, huffishly easing up a brewskie can, as broken-off cheezies disgustingly jutted out the grizzly swatch of his mussed-thickening beard."Friend Barnes, come watch this very cool drake unleash my power..."

Bucky sat at the edge of the kitchen island as he stared at the series of text messages Steve and Selina had sent to him. 'Please don't let Thor out of your sight, Buck.' 'Don't get stir crazy, handsome. I'll keep in touch.' The brunette released an audible sigh as he ran a hand through his thick dark tresses, wondering how he got roped into playing babysitter to a depressed thunder god with an eating-disorder inside this bedraggled house. He should be out there in the field, helping Steve and Selina chase down this evil witch that had been causing the Avengers trouble the past few months. But since Steve had more experience with this Enchantress, he had to take point, and he also needed backup-enter Selina, who under no circumstances had the patience to play babysitter to Thor's antics.

So that left Bucky to look after Lebowski as the Avengers had come to joke about Thor. Bucky thought he looked more like an out-of-shape Mufasa who spent too much time playing video-games. Hearing Thor call him, Bucky sighed as he pocketed his phone, feeling his stomach grumble with hunger. "Yeah, I'm comin'." He made his way into the living room, kicking a few empty bottles of alcohol before finding a seat near to the snack-table. "You're the King of Asgard, Thor. Doesn't that afford you some kind of butler?" Bucky asked pointedly as he dusted crumbs off the sofa before sitting down.

Nonchalantly easing back against a cushion, with sluggish intent, against a deep-throated belch; Thor clumsily reached out his sheathed-cloth hand towards a bowl of chilled beer on a cluttered table as he registered Bucky's derisive pitch scathingly fringed in his gravelly Brooklyn drawl, his electric-cerulean irises fleetingly glanced at the charcoal-gray vibranium of Bucky's cybernetic arm, Wakandian gold skeins mechanically embellished the bionic plating, that readily poised into tensing fist, dragging a warred grip over his denim-clad knee.

The sniper Avenger-White Wolf- had returned from his latest recon stint with military-honed Sam Wilson, with the 'greenlight' order of CIA Agent Everette Ross, fully-decked with a tactical arsenal, they destabilized the underground installations of rogue HYDRA and traitorous Jarbai guerrilla alliances with the seamier -notorious EKO Scorpion commander of Sokovian Armed Forces- Zemo within the graffiti borders of a dystopian crime den: Madripoor.

The governmental sterilization of the World Council had marked the Avengers as verminous deviants-'loose cannon' fugitives to the Accords. The valorous mantle of freedom-home-grounded idealism was more than a cheat-face sham worn on a recruited patriotic soldier named John Walker-U.S. Agent.

Grumbling under breath in a hearty timbre, muzzily, Thor yanked on the metallic ring of his clutched beer can, thirstily relishing the fizzed noise as his heavy-lidded gaze dazedly fixed on the athletic solidity of tauter ridges of heavy-corded muscle that athletically delineated underneath Bucky's tactical slim-fit bomber jacket. Every fluid shift of bulkier -enhanced resilience was predatorily edged with a flex of bestial readiness- intimidation. James Barnes was an invincible-legendary warrior that hailed from Brooklyn; who had been mercilessly stripped by HYDRA demons from his soldiery valor."I-I don't need a Midgardian servent called...ugh- a but-butler..." He admonished, belchingly." My stout friend Volstagg kept these massive Dwarfish hogs to clean such grand messes..."

If he had seen a pot-bellied hog wobble its way into the living room, Bucky wouldn't have been the least bit surprised. Thor was a pitch-perfect example of a modern-day Viking living in a lazy squalor. Not that he would say that to him of course. He thought the world of Thor who had been an invaluable ally and friend to the Avengers. He respected him and thought he was a fun guy to hang around with, but his state of living over the past few years made Bucky feel as if some form of intervention was necessary if someone were only physically up to the task of taking on a grumpy/grieving thunder god.

"Did he also eat three boxes of extra cheese with jalapenos and a whole quart of Coors?" Bucky remarked in a state of bewilderment as he fished through the empty pizza boxes for any leftovers. There was an entire keg of beer beside the couch that made Bucky wonder if Thor simply chugged the entire thing due to the lack of cups surrounding him. His stomach groaned again just as Thor barked with laughter as he watched his movie.

Attuned to his impassive-standoffish bunkmate's amplified barrages of rigged hunger, smirkily, emitting a full-bellied chuckle, haphazardly the Asgardian shifted the protrusive-tubbier flabbiness of his blubbery girth in lumpish succession. "Hold on, friend Barnes, I'll get you a box..." he snorted, woozily, grabbing an unopened box of S'mores pop tarts with a rampant stretch of his fleshier arm. Stacked on a threadbare ottoman was an excessive horde of imported pop-tarts in flavorous variety that was evident to his draconic gorging.

Broodingly to his vexatious chagrin that wouldn't detract his menace-honed poise, Bucky drove the razored steeliness of his grayish-aquamarine irises down at the generous box appetizingly landing on his tauten-cords of athletic sculpt of his thigh. Clenching the stubbled heaviness of his dimpled jaw, graven ruggedness of his boyish features cuttingly delineated underneath unkempt wolfish chestnut tresses shaggily ghosted over his furrowed brow that raptly tensed into a dumbfounded pinch as he consciously flexed his bionic hand in reluctant tenor over the boxed pop-tarts. "Here...Have a go with these boxed delights first..." Thor demandingly grunted, in huffier pitch. "I have many revels to share..."

Bucky stared at the box of proffered treats with hesitation. He prided himself on maintaining a good fit regimen. True he had the super-soldier serum in his blood that helped him to burn calories faster than a normal human could, but he still felt as if he could be picking up a bad habit if he were to start now. But as he looked at the jovial look on Thor's face, Bucky knew it would be rude to refuse this nice gesture from him. Besides he could also do 50 push-ups to burn whatever calories he consumed. "Of that, I have no doubt. But thanks." Bucky took the box of S'mores pop tarts and popped open the box, settling in further into his seat to watch the movie.

"Didn't take you for an animation guy. Did Jane show you these movies?" Bucky hoped he wasn't touching a sore subject with the thunderer as he felt generally curious to know how taught Thor much about modern pop-culture and entertainment.

An errant blear of stowed anguish mistily gleamed in Thor's stormier cobalt irises as he crestfallenly hefted up a beer can-liquid anesthetic to desperately deaden out a concussive pulse of soul-consuming heartache; after the reddish tentacles of vaporous Aether-the Reality Stone- had possessively effused in Jane's veins during the galactic convergence of Yggdrasill's transcendental-wormhole gateways of the Nine Realms, he became detached from his Jane's quirky-gorgeous presence, her pixieish smile that dazzlingly grew alight when he stared into her brownish-amber irises, stoking up girlish curiosity -incarnate virginal grace of true Asgardian maiden.

He desired to return to her-to fully surrender his warrior's heart -to foster the inventive name of Donald Blake and ignite a new reality on mortal ground. Sniffily, Thor did his utmost to choke back a throat sob, feigning indignance he gulped down a breathless swig, crushingly denting the emptied can with flexion of his reined strength. "I rather you do not mention her name..." he urged out, bluntly."We had a mutual dumbing when the mechanical demon Ultron was sired by Stark ..."

Too many regrets led the way to self-destructive instincts, Bucky knew. Thor's grief stemmed not just from the loss of friends and family, but also from broken relationships that he probably, until now, didn't fully appreciate. Or probably couldn't. No one ever said the life of a thunder god/Avenger was an easy one that offered spare time for dating. He knew it wasn't his place to question Thor and bringing up Jane would be a sore spot, but he also knew that Thor's unresolved issues were what made him an easy target for this Enchantress that was gunning for him. "Some things happen for a reason, Thor. I won't bring her up if that's what you want, but I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't tell you there are healthier ways to deal with this."

Bucky left it at that as he opened the box of pop-tarts and pulled out a wrapper. Thor maintained this glum look on his face as he reached for another can of beer. Bucky wasn't sure if he was reflecting on what he just told him or if the Asgardian was simply too absorbed in his own perpetual grief that he was just blocking out everything that turned into noise. Bucky bit into the pop-tart with a small bite; tentative and testing. His tongue immediately watered and his taste buds burst with unimagined flavor. "Hey these are pretty good," he said, taking a much larger bite this time, and then another.

Unbeknownst that an inchanted- rhapsodical-tenor of the Dwarven curse was chimerically suffusive through his veins in the burgeoning divergence of chastened throes that grappled him into a stuporous vigil; Bucky noncommittally chewed on a chocolatey piece with a blatant quirk tugging at his shapely-wide lips, the sugared gooeyness of marshmallow had stickily clung over his cleft-dimpled chin as he aggressively tore open a fresh packet.

Against the porcine deviance of his burgeoning thrall, gruntingly, akin to a debauched hog, Bucky wolfed down the entire box stuffily in one hand-full. "Relish in these delights, my friend," Thor chuckled jocundly, as he gazed at emptied wrappers clinging messily to Bucky's denim-clad thighs. "More rounds to come..."

Bucky was too absorbed in the rich chocolatey taste that had assaulted his taste-buds to give Thor's words another thought. These pop-tarts tasted too good. How did dessert snacks come so far? Was there another box around here? What else had he been missing out on? He had to buy more. More! More! A trickle of drool escaped his opened mouth as he chewed and he let it trickle down his stubbled chin unimpeded. His blue eyes were fogged by a cloud of gluttonous hunger that had been awakened with a single bite. "Roouuu aaahht ooorre?!" He asked through a mouthful of sugary delight. His lips were caked with melted frosting and crumbs had trickled into his neatly trimmed beard.

To his utter dismay, the box of pop-tarts was empty and his feet were carrying him towards the snack table in search of something equally delicious to consume. "C'mon, Thor. Where's your secret godly stash?" Bucky said absently after swallowing down the entire mouthful he had stuffed into his mouth.

A rampageous fervency of hoggish abandon-mania- had effusively clashed over Bucky's warred restraint with no avail; stomping his tactical boots with sniper-honed precision menacingly fringed with headlong momentum, clunkily he sashayed paces, advancing back into the pig-sty of a kitchen.

Grunting against -throaty drags of heavier breath, he poised his bionic hand with mechanized readiness to blindingly swipe off an untouched pepperoni and cheese Bronx-style pizza that he recalled Steve leaving on the obstructive countertop. "Friend Barnes, do not touch what has already been claimed..." Thor belted out, thunderously, detecting a portentous revelation being serpentinely conducted by Amora's soul-damning spell cast veined within his infective stash as Bucky with a telltale play of boyish cockiness, toothily quirked up his shapely-bow lips into a rascally smirk. "You are not acting like yourself..."

It was like his nose had taken on a life of its own as it carried Bucky into the kitchen where he furiously searched for something sweet to engulf in his taste buds. His thick dark tresses were a disheveled curtain of strands across his temple that he paid no mind, too consumed with the intoxicating allure of a mouth-watering pastry he could smell inside of the fridge. His metallic hand yanked open the door and his blue eyes were wide and hypnotized by the sight of a strawberry cake with whipped cream pasted on its edge. The white static in his ears deafened Thor's booming protest from the living room when he pulled the cake out from the fridge and unceremoniously planted his mouth into its sweet expanse.

"Mmhhmhm!" He released an uncharacteristic sound that was too animalistic for a human to make as he indulged his rapidly increasing appetite with large messy bites that left clumps of pastry spilling onto his chest. Unbeknownst to Bucky, something primal and sinister had taken control of him. His human mind howled with anguish at the back of his thoughts, telling himself to stop. He could feel someone grabbing him, wrestling the plate of cake away from his grip which triggered an onset of visceral aggression. "Graaahh!" Bucky snarled throwing his weight against the blonde doofus in front of him who held his sugary treat.

The two heavyweights collided like titanic forces, stumbling across the kitchen in grappling holds in an explosive mess that sent plates, tables and dishes spilling across the floor as if struck by a tidal wave. Bucky grunted and heaved with delirious eyes as he pulled on Thor's hair, trying desperately to grab the plate. Thor's teeth clamped onto Bucky's hand, only to howl in pain when he realized he bit the wrong appendage that was too metallic for his liking.

"Argh...!" Thor yelled out boomingly, as his gums numbingly pinched with throbbing strain against the cold vibranium scraping against his incisors, a crescendoing rush of eruptive fierceness, vertiginously emitted a guttural roar, he bodily gut-rammed Bucky with unstoppable linebacker tackle, hulkingly fueling a bull-rush into the granite island. Gnashing his teeth against panty breaths, snarlingly, thrust his cybernetic arm, Bucky delivered a vicious haymaker of breathless-mechanized ferocity that robotically scythed the deadlier precision of a straight-arm chokehold over the bulging swatch Thor's beardy throat on immobilizing accord.

"Y-You're distracting me from that lightning dragon ..." Feverishly with aggressive-seething- reaction, Thor bashed his head bruisingly against Bucky's forehead with skull-breaking- 'knockout' momentum, as he alarmingly registered a heavier—globby tubbiness ballooningly sheathed over bracketed ridges of taut-edged muscles swelling increasingly underneath Bucky's leather jacket in bulbous tenor: he was fattening up.

The cake he had been attempting to retrieve had long since slipped off from its platter, staining the floor in thick discarded clumps. A normal human would've lamented the waste of such a tasty treat now soil by germs and bacteria upon the floor, but Bucky's mind was too engrossed by, too consumed by gluttony that he felt no care as he lunged for the floor, wobbling on all fours to claim his prize. But something felt wrong. The cold hard slap of reality struck him with a jolt of agony lancing up his back. A strangled gasp escaped him and he fell haphazardly onto his side. "T-Thor…" he groaned, barely able to see the blonde through his blurry vision. His subconscious collapsed from exhaustion and his waking thoughts crept over, making him realize what was happening. The overwhelming aches in his body, the suffocating scent of sugar, and the sight of thick patches of dark fur sprouting from his skin.

"T-Thor, what's happenin-NGGHH GAAAH!" Pain had become a malevolent entity that attacked him from head-to-toe in an onslaught so sudden, he couldn't control the spasming of his body. His voice transitioned into a deep guttural squeal that shook the walls of the kitchen, the sound of clothes tearing was an unending chorus that joined.

A bilious-mordant reek of hoggish sweat had vomitously wafted off his sweat-glazed flesh that meltingly sloughed into doughier pudge flabbily over rubberized muscle; arching his back in convulsive torque of a jackknifing momentum, corded-litheness of his muscled thighs rampantly bridged against chunkier-horrified traction as bone-cleaving onslaughts gruelingly atrophied him into dregs of morphic submission. "Urgh...What the hell..."

Raggedly, Bucky choked out quivery—oinking breaths in heaving staccatos as his leather bomber jacket tatteredly shredded over the globby pudginess of his outstretched mid-drift as tauter washboard ridges that were hunkily bracketed with graven- cut thews of his gladiator-defined muscles bloatedly fused into a protrusive rotundity that globosely swelled into a bulging girth. Rigid veins that cuttingly threaded his muscled arm dissolved under skeins of chestnut fur."Hr-Argh..." he gutturally railed out in distressed pitch, as the jutted extension of his tusk-like incisors grislily pierced his deforming underlip that hung agape with a bloodied stretch as dragging heaves of throat-belching oinks became thrashingly coupled with voiceless havoc.

Blearily against a fevered rush, Bucky grimacingly eased his cake-smeared hand off the floor, as unkempt wolfish tresses grungily webbed askew over hawkish-edged contours of his pudgier stubble jaw, the feverous heat of his deadened grayish-aquamarines irises blanked owlishly wide as he mortifyingly gazed at the smooth-virile- length of his fingers bone-splittingly dwarfed into varicose—furrier blobs of mutative flesh, puffily swelling in bubbled unison over cleaved bone—pig hooves.

Bracing deformed servos of his cybernetic arm over the blubbery chubbiness of his ballooned-out stomach, against white-hot upheavals of stark panic, jerkily Bucky reared his enlarging head back against vertiginous—dredged agony, wrenchingly pinching his eyelids shut as the masculine sculpt of his taut nose inflatingly elongated in a fleshier—wedged-like length of a hideous porcine snout: he was riding on the divested fringe of sorcerous—hoggish infancy. "Der'mo..." he grunted with coupled seethes of Russian cadence, thrashing on his back frantically against the bone-cripplingly pressure that immobilized his rivaled momentum against hammering-punches of contractive throbs racking blobbily over the swollen expanse of his furred girth as he vented out a full-throated snort, distressingly. "Arghh..."

His mass had both expanded and shrunk into a ball of pudgy fur upon the kitchen floor. The world grew bigger as he grew smaller, unmade from the inside out as he became entangled in a mess of torn clothes and discarded food. Bucky couldn't hear his own voice anymore despite his urging cries to Thor for help. His face ached as if his nose had been pulled out from his skull. A piggish squeal ripped from his new snout that protruded from his head. His beady blue eyes were floored with panic as his thumping hands turned into hooves. The blonde Avenger could only look on in muted shock as one of his newest friends was subjected to the cruel sorcery of the Vanaheim witch who had cursed him. Bucky Barnes was no more-all that remained in front of him was a disgruntled and distressed Dwarven Hog.

"THOR! What happened to me?!" Bucky cried out as he began to run in circles.

The beastlier resonance of the enchanted sniper hog's snorting utterance ragingly caromed through his odorous shack; harnessing the massive burliness of his Asgardian strength that countered with a breakneck rush of Bucky's stoked adrenaline, reactively Thor hefted up a cleared-off platter bracing it smudgily over his paunchy chest as Bucky's protruding tusks were dauntingly angled to lance into the Asgardian's exposed flesh.

Grunting out a long-drawn breath of grogginess, in defensive cadence, the grayish-chestnut furred Dwarvish boar ferally poised his bugly head, the stormier heat of his razored-sapphire irises piercingly slit as he readily grounded his fatter mass to deliver battle-ramming force into fleshiness of Thor's muscled calf. Huffing out a vehement snort, Bucky draggingly waddled his languorous paces on stubbed hooves."I see it's this has become a good challenge for us, friend Barnes..." Thor chuckled, in gregarious cadence, towing an unopened bag of spicy Cheetos a breadth from the chubbily rotund Brooklyn hog's fore-hoof that welded with silvery flecks of defective vibrainum-alloy. "I do relish a challenge that I easily can win..."

The insurmountable weight of his predicament was a load Bucky desperately wanted to discard. Questions of how and why ran through his mind in a ceaseless loop until he remembered what Thor was enduring because of that evil witch. She didn't just curse Thor, she tainted all the food that he touched. Bucky released a deep and abysmal wail that was a myriad of rage and remorse. He shouldn't have eaten that pop-tart. He knew that if he compromised his regime that he would regret but now he was feeling it in spades. "No. No. NO. NO!" He squealed, battle-charging towards the fat Asgardian King and ramming his tusks into the platter he thought he could use to shield him.

"Damn it, Thor! You knew this would happen!" This knowledge inspired only feelings of anger and frustration towards the big blonde doofus in front of him that tempted him to eat those snacks, and made him become this fat disgusting hog.

Brandishing his vestigial ferocity against the unyielding hog's bludgeoning momentum that ferociously equaled a bilgesnipe-a monstrous reptilian triceratops-like beast with curved antlers. With a quirk smug nonchalance tugged at his bristled lips, unflinchingly Thor clutched onto the shaggier thatch of chestnut bushily adorning over Bucky's humped back, in that apparent moment of stilted trust, he stoppingly reined down the ensorcelled boar's aggressive, nasally snorts that lividly gusted over his flabbier hand with a painstaking flex of his controlled strength.

"The Enchantress...Is just the worst for traitorous conjury on Midgardians..."Thor grumped under breath, sorrily."She was in the great company of my mother until the witchy maiden practiced the forbidden sorcery of Nidavellir turning Einherjar soldiers who defended Asgard into..." He feigned a terse grimace, as Bucky scathingly glared at him with knifing intensity. "Stout-bellied... urgh..hogs like you, friend Barnes..."

Seconds passed as Bucky found himself unable to wrestle his way out of Thor's godly strength that hadn't diminished a bit despite his weight-gain. Bucky's turmoil was like a burning fire that slowly began to dim until his rage was replaced by fatigue. It felt as if he had been running a marathon and was only now coming to a breathless stop. His stamina felt drained and he wanted to do nothing more but to lay down and sleep. Why? Why did he feel this sudden urge to just lay down and do nothing? Why did his stomach groan as if he hadn't eaten a thing? Bucky groaned as he digested Thor's words and their implications.

"Story of my life…Always being someone's weapon." He grumbled. He was only ever used as such. By his own country, KGB, Hydra and now some Asgardian witch who had a bone to pick with Thor and the Avengers. When Thor realized that he was calm enough, the Asgardian released him and Bucky fell onto his backside, gloomy and exhausted. "This isn't what I signed up for," he groaned as he looked down at his hooves, stained with strawberry frosting. "There's gotta be a way out of this Thor?"

The deep-timbered huskiness of Bucky's murmurous drawl agonizingly conveyed soul-gripping rawness of underlying disgust, angling his pudgy furred snout against a ghoulish—sulfuric miasma of carrion reek eerily sailing over them. With his ears floppily drooped over his fuzzier cheeks, the sniper-hog jumpily reeled back on his stubby-cloven hooves, vigilantly detecting a proximal-tenebrous breach of a celestial pulse encroaching vaporously around them.

Stuntedly in an intrusive wake, Bucky tensed against phantom throbs racked bristlingly over his muckier, bedraggled fur as vitreous Nordic sigils of crimson-telestic - aster fierily branded wooden floorboards in demonic fruition of incanted acerous stalactites- a paralytic mantra of Amora's execrable noxious witchery had barraged around them.

'Forbli i kongens skalor ...(Remain in your king's squalor...)'

"W-What the hell is that..." Bucky grunted starchily in dumbfounded pitch, flashing his silvery-aquamarine irises with rapt confusion at the nacreous-runic glyphs consumingly veined the over floor, incinerating emptied pop-tart boxes. "That can't be good..." He scrunched up the overlapping pudge of his jowelly snout, against gruffer quip of breathy snarkiness, downcastly. "Hell, what's next M' gonna pop out some wings like a Valkyrie horse..."

The urge to sate his growing appetite had been an overwhelming constant for Thor the past number of days. Amora's enchantment against him was more than just an act of petty vengeance for spurning her in the past; it was also a surgical strike against the hierarchy of New Asgard. Brunhillde had gone off-world to seek out Sif and her other sisters among the stars, leaving Thor in charge-and vulnerable. Thor would've been content to endure this familiar punishment to amuse himself.

But as he watched Barnes suffer the under the same spell, being turned to a disgruntled hog before his eyes, Thor ignored the hunger cravings and listened to the unmistakable roars of unwelcome guests coming to his home. "You may need them, James. For I fear this is a threat that cannot be simply outrun." Thor mused. At that moment, the front doors in the foyer were struck viciously by an oppressive weight outside causing a visible dent to be seen from inside. Twin vicious growls breached the silence, sending chills of anticipation down the spines of both Thor and Bucky.

Tilting the pudgier heftiness of his furred snout with repugnant ease, arrestingly Bucky sniffed a whiff of miasmatic reek smellily ghosting underneath the shack's wooden door against earthshaking vibrations monstrously ricocheting feral momentum from their unwanted-destructive-company. "Great..." he seethed out a throated grunt, ploddingly shifting on his stubbed hooves with clunky traction, as his floppy ears twitched up, Bucky registered a snarling cadence of bloodthirsty rabidness; they were unquestioningly being hunted.

Clamorously in demonic mania, the door hinges bent against the undeterred barreling force that propelled outside in stomach-curling tempo, as the periphery of Bucky's sniper-vision heatedly caught a glimpse of two massively-ghostlier Asgardian wolves-hog reapers- gouging their jutted incisor fangs tearingly into splintered wooden planks in vicious succession. Every vicious rush of their predatory-wolven- agility was raptorially sired to abandon visages of mercy in their kill-zone. "Well, M guessin' the big bad wolf is huffin' at your door, Thor..." Bucky quipped, stuffily, and fixed his aquamarine depths beadily on Nidavellir forged battle-ax-Stormbreaker propped against hearthstone. "Now might be a good time to use your...uh... thunder ax?"

"Hmm? Oh yes." Thor realized, snapping from his initial daydream then lazily held his hand out. He appeared neither concerned about the wolves' moments away from breaking down his door, nor the telltale signs of animal fur that were also beginning to slowly sprout like watered grass, from his skin pores. It was a familiar itch-an irritation that he'd endured in his past-time, and he knew that Amora's curse would not spare him for much longer. "Now might also be a good time for you to practice your trotting, Friend James. I will give you the head-start while I teach these beasts some manners."

Bolstering the rotundity of his obese mass, against the instinctive - adrenalized tenor racking over his shaggier chestnut fur; underneath of denim that sheathed over his flabbier backside, warding off suffusive disgust, Bucky pinched his eyelids shut as the wiggly burst of a corkscrew tail uglily twitching out—he was fully an oinking blubbered-ball. "Damnit ..." he grunted in vexatious breaths, throatily, stomping a fore-hoof in evident disgust, as he glowered at the beckoning flex of Thor's outstretched hand blurringly thrust up to clutch the hailing ax- Stormbreaker. "M' not leavin'..." A railing snort vented out of him; he wouldn't become a defective-balloon-ass tub of hoggish flab. Pivoting on his stubbed hooves with heavier footing, clumsily he torqued back the sagginess of his protrusive underbelly, aggressively jutting his snout up. "Give me somethin' to hit..."

The moment he said those words, Bucky wished he could take them back. The door to the front of the apartment suddenly came crashing down in a roaring explosion of wooden splinters. Two gargantuan shapes lunged through at the same time, breaking apart the door-frame as their colossal weight crumbled the structure like paper. Beastial roars shook the interior, causing the glass cups to shatter and the dwarven pig to squeal in shock. These weren't wolves. They were enormous hellbeasts that looked like they crawled from the pits of hell. Their dark charcoal fur made them look pitch as shadows. Their glowing red eyes were wide with malice, and their grueling chops dripped with hunger.

Thor released a war-cry as he swung the hammer-edge of his axe against the first beast to charge at him, smacking it through the kitchen wall in a shower of debris and crackles of electricity. "Graaaggh! Have at thee!" Thor kicked a chair, sending it skidding across the floor towards the second wolf who lunged up high to avoid the object, which left it wide open for Thor to swing the blade-edged of his axe towards its neck. Blood and viscera sprayed across the kitchen and the beast howled its death-wails. Thor snarled as he pried his weapon free from the dead-carcass, face stained with its blood.

"Down, James!" Thor cried out as the wolf he sent crashing through the wall, reemerged with its predatory gaze set on the hog close-by.

Suppressing a neasous onrush of unrelenting viciousness malignantly straddling him against the fridge's door; thrashingly in a defensive variance, Bucky gnashed his tusk against the immobilizing pressure of the draconic wolf's power-slamming-bulkier weight that crushingly forced him to emit a guttural squeal as he rampantly thumped his fore-hooves with side kidney punches only to feel the wolf's fanged incisors graze agonizing intent of a deadlier assault viscidly over the doughy globbiness of his blood-dampened back. "Grah..."

Fostering onto vestigial dregs of his enhanced resilience, snarlingly in combative tempo, Bucky launched his bulgy form with plow-driving steam, unerringly angling his tusks down, in wonky rapidity of a half-somersault, he punchily bowled underneath the Asgardian wolf's exposed girth, as he arced back onto his hooves, bodily jackknifing up his bestial opponent against a logged wall. "P-Pick on someone your own size..." he drawled out gratingly in heaving grunts, drilling his tusks slashingly deeper as he gut-hooked into the bloodstained muscle with gouging precision, not faltering in his blinded momentum. "M not done yet..."

The wolf thrashed and howled as the tusks dug into its abdomen and spewed its blood onto the floor and Bucky's back. Bleeding like a...stuck pig, courtesy of a pig. Thor ignored the irony of this as he marched forward. The beast had stopped moving as it went limp. Thor seized its head and snapped its neck just to be certain. He shoved the dead-weight off of Bucky's back and released a shudder of discomfort. It had been weeks since he exerted himself in this fashion, and while Thor would've ordinarily enjoyed the feeling of battle, the increase in adrenaline made the Enchantress' spell easier to race through his body like a poison.

Amora knew of his proclivities for battle and debauchery and made them into deadly ingredients to fuel his peril. He grimaced and fell back against the wall. His enormous gut hung from the bottom of his shirt. At one point he was a vain man who prided himself on his handsome looks to appease Asgards finest maidens. He no care for how far he drifted from the physical specimen he once was. But now he couldn't ignore the stabbing feeling of dread that entered his abdomen. "T-There will be more of them, James. We are no longer safe here," he groaned.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that..." Bucky grunted, huffily, narrowing the pudgy length of his snout as he strenuously attempted to drag his metallic fore-hoof over the smeared trek of bloodied drool. "Oh c'mon...Tamping down a guttural resonance of rubbery oinks, that was scathingly underlying his chagrined exhaustion, groggily he waddled against the drooping strain of his barrel-sized girth closer to the slump-faced Asgardian-Thunderer with apparent measures of enforced caution in his molasses-paced advances while Thor rumbled out a slobbish belch, unmovingly at his puckered snout. "Urgh..."

The jowelly folds of his porcine snout rapted with teeming disgust, as the lascivious potency of the viperish witch's demented-nidorous conjury became sordidly obstructive against boozy fumes enwreathing the chubbier fleshiness that blobbily sheathed over bohemian Thor's ogre-sized belly, furrier blondish swatch damningly fringed over his lubberly navel: soon they would soon mirror blimped-out hoggish visages. They needed to locate a rendezvous point within the forestial proximity to stealthily dodge another hunting party of a wolven blood-storm. "We gotta move fast..." Bucky urged, pressingly, flashing the glacial smokiness of his beadier irises unwaveringly at hiking backpack that he omitted on the kitchen's countertop."Use that to carry the stuff we need...Don't even think about packin' those damn pop-tarts..."

"I did not tell you to eat the entire box," Thor said, releasing a dry chuckle as he pulled himself up to stand straight on his feet. The world spun on its axis and the Asgardian groaned as his head throbbed with an intense migraine. The result of too much mead and no doubt his slow physical transformation into the rotund beast that Amora intended for him. "Besides given our present predicament, I doubt sugary snacks will agree with us." At that his stomach groaned an affirmative to which Thor held his sagging stomach with one hand and picked up the backpack with the other, stuffing it with various fruits and bottles of water that he had, until now, never thought to consume.

"For what its worth, Friend James, I am sorry you have to endure my peril alongside me." His apology must've surprised him as Bucky cocked his head and then shook it. They both started with anticipation once they heard another howl in the distance. Right it was time to go. "Come. I know somewhere we can go." Thor kicked open the backdoor and let the cool night air wash over both him and Bucky as they made their way out into the night of New Asgard. The town was mostly asleep, and Thor and Bucky had to wonder just how Steve and Selina were doing on their end.

'Whatever it takes...'

It was a symphonious anthem that had unitedly resonated on the obliterated grounds of the Avenger's Compound as mechanical-galactic leviathans thunderously haloed a doomsday reckoning over the collapsing edge of assembled mortality; fusion cannoned salvos barraged in rapid succession from monolith Accuser warships, harrowingly conducting a hurricanic pandemonium of ear-splitting-slaughterous carnage. Staggering exhaustingly on bulldozed slabs of cement and smoldering hulls of the dismantled QuinJets, like a bloodied sentinel-defender of enduring humanity, Steve had voluntarily challenged a tyrannosaurus-scale deathmatch with the behemothic Mad-Titian- or what Tony snarkily deemed him as- the cinematic planet-consuming villain of a 1980's animated series: Unicron.

Bracing the vibrainum shard of his broken shield over his bruised forearm, adamantly Steve harnessed every heart-surging fiber of his soldiery valor-determination as injurious bone-crushing assaults of monstrous power-dives chokingly robbed his breath. Nothing derailed his full-measured paces of chivalrous traction as Outrider hordes rabidly swarmed out grounded obelisk-like hive ships to macabrely gorge on his teammates-family.

With the hulk-sized gauntlet that was enhanced with the comic-fused ingots, the ragtag Avengers had one 'skin of teeth' chance to end Thano's prophetic soul-massacring apocalypse before humanity was atomically exterminated by the Infinity snap; with the sling-ring portals wheeling in astral unison that Steven Strange conducted with a play of illusionist deception: Bucky, Sam, T'challa, Shuri, Wanda, and Groot trudged out of the vacuous-celestial elysian of the Soul Realm, as they mightily assembled with salvaged echoes of valiance-as the odds were rigged against them. He owed his best girl-Tasha-one last dance.

Like stampeding quarterbacks the Avengers cleared the homefront battleground, as the proton galactic defender-Captain Carol Danvers propelled her supersonic momentum, torpedoing warship vessels into junker heaps. She was a starlight beacon of mortal invincibility-jet-fuel surged through her veins.

When Doctor Strange gestured his scar-marred finger commandingly to Tony, everything went into flatline numbness of white-noise as the hot-red armored gauntlet of Iron Man anguishedly thrust up with sacrificial ease-as he direly became a conductor of scything celestial-gamma energies of the Infinity Stones; purging Thanos into cindery remnants of phantom mulch that heralded their victorious daybreak; the immeasurable loss of his -friend-punishingly sledgehammered against Steve's torn heart: he couldn't shake it off.

After the lakeside gathering as mourning Pepper Potts embracingly hugged little Morgan on the dock, tearily gazing at the small raft adorned with petaled ivory roses that wreathed over the cherished keepsake arc-rector- the heart of Tony Stark-sailing away from their reach. Carrying out the bargaining promise that Banner made to the Ancient One in 2012, Steve had finished the time-heist mission, using the quantum tunnel dimensions as he navigated through subatomic bridges-wormholes of reserved time in a light-speed acceleration that imploded with Pym Particles; he was a delivery-boy.

As Steve reached the final dropoff point of Vormir's snowy dolmens, he engaged an unfathomed audience with a demonic chimera that was ghoulishly cloaked in vaporous tatters, hiding wraith-like contours of a jutted crimson skeletal visage-the Red Skull- who became a phantom stone-keeper when the Space Stone banished him out of reality. For seven decades, he accepted the trial of condemningly being a modernized Charon-ferryman, ushering beckoned souls into astral vistas of eternity.

The Red Skull had reactively accepted back the Soul Stone, in return for payment, allowed Steve to glance down into the infinite void as he achingly harbored onto the unbearable-contractive apparitions that eternally pulsed a visceraous-tragic frequency of expandable heartbeats over the mountainous edge; Steve tried his damndest not to gaze down at the bloodied smears were grimily painted on granite dais carved with runic mezzotints of Yggdrasil; gut-wrenching evidence of harvested souls offered to the celestial ether. Traces of Natasha's sacrificed blood hauntingly outlined where she had readily swan-dived after her suicidal backflip off the cliff-out of Clint's desperate grip. 'Let me go...'

Against the celestial auroras of explosively converged with the incendiary voltage of quantum lightning over the obelisk-dolmens etched with fanatical-spookish- glyphs that revealed the Soul Stone was a harvesting sentient entity that galvanically suffused wielding hosts to usher felled souls into bridged transatlantic—crossways of the Elysium Planes—a tradeoff payment with no retractions of that irrevocable cost.

He couldn't bring her back, or infinitely offer his soul in exchange to gain a warrant of Natasha's resurrection as he reluctantly gazed with a naked trek of anguished tears into the cosmic etherealness of vacuously stole her away; surrendering his wartime GI tag dogs that were engraved for a hellbent Brooklyn kid in the snowy gales to reverently grace the phantom memory of her against knifing rush of denotive heartache. 'We won, Nat...' he murmured against choked-off sobs, onrushing feverish surges of pent-up wetness blearily dampened over the fringe of his lashes—he couldn't look down as the final seconds of his Pym time-watch subatomically propelled him back into the quantum dimension. 'We won...'

Clutching onto his timeworn compass with tightfisted strain, guardedly in measured reserve, in dismal ease, warringly Steve braced the enhanced bulkiness of his sculpted back against one of the Quin-Jet's hydraulic pole as the ramp painstakingly descended over forested terrain of southwestward Norway, sconces from lampposts mounted on a stone bridge flickered hazily over iron spires of castellated environs gothically adorned a Neo-Renaissance castle-the Romanesque marble stronghold that Enchantress-Amora- had covetously staked her invidious reign.

Evicting another onslaught of unbidden heartache that crescendoed in tenfold that he rode out; being disconnected from his chivalrous-Brooklyn kid- bravado felt inexorably dormant as knifing pulse dragging over his battle-torn heart. On the grounds of war, the victorious-irretrievable cost of salvation-new dawn was casualties; he lost Tony and his best girl-Tasha- to the last stand of their Endgame mission. Nothing would change that soul-demolishing reality.

With steeled impassiveness vigilantly brandished over hard-edged planes of his angular-boyish features, tactfully against a combative flex of his stowed determination, Steve adjusted the leather-buckled straps of his legendary patriotic shield over his Kevlar-garbed forearm. Blonde-golden tresses featherily hung over his temples, roguishly intensifying his Adonis -honed virility, that hunkily contrasted with his dark navy-blue Strike uniform.

As unfeigned soldiery valor ricocheting in his tensed veins, the First Avenger tautly pressed his sensuous-chiseled lips in a half-grimace, cementing his battle-readied stance as the steeliness of his turquoise- azure irises piercingly roved over the forested grounds of Amora's caliginous domain. Everything felt penetratively close to vest; the Vanaheim temptress-viper- had graspingly marked down his burly friend-Thor into her perfidious-morbific crosshairs of a fattening scourge that perpetually overhauled Asgardian indulgences in unquenchable-rapine- tenfold. He needed to impede Thor's piggish junk-food binge."Look sharp..." he cautioned in a deep-timbre drawl, sonorously."I get the feelin' Amora won't go down easy..."

He was met with silence. The only noises to be heard were the crickets chirping into the night. The blonde glanced over his shoulder to search for his partner for this mission. He found her still seated in the c***-pit of the Quinjet; strapped in and deeply immersed with her phone. The impatient tapping of her finger against the screen told him that she was waiting for a message. Steve released a troubled sigh, not at all bothered by the fact Selina was distracted but more to do with the wistful longing that came by the absence of his traditional partner these past several years.

"Hey." He called out to her from the entry-ramp. "Everything okay?"

Brandishing an impassive charade of distractive nonchalance, grudgingly, with distractive ease, Selina had arced her stiletto-heeled boots unerringly over the co-pilot's chair armrest-she was riding shotgun. Hearing the brotherly cadence stoically fringed in his low-pitched Brooklyn drawl, inadvertently, against the offhand rapt of cool vehemence clenching in the delicate contours of her jaw, Selina feverishly clutched her iPhone, as she unblinkingly gazed at the ''decrypted' message LD screen-countermeasures of tactical infiltration were subtlely employed.

After receiving a 'tip-off' location-blackspot from a Stark network grid surveillance AI drone E.D.I.T.H, that alertly detected a high-level occultic-arcane threat generating within the mountain borders of Norway, they had stealthily engaged mystical recon within shadow-zone proximity. Asgardian vendettas were destructively unstable in avalanche-like effect, burying everyone into a cataclysmal-slaughterous crossfire—the Enchantress was a malefic, devouring siren incarnate of carnal thirst—who played the smokescreen charade of Jane Foster to bewitchingly violate Thor's frayed-out heart, only to chasten him into fattening oblivion.

The Eldritch hardware-accessories that Doctor Stephen Strange had delivered them were activated by a Tibetian-Kamar-Taj -incantation that composedly weaved fiery veins of astral energy into a mystical barrier of protection. "Just figuring out how to play with Tricks wordgame," she deadpanned in a sassier undertone, bluntly, as the tigerish decadence of her brandy irises vixenishly epitomized against the bordering slits of her sleek domino mask. "I think Bucky might leave a few dents in Thor's slop-heap if we don't curb this down..." she rasped, jauntily, with collective flexion of her lithe hand, she holstered a 9mm Glock on her neoprene-clad thigh while Steve adamantly took point. "You ready to have some fun knocking on this Asgardian hag's door, Soldier boy...?"

Steve shrugged with a small smile tugging at his lips. "So long as it's fun we can handle." He watched as she sat in deep thought with her deactivated phone still in hand. "He'll be all right. Believe me, Bucky's handled a lot worse than looking after Thor." He knew Selina didn't need any kind of reassurance, but it felt like the right thing to say-if not for her benefit than his own. "Let's try and make this quick."

He held his hand out, beckoning her to follow him down the ramp. He watched her hesitate as she put away her phone. She was still worried, Steve knew. From what he knew about their relationship, Bucky and Selina rarely if ever worked so far apart without communication. This was a stealth and incursion mission, one that Steve hoped they were prepared for as he held the magical dampener that Bruce and Shuri made. Hopefully, it would work on the Asgardian sorceress and they could safely capture her.

With a sardonic quirk playing over the pillowed lushness of her voluminous lips, curvaceously, as she utilized her feline-honed momentum of sashaying accord, coolly Selina descended the ramp, the silky glossiness of her waterfall-straight mahogany tresses entrancingly cascaded over the svelte fineness that athletically toned her neoprene-garbed shoulders, despite, she preferred a measured extent of personal space, Selina had grounded herself tensely at his soldiery—virtuous side; their dynamical caliber was blindsided—overrated trust was viscerally akin to mechanized precision of a scalpel and hammer: an incarnate tactical reliance nakedly fueled by an electrified—addictive dosage of high-octane shunting in their veins.

Emitting a breathy scoff, as her full-bow lips quirked, deviantly, Selina glanced at his alloy-vibrainum shield readily braced over corded flesh of his muscled forearm as she unnervingly feigned an eye-roll. "I think you need more effective toys to play here, Rogers, tossing your frisbee isn't going to work..." she rebuffed in a coquettish undertone, banteringly, with a thievish swipe of her gloved hand, deftly she palmed a Kimoyo -taser- bead that Wakanda's spunky impish fashionista Princess Shuri had virtuosically designed with a kinetic destabilizing pulse as Okavango tribal sigils electrified in sync with purplish amethyst--a pocket accessory for a girl to never dance without. "Lucky for you I always bring a backup piece..."

Steve offered a gracious smile with a bemused quirk of his head. "Not really my style, but I guess we can't afford to be choosy here." He said as he accepted the taser bead and fixed it to his belt. His style of combat had evolved since the days he only wielded a shield and pistol into combat. The modern world offered too many variables and opponents that meant to be Captain America, he had to take things up a notice.

From wielding a magnetic shield, to a mystical hammer, Steve figured a taser was the least outlandish thing he could carry.

"Bucky always said you were resourceful in a fight-adaptable." He commended the domino-masked brunette who eyed him thoughtfully.

"Playing safe is never my style for kicks, Rogers..." Selina retorted back, coyly, as she bolstered herself with controlled poise at the bottom of the ramp. Not wavering his battle-ready stance, the heavier tautness of graven-ridged muscles flexed bulkily underneath his tactical Strike uniform-a resilient-invincible solidity edged over his enhanced flesh as Steve reservedly clenched the broad-set of his jaw; impelled by a gut-sense resonating through his veins, he gleamingly flashed the stormier intensity of his azureous irises piercingly at the obstructive bridge —something wasn't right.

In a balletic variance of her reactive grace, felinely Selina mid-crouched low on the sleekness her neoprene-clad haunches, as instinctive strain tellingly became invested in the conscious drag of her lithe fingers over gnarled roots snarking out of the ground. She was precariously aware that Asgard's viperous bane had deceptively rigged them onto a sorcerous powderkeg; obsidian sentinels of Gothicesque twined stallions were eerily mounted on the bridge passageway as verdigris sigils of astral heat tectonically pulsed over the razed stone in detonative fruition.

Involuntarily her kittenish nose scrunched against the morbific stench of putrefying flesh odiously wafting out of the stagnant-corpse-infested bog that luridly captured the backlit sconces of ghoulish torchlight—carrion hordes of desiccated Nordic-Viking- warriors macabrely adorned with crescent-edged Breið-øx axes deathlily clutched in their leathery skeletal hands. "Yeah, this place is kinda spooky..." she gritted, threadily, and with her unerring trajectory of dead-straight precision, she pitched the activated Kimoyo bead, without faltered deterrence of his back-catcher agility, Steve had openly caught the Wakandian gadgetry as tremorous—paranoic vibrations of earth-quaking force ruptured cacophonously underneath the Quinjet: a seismic wakeup call for Amora's zombified legion. "We need to stay at this level of ground..."

Steve held his balance but was just as concerned by the seismic activity as Selina when it felt as if something evil was ready to erupt from the Earth. The First Avenger held his shield in one hand and the kimoyo bead in the other. "Stay sharp, stay close." He cautioned as they began to move across the landscape. The cover of trees kept them veiled from the moonlight, but at the same time made their trek all the more hazardous. "Take point," Steve called once the path became too pitch dark for him to see. The Gothamite activated her night-vision goggles and spied the path ahead. The gnarly trees were like teeth protruding from the ground into the skies. But in the distance, the Enchantress' fortress glowed like a spire of unholy magic.

That she had her fortress erected so close to New Asgard would've been as strange as Baron Zemo renting an apartment across the street from the Avengers Compound. Steve repressed a shudder as a gust of howling wind moved down his back. He ignored the unsettling feeling that he and Selina had walked into a horror movie of some kind. But the fact that they could hear no birds nor crickets said that something was off out here. "Selina?" He called worriedly as she came to a stop. "What is it?"

In fleeting reaction, haltingly Selina felt the apparitional 'white-noise' pulse over the forested warren, a banshee frequency demonically amplified in a manic tempo; crimson incandescence of astral heat veined nocuously over skeletal deformities of hollowed-sockets —dismembered bones of exsiccated flesh thrashed jerkily around the helmeted-Viking denizens in possessive rabidness; mobilizing cavalcade of death-walkers screechingly converged onto the bridge in defensive succession—answering the stygian hail of infinite battle.

With a thievish flex of her gloved hand, blindingly Selina unholstered onto her Glock, undeviatingly aiming point-blank at tarred-maggoty corpses that ghoulishly ascended out of the boggy trenches. "Tell me, Soldier boy, are you afraid of ghosts..." she bantered, snarkily as cold vaporous rust knifed scrapingly down her throat. Whirlingly with a balletic rush of her poised footing, Selina tactfully crouched onto her razor-edged heels; rapidly slotting out a full cartridge with a staccato hailstorm as she punched back trigger shots as resin mucus-like ooze from blow-off skulls dropped gloopily over the alloy rim of his shield. "We need to crash this witch's party... Fast."

Steve smirked despite himself. "Let me guess, Bucky?" Steve queried with a knowing look. In the darkness, he imagined Selina was giving him a puzzled look over her shoulder. "He loves Ghostbusters."Sometimes he thought he could hear him humming the song in the shower. He didn't get to dwell long on the funny memory when his enhanced hearing began to pickup the telltale groans of death coming towards them.

If it weren't for a marathon of Night of the Living Dead movies with Sam Wilson, Steve would've been mildly confused by the sounds. Instead, he was now clutching his shield and the kimoyo bead with a vice-like grip in anticipation. So this is what Selina meant. "How many are there?" Steve asked. His eyes glared into the darkness. He thought he saw a glint of moonlight reflecting off of metal. A twig snapped closeby and the Avenger didn't hesitate to throw his shield. It buzzed like a saw through the air, cutting down a ghoulish monstrosity in half. The shield returned to his hand in time for him to smash in the head of a second one.

What alarmed him wasn't the fact he had just killed an undead zombie. It was the sight of decaying flesh and empty eyes staring into nothing. Those clothing worn were modern humans-New Asgardians. "This is not good."

As the patriotic shield metallically boomeranged into Steve's readied clutch, with unwarrantable ease of her incredulous traction, fringing her paces a breadth from the skeletal Asgardian remains; dragging out a terse breath, Selina flipped her sleek cat-eared googles up and fixed her brandy irises stiltedly down at the swampy -ghostlier mist creepily arcing over the deflated heap of soiled garments-an exorcised soul. "This is a really cheap trick to play against Thor..." she rasped, grittily, as the clothing meltingly dissolved back into the ground-a soul-numbing revelation that Amora was a reaping siren, collecting traumatized Asgardian strays into her mutative- orcish legions. "We need to figure out this damn hag's angle..."

Steve didn't pause as he smashed, kicked and punched his way through the rapidly growing throng of undead Asgardians that were now beginning to surround him and Selina. Their battle had moved them from out of the woods and into the open field. The cloud coverage caused a clap of thunder to boom in the skies. If Thor wasn't in such an isolated state, Steve would've taken the noise as backup. But they were on their own on this. Strange had left with Wanda to settle a threat in a different dimension, Bruce was helping Tony in his coma, Carol was off-world, Rhodey and Sam were injured from Amora's last attack. Steve and Selina found themselves back-to-back, moving as one as they unleashed a flurry of attacks.

Kicks were landed, bullet-casings were spent. The smell of decay was suffocating just as the groans of death were deafening. Steve didn't stop and didn't relent as he raised his hand, calling for his last resort to aid him. He felt the kinetic pull as the magic of Mjolnir responded to him and flew out from the quinjet. Like a star shining in the darkness he could see the enchanted hammer closing in towards him, feel its power singing with anticipation to reach his hand. His hopes were obstructed when a green-sorcerous field of energy engulfed the hammer like a bubble, causing it to fall like dead-weight to the ground. A familiar and sinister laugh descended on them as the undead horde came to a stop.

Steve and Selina panted for breath, focused and still ready for a fight. The horde still surrounded them, trapping them, allowing their master to come forward.

"This is an unwelcomed surprise, dear Captain..." A throatier huskiness of a feminine undertone of malevolence rasped smokily underneath a vampiresque hooded cloak, with ceremonious prowess, serpentinely the conjuring-galactic blight of Vanaheim advanced passed her Élivágar ghoulish ranks in cobra-like haughtiness of queen entity; eroded war-axes berserkly thrust up in reverent—inchanted unison as verdurous stalactites of tenebrious heat veined twistily over jutted out bones welded into chainmail armor.

Arcing the delicate litheness of her Nerco-gauntleted hand, sneerily, with sensuous ease, Amora distractively pulled down the darkish hood, as rope-braided platinum-blonde whorls disheveledly cascaded over the cool seraphic fineness that wickedly contrasted with her exquisite witchy features as the vitriolic intensity of her grayish-teal irises malignantly glinted with demented thirst at the vibrainium shield-a Midgardian trophy she covetously desired. "The Odin spawn has gluttonously deigned himself to become a grieving hostage of his utmost failures..." she hissed in envenomed pitch, raveningly. "A new reign of power will conquer over the desolated vermin of Asgard once I cut the loose ends..."

With a guileful charade quirking hypnotically over the cherry lushness of her voluminous lips, carnally Amora radiated a decadent-aphrodisiac fragrancy that was headily penetrative to damningly breach masculine arousal, Selina detected the intrusive reek as the odious stink ghosted fervidly over her kittenish nose with seductive-tactile precision of viperish inducement—a siren's coaxing of bewitchery to exponentially drag Steve into her amorous-morphic thralls. On breakneck accord, urgently Selina gripped the Kelvar material delineated tauter-muscle cords of his forearm, knowing that he was on the septic-compromised fringe of Amora's demented-viperous play of chimerical havoc.

"I do relish severing your wretched humanity into a craven existence..." she taunted against waspish breaths, poutily, gazing at the plushier firmness of Steve's chiseled lips ardently set into a half-grimace, evident to his disarmed resolve. "You really think coming here will purge that drunken Odinson's piteous curse, when another dear friend of yours, Captain, fatteningly bloats out his grunting defeat..."

"Bucky…" Steve and Selina share an uneasy look between each other at that, feeling dread encompass them. Their entire focus had been on saving Thor that they hadn't stopped to consider any potential contingencies the Enchantress would have in place if they tried to intervene in the Asgardian's decadent state. They had left Bucky in charge of Thor's care. That meant… "What did you do?!" Steve demanded hotly. His greater inclination was to be diplomatic in the face of hostilities but he knew this was one woman that wouldn't be bargained with. She wanted Thor to suffer and would have no qualms about making his friends pay the same price. Steve gripped his shield tight while Amora smirked at his clear agitation. "What did you do to him?!"

Sneeringly with a painstaking steadiness of her extended palm, witchily Amora beckoned astral fusion of verdigris energy, indulgently fashioning vapory tendrils into a lucent orb that she hefted up stoppingly to the fiercer gleam of Steve's oceanic azure irises; sweat-damp blond tresses fringed his bruised temples, with vigilant tact of his steeled focus, he unwaveringly gazed into candescent auras merging into a Nordic glyph of 'playback' memory. "If you wish to see your beloved Sergent Barnes's shackled visage all you have to do is peek, dear Captain..." Amora coaxingly rasped, gliding her fingers over the astral luminescence of the vitreous jade bauble.

Suppressedly against rampageous viciousness, gnashing her teeth, breathlessly Selina angled her Glock to deliver instant kill-shot, as her gloved finger shakily grazed over the hammer trigger-lock."It seems the handsome fool blindingly reveled into the gluttonous flavor of my curse..."

A glowing light emanated from within the Orb as if it took on a life of its own. Clouds of magic circulated from within and images fluttered past. Steve and Selina could see Thor and Bucky inside of Thor's house. They were talking in the living room until Thor handed Bucky a box of pop-tarts. Bucky didn't just eat one, he ate the entire box like a starving pig, making a mess of himself. What happened then was a nightmarish symphony of events that saw Thor and Bucky grappling each other in the kitchen over a piece of cake until Bucky began to change before their very eyes.

"Oh no..." Steve voiced with a sorrowful look. Selina's expression was stone-cold empty but the pain in her eyes was unmistakable as she kept her mask in place. The vision of events culminated with Thor and now a pig-Bucky fighting off pair of wolves inside of the kitchen until the beasts were killed. Once the images had ended, Steve and Selina couldn't tear their gazes away from a hypnotic concentration of energy building up from within the orb. It grew brighter and stronger until it burst like a shockwave, hitting both Steve and Selina, sending them falling to the ground.

A vertiginous onslaught dizzily grappled her into deadened submission; circlet glyphs of Amora's Nordic incantation eldritchly ravined over the ground, chasing her warred heartbeat in an exhaustive-vomitous rush as whitish salvos of incandescent energy flaringly careened through Selina like a depth-charge shockwave-an eruptive anesthetic that searingly assailed her bone-deep in paralytic succession. Each pulse agonizingly surged an implosive -accelerated numbness as onrushing barrages of her charmingly hunky sniper-wolf becoming an oinking tub of blubbery-piggish flab had suffocatingly exorcised her resistance in heart-knifing tenor-the parasitical-invidious magery of Amora's venomous thirst amplified in slumberous-cursive deviance of unbidden surrender. 'No..."

Motionless like collapsing marionette of granite, Selina was bruisingly dragged onto the svelte planes of her back as jutted tentacles of gnarled roots slithery bracketed over the delicate contours of her wrists—everything deafened out against the infective fusion entombing her. Blurringly, in a cottony haze, her lashes damply flitted as virescent skeins of morphically fused over ridged bulkiness of Steve's mid-drift, as he chokingly railed out a throated-voiceless screech against torpedoing force that slammed him against a diseased tree with back-breaking momentum. "S-Soldier boy..." she gurgled threadily, disheveled length of her mahogany tresses slickly webbed askew over the feverous, elfin curvatures of her delicate jaw as she desperately thrust her gloved hand with notched-up strain, reaching for him. "Steve..."

"I-I can't-GAAAH!" Steve couldn't contain the cry of agony that breached his lips. He gnashed his teeth and groaned through a hailstorm of sorcerous torture. The Enchantress' magic permeated his body, his bones, his cells, and began their heinous work of undoing the man from the inside out-transforming him into a creature to suit her will. His shield fell from his grip, his trembling posture brought him to his knees as he struggled to fight through the spasms that controlled him, and face the evil woman that was doing this to them. Selina couldn't move. It was as if her entire body had been shut down and she lost all feeling to her limbs.

The tension in the air was morbid in the seconds that followed. Steve's entire body caved in on itself as if he were imploding from within. Gazing at his gloved hands he watched as they slipped off his rapidly decreasing mass. His face and neck itched as if he had a colony of bugs invading his skin. But in reality, it was patches of bird feathers sprouting from his skin. His blue eyes closed, accepting the inevitable of what was happening as he built a mental wall around himself, taught to him by Doctor Strange, to protect the one avenue of himself that was more important than his body: his mind-his soul.

Within moments, Captain America had vanished in a mass of crumpled clothes and equipment. His tactical vest flayed on the ground as something else reemerged, squawking and thrashing to escape the prison of garments that kept him confined.

Temperstously heralding a butcherous—cyclonic valance of her earthen- corpse armada, Amora crouched a breadth at the discarded vibrainum shield with vulturous poise, hungrily Amora glided a possessive tracery of gauntleted palm over the alloy star insignia without a deterrence of hesitation, manically the rapturous heat of her ophidian depths gazed at remnants of navy blue Kevlar sheathed over feathery checkered wings of silvery-ivory as raptor-talons rampantly gouged into clumps of dirt in blinded traction, screechingly in a throat-piercing cadence, the Avenger hawk lurched joltingly on his curvaceous girth, as the steely-bluish plumage of his silken tufts ethereally delineated the virile litheness of his ensorcelled—passerine form. Jutting the sleekness of his golden-curved beak, Steve uttered, in a squawking hitch raspily. "T-Thor's gonna stop you..."

"It seems your valiant warrior beauty has been stunted into a craven form that is befitting for you, dear Captain..." Hearing the monstrous grunting of her orcish, skeletal denizens, Amora virulently glanced at the malachite-ebon Necro spears—demonic instruments forged out of the chasmal—tenebrious veins of Helheim being arced up, as torn black Einherjar pennons grotesquely ribboned over corroded poles gripped in the skeletal clutches of her resurrected breed of wraithlike 'carnage-reapers' that nightmarishly spewed out of her sorcerous cauldron; as the maggot-ridden phalanxes were staggeringly advancing out of her forested warren in a rabid fusion of murderous barbarity-a death march.

Underneath warped helms, reddish embers fierily crescented within jutted-edges of hollowed eye sockets—a soulless bloodlust that wouldn't be contained. "Now I'll leave you to lament in the skies," Amora gestured to his feathered wings, sadistically. "...while I bring forth my carrion legion to fully deliver my reckoning of mortal harvest over New Asgard..."

"Leave em' alone..." Against a hawkish screech in his raw-pitched timbre, Steve urgently conveyed his unbreakable measure of Brooklyn valiance in the wake of a cabalistic-hellish mantra of phantom starved battle-cries that dissonantly crescendoed in a demonic ambiance like terror knells; latent skeletal heaps of desecrated Einherjar warriors of Odin jerkily convulsed as matrix infusions of celestial-psionic energy of tapped out of Nastrond-the Shore of Corpses- electrifyingly melded greenish heat into the detached-gutted bones that creepily spider-clawed to become realigned with iron-forged limbs for Amora's slaughterous-apocalyptic conquest of mortal butchery.

Half-exhausted by the divested strain, joltingly defiant tension grounded him, Steve reactively braced his feathered wings into a taut arc over svelter curves of his lithe girth as he gaspingly felt the hammering momentum of a ghoul's armored foot, bodily propel a blinded assault of careening ferocity into his feathery back with merciless-breakneck traction. The bone-knifing spasms of racked anguish exceedingly caught his stunned heartbeat as incendiary throbs of white-heat blearily robbed his vision-it was a death blow. "No..."

This wasn't how he imagined himself finally fading away. Death wasn't something he feared for as long as he'd been a soldier in life. But this wasn't the end he envisioned for himself. The agony of defeat only hurt him by the thought of having failed. Failed the mission, his country, his friends, his family. Steve Rogers tried to cling to whatever avenue of hope that he could muster to safeguard him into the next life. His one comfort was a life-giving allure of cool teal eyes that often used to smile at him with warmth. His thumping heart swelled before it began to steady. He could distinctly feel tears trailing down his now feathery cheeks as he closed his eyes and welcomed the dark embrace.

'See you in a minute…Natasha.'

{Flashback}

Surgically bred to exist as a Soviet marionette of weaponized seduction, Natasha had utilized the identity of being a loose cannon deviant-fugitive as the blotches creed of the Accords denoted a firestorm of inevitable -rigged-betrayal against the Avengers, just one matchstick throw of deception had cleared the decks against governmental protocols of sterilization, dissecting out warrants of liberty- justice into the relevance of 'high rolling industry of lucrative degeneracy.

Everything was staked down by militaristic-seditious paragons of ironfisted authority erased margins of error off the chessboard-they were vermined selloffs. Reality had double-clutch into maximum overdrive when Steve rejected branding his freedom-soldiery valor- on a warranted contract that was designed by the World Council. By the upheaval deadlock tensions of hard-core Brooklyn defiance, voluntary he became a nomadic resistance operative; discarding the 'A' insignia off his threadbare uniform-never looking back.

'I'm not the only one who needs to look over their shoulder...'

For painstaking months of harboring onto encrypted arsenals of SHIELD contingency safeguards to evade Interpol surveillance -beating dodge with a Clean Slate algorithmic hardware that was covertly delivered to her by an unknown Gotham alliance of Selina Kyle-calibrated devices of preservation, Natasha had remained in the shadow zones, marked as a rogue insurgent after traitorous-egotistic- back-stabber- Tony Stark betrayingly sold her out to Thunderbolt Ross.

Using her intentive tradecraft of furtive espionage, she went back to a harbor point in Budapest, smoking out her fostered sister of the Red Room: Yelena Belova-she trudged into a warzone as the mutative legacy of the Widow operatives evolved into combative-disposable ranks of tactical-balletic supremacy, programmed to leave bloodied silhouettes in the chastened wake of reactivation.

Her Russian family reunion ended at a grievous- deceitful cost when a genetically-enhanced viper strike penetrated her compromised heart. She went blindly deep into the macabre crosshairs, damnably resurrecting ghosts of the past-only to lose everything because of the conditioned measures of heart-driven restraint, she had evicted charitable tenets of Siberian mercy, and inexplicably hesitated to pull back on the trigger-that visceral dynamic that was promisingly salvaged became cleaved apart when Yelena was retired; to give her a redeeming chance to run-live.

Within the slummy-humid ambiance of a rumpy safe house in Atlanta, Georgia gripping onto the plastic mold of a half-emptied lime flavored Gatorade bottle, impassively, with stark tension riding through her veins; standing on fractured ground Natasha detachedly isolated herself from the installations of a dispatched rabble of SHIELD agents-corrupted enforcers that pegged her down for profitable bounty.

Now, she was on a tipping point of the knife-edge-fostering to the synthetic relevance of normalcy; she couldn't invent new spycraft devices of her convenient incarnations; everything was jeopardized-even her trust bracket with Fury. Easing down the bottle onto a makeshift table; faint electric sconces of light burnished her unkempt copper-auburn whorls as she was ravishingly garbed in a black camisole that was curvaceously fitted snug over the bustier curves of her voluptuous breasts, shiveringly Natasha registered a galvanic pulse of rivalrous -indescribable anticipation: she had a visitor.

There was a soft brush of movement coming from the kitchen that would've been almost impossible to detect if she hadn't been standing in total silence. It could've been construed as something as ordinary as a rodent moving through the walls. But then she saw a tall shadow creeping across the wall and knew that her instincts were as sharp as ever. Before she could draw her pistol from its holster, the intruder stepped clear into the room and she had frozen in bewilderment to see who it was. Then again, given how much he'd learned about her over the past few years she shouldn't have been so surprised.

"There was a spare key under the swan statue on the porch step." Steve said as he rested his tall broad form back against the wall, hands stuffed into his pockets. "Didn't think you'd mind if I let myself in." His blue eyes flicked up to meet her teal concentrated orbs that were boring into his soft expression. His handsomely cut features weren't the clean-shaven presentation of Steve Rogers, Captain America. Instead, they were the bearded residue of an exiled wanderer. He was dressed in a dark pair of blue jeans, black sneakers and a black overcoat with the collars drawn up against his neck. Not the kind of clothing you'd expect from America's golden-boy who was a public figure. Exiled had changed more than just his appearance, it also made him look as hollow as the subaquatic prison-the Raft- he sprung their friends from.

A high-voltage surge of dredged-up awareness evocatively rushed through her veins-her revving instincts were being sidetracked as she headily registered the addictive vetiver mintiness of Gucci aftershave, a distinct virile scent ardently igniting up a feverous abandon. The graven-angular planes of his boyish- chiseled features were hawkishly edged with untamed virility-a rugged fierceness as his tousled golden-blonde tresses unkemptly clung askew over his dirt-scuffed cheekbones: he appeared emotionally blunted.

Pillowing the cool suppleness of her silken cheek against her denim-clad knee, with an evident play of guarded nonchalance, Natasha unerringly fixed her grayish-teal irises in the direction her makeshift kitchen. "If you looking to raid out my fridge, the best I can offer is a peanut-butter sandwich..." A jaunty quirk half-tugged over the voluminous lushness of her lips, as she coaxed with a smokier huskiness in her undertone, brusquely gazing the hunkier solidity of his Brooklyn-Adonis corded bulk imposingly delineated underneath the cloaking length of his black long coat. Placatingly, as his cool azure depths fixed observant intensity on her stockpile of peanut butter jars and loaf Wonder bread, setting his broader jaw into a firm clench, Steve measured the intrusive breach of his driven advances with chaste precision towards her blackout proximity. "Not that I will, since you didn't knock, Rogers..."

"Had a bite on the way over if you could count beef jerky as lunch." He responded with his own brand of wit with a small smile to accompany it. Being out in public wasn't something he could risk these days when his face was plastered all over the news. As a wanted fugitive, the days of eating at cafes and diners were gone and now he would have to settle for quick stops for snacks at the local gas stations. If this reality unsettled him, he didn't let it show. "But I didn't come here looking for food. I came to find you." He said, suddenly serious as he leaned off the wall and crossed his arms. "You've been on the news, Nat. Ross almost got to you…" He was worried when he saw the broadcasts all the way from Wakanda. He had been hesitant to leave until that image of Natasha surrounded by guns burned into his consciousness.

"Things got complicated..." Natasha murmured edgily, the harshness of her grated pitch was underlying her a fallback of phantom betrayal; nothing would suppress her unwarranted failure; not when she was downplayed by the ability-replicating leach who harbored a photographic-combative arsenal, lethally becoming a mirrored 'knockoff' opponent. He was geared up like a demonic Power-Ranger, stealing all tactical endurance-fight versatility that he nightmarishly imitated from her teammates-the Avengers.

Staring at the greenish tactical vest that her baby sister-Yelena had worn for their point-break mission to end the final rebirth- evolution on the Widow-markers, Natasha felt achingly paralyzed by a traitorous onslaught of soul-crippling heartbreak. "In this terrible business, there's no guarantee to beat the dodge..." Quashing down a knifed sting of remorse, edgily she gnawed on her underlip. "I had to finish something close to home... Dig up my old ghosts...Only to make new ones. "

"Some fights can't be avoided." Steve agreed with a somber look. Hiding the past never changed the fact it would always be there ready to catch up to you. There was no use in ignoring it, doing so would only make things harder for you and those you cared about. If he had known that then, maybe...maybe he and Tony wouldn't have gone to war with each other. "But it doesn't mean they need to be fought alone." Something in his expression must've given him away as he noticed Natasha's inquisitive eyebrow raised at him. "I got them out of the Raft. All of em. Bucky he…" He swallowed a lump of emotion that had suddenly built up in his throat, threatening to seize his strength of will and cause him to expend a torrent of emotion down his cheeks. "He's gone back under. Doesn't trust himself anymore than the whole world does right now."

As Steve dragged out a heavier breath against his sonorous timbre, Natasha understood the fractionable ground he crossed, the soul-damaging reality of Bucky tragically plunging into the icy gorge of Swiss Alps, Steve had indefatigably tethered himself to a perpetual crusade to avenge his best friend; only to agonizingly discover that James Buchanan Barnes was remade by the operational-enhanced butchery conducted by the obsessive-sadistic insanity of the HYDRA parasitoid Armin Zola; hee endured cerebral PSTD deterioration of electrical anesthetizing of the lobotomic mind-sweeps of the dentist chair, that had punishingly violated him to become an unhinged-mechanized amnesic.

The dossier file NO 17 unveiled extreme details about the mangled flesh of his left was surgically amputated for a HYDRA cybernetic implant of titanium bionic alloy and electro psychiatric conditioning that gruelingly mutated Bucky into the robotized ghost operative of Russia's endless winter-the Winter Soldier. For seven decades of being unthawed out a cryogenic pod of liquid nitrogen; murderously he existed as hybrid sniper-wraith, a reactivated Siberian phantasm for termination. Within the Novgorod dormitories of the Red Room Academy, James was chemically sterilized-training her virginal classmates-little ballerinas- under the brutish command of the maniacal warren General Vasily Karpov.

'I have no place in this world.'

Against pessimistic tension of contagious vulnerability that resonated behind the stage light, little Natalia became his elite protegé of combative kata supremacy -Система-, every balletic evade was invigoratingly dynamical-addictive, they harnessed elemental mastery-a gladiatorial ruthless that defiled operative compliance. Trysts of juvenile affection became vitiated when she felt the scalpel blade cut her deep-purging out her womanhood-humanity to finally evolve her into a 'corrected' instrument of venomous seduction.

When she awoke from the removal procedure, Natasha felt the woven stitches painfully brand her forever into the septic reality of a deadened heartbeat. She remembered when James had deftly carried her defective-comatose form bridal-style out of the paralytic whiteness of the operating room-never leaving her side. "If T'challa knows Barnes's is worth a risk of saving..." A nostalgic quirk tugged over her full lips, coolly. "...then I guess HYDRA didn't fully erase him..."

"There's an old saying, 'you can't keep a kid from Brooklyn down' when the going gets tough." He smiled as he felt a touch of nostalgia. "These days though its hard to know what we're fighting for when the lines are blurred. I thought that by standing up to the Accords we were protecting not just the world, but each other… But now...now I feel like we're all alone out here." He sighed with a downcast look.

There was a part of him that longed for the simpler times when the world wasn't such a chaotic mess of politics, ideals, and intergalactic threats that loomed on the horizon. He might've been lost with his place in the world but he felt at peace with it. The modern world he had found a place in it as Captain America. The shield of liberty who would always find a new battle to face. He wasn't at peace, but he wasn't lost. Not with those surrounding him that he called friends and family. The pinnacle of which was the woman in front of him who not only uplifted him in his moments of sorrow but helped him to steer his course moving forward. "I...missed you, Nat."

The valid reverence of his Brooklyn timbre reached her compromisingly deep, stoking up an intimate demand of unspoken-forbidden desire; nothing would be leashed down against the headier rush of long-denied havoc; there was no flirtatious play of bantering snarkiness, she couldn't break for distance as his roughened-tip fingers cherishingly dragged feathery ministrations of a tactile-dexterous caress of errant grace over the daintier contours of her lithe knuckles. "Steve..."

It was reckless surrender against the hell storms of their betrayal -they were no longer SHIELD operatives-Avengers, just directionless fugitives who daringly made their own symphony of resistance-they needed this grounded moment. "Don't say anything unless you mean it,.." she murmured hushedly, against gritted breaths, each shift of whisper-soft pressure ardently echoed a sensuous fervency against her pulse in a wonderous-naked accord. Under the curly fringe of her lashes, on volatile reaction, she entrancedly gazed at the plushier sculpt of his chiseled lips, beckoning with a sheen of virile heat that became cravingly addictive."We've played this game of affection before, haven't we...?"

He knew he had begun to cross a line that had been toed between them for the past several years. Steve wasn't very good at flirting with women. Not in the way that Bucky and Tony were, so confident and playful in their banter they could charm even the most reserved of individuals. Steve was direct if not subtle in his intentions as most honest men were in his past-time. But there was always something about Natasha that brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A bolder sense of confidence that made him feel fearless. His blue eyes that were once so quiet were now speaking loudly the words he wanted to share with her for so long. "It was never a game to me." He said as his digits caressed the her palm, beckoning her to come closer to him. "And I think you know me well enough to know how I've always felt about you, Nat." His eyes gazed deeply into hers, lost in the sea of bluish-green that were mesmerizing and made him ache inside. They were so beautiful and captivating, he could feel himself easily getting lost in her enchanting stare that affected him in a way no other woman before had. Not even Peggy.

Her rosebud lips parted and he felt her warm breath flutter and send tingles across his skin. Her expression was torn in a way that he was familiar with. The line between friendship and romance was slowly being erased as they drifted closer. "Tell me to stop, and I will." He said to her, eyes genuine but hopeful. "Tell me you don't feel the same, and I'll believe you..."

"Alright, since I do owe you a good answer..." Disarmingly against the visceral-hungered command, she gazed into the smoldering coolness of his oceanic azureous depths as the kneaded flexion of his smooth-calloused fingers adoringly echoed tentative-featherlike steadiness, a novel-masculine heat that arrestingly invested with each unfeigned shift of cherishing reverence. A blinding need that outpaced against her warred heartbeat—abandoned urgency of rhapsodic ecstasy—a glorious mania—she knew it was damn real.

The heated contrast of the bulkier stretch of well-defined muscle underneath his shirt tautly aligned with svelter cushiness of her aching breasts, Natasha breathtakingly felt the unbeatable vitality of Captain America; the steeled bands of his enhanced-invincible solidity became her anchoring strength. It was an undeniable-exhilarative promise that fervidly coupled in the fiercer tempo of his reined arousal, their faces were so close, as the arrowing drift of his nose shadowily grazed over her temple, so achingly tentative in feathered succession. Under the long fringe of his eyelashes, a glacial blueness of his silvery-turquoise irises became seraphically vitreous-gleaming with a tempestuous intensity of the Aegean sea; her infinite reality of uncharted paradise.

Unhurriedly, she felt the clamping pressure of his larger palms bracket over the delectable lushness of her denim-clad curves in rhythmic unison, with driven momentum, Steve backed her against the wall, as she dragged out a feverish breath. "I think we both need this..." Natasha coaxed, huskily against the bristled planes of his thickened jaw that starkly rasped over the alabaster flesh of her beard-pricked cheek; as rakish golden-blonde sweltry tangled with her fiery copper tresses. Heart-poundingly an exquisite floodtide of answering heat readily contrasted as the firmer grip of his shifting fingers dizzyingly tugged at her flimsy camisole straps with raging urgency, as his muscled forearm braced over the sleek planes of her back, arching the flush swell of her ampler breasts with a definite-sweeter cadence of headier euphoria against heavier corded rigidity of denser muscle brawnily sheathing his garbed chest. "No holding back, Rogers..."

Without an instinctive deterrence volition, groaningly Steve angled his sensuously-chiseled lips with a surging rush of irresistible wet heat, decadently fusing with the aphrodisiacal cherry of her voluminous lips. They engaged hungered duel of rampant pressure shudderingly careened them on into panting drags of mirrored-intimate release, the flavorous throb of their melded lips hotly deepened under the crushing pressure of headier rawness; everything cindered as the reverent gentleness of his palm cradled over the delicate contours of her jaw with sensual tacks of his razed sanity-he was reaching for her through the riotous eruption of breathless heat-a dynamite nova, trapped flamingly between them.

"Y'know we probably needed this break..." he drawled in throatier heaves, breathily against her kiss-swollen lips, as she blindingly clutched the bunches of his shirt with a sirenic litheness invested with each flexing-possessive knead of her fingers, urging him to dare beyond the symphonic- gloried rhythm of their bone-liquifying communion.

A fever-burned trek of wetness errantly glided off his bristled cheeks, unabashedly Steve drew out a guttural moan that was breathly caught between the bruising stretch of their opened-mouthed kisses, devouringly increasing ardent -breathless- ferocity that was steamily incendiary; he supped on the passion-heated lush of her swelled lips, edging her into their mindless-dizzier oblivion. The subtle graze of his thumb featherily brushed the underside of her feverish jaw, anchoring her into his virile heat, as he bitingly tugged on her jutted underlip with breakneck traction; every seared thrust of his plush lips viscerally countered with tenors of her soul-deep awareness-nothing was held back as they surrendered to high-octane maelstroms of untempered ecstasy that stole the world away. "Just live again, Steve..."

To live again meant to return to a place where he was happiest in life. The blissful memory he kept himself enclosed within a sanctuary where his friend, his partner, and great love Natasha Romanov would embrace him was what kept him going. It gave him the strength and will to see through the agony that awaited him in the real world where he couldn't find her beside him. He felt the memory slipping away as the darkness was disturbed a pale sickly light. A salvo of verdigris energy that was anything but benign in its intentions as it jerked him back into a choking fit of discomfort. His eyes snapped open and a strangled gasp for air rattled through his body.

His feathery body… Questions swarmed through his subconscious. Who was he dreaming about? Why was he entangled in a pile of human clothing? Why couldn't he flap his wings? He tried to wring himself from his prison of clothing before his hawkish eyes landed on the blonde human peering into him with a hypnotic stare. No. This was no human woman. This was someone much more. Her beauty was spellbinding just as the luminous field of green energy that sulfurously encompassed her body. Understanding passed through him as the feathery hawk squawked and bowed his head obediently. "Mistress…" he cawked. "How do I serve you?"

Malevolently, Amora relished the craven docility that gratingly edged in the Avenger-hawk's low-pitched timbre; a stuporous intimacy had been conceived, as the valorous tension that rode through every tauten-edged muscle of warrior-honed solidity was doused into a pathetic vessel enchantingly sheathed in bluish-silvery feathers. With demented swiftness, as her ashen lips quirked evilly into a vampirish sneer, Amora beseechingly, outstretched her gauntleted arm, sconces of moonlight gothically exposed the intricate viridian sigil of Helheim.

"Come to me..." Amora gestured her newest-feathered captive to latch his clawed-talons over her wrist as skeletal-walkers twitchingly advanced in battlemented legions of necro-craft weaponry towards her destination of sanguineous conquest-warpath. "You shall prevail over the Midgardian heights, my beautiful Captain," she commanded, spitefully."By the morphic designs of my scourge, you will find me that gluttonous spawn of Odin..."

Amora's voice was like a magnet drawing him towards a state of immobility. A prison where he was helpless to do nothing but obey her. His mind was resisted despite the fact his body was betraying him. "Fight it…Fight it...Steve." The enchanted hawk flapped his wings and trembled as the pull became ever more intense, sending waves of agony through his head until he could take no more and cawed loudly into the night. It was like the walls he erected to protect his mind were being bulldozed to the ground, leaving him at the mercy of his oppressor. The hawk blearily searched and allowed his eyes to roam his surroundings, trying desperately to ignore the evil woman's viperish nails that petting the back of his neck with sharp strokes.

Not too far from him the score of undead ghouls still surrounded him like a pack of wounded predators eager to feast. That was when his eyes landed on a strange but alarming sight. The crumpled mess of empty neoprene garb where a familiar pair of kimoyo beads lay along with a domino mask. Ivory feathers flapped in the pale moonlight as a small dark shape shifted, giving light to a beak and beady eyes. A second passed, maybe two, but it was enough time for reality to once again lay a cruel fact upon the hawk as he stared upon the enchanted swan. "Selina…"

A vertiginous pulse mephitically suffused in a rampant- nauseous wake; as the Brooklyn drawl of Steve's exhausted timbre brushingly graced a tentative-brotherly caress of telltale urgency over the lithe svelteness of her deadened form. Blurrily, Selina warded off arrestive onrushes of knifing contractions; lithely dragging her mahogany-tipped ivory feathered wing in blinded precision, slumberous grogginess feverishly overlapped her vision as she deftly gripped onto shreds of tactical neoprene that restrictedly encompassed over her lady-bird form. Involuntary, with a conscious variance of her tempered mobility, Selina eased the delicate-sleekier curvatures of her feathered head queasily off the putrid rancidly of clumped dirt."S-Steve..." she murmured against threaded breaths, raspily. "Ooh..."

"I got you," the feathery hawk reached out his talon-feathers to try and gently steady the swan on her webbed feet. The world spun and they held tight not to fall into a spiraling daze of dizziness. But the waking reality they were facing didn't change the irrefutable fact that they weren't human. Not any more. The Enchantress had done the very thing she had sworn to do to Thor, and perhaps Bucky. "Stay with me," he trilled beneath his beak. He could feel the Vanaheim witch's shadow looming over them and knew that whatever control she had over them was about to be exerted. "Just play along, we'll get out of this." He urged the swan.

As Steve's lengthy feathered wing chastely ghosted pacifying heat over the svelte lankiness of her elongated neck; against the cursive raid hear-splitting of her morphic deviance, gawkily on her black-webbed feet, involuntarily the Venetian swan braced the fringe of her mahogany-tipped wings over the roughened bark of a tree, voluptuous-feathery- exquisiteness of her ravishingly-enchanted sylphlike form unstintingly eased with balletic traction of her wonkier footing, as her autumn-brandy irises mistily gleamed with the naked rawness of evicted alarm. "S-Soldier boy..." she rasped out voiceless heaves, and distressingly gazed at Avenger-hawk's lithe contours strikingly adorned with bluish-slivery feathers that virilely contrasted with streaks of blonde-he was adamantly gorgeous for a patriotic bird. "Can't say I'm liking your new look..." she bantered with a, flintier pitch, sultrily, nothing detracted her brazen play of deadpanned snarkiness. "I guess we did rattle the witch's cage, huh?"

Before Steve could respond he was blasted by a field of green sorcery that ensnared him like a noose. He didn't struggle this time, finding he had almost no strength left to resist the Enchantress' wrath as she levitated him off the ground and held him directly in front of her. Her green eyes, beautiful but vicious, smiled at him as she clicked her tongue, ready to command him.

"You will not defy me, dear Captain..." Flexing her gauntleted wrist, vitriolically, against a raving hiss, with kneading ministrations, Amora brushed her index finger in a possessive succession over Steve's curved beak, as telekinetic pulses of verdigris skeins of energy bone-grippingly infused his tuffed feathers, the predatory steeliness of his azure orbs blanked owlishly with astral heat of her resolve incarnate as he flappingly thrashed his wings. "Embrace the shackled dregs of your wretched form," Waspishly, she cast a sidelong glance at the snowy feathered lady-bird uneasily nesting on her ripped tactical garb."...or I will destroy James Barnes's adoring swan maiden without a flit of consequence..."

Her threat breached his defiance and Steve felt himself brought even lower to a point he could find no means of fighting back. The evil woman wasn't just powerful but also cunning in her way of manipulation. Steve was never a man willing to sacrifice the lives of those he fought with and cared for. He would be the one willing to lay down on the wire and let the others climb over him. Selina didn't sign up for this. Neither did Bucky. But as he watched the creature that was Selina discreetly begin to waddle her way towards the woods, he knew that sometimes the path to victory meant temporary defeat.

The swan was a symbol of purity to the world and one that a deadly hawk would dutifully protect, even if it meant taking the fall. Gazing into the Enchantress' eyes, Steve found his resolve to hoped to God that he was making the right decision. "All right...You got me." The mental barriers he used to protect himself shattered like glass in that instance, and the Enchantress' raw power consumed his mind, causing him to let out an ear-splitting screech into the night skies.

Harnessing the furtive collectiveness of her inventive precision, thievingly Selina reached for her iPhone, conveniently the electronic device was still intact as she briskly hefted up her feathery wing, gliding the length of her ivory skeins with virtuosic delicateness over the phone's tinier keyboard; every hazardous-dicey- second felt atomically rigged against insatiable-ghoulish mayhem concussively encompassing the forested warren, she couldn't allow the grief-stricken Asgardian newcomers to become demonically harvested for Amora's zombified death-walkers. "This better work..." she gritted thinly, sending an'urgent text' message to Wanda's dialing number as she gazed at the Avenger-hawk soaring upwards as he propelled out his wingspan like jet-rushing warbird above her. "Bring the heat, Wands..."

As the brackish stench of Norwegian sea refreshingly sailed from the darkened cliffside, mossed-sheathed henges of the ancestral Viking tribes bordered the craggy edge, dolmens engraved with the runic- circular sigils of the Bi-Frost. It was a transcendental-gateway that branched from the cosmic veins of Yggdrasil, a conductor that Odin had electrifyingly utilized when he descended to Midgard during the Bronze Age of Scandinavian warcraft-now historic sentinels of Viking lore-forgotten -hellacious emergence of mortal strife that vented on the carrion-razed grounds of bloodshed.

Carrying the incarnate mantle of his beloved father wouldn't valiantly define Thor's sired-thunderous- reign of being a true son of Odin, all traitorous errors-deception- that conceived his bloodline needed to be staunched out: for good.

Clutching onto the knotted-Groot arm- handle of Stormbreaker with a voltaic flex of his pudgier cloth-sheathed hand, broodily Thor registered lament knells of Nordic ambiance -orchestral requiems to grant worthy passage for the befallen souls of Asgard to the gloriously majestic halls of Valhalla (Valhöll)-where the victorious-noble-hearted slain of Asier journey into vales of eternity after crossing the rivers of Fólkvangr-the banks of his mother's reign.

Countless lives of his displaced people were tragically cleaved apart when the merciless alien executioners- the Black Order had bloodthirstily massacred Asgardian refugees on the transport ark vessel that Loki had stolen from the freakish-crazed Grandmaster during Korg's gladiator ranks uprising—by the vaticinal helm of the 'crab-sack' Mad-Titian, who impaled a genocidal pandemonium of traumatic-butcherous devastation within the decimated transport ship, all to obtain the energy cube-Tesseract- because of Loki's insidious-damnable play of sabotaging trickery. He defeatedly lost his brother under the skull-crushing grip of Thanos's colossal deliverance of neck-breaking mercy.

"The sun will shine on us again, brother...'

Grunting raggedly, as Bucky stubbily trotted down the hillside notches of eroded stone, as his warred resistance became numbingly deadened against the catatonic-fattening divergence of unabated hunger throes; he churningly felt the morphic bloatedness of Amora's penetrative-abdominous witchery was exponentially outstretching the protrusive rotundity of his girth into squishier flab—nothing availed.

"Grah...I kinda feel like a furry marshmallow," Bucky quipped snarkily, as fissionable onrushes of his untrammeled appetite crescendoed in a stuporous wake as the nectareous sugariness of juicy plums had arrestingly revamped his gluttonous impulse piggily ravage the backpack of rations strapped .

Jutting the furred length of his tusked- snout, Bucky demandingly nudged against Thor's booted calf, against the unalterable strain of his tactless aggression, he gnawed ornerily at threadbare leather, biting the ratty material with harsher tugs. "C'mon Thor..." he grunted in raspier timbre, snobbishly."Quit hoggin' everything to yourself..."

"This is where my father said Asgard is not a place but people..." Thor sniffed in a grumblier resonance, sullenly, digging his pudgy sheathed hand into the backpack, rummaging for another beer can. "Odin vanished into dust specks because Loki stripped his Asier power and banished him before I had a chance to save him ...Everyone I loved is gone, for some twisted miracle, I endure because that's what failures do..."

Unkemptily tresses of shaggier brunette errantly clung over his puckering snout, as he glaringly drove the grayish-sapphire of his unwavering irises at the bedraggled Asgardian ZZ Top, lifting a crushed beer can sloppily to his bristly -swelled lips with glugged moan. "Y'alight Thor..." the sniper boar drawled, throatily in murmurous grunt, quashing down an oinking breath, as he sniffed telltale wetness-angst dampening greasily over Thor's grizzled beard. "Hell, you gotta stop blamin' yourself for what happened..." he treaded, gromlessly in croaky pitch, twitching his furred snout. "What M' try'na to say... uh...we can't let this damn weight gain put us on the ropes..."

A sarcastic chuckle had fluttered past Thor's wet lips that were awashed with the repugnant taste of alcohol. "I don't suffer needlessly, Friend James." He said with a frazzled voice that sounded as if he were half-asleep. "Have you never stopped to think perhaps we are suffering the price of our past misdeeds? Our failures?" His empty expression never left as he stared at a wet splotch in the ground that was revealed by the rivulets of blood on the leaves. As he listened to the hog grunt in apparent confusion, the bloated Asgardian shrugged as he sank back against a tree and slowly slid to the ground. "I've seen the same pain in your eyes-the same remorse of killing so many, and failing so many. How are we not guitless?" He said with a broken voice, so unlike the boastful proud warrior that could inspire legions, but rather like a withered soul close to leaving its empty shell.

Trying his damnedest to ground his bulbous mass, grimacingly Bucky hoofed a brewskie can with sluggish precision towards a stone marker, every collapsible second of undeterred restraint had consumingly saddled him into porcine dregs as his grayish-aquamarine irises dismally gazed at the crestfallen Asgardian Thunderer's flabbier hand indifferently slipping into a frayed satchel that was loosely strapped underneath lumpish pudge of his globbed-up swelled paunch-clutching an irresistible jumbo-sized Kit-Kat bar; his furred snout raptly pinched into a taunted scrunch. "Yeah, it's a question that kinda pops in my head," he quipped in throatier pitch, dryly. "Guess a kid from Brooklyn never quits..."

With a cautious wabble, innately Bucky hankered down on his chubbier backside near the massiveness of Thor's bulked-Aesir solidity, emitting a half-exhausted grunt. "I know bad things are gonna keep happenin' to guys us.." he admitted ruefully, angling his snout down with heart-racking ease. Thor was the heir of Odin-a true champion of Asgard, not a mechanical-enhanced' Siberian beast machine', surgically condemned to a traumatic -lobotomized penance of guilt-riddled amnesia.

While in a catatonic-bloodstained drift as HYDRA's muzzled ghost sniper operative, he did unforgivable horrors of HYDRA killswitch terminations. Every choked-off scream distorted into an electrical-mechanized frequency of radio static. "You're not damaged goods, Thor, hell, not like me...I've done things you can't shake off..." he grunted with a contemptuous scrunch, despairingly. "If anyone deserves this damn strike-out...It's gotta be me."

A remorseful Thor looked at the hog beside him in a new curious light as he realized his speech was becoming further from human and yet he understood him still all the same. The All-Speak of course afforded him such a blessing, but the Asgardian knew enough to realize that he understood the hog because as the seconds ticked by he was succumbing to the same fate as him. He knew his words of despair had inadvertently caused his friend emotional pain by reminding him of unwilling sins from the past. Thor leaned towards him with a hand raised. "James, you cann-aauggh!"

It was as if he had been pierced by a knife in the darkness. The jolt of agony that ripped through his body was unseen, dark, and cold. The bloated Asgardian king tumbled over onto his side with a hand held against his massive gut. His bluish-gray eyes were wide with his lips pressed tight into a harsh grimace. It spoke volumes of the discomfort surging throughout his body that he wouldn't abate. "I-I can't without it any longer." He groaned, spasming as his flesh became enveloped in patches of fur spreading like wildfire across his body. The hog in front of him oinked and looked on in distress.

A tremulous aura of voltaic heat pulsed flashingly over the furrier pudginess of Thor's fisting hand, as the bladed Uru edges of his Stormbreaker ax, became disarmingly cemented into the ground. In gut-lurching reaction, Bucky wobbled back, as rampant pants of oinkish cadence snortingly vented out of his upturned nostrils, as the floored rawness of his beadier aqueous depths trepidatiously narrowed at the bloodied-mutative extensions of Thor's jutted incisors freakishly crooking out of his quivery underlip with bone-splintering traction. Nakedly, a possessive barrage of sorcerous anguish forced his globous rotundity into deadweight, the strained material of his lounge pants tearingly ripped as excessive-lardier mounds of glozing flesh became alarmingly pinkish as skeins of blonde fur hedged over his muscled thighs.

Underneath the ratty muss of Thor's straggly braided dreadlocks, the rounded flesh of his ears floppily widened into a beastly length of the morphic accord, groaning out pained breaths raggedly, in vertiginous-uncontrollable tempo, he anchored the fleshier bands that melded his bulgy forearms with heavier momentum as phalange bones of his deforming hands split into an engorged mass that irrevocably fused into a bloodied obsidian hoof. Convulsively in blinded distress, the hulkish Asgardian warrior-king flailed spasmodically within his rumped garments against the ballooning wake of porcine obesity as the sagged of bearded jaw grossly fused with blondish-gray fur —emitting out snorty -guttural heaves, Bucky urgently nudged his tusked snout into cushiony globbiness of Thor's blimped-out girth. "You gotta fight this...Damnit." he grunted, pressingly."C-Can't let her win..."

"D-Damn you, Amora…" A disgruntled curse spewed past his drenched lips that spewed saliva onto the floor. A heaving lurch rattled his rotund mass as he struggled to right himself. Instead, the blondish furry pig released a choking roar and emptied the contents of his stomach all over the ground in a violent spasm. "Aarrgggghh...What was that- that I ate?" Thor mumbled. He felt considerably lighter and more focused. This wasn't his first foray into the realm of transformation, but he couldn't recall it being this unpleasant in the past. He listened to the groan of disgust coming from his porky companion and flashed him a friendly smile. "Ready for another adventure, my new friend?" He waddled forwards bumped his mass against Bucky's shoulder in what would've been the human equivalent of a pat on the back.

Emitting a derisive grunt, with an onerous scrunched wrinkling his tusked snout, Bucky uttered out 'ooph' as he backslid wobbly on his stubbed hooves against the burlier Asgardian hog's affable momentum flabbily ramming into the humped blobbiness of his tensing shoulders. Keeping himself poised with tactical impassiveness, he became attuned to forested dissonance of nocturnal denizens that ravenously marked their paunchy-hoggish forms into a kill-zone. His floppy-spaded ears twitched on a defensive accord with a cautious tilt of his snout. "Yeah...Okay we gotta make sure that we're not really..." He oinked moodily, with a droolier breath globbing over his puckered underlip, and shifted his aquamarine depths towards a notched dolmen shadowing the cliffside-they needed to hide fast."... being followed, cause I get the feelin' those attack dogs are gonna us on helluva of a run..."

"Verily. Amora won't rest until she has us strung up and ripped apart by her ghouls." Thor added which did nothing to soothe Bucky's increasing anxiety over their situation. For his part, Thor only appeared as bothered as if his favorite shoes had been stained. The Asgardian boar was of course larger than Bucky in both stature and mass. His natural height and weight had apparently transitioned over to his new form which meant he was not an entirely helpless hog waiting to be gutted. But it also meant couldn't be as stealthy and would make it much easier for their pursuers to catch on to. As Thor waddled between the trees with Bucky beside him, they found it harder to make their way through the darkness that seemed to stretch for miles until they stopped dead when a screech pierced the night skies.

A galvanic pulse of visceral urgency had electrifyingly imploded over towering pines, as whitish auras of moonlight ethereally flashed over a hawk-like silhouette that predatorily sailed above them with vigilant precision; it was definitely a raptor-hawk. Stretching out his flesh-gouging talons to deliver a lashing strike, the feathered intruder screechingly readied for a dive-bomb sweep, his vitreous-azure orbs widened into a soulless back as he slashingly delivered his attack over the chubbiest boar's furred rump, viciously thrashing his dagger-edged wings in fiercer-blinding succession. "Y-You're not gonna run..."

Thor released a gut-wrenching squeal that before none would expect to draw from the Asgardian Avenger. The knife-digging excruciating pain of talons ripping into his furry flesh sent licks of white-hot agony through his body that couldn't be ignored. The stinging pain was like a scolded burn that pulsed and took on a life of its own as the hog grunted and heaved, throwing himself back into the shadow of the trees while Bucky did the same. "Stay out of sight," Thor groaned, shuddering as the pain slowly began to subside but leaving him feeling shaken by the suddenness of it. What the hell had just attacked him? That was no ordinary hawk.

Unkemptily, as his shaggier chestnut tresses strayed over the jowly pudge of his tusked snout, banking down his tenacious-hellbent spirit, with combative tack, Bucky enforced his wobbling pace a breadth underneath a canopy of pined branches as he reacted to the sky-diving aggressiveness that swoopingly over them; a whipsawed assault of raptor-like talons cuttingly dragged bloodied treks over furred lumpish of globbiness of Thor's exposed back."Damnit..." A half-drawn grunt scathingly rented out of the Brooklyn hog, as he furrowed the overlapping flab of his brow into a concentrative pinch, and lowered his blobbier rotundity into a mid-crouch on his cloven-hooves, as jacked-off awareness exceedingly drove the razored coolness of his sniper vision unblinkingly up at the high perch, gazing at their winged attacker-a bluish feathered hawk- latched over a gnarly branch. "There-" he jutted out his snout against a full-throated grunt, breathlessly. "We gotta knock him off..."

"Aye. Leave that to me," Thor took in deep panting breaths, his mind suddenly far from the thought of a warm comfortable couch and a box of pop-tarts and now diving into the thick of confrontation. Literally. His rotund heavy mass was dragged and thrown from its hiding spot as he charged into the trunk of the tree. He threw his waist rather than his head, the heaviest part of his body that could withstand a club. His weight smashed against the trunk of the tree, causing its branches to groan and snap. "Hyraah!" He cried as he did it a second time, harder than the last. The cawing of the hawk pierced the skies as the winged predator lost grip of his perch and fell between the branches, trapped as he tumbled down to the ground.

A strobing onslaught of phosphorus white blindingly racked through him, numbingly akin to high-voltage of a kimoyo taser; against a careening headrush, the Avenger-hawk screeched out deafening pitch, arcing the sharpened-edges of his bluish-gray wings to instinctively shield the graven litheness of his feathery girth. "Argh...T-Thor-" he choked out stammeringly in Brooklyn timbre, losing defensive grip on his dagger-edged talons, backstroking his wings he thuddingly collapsed on his back. "G-Get out of here...They're comin' fast..."

"...Steve?" Thor and Bucky exchanged a mutual look in their disconcertion. It couldn't be. Had they imagined his voice? Part of them hoped that they had; holding onto the hope that Steve and Selina hadn't suffered the same fates as them. The bird-hawk's feathers were a distinct indigo blue with flecks of azure. His eyes didn't reveal dilated pupils but a distinct awareness-a familiarity that was undoubtedly human. "Damn." Thor cursed with dismay. "I suppose the mission did go off as planned?"

"Y-You gotta run. Both of you," Steve cawed before he suddenly swiped at the startled hog with his wing, causing a gust of soil to swash into Thor's face. "C-Can't fight her...for long," the Avenger-hawk's talons dug into the earth, trying desperately to keep himself rooted and not surrender to the urge to pierce the pig's throat with his beak. "B-Buck...Selina, she…"

"Steve, my friend..." Tamping down a heart-knifing throb at the alarming revelation at his shield-tossing-teammate-friend- was morphically downsized into a predatory bird, Thor curbed down the unwarrantable tenor of onrushing defeat that was skyrocketing into detonative acceleration as reality became tectonically fissionable like he was trudging on depth charges; an empyreal convergence of psionic aster eldritchly scythed over the Bi-Frost dolmen henges—the earthen conductors of the Nine Realms—the deistic vitality of the All-fathers. "We must stop Amora's madness..." Thor grunted, boomingly, as he stomped his chunkier forehoof with hammering momentum over the hawk's thrashing wing. His cerulean depths grew fiercer alight with turbulent intensity as bluish-white of voltaic heat stormily pulsed as he gazed at his Titian-slayer battle-ax. "We need to fight together..."

Bating out a tremulous breath as she registered distressing screeches emanating out of Steve's beak, daintily Selina waddled out of the shadowed underbrush; the cool satiny pearlescence of her milky-white feathers ethereally contoured against the sleekier-fineness of her curvaceous girth, making her appear like an untouchable sirenic incarnate against the radiance of moonlight that burnished over the svelte arc of her mahogany-fringed wings. Involuntarily with practiced variances of her balletic graces, she twirlingly pivoted on her webbed-feet; her dark irises captured vaporous glyphs energy merging with the dolmens-a beacon point to lure the zombied swarm at their proximity-they were the fresh appetizers. With a brusque snap of her beak, she quipped under breath, snarkily. "This is better a good thrill...'

Slung lankily over the delicate curves of her graceful neck, knotted scraps of neoprene concealed the salvaged arsenal of Wakandian kimoyo beads; the skeletal Élivágar cavalcade was hellishly swarming their advance as she caught the vomitous reek of decayed-wormy flesh stinkily assailing over the northward forest."The spooky party is coming fast, boys..." Selina prompted in threadier pitch, raspily, as the clangourous volumes of corpse-worn armor deafeningly amplified in rabid-berserk succession. They pegged in a warzone.

Incredulously, Selina flashed her dark-brandy irises at the heart-devastatingly sight of two obesely blimp-out hogs; the furrier grayish-chestnut boar dumbfoundedly stretched his jowelly underlip agape, hitching out nasally snorts. "James..." Against the mirrored cadence of irrevocable-stunned- breathlessness, with ephemeral coolness of her feathery wing, Selina achingly caressed a phantom brush of visceral-sensuous reverence over a shagged thatch of wolfish brunette fur that grungily draped over the chubbier folds of his tusked-snout.

"Don't say anything..." she coaxed, breathily, edging her delicate beak shiveringly over the bulging flab of his sagging cheek with nameless urgency as she tearily gazed into mesmeric frostiness of his aquamarine irises-gliding the headier silkiness of her curved feathers kittenishly over his swelled underlip, even behind the fattish grossness of his beastlier-hoggish form, undeniably she reached for him."Well, you do make an exception for an oinking chubb-ball..."

The sudden appearance of the ivory-feathered swan caused Bucky's mind to ground to a halt as he entered total shock. If the appearance of the hell-diving hawk turning out to be his best friend wasn't alarming enough, the presence of the mesmerizing swan speaking to him with the voice of the woman he loves pushed things over the edge. "Selina?!" He was equal parts amazed but also saddened by what his kitten had endured. This chaotic mess had delivered one tragedy after the other to him and his teammates but now that they were together, even as transformed animals, Bucky couldn't help but feel mildly reassured. He took in the swan as she waddled forwards towards him, pausing near a shrub of bushes where the moonlight offered a clear view.

Even in the dim-night, he could see trace amounts of her in the swan's stature as she c*** her head at him. He couldn't help but release an amused grunt. "Its a good look on you, darlin'." In an attempt to lighten the mood, his countenance turned playful. "Does this mean you'll be layin' some eggs soon? I mean, it has been a few days since we…" He let that comment hang in the air for her to grasp, and he half wondered what sort of sassy comeback she'd deliver to him in her new form.

"Better play down a different card on that, handsome..." Selina retorted against a laconic breath, snarkily and with a blithe quirk of her beak, utilizing distractive-ambivalent coolness of her lithe poise, vehemently, she played deviant nonchalance as the gravelly suaveness of his oinking timbre became arrestingly evident to Bucky's toothily smirk that conveyed piggish-boyish- dorkiness as he unabashedly snorted out a throaty chuckle. Dazedly, on his cloven-hooves, feigning a heavier wobble, angling his furred snout Bucky headily nudged a chaste tracery of amorous pressure over her wing—just enough to feel her with virile sweetness; the contrast addicted her as every moist graze of his snout nakedly invested a tangible-cherishing reverence of over her ivory feathers. Giving him a sardonic glare of tigerish- brandy, Selina teasingly whirled around on her webbed feet with a subtle vixenish sashay that unnervingly flitted her tail feathers. "Careful, Barnes, I might enjoy keeping you guessing..."

"I'm rather good at this guessing you speak of..." The rotundest of the ensorcelled-warrior- hogs interjected in gruffer pitch jocosely, easing his brawlier weight off the Avenger-hawk's slacken wing; Thor gruntingly shifted his vitric- cerulean depths at the infuriated-bodacious-swan maiden who pointedly knifed him with a dead-straight glare of her rapt disgust, as he smugly gestured a forehoof intently at the neoprene sash that readily adorned over the busty curves of her feathered girth."I like feisty lady-bird of yours, friend James, she can gladly join us the battle..."

"Knowing her, I'd say she's a few steps ahead of us, Thor." Bucky impishly praised her with a knowing glint in his blue eyes. Those who underestimated a cat and tried to cage them were met with claws when they least expected it. Before he could continue with his line of thought, the group became alert to the snarling noises of undead drudgery encroaching on them.

"Unfortunately, so are they." Steve cawed with a painful grimace as he hid his head between his wings. The telltale sliver of sorcery creeping up his spine was like a knife being dragged upon his skin, warning him that his oppressor wasn't quite through trying to reign him back in. "We-We can't stay out in the open like this," he flapped his wings furiously, perching himself up on a rock to get a good view of the 100 or so undead Asgardians that were trudging towards them.

He knew their chances of defeating a score of monsters like this was small if not impossible in their current state. But he knew there were different ways to fight and outsmart the enemy.

As the miasmal fumes of carrion flesh stinkingly assailed over their exposed proximity, Selina quickly unknotted her neoprene sash, revealing her Wakandian arsenal. "Yeah, it's not much to beat the dodge with boys..." she quipped under breath, ruefully, and with painstaking ease of unhampered reaction, she grazed her feathered wing shiftily over the vibranium EMP bead, activating a nano pulse wave as the nsibidi sigils glowed bluish amethyst in sonic fruition."We need to keep these worm-fests distracted from reaching Tubby's new home..."

"You know I love it when you come prepared to a fight, darlin', but I'm not so sure its gonna be as easy as that for us." Bucky sighed with a pitch of anxiety creeping into his bones. His hoggish form gave him something of a sixth sense when it came to observing the world around him. He could hear as far as the wind blew, and what he was hearing was the gnashing snarls of ravenous hunger that begged to be sated. Those ghouls were undead and hunting them down, and something told him they weren't in the mood for birds on the menu. Thor for his part didn't appear too bothered which probably meant he was too used to these sort of scenarios involving monsters. 'Well good for you, blondie.' Bucky thought with a touch of annoyance. "We need a plan of attack. Steve?" Bucky asked their new eyes and ears in the sky who seemed to be in deep thought.

"Enchantress wants us to feel helpless into what she made us. Wants us to give up and become chow or her puppet on strings; prove to the world that we're all muscle and no spirit. I say we prove her wrong." The hawk snaps his gaze to his friends, an elusive swan, a headstrong pig, and a reckless boar. They had their strengths and weaknesses, but together they could prove to be a devastating combo, and maybe-just maybe, they could aggravate Amora enough to get her out into the open.

"Someone needs to play the hag's mark of interest..." Selina murmured cunningly, gesturing a wing intently on readied accord at the blondish furred-dumpier Asgardian boar who sloppily munched on pieces of granola bar that he undoubtingly snagged out the raided backpack. "Time to work up your fast charm, Tubby..." Gritting against sardonic breaths, she angled her taut beak with a fleering smirk, challengingly. "Or maybe you should roll on your back for a belly rub..."

Thor released an uncharacteristic snort that the others weren't sure was a chuckle or a scoff as he finished chowing down his snack. Bucky half-wondered where he was keeping these granola bars he seemed to be pulling out of thin-air. Steve shook his head at their candor and began to flap his wings to gain altitude. "Just don't get killed out there. Your best weapon is to evade and distract. Bucky and I will draw as many of Enchantress' bogies away from the city. Thor we need you to draw her out into the open. And when she is...that's your cue, Selina." Steve could feel the unease rolling off of Bucky's shoulders at the thought of Selina putting herself so close to that witch's wrath.

But as a swan, she had the best chance of all of them at getting close to Amora. Once Steve flapped away into the skies, Bucky hesitated a moment to follow after him as he shifted his dismal gaze to the ivory-feathered swan. "You gonna be all right, darlin'?" He asked worriedly.

Despite they were on the conjured fringe of butcherous throes of a nightmarish warzone, smirkingly as Selina heard the pudgy sniper-hog's murmurous drawl edged with suaver a timbre, in a naked-headier contrast of unabandoned precision invested with the feather-light pressure of her wing, she caressed his drizzly snout in reverent tempo; she pillowed her tinier head against cushy flab of his cheek, stoking up an implosive rush of breakneck adrenaline. "Don't worry about me, handsome..." she urged, bluntly, as he grunted in fervent strain, cravingly riding out another duel of heartbeats with her. "Besides when do I ever get caught..."

"Never before, so don't start now." He murmured against her slender neck. He immersed himself in their intimate proximity, and the comfort it brought him to know that no matter what forms they were in, they were together. But as he listened to Thor's anxious grumbling while the snarling undead drew closer, Bucky knew that they couldn't stay this way for too long. "See you soon, kitten." With that, Bucky watched her flap away to carry out her role in this plan. Thor meanwhile released a deep grunt as he stepped out into the clearing to face the oncoming horde.

In an undeterred measure of teeming seconds, verdigris salvos of telestic energy blindingly lanced through forested darkness; cacophonous banshee-like screeches of demonic rabidness emanated out berserker unison 'army of one' as greenish-acid sigils veined over mottled skeletal flesh underneath gnarled layers of black chainmail as the Élivágar ranks ghostily mobilized to battle-charge their first wave of terror assault on the seaside ridge. Helmed deformities of jutted cheekbones lolled on iron-armored shoulders erratically, as hollowed-out visages of Odin's slain-honorable warriors who defended the citadels of Asgard had tragically become the Enchantress's wraith slayers-vessels of her conquesting-massacring butchery as their leathery fingers thrust up warped edges of Nerco spears, hailing to usher tides of slaughterous carnage. "T-This can't be..." Thor grunted breathlessly, staring at the disgraced fallen.

In the midst of Thor's sorrow over his fallen brethren, a cinder-furred hog and a blonde hawk charge towards the ghoulish horde by land and air. The cold night air nipped at them with the roaring wind smothered by the monstrous groans carried by the horde. They numbered in over two dozen, men and women charged with building a new settlement on the outskirts of New Asgard until Amora's deathly magic sucked away their life-force and then reanimated them as lifeless constructs. They were spread out to cover more ground on the barren fields, which made it easier for the hog and the hawk to run through them.

Bucky suppressed the knife-digging fear that came with the anticipation of being tackled and ripped to pieces as he charged through the numerous walking undead, stealing their focus as they gnashed their teeth and snarled at him in pursuit. Others were unprepared for the bird of prey swooping down on massive wings only to dig its talons into their eyesockets and scrape the dead flesh from their withered faces. Aerial combat was something Steve never felt comfortable at, preferring to keep his feet on the ground, but as he dived, attacked and retreated he found himself falling into an easy pattern that enabled him to carry out their diversion.

"Whoa!" Bucky squealed as he saw three undead prepared to block his path as they converged on his location. He didn't need to turn around to know that he was being surrounded. Acting on sheer adrenaline, the hog continued his break-neck pace and barreled right through the calves of a construct, causing its limbs to tear completely by the sheer force of his charge. Bucky ignored the gruesome feeling that wafted through him and continued on his path. He looked upwards to see Steve circling the horde, cawing at them in loud piercing volume. "We got em', Steve!" Bucky grunted as he realized the horde had their entire focus on both him and Steve and not on Thor and Selina.

With a serpentine variance of her encroaching pace, bedizened in her emerald cloaked garment, as the intricate winged-curved headpiece aesthetically fused over the sleekness of her cheekbones, skeins of viridian-Nordic- runes etched hypnotically giving her an ophidian visage of a tyrannic cobra; Amora haughtily sidestepped discarded remnants of chainmail armor melded with sloughed bones that dissolvingly glozed with tarry resin that viscidly seeped into mud-dampened earth; gripping onto the leather-buckled straps of Captain America's vibrainum shield, tauntingly Amora upped her seized Midgardian trophy as the alloy deflected off whitish scones of moonlight as her steel-grayish irises covetously became fixed on Nidavellir forged ax-Stormbreaker- a harvester weapon of mortal cleansing.

"It seems you have lost your worthiness as that fattened Dwarven vessel conceived by my will, Odinson..." A viperish sneer wickedly tempered over the voluminous swell of her ashen lips, as she glared at the porkier blondish-furred hog, who slouchily dragged the bulbous expanse of his protrusive underbelly over emptied Élivágar helmets. "By your continuous failures..." Vauntingly, Amora gestured her lithe fingers over skeletal dregs of carious flesh. "You have damned those wretched souls of your craven realm to become gutted out by my Twilight legion..."

The hollowness of the abyss he felt within himself and made Thor feel lifeless for the past few years. Ever since he lost his home, his lover, his friends, his family...his brother. He had tried to fill that void by indulging in gluttony and discord. But the pain never abated. If anything, his string of failures had seemed to become a constant as he found himself without the will to raise himself up from his pit of squalor and self-pity. That was until a fateful meeting with his mother-compassionate Friggia-across time and space and set him back on a path towards resurgence. The way back to fighting strength was a path to becoming worthy again-worthy of the thunder, of becoming king of Asgard.

"Failed?" He huffed with a deep snorting breath. "Perhaps I did once, allowing my rage to blind me to my duty. Of being decisive as my father taught me to. But I am not Odin, Amora. Nor am I any longer the Thor you would charm with honeyed words and love potions. I am an Avenger." The boar stomped his hooves, grunting with such ferocity, the ground shook as a clap of thunder roared in the heavens, unsettling the Vanaheim sorceress. "And If I must die to save what remains of my brethren, so be it. But I won't be going it alone!"

Dredging up his thunderous ferocity that jacked through his bulgy flab, ragingly on his cloven-hooves, with an immense onrush of his full-strength resilience of battle-honed gnarl, bearishly Thor propelled his unstoppable momentum into headlong-charge of apparent ramming, heftily angling the jutted curves of his tusks with flesh-gouging precision into her ironclad calf. Animalistic hostility was notching-up as the blondish grizzly hog snorted in ragged-guttural abandoned.

Not wavering in her grounded footing, cobra-quick readiness, Amora slithery caught his reckless trajectory of defensive intent, evading his bull-rushing pace. "If you dare to strike me down, Odinson your wretched friends will serve to feed my legion..."Amora fumed, seethingly, gazing at the voltaic embers of his whitish-cobalt irises become searingly electrified-the uncontainable-untamed vitality of Asgard -lightning of the Nine Realms was infinitely converging through him.

Bracing against the heavier gusts of Thor's hoof-stomping momentum, as her platinum-blonde tresses whip-lashed over her tensing jaw, venomously, Amora flexed a gauntleted hand with conducting prowess-orchestrating her rhapsodic symphony of blood-smeared mayhem. "Perhaps you must endure a graver reality of true defeat when I snuff out the heart of valor you have anchored onto ..." she hissed out with crazier pitch, ravingly, gazing at the hellbent sniper-hog aggressively punctured a bonier torso of a zombied Élivágar soldier with screwdriver precision of his tusked snout, blackish-oozier sludge of glopping leathery flesh pulpily hung over crimped armor. "Or should I chasten, dear James, further into his gluttonous oblivion...?"

Gliding over the battlemented corpse-infested warren, stealthily against exhilarative rushes that surged over her ivory wings, become a white silhouette of ethereal radiance against nocturnal contrasts of shadow cuttingly Selina flapped with diving graces in an instinctive succession of weightless momentum, keeping her black-webbed feet tucked under the silken velvetiness of her tail feathers as involuntarily she registered tremulous quakes that ratcheted ground-deep, vaporous tentacles of Eldritch-mephitic energy had cyclonically morphed into obsidian-verdurous Nerco spires that deafeningly jutted out with bursting force creating an obstructive bulwark, that chased her exposed flight path."I guess it's gonna be a hard play..." she quipped, breathily, narrowing her dark irises calculatingly at Thor's derailed position. "Great..."

Thor felt the power of the thunder surging throughout his boarish body, engulfing him with the might of a thousand storms. But without the physical strength of his Asgardian body to channel his power, he was like an electric eel aimlessly moving about in the hopes of striking his oppressor. Amora was cunning, swift and knew him well enough to anticipate his maneuvers. He did not expect to defeat her on his own.

With her focus squarely concentrated on himself, it left her blind to all that surrounded her such as the ivory swan diving towards her for an attack. Only to his dismay, he watched as the Enchantress proved herself more attentive than he had given her credit for as she maneuvered and struck Selina with a compulsion spell, causing the swan to drop the beads held by her beak and to wander listlessly off. An evil cackle wafted from Amora's emerald painted lips, mocking their efforts to subdue her.

"Enough, Amora! This is between you and I!" Thor stomped his hooves into the ground with such anger it caused a bolt of lightning to strike a tree, setting a fire into the night. The cawing of a hawk breached the chaos as Steve circled the field and made a desperate dive to retrieve the kimono beads that Selina had dropped. But Enchantress' eyes followed him with a gleam of malice.

Against the feverish periphery of her vision, scowlingly Amora gazed at the Avenger-hawk razoring the length his wingspan over barren heaps of smoldering armor; she hefted up the shield, white forks of electrified heat discharged in atmospheric succession as cosmic energy of Yggdrasill galvanically impaled branches through anvil-sized of thunderheads dauntingly looming over the Northern horizon. Carnally with unslaked vulturous thirst, she flashed Thor a viperish sneer as implosive seismic tremors became a distraction in the damning wake of her sorcerous mantra that balefully resonated in commenting tenor, as reddish-astral- glyphs of a destroyer incantation demonically arced over her flexing hand. 'La krigerånden gi etter for dødelig nederlag ...(Let his warrior spirit yield to grounds of mortal defeat...)"

"NO!" Thor released a chilling squeal as arcs of nefarious sorcery shot towards the hawk with the precision of a lance cutting through the air. The hawk had no time to react before he was struck mid-air with the burning grip of eldritch magic ravaging him from the inside out. A strangled cry ripped from his beak, as he spun in concentric circles like a smoking turbine. Time ground to a halt as the second hog watched in muted horror as the hawk that was his best friend began to fall from the skies.

"STEVE!" Bucky squealed, unable to control his stride as he slid across the ground, coming to a stop beside Thor. Down the hawk fell in free-fall, giving neither movement nor sound as he plummeted into the lake where he vanished beneath the surface.

Within seconds of heart-stunned reaction, like a silvery bullet against the gleams of moonlight, irrevocably Selina dove into the darken murkiness of the disturbed lake, urgently she pushed every unbridled limit of her curvaceous form as her feathery wing throbbingly reached through drifts as she deftly scooped up the motionless hawk- that alarmingly became deadweight-she didn't let go. Breaching the surface in a desperate rush against gnarled lashes of muggy reeds, nakedly she felt a visceral tempo of dynamical -brotherly grace; a virtuous heartbeat stoppingly flat-ling against ivory contours of her feathered girth. Angling her delicate beak on the reverent accord, she cradled Steve with tentative hoist over her tremulous wings, as straying heat of feverous wetness errantly dampened his bluish feathers. "S-Steve..." she murmured in choking hitches, sobbingly, feeling no pulse edging back under her unfeigned caress. "W-We can't let this damn hag cheat us out..."

The Hawk couldn't respond with the strength to offer reassurance as he teetered on the brink between life and total darkness. He felt cold, detached from his own body despite the fact he was being uplifted from the cold murky waters that were once a mystical site for the Anglo-Saxons and Vikings that ferried their honorable deceased into the next world. Some called it Avalon, others believed it was a fjord into Valhalla itself between mighty cliffs far ahead. The moonlight streaked across the clear surface, allowing the hawk to look upon his rescuer and release a soft chirp.

"Didn't think cats could swim," Steve said with a weak sense of humor. Amora's magic still burned inside, mercilessly seeking to shutdown his body and reap his soul. "Apparently neither can eagles...She's got us on the ropes, Selina...I don't know if…"

"Hey, we're going to get everything back..." Threadily, Selina urged against gritted breaths, as her brandy irises flitted mistily down at the paralyzed hawk, he was bone-chilled slack in the bow of her silkier wings, the mesmeric vibrancy of his silvery-bluish feathers sickeningly abated, flexion echoes of his invincible-valorous spirit became suffocatingly exorcized as he forcibly strained against the contractive onslaught, thumpingly his tinier heartbeat was fading out-notch by notch.

With subtle pressure of her whisper-soft ministrations gliding over his motionless form, composedly in beckoning variance, Selina gazed at the cool azure of his hawkish orbs soullessly blacken out —the indomitable vitality of the First Avenger was being purged. Reversing direction, Selina assuaged onto definite-unwarrantable relevance of hope, readily shifting the litheness of her bustier girth with evident paddling strokes of her webbed-feet as she reacted to the urgent cadence of her votive-expandable choice, fringing depths; snorting in deep-throat heaves, the beasty sniper-hog rubberily thrashed on his stubbed hooves against Thor's obese rotundity in desperate tenor as Bucky chokingly oinked out his breathless anguish-her unabandoned readiness to save his best friend-little punk, was direly registered in hundredfold. Incandescent auras of the opalescence moonlight had gleamingly haloed over her ivory-mahogany feathers—it was a callback payoff-that would chasmically leash her down into sacrificial elysian. "Whatever it takes, remember..."

"Lina...Kitten!" Bucky released a hapless cry as he watched a brilliant light engulf the lakeside where the ivory swan had cradled the dying hawk against her bosom. It was benign in the sense it offered hope but sorrowful at its expense. It had captured the attention of Enchantress which gave the focused Thor the opening he needed to charge with a brutish grunt, barreling his weight towards the legs of the distracted sorceress, toppling her with such force it was like she'd been hit by a speeding car. Bucky was snapped back into focus, feeling a surge of emotions grip him in the face of watching his kitten vanish in a burst of light only for the shape of a man to emerge from within it.

"She did it…" Bucky oinked, torn between sorrow and gladness but feeling as if he were far removed from this fight as he charged towards the now motionless swan.

The light was unlike anything he had seen before, it made him think he had transcended the mortal plane and entered the next phase of existence. But he could still feel. He could still smell and taste the murkiness of the lake water on his lips. He felt life-he felt freedom from the invisible shackles that had been restraining him for what felt like a lifetime but it had only in fact been a couple of hours. But freedom was priceless, but the price paid for his had been too great to him. Steve Rogers collapsed onto his knees and coughed a small of puddle of water from his lungs. His blurred vision sharpened into focus as the light faded and he was left gazing down into the alarming sight of a motionless swan at his knees.

His knees. Hawks weren't supposed to have the smooth creamy surface of human skin covering bone and muscle. A trembling hand entered his line of sight and he flexed his digits, watching them respond to his will. He was back-he was human. "Selina..." He remembered the swan that had dived into the lake to save him from being swallowed whole. His bewildered features became morphed with sorrow as he laid a hand on the swan's head, tearfully stroking her feathers. "The fight never ends...Thank you." He sniffed, vowing not to let her sacrifice be in vain. His muscles coiled and he repressed a shiver once he realized he was naked. The remnants of his gear was ahead and he took long purposeful strides towards it, jaw clenched with determination. "Whatever it takes..."

Against cacophonous rabidness of the bludgeoned ferocity that bruisingly careened her into the monolithic henge with back-breaking force, ear-splittingly, Amora released a demonic screech, as her fingernails clawed in vicious traction over cindered mulch; she glared at the fattest of the Dwarven hogs' -Odinson with maniacal heat of bloodthirsty lividness, her steely-grayish irises melded into rapine lazurite as she arched her back up with vampiric momentum, as the length of her cloaked garment spookily draped over her braced arms while she clutched onto an ebon Nero-spike, tauntingly leveling the conjured armament with executing precision over the blondish swine's repulsive head. "On this crimson night, the verminous spawn of the Allfather will choke on my reckoning..." Witchily, she hissed, and relishingly drove the spike a hairbreadth from the lumpish sagginess of his furred neck."Your traitorous blood will cleanse my Helheim legion, Thor Odinson..."

Thor could see his end in sight, knowing that he had finally pushed Amora far enough that she was no longer interested in torturing him. Only the feeling of his blood coating her hands would satisfy her sadistic nature as she brandished the spike between her fingers and began to drive it low. His thoughts sped rapidly, allowing him to glimpse many faces he had come to love and mourn. But he felt peace, feeling no sense of failure to fall as a warrior and not as a pitiful hog. That was when his ears detected a buzzing pitch in the background that was as familiar to him as the friendly face it invoked.

*WHAM*

Amora cried out in shock as a cylindrical object smacked into her, causing her to stumble off of the defenseless hog and lose track of her weapon. Thor listened to the telltale sound of metal bouncing off of a hard surface before the object sailed back through the air and into the hands of it wielder. Captain America-Steven Rogers. "YES!" Thor roared with jubilation. Steve didn't relent as he stormed in on his downed foe with his shield in hand, ready for her as she climbed back onto her feet and began to conjure a projectile of magic.

"Y-You dare..." Seethingly in venomous tenor, Amora glowered at the navy-blue Kelvar of a tactical- patriotic uniform that fittingly delineated over corded bulk of graven muscle, surges of enhanced vitality rode every curve of heavier flesh as the avenging-timeless soldier adamantly poised in a mid-crouch with his vibranium shield readily braced over his forearm; like a hunkish Percus who challengingly dared to breach her grotesque domain. The hawkish virility of his chiseled features edged with fiercer sharpness as he unwaveringly grounded a stand of Brooklyn defiance. "So you lost your wings, little warbird..." she lashed out, nastily appalled by his evasive tack of resisting her possessive conjury. "Perhaps you will prevail better in a hoggish form like your dear James Barnes, to wretchedly fatten in your mindless revels while I gut out the swan maiden's worthless heart..."

"You won't be hurting anyone else tonight, Lady." Steve resisted the urge to lash out in anger at her cold taunt. His focused mind watched her movements closely, gauging her for any signs towards her next attack. Amora relied on her wit and cunning to get her opponent to lower their guard. Her horde had been effectively cut off from aiding her when Thor's lightning strike had toppled a burning tree that blocked them. She was alone and Steve wasn't. "Thor?" Steve beckoned to the hog as he climbed up on his hooves and stomped them, causing a rumble of thunder to rattle the skies.

"Aye. Let's make this quick!" With that the Asgardian hog charged, his body like an electrical conduit in motion as it sizzled off his body. The Enchantress grimaced as she opened a small rift for her to escape from while another opened nearby. Steve pitched his spear at the rift, narrowly missing the blonde sorceress as she tuck and rolled across the floor. His shield bounced just in time for Thor to catch it between his teeth and give it an extra added electrical boost-sending it on its continued trajectory towards the Avenger.

Amora engaged Steve in hand-to-hand combat; finding her physical strength to be greater than his as she broke through his boxing guard and landed a palm strike against his torso. *WHAM* She released a cry of both pain and rage as that accursed shield hit her in the back, sending a surge of electricity throughout her body that toppled her to her knees. Steve recovered from his attack and recovered his shield, bringing it upwards in a swinging arc hitting Enchantress beneath the jaw in a devastating uppercut.

"That was for Selina!" Steve hummed with a deep breath. His blue eyes were ablaze and his body burned with adrenaline. Thor charged at a downed Amora only to seize up in a strangled cry as she struck him with a paralytic spell. Steve raised his shield in time to block her assault but could feel the pressure mounting on him.

Bracketing her armored calves with vising sync, rapaciously Amora straddled herself commandingly over the athletic solidity of bulkier tautness fused with his Kevlar midriff investing carnal demand; platinum-blonde tresses sweltry webbed over her exquisite-thinned cheeks as she viciously drilled a pulse-stealing throb with her fingernail into angular contours of his broad jaw that raptly became hard-edged against her injurious-divesting assault. A raptor-like gleam of her steely irises entrancedly belied her merciless intent as the knifing pressure of her ebon-winged headpiece jutted into his bloodied cheek, delivering a waspish sting of penetrative-infectious entity of her sanguineous vengeance.

Gnashing his teeth, forcibly with deadened momentum, Steve hefted up his shield, drawing out ragged heaves as he bashingly clashed his arm-driven thrust of reactive pressure against her throat as her gauntleted palm vitriolically splayed a kneading caress over graven-edged ridges of muscled flesh on wanton accord of her serpentine thirst.

At the shore of the lake, a desperate hog trots into the cold ripples in panting grunts to envelope the seemingly lifeless swan in a sorrowful embrace, spilling rivulets of tears onto her beak. "Come back to me, kitten." He cried, hoping and praying for a miracle to bestow upon them.

On the field, Amora's aggression was something Steve couldn't withstand for long as he could feel her magic begin to pour into once again. Like a knife slowly being dug into his sternum he felt as if struggling would make it much easier for her to cleave through him with her magical shards that dug their way into him. The magic poured through, reshaping his mass into the desired state of the wielder who wanted him to be as vulnerable as his friends on stubby hooves. The mass of cheeks had begun to fatten with patches of golden-blonde fur sprouting from his skin.

"I will savor watching you fatteningly burgeon into a dormant hog, Captain..." Amora raved, dementedly clamping her fingers over his leather-sheathed wrist. Keeping him arrestingly captive in her ravenous throes, she predatorily gazed into the feverish rawness of his glacial azureous irises, oblivious that reddish-magenta flares of psionic energy had telekinetically whooshed over maggoty-skeletal heaps of her subdued ranks. "You will never throw this wrenched shield again..."

"Get away from him..." Blazingly as crimson salvos grew into Eldritch beacons of hellfire, feeling a telepathic rupture pulsing from the astral bridges of Multi-verse plane; earthen barricades of Nerco spires crushingly warped against ignitable shockwaves of kinetic fusion that propelled out of the fiery sling-ring portal-dimensional gateway of occultic convergence. With pythonic swiftness, infuriatingly Amora roved a basilisk glance over her armored shoulder at the auburn-copper haired Slovakian Avenger-a 'scarlet phoenix' who had crushingly quashed the deviant-prophetic Titan-the genocidal equalizer of the Nine Realms into fused contortions of dismantled metal husks: a vengeful cradle of restraint.

Stepping over discarded skulls and ebon spears, playing off a hair-trigger deadlock of her sorcerous challenge, vixenishly Wanda grounded her laced boots near a stone dolmen, as her delicate-elfin waifish features heated bakingly under unkempt tresses draping over her Gothicsque corset, psionic auras of mutative energy fierily veined over burgundy leather of her Burlesque Victorian-steampunk jacket as her eased her wrister-sleeved arm, genetically conjuring a vapory pinkish flare as her irises glowed laser-red. "I said..." She blasted a crimson salvo blindingly into an Einherjar death-walker as skeletal flesh meltingly dissolved into sifts of cindery ash. "Get away from him...!"

"Wanda?" Steve choked out deep breaths, unable to mask his surprise. He could feel his humanity slowly creeping back to him after Enchantress' spell was interrupted by the most unexpected of saviors. He pulled himself up to his knees with his shield in tact while the Sokovian Avenger took point in front of both him and Thor, staring down the infuriated Asgardian sorceress.

"As a friend of mine would say, "you are so screwed now", Amora," Thor boasted with renewed vigor at seeing the second most powerful Avenger arrive (second after him of course, he was certainly still the strongest ever!).

Wading against a denotative fringe of her ruinous-unslaked indulgence, painstakingly in malodorous fruition, Amora shifted on her lithe haunches with a viperish rush against the blubbering-hog- flab that plumpishly stretched under the Kevlar of Steve's inflated midriff and dragged her fingernails on the deceptive tenor of a scorpion-crawl over a helmeted skull as virescent glyphs burningly etched over desiccated bones in conjuring-hellacious unison. "This foolish annoyance will, unfortunately, become a piteous vessel of my craven throes of butchered mercy..." she crackled in sadistic pitch, lashingly easing her gauntleted hand up as the possessed skull grisily catapulted with a vicious thrust of unstoppable gravity akin to a volleyed soccer ball, cannoning down at Wanda like a shell bomb. "You might have cleverly ensnared Thanos within the grips of your faulty power, but make no mistake you will fail this time,..."

With trembling hands that were now free from the shackles of dark magic, Steve picked up his shield and tightened the straps around his forearm. He felt like himself, but more importantly, he felt whole. His calculating blue eyes narrowed on the sorceress who wasn't idle in her attempt to gain the upper-hand despite being outnumbered. Her long dainty digits spiraled and conjured a myriad of emerald glyphs that he surmised was to form a defensive barrier for herself. "We can't let her defenses rebound. Thor-bring the thunder! Wanda, distract her!" Steve urged his team who looked apprehensively at him.

"And you, Captain?" Thor grunted.

"I'll keep her busy." Steve didn't wait for them to agree to his plan knowing that speed was the essence. Each moment they wasted meant their enemy could regroup or retreat. No. This needed to end now. For Bucky. For Selina. Steve charged towards Enchantress and raised his shield just in time to repel a projectile of burning energy that burst towards him from one of the glyphs he was charging through. Hot pain licked at his shoulders but he pushed through barrier after barrier using his shield until his target was in striking-range. Lunging forward, Steve kicked Amora off-balance, allowing Wanda the chances to use her hex-energy to dispel the defensive glyphs surrounding the sorceress.

Amora regained her balance by kipping up to her feet. She feinted a leg-swipe only to land a right-hook to his shoulder. And then another. It felt like being beaten with a club, but Steve reacted in time to raise his shield to block the next attack. Amora roared with pain as her fist struck the most versatile metal in the galaxy, causing spasms of pain to lance up to her shoulder.

"I can do this all day." Steve panted to the infuriated witch who glared at with a newfound hatred to rival that of Thor's.

"I will make you choke on those words," Amora seethed, lividly, her steel-grayish irises pulsed with draconic heat as the First Avenger tensely leveled his shield with controlled poise of combative defense invested with each drag of his footing, a bloodied gash revealingly smeared over his graven-contours of his dirtied cheek as the vigilant flit of his cool azure irises betrayed no deterrence of submission-he wouldn't relent. The orcish cavalcade of her wraithlike Einherjar soldiers was on the implosive breadth of unleashing their apocalypse-run over New Asgard; the miasmatic rabidness of insatiable bloodlust oozily wafted off skeletal flesh-they were bred out of the hellish-phantasmatic cauldron of her portentous witchery to slaughterously raid-out anything that echoed a detected heartbeat on their carious path.

Against vertiginous onrush of dizziness exhaustingly rode bone-deep, Steve grounded his athletic bulk, measuring each predatory-viperish tenor of her shadowed assault, reacting as skeletal fingers of unearthed denizens creepily jutted out of the sludgy ground in manic sync, twistingly clamping onto his Kevlar-padded calves to paralyzingly grapple Steve onto his knees in the accelerated dissonance of a flesh-slashing onslaught. "As much as I desire to allow your Midgardin spirit to prevail, your spirit will become an extension of my reborn army..."

Before she could renew her attack against him, Amora caught sight of the fleeing hog heading to the clearing holding out his hoof. An arc of lightning flashed in the distance and there was a brilliant light being conjured from the ground up to the skies! An impossible act of nature, unless...the Stormbreaker! The Odinson's newly forged weapon sang through the air as it came towards its intended bearer. Amora watched as Thor commanded it from afar, calling down bolts of lighting to scorch the plains where her undead horde had begun to climb over the burning log.

With a screech of rage, Amora sent a whip of eldritch magic towards the hog and ensnared his throat in her talons. Before she could snap his neck and end her vengeful crusade, she was levelled by another blast of that accursed psycho-energy from that upstart Midgardian witch!

"Its over. Surrender!" Steve yelled at Amora as she powered through Wanda's next assault. The witch's furious green eyes landed on him once more.

Harnessing cobra-quick ferocity in the nefarious cadence of her ghostlier prowess, with a geomatic circlet of verdigris energy rotating chimerically around her gauntleted wrist, in a beckoning command of sorcerous unity, thievingly Amora blazoned her veins with the astral gateways of tenebrious vistas of Helheim, rampantly infecting Steve's corded flesh with a benumbed -morphous paralytic of soul-immobilizing deviance she had morbifically conjured to amputate out his pathetic humanity into a languorous-obese vassal of boarish gluttony. "Få ham til å oppblåse sin verdige ånd ... (Make him bloat out his valorous spirit)" The Nordic utterance of her penetrative mantra condemningly assailed over her earthen warren in explosive-damnable frequency. "Let this mortal soldier carouse over the battlefield in ranks of mindless swine..."

Steve knew a cornered animal when he saw one. The unbridled desperation that emanated off of Amora meant the sorceress was through fighting for dominance she was now fighting to survive-or to escape. A reckless state of mind but also a dangerous one that spelled disaster for whomever stood in her way. That being him. She was like a live grenade about to go off. Having experience with such a scenario from so long ago, Steve knew what he had to do-and that was to jump. The emerald sorceress had opened a portal behind her just at the same time she prepared to unleash a familiar spell from her fingertips. It lanced through the air like a javelin, seeking its prey in the form of a battered soldier ready to sacrifice himself for his friends.

Gritting his teeth, the soldier raised his only defensive weapon and clung to it with such strength it caused his muscles to strain against the tight fabric of his undershirt. The projectile slammed against the shield causing a deafening gong to billow out into the field, only for the projectile to be sent back to its source. The sorceress's emerald eyes widened and she had no time to react before her own magical spell struck her down.

"No..." A breathless timbre of railing alarm rubberily deafened into a hoggish grunt, the morphic deviance of her calamitous scourge irrevocably knifed through her stunned veins, defeatedly, squealing in urgent pitch, the Enchantress convulsed in a thrashing upheaval onto her knees as her viper-like incisors bleedingly protruded over the voluminous swell of her jutted underlip; the cascading length of her platinum-blonde tresses dauntingly ebbed out of her deforming skull, evident to a droppy twitch of her floppier ears that widened in swelling-grislier tenor underneath her ebon headgear.

Within rigged seconds, Amora inflatingly felt her the suppleness voluptuous breasts fleshily meld into girthier roundness of her outstretching abdomen -like a prolific sow. Cradling her gauntleted arms frantically over the globular pudge, Amora snorted as viscid mucus gloopily out of her upturned nose that jutted in mutative deformity of a piggish snout as she uglily blimped into an ogrish mass. "You honestly believe you're still victorious, dear Captain..." she emitted a snide rasp, grudgingly, mirroring the niveous coolness of his silvered azure irises, that didn't waver. Flexing his leather-gloved hand, with apparent ease, Steve reined the blondish Asgardian hog with an unshakeable measure of passive 'stand-down' impedance against the electrical surge of high-voltage. "Your precious James Barnes and his swan vixen will endure the rest of their evanescent days as pitiable creatures..."

Steve maintained a stoic facade in the face of the sorceress' words that were meant to diminish her defeat. He gave no reply nor reaction even as Wanda came to stand beside him and the deep panting of an approaching hog came up from behind. Thor and Wanda watched with him as Amora's own magic began to undo her from the inside out; twisting and transforming the beautiful woman into an unremarkable sow no different from the animals she had forced others to become. Her whimpering cries had now transitioned into guttural squeals of distress that unnerved Steve and Wanda, but greatly satisfied Thor as he watched her roll and struggle to move in her new form.

"She was always a sour one in defeat." Thor remarked. What surprised Steve and Wanda was how much more discernible Thor's voice had suddenly become. When they both looked over towards him, the Asgardian hog was shimmering with a benign unnatural glow, no different from the one that had encompassed Steve. "Well now, this is a bit odd…" Thor murmured.

The cacophonous mantra of Eldritch tenor coupled quakingly with a nacreous surge that prismatically emanated over Bi-Frost dolmens; utilizing her sorcerous caliber, Wanda formed a mystic barrier enwreathed over the oafish Asgardian hog as whitish strobes of lightning blindingly discharged over the horizon vistas of the Norwegian coastline, boomingly heralding the apparitional-thunderous resonance of Odin's caroming voice commanded Stormbreaker to raise off the fissionable ground as recalling knells of Asier worthiness launched the Nidavellir battle-ax with skyrocketing momentum.

As electric salvos arced over the repulsive fattening sow-vaporizing her ebon Nerco-spires into smearily misted ash over the furrier sagginess of pudge of her snout, Amora belted out a huffish-voiceless squeal, only to register a hoggish cadence echo back. After receiving an expected text on her Stark-phone, involuntarily Wanda had used a Tiberian sling- ring to pull an undetected vanishing-act out of Manhatten Sanctum Santorum before Master Wong returned from his periodic tuna melt run-Steven Strange had critically instructed to read Kamar-Taj manuscript collections of Eldritch intentions-tapping into subtonic paradoxes the quantum plane. Being a mystical sentry, Wanda understood the unstable measures of her restraint-to never fully pull the pin. "Everything you took from us is now reserved back.." Wanda addressed smirkily with blunted terseness in her Slovakian timbre. "No one will fear you anymore..."

The relief of his enemy's defeat had led to an influx of surprises to the assembled heroes who watched as Thor trotted over towards Stormbreaker. His trusted weapon gleamed in the pale-moonlight, beckoning him closer to its comforting thrawl. The energy humming off its surface made the fur on his body tingle and rise on end. Thor understood what it meant and could not help but to send a silent thank you to the all-fathers and the norns. Thor brushed his snout against the bark handle that was once a limb of his friend Tree. Stormbreaker sparked and a salvo of lightning enveloped him. Instead of feeling pain, he felt relief.

From head-to-toe the vile dark sorcery was purged from his body like an evil poison. He felt himself grow and was now standing again on two feet as the strong powerful man he always was. Releasing a chuckle he could not help but run his hands over his face, finding a wise bushy beard and smooth skin. He was Thor-he was a man. He was...still fat, and very much half-n***. "I miss the spells that could restore my clothing." Thor lamented as he wrapped the torn vestments of his pants around his modest parts and offered Steve and Wanda a sheepish smile. Wanda rolled her eyes while Steve appeared both relieved and thoughtful.

"Not just you," Steve agreed. "But if you were restored, maybe…" he was almost too afraid to hope. It was familiar in a sense of desperation that once the dust settled a wrong could be made right. The lost would be found.

"What?" Thor wondered aloud as he lifted his axe over his shoulder. Instead of saying anything, Steve took off towards the shore of the lake, leaving Thor and Wanda to stand guard over the still squealing sow that was imprisoned in a cage of hex energy.

The skies were now a lighter shade of blue with dawn approaching on the horizon. Steve dashed through the trees, able to find his way easier now despite the clusters of trees and vegetation. His eyes landed on the two shapes nestled close against one another beneath a shade of trees. His feet come to a halt and he feels his breath pause within his chest as he took in the sight of a man and woman locked in a tearful embrace. They were both half-n***, covering each other by their arms circling each others backs. Her face rested against his shoulder as he stroked her hair and the small of her back.

Bucky and Selina lean back long enough to gaze into each other's eyes and then come together again in a passionate kiss. Steve recognized them immediately and had to avert his eyes with a small smirk forming across his lips. "Same ol'Buck." He muttered. He gave the couple a moment before gently clearing his throat. "I'd ask if you two are all right but something tells me you're better than that."

"Don't spoil the moment, Soldier boy..." Selina bantered out snarkily, against the implosive abandon that cravingly surged headier in the gloried tempo as she threaded her lithe fingers brushingly through the unkempt length of Bucky's wolfish chestnut tresses with quenchless urgency as he bracketed chaste pressure of his flesh-hand over the delicate contours of the underside of her jaw, featherily gracing a pulse of amorous heat that swelteringly coupled with the reverent glide of his splaying thumb-the virile strength of his evocative caresses demanded an intoxicating tracery of phantom awareness.

Each tactile drift of his intimate steadiness became a kiss-starved rapture of dueled-boneless serenity contrasting into aphrodisiacal decadence, the mesmeric smokiness of his aquamarine irises had smolderingly beckoned as the ivory skeins of her feathers vanishingly melded into cool pearlescence of her nakedness- the blobby pudginess of hoggish flab tautly dissolved into hunkier corded flesh that sculpted over graven-ridges of his muscled solidity.

The mechanized coolness of his cybernetic arm shiveringly ghosted a possessive rush over the svelte planes of her back as Bucky throatily jutted the open-mouthed stretch of his shapely-wide lips over the glossier lushness of her flushed pillowy lips that delectably cushioned against the shifting drag of his kiss-swollen lips, abandonly moaning in feverous cadence, he bruisingly thrust passion-damp heat, catching her breath with sensuous ferocity as they were floored into liquefying release-deliverance. "B-Buck..." she urged raspily, as the hot wetness of his mouth blindly surged the kiss deeper-not letting her go. "Okay...Slow it down, Barnes..."

Bucky couldn't quite explain what had come over him, but he was like a man who had just come out of the desert dying of thirst. And Selina was freshly drawn water from a well that he just couldn't get enough of. So he had kissed her, drank in her exhalations with mind-numbing relief as he basked in the feeling of her touch, of having her in his arms again. It was heady and addicting-were it not for Steve's presence nearby he had a good feeling of where things would lead to, and he had to repress the groan of annoyance that begged to be released once he and Selina parted lips. He could see the mutual frustration in her eyes and conveyed a silent message to her that spoke plainly, "Later." Once that was done, he flashed his best friend with a sardonic smile. "You always did have impeccable timing, Steve."

"So I've discovered," Steve replied with a guilty smile. Together both Bucky and Selina rise to their feet. His torn pants still fit snug around his waist and he tears off the remains of his shirt for Selina to tie around her chest as a make-shift tank top. They hold hands as they follow Steve out from the tree-line and into the open.

"Its mornin'," Bucky murmurs. They all sigh as a ray of sunlight washes over them, bathing them in a warm feeling of reassurance. The field however is still littered with dead corpses that used to be the people of New Asgard. Steve, Bucky and Selina all become crestfallen at the sight, knowing that their victory had come at a great cost. "Did we win, at least?" Bucky asked Steve who beckons them ahead. They see a surprising sight none had anticipated as Wanda uses her power to transport a visibly distressed sow through a sling-ring portal before stepping through it herself. "When did Wands get here?" Bucky asked genuinely shocked until he glanced at Selina with an inkling of suspicion. "I'm guessing we got you to thank for that, darlin'?"

Registering the suaver timbre of his gravelly drawl, kittenishly Selina quirked the fullness of her burgundy lips, unstintingly evident to the vixenish gleam of her brandy-coffee irises that held devious light, bracing her supple-toned arm with pacifying -feminine heat over muscle-cords of his tenser back as Bucky clunkily grounded traction in his warring paces-shaking off the sluggish wobbling that had bulgingly controlled his piggish momentum—only hours before. The berserk-o Vanaheim scavenger—hag was on the receiving end of her bestial-morphing conjury-a fattened prisoner of her cheated-out devices."Well, I did make a fast call, farm-boy," A deviant scrunch of her pert nose evidently conveyed with a jaunty quirk over her full lips as she purred huskily against the hard-edged ruggedness of his stubbled jaw. "Besides you know how I like to bend the angles when I play ..."

"That's my girl," Bucky kissed her brow lovingly and hugged her closer against his side. Steve watched them with a bittersweet smile across his tight lips. Despite the scope of this threat and the lives lost, he was happy to see that Bucky wouldn't have to endure the same loss as himself. Some wounds took longer to heal, but eventually, they would be made easier to live with. Shifting his gaze he watched as the only remaining member of their group made his way towards them with a swagger in his steps which made the roundness of his belly more noticeable. Still wasn't a sight any of them had grown used to when it came to the thunder god of their team.

"Everything good, Thor?" Steve asked the blonde as he came in front of them, Stormbreaker held against his shoulder.

"Ms. Maximoff will see Amora off to the Wizard Supreme where she won't be troubling us again. At least we should hope not." Thor grumbled with a weary frown across his face as his gaze spanned across the hundred dead citizens of New Asgard he had failed to protect. Men, women and children who paid the price because of a vengeful woman he had scorned. "But, I am afraid Amora made a lasting impression that won't be ever forgotten."

His melancholy must've been noticeable to his friends. Bucky of whom had stepped forward to place a hand on the blonde's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Your people will come back from this Thor. With you leading them, I know it." At Thor's confused frown, Bucky lightly jabbed his shoulder. "If there's anything I've learned about you, it's that you could be as stubborn as a pig."

"Buck…" Steve groaned with a look that said 'come on, man.'

Thor caught on immediately and released a deep hearty chuckle as he patted his heavy stomach. "Well played, James. You yourself made an entertaining ally in our quest for triumph. You should come by more often. You and I would do well as Fortnite teammates on the PS4."

Bucky looked at Thor with incredulous eyes and a lopsided grin. "You're on, Blondie." He looked down at his own heavy stomach and surprisingly didn't feel nearly as indignant about it as he would've before. "I have the stomach to keep up with you too."

As the group make their way towards the Quinjet, Thor and Bucky amicably discuss their favorite choices in entertainment and foods, leaving Steve and Selina a moment to themselves. Steve looked down at her with remorseful eyes once she realized he was staring. "Thank you for saving me," he said with a tight smile. "I'm used to someone else having my back, but you're a helluva partner."

With flit of her lashes, brandishing a visage of guarded nonchalance Selina ruefully gazed at feathery remnants of bluish-ivory tuffs that contrastingly whirled over her lithe hand against the frigidness sailing over the Northern sea- an exhilarative beckon of wonderous freedom- an elemental conquest that starvedly urged her to dare those rushing heights of implosive adrenaline.

The battle-tested grounds of her partnership wasn't expandable in their combative dynamic; infestations of lunatic-schizoid chimeras were becoming alliances with spawns of HYDRA orchestrated by Baron Zemo. The dance of mayhem wasn't over. Shifting a collective glance of her coffee irises at the Quinjet hovering over the lakefront, Selina decisively gnawed on her underlip, tellingly clutching the silken feathers as she purringly challenged, as she gazed into the hawkish intensity of his cool azureous ireses-a tempestuous-banking ferocity that wouldn't be curbed down. "Well, you do owe me a flying lesson to call it even...

Steve smiled graciously. "I like the sound of that." He always had a knack for skydiving without a parachute. Something told him the fearless Selina Kyle, like a real cat, would land on her feet without one. The thought made the Avenger feel a twinge of nostalgia but also an inkling of anticipation moving forward. He wondered how many more missions Selina Kyle, aka Catwoman, would be willing to partner up with him on in the future.

2 hours later…

The Quinjet flew in a holding pattern above the eastern shore of the Avengers Compound with the landing door open. The auto-pilot kept the bird flying high at a safe distance above the lake below, but to the two remaining occupants seated in the pilot and co-pilot's seats, they were blissfully at ease with themselves as they kicked back and enjoyed their third cup of beer, despite it only being 8am.

"You know, Thor, even for a god of thunder, 8am has to be too early for you." Bucky remarked as he sipped his drink. Thor was far too into his cup to respond as he chugged a huge pint then let loose a thick belch.

"It pays to be King, my friend, I can revel as early as the sun rises. You should do like our friends, and enjoy the splendors of our victory to their fullest." At that, they both watch as two shapes zip past the windshield of the cockpit in a free fall dive, gliding in the air like two birds soaring majestically.

"10 bucks says it's a draw." Bucky offered to which Thor gave him a flat look. "What, you can't expect me to pick favorites between them."

"Then that is not a fun wager...100 says they won't concede defeat without a rematch." Thor challenged to which Bucky chuckled and took a larger swig of his beer.

"Fine, 100." The two friends clinked their cups together, and resolved to enjoy the skydiving spectacle that was sure to invigorate their spirits after such a long hard-fought victory. Nothing felt more hopeful than the forging of new friendships and partnerships moving forward.

[lumiereswig]

Ok, but what about someone slipping Lumiere a love potion meant for Plumette?? And now Lumiere is even MORE in love with her (IS THAT POSSIBLE!?) and whoever was pining over Plumette is just... SOL??? (idk, man, I need to lay off the coffee)

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT nobody ever TOLD me that this prompt was POSSIBLE. i was about to go to bed but GUESS WHO’S WRITING FANFIC NOW, BITCHES

“I don’t want the child,” saysAgathe, again. She stands against the churchyard steps, confusion evident inher tilted eyebrows and blank eyes, watching the woman babbling on before her.

“You always do,” says thewoman.

Agathe’s eyes are very blank and very calm. The village woman does not know how much danger she is in.

“It’s a witch-thing, innit? And I have a babe. And I have a demand,” says the woman. “And it will only take aminute of your time—why, I’m sure you have loads of the potions in yourpockets, just crawling with toads and newts-eyes and such-on….”

Agathe blinks, quietly. All that isin her pockets is owl feathers.

The woman sighs. “Fine. Do it forthe justice, right? You witches like justice. Isn’t that why you cursed all ofthem, then?” Her hand waves toward the village, the forest, the palace—thepalace where, as Agathe knows, Lumiere is at this moment sitting in his room,nursing a cold. He is trying to tell jokes to Plumette through a stuffed-upnose. He makes his darling laugh as she curls up beside him on the bed; and Plumettedoesn’t care if she gets sick too, for all she wants is to giggle with herlove. 

“Justice,” says the woman, grabbingAgathe’s arm, and the enchantress’s attention is drawn back to this moment. Amoment which, Agathe thinks, is lasting forever.

“He’s gone gallivanting off withthat girl,” says the woman, bitter as a sour apple. “She’s lured him off, withher Parisian wiles. He’s lost his wholesomeness beside her! How can youstand for that?!”

Agathe checks in on the girl’s Parisianwiles. Plumette is currently engaged in putting marshmallows into Lumiere’s hotcocoa. She’s trying to poke them into a smiley face for him.

“It’s time he loves me again,” hisses the woman.“I was his first.”

You are lucky you are not mylast, thinks Agathe. Thereis a broken musket buried deep in the forest near her hovel. It was once aman.

“So?” The woman shoves forward herchild—a little girl, only just in skirts, with no idea of what her mother begsfor. “A child. A love potion. You like love, don’t you?”

Agathe does like love. And thechild would probably like to see an owl. And the wheedling woman has her pinnedagainst the church.

“Here,” she says, and fetches intoher deepest pocket. She pulls out a jar. “Oh, no—not that one—that’s my jam.”She pulls out another. “Here. Look away.”

The woman looks at her askance, fora moment. Begrudgingly, she turns her eyes away.

The child—little Crevette, daughter of the war widow, with a papa killed in the faraway gunfire—stareswith big, brown eyes as Agathe’s face glows gold, then disappears. TheEnchantress peers out, her hands glowing as she gestures over the small bottle.Its contents turn purple—then red—then a hot, rich burgundy. It looks likesummer wine. It looks like just-crushed grapes.

Agathe’s face returns, and shesmiles at the child. Takes Crevette’s hand, with cautious fingers, fingers thatleave no sense of touch. She hands the jar to the woman.

“Be careful,” she says. “It isheady with marjoram.”

The woman is gone without sayinggood-bye.

Lumiere welcomes her in, of course. He always welcomes anyone in.

He even remembers her name—Puce Enervant—though it’s been many, many years since he last saw her. They discuss what have become common affairs around the village—the way the curse lay across the houses; the enchantment of forgetting the lure of the palace. Puce’s mouth is very tight, and wicked, and she beams at Lumiere as she pushes the potion toward him.

“To help you with your cold.”

“Madame! You fill me with affection.” He has a hazy, dazed memory of kissing Puce once—at an ice cream social, when he was about fourteen—but it’s been so long he is sure she forgot. She was married, after all. “How is your child?”

“Oh.” Puce sneers. “Not much concern of mine. Just gets in the way and stays silent. Once I live here, I can hand her off to another of the village girls.”

“You can—pardonez-moi?”

“Once I live here.” Puce grins at him; or, at least, she widens her mouth and shows her teeth. He is spreading the potion on toast with his long, thin fingers, and is momentarily distracted by how small and wicked she looks. Like a knife out in a meadow. Like a spider, ready to bite.

“Madame. You know I love another.”

“Do you, now?” Smile tighter and wider still. Lumiere is concerned about her digestion. Looking so frightening must have an affect on the stomach.

Puce says, “Don’t tell me you mean that Parisian wench. Wicked, wicked. Not worth your time. Probably the source of your cold, I shouldn’t wonder!”

Thoughts of being kind to Puce Enervant quench into smoke in his head. He rises, and his hands are shaking. “Pardonez-moi? Do not repeat that.”

“Parisian wench. Not worth your time. Go on, have your toast.”

He bites down on it, and his voice shakes. A sneeze clouds the effect, but he can still be threateningly suave. “Plumette is the most beautiful creature I have ever witnessed, and the kindest, brightest, sweetest, dearest, most heavenly soul to ever exist. Our toast is at an end, Madame.”

“Yours is.” Puce sits back, and grins. “Now I just sit and wait for you to love me, Parisian boy.”

She makes sure she is right within his line of vision. Right where he can see her. Right where she can be his one, true, fair, poisoned love.

And it is right then—with an overpowering sneeze that can be heard halfway to Austria—that Lumiere’s head bangs onto the table, reorients itself, and witnesses Plumette as she enters the room.

Mon dieu. The heavens opened wide. He forgets her name for a moment because all he can grasp is that here he is seeing the one and only true point to the universe. All of history and time and men dying in battles and women going to witches and little girls seeing magic has all led up to this: a woman with a feather-duster asking him if he wants more marshmallows.

He is dizzy with the magic of it.

“No! No! Me! It was me,” hisses—the other. Whoever. That thing. It’s not the divine creature in front of him. It isn’t the kiss of the entire pantheon of gods, as this heavenly goddess in front of him completely is.

Plumette is not entirely shocked when he throws himself onto his knees in front of her. The vowing his eternal devotion and swearing (upon what she likes, though nothing whatever is worthy of her eyes) that he will serve her forever is fairly de rigueur. It is like Lumiere to kiss his way entirely up one arm, and across her neck, and down the other arm without stopping, breathing heady phrases that involve ‘heaven’ and ‘divine’ and ‘more beautiful than the morning air.’ The combination of all these things at once, though, is rather startling.

She glances at Puce, though her gaze is somewhat encumbered by the worshiping maître d’ at her feet. “Who are you?”

Puce scowls and gathers her things. “Nobody, apparently,” she says. Lumiere nods enthusiastically and returns to Plumette. 

Puce stomps the long way home. She doesn’t want to see Crevette. She doesn’t want to see Agathe. She wants to bite the witch’s face, and scream that Lumiere got away.

Lumiere, again, loves only Plumette. It should be an easy ending.

But love potions are never easy.

Plumette enjoys this romantic streak, but after three days she worries. It is like Lumiere to adore her, but now he does it to such extent he lets everything else slide, lets it flick away as if it doesn’t matter. He barely remembers Cogsworth’s name. Belle and Adam have been eating off paper napkins, too intimidated to ask for silverware. Every waking moment—and many of her sleeping ones—find Lumiere at her side, asking how to exalt her, how he is unworthy of her graciousness. It isn’t wholesome. He doesn’t laugh. He only wants to love her, without looking to himself.

On the third day, she pins him to the bed. He gasps from ecstasy.

“Mon amour! Mon amour. Non, don’t pass out.” He can’t bear it when she loves him back. She is too perfect, too flawless, too divine. She shakes him and he almost cries.

“How can I serve you, beloved beyond beloved?”

“Mon dieu, stop it.” She has one knee on his chest to hold him down. She flicks away his kisses as he reaches for her arms. “Lumiere? Cheri? You know I love you—”

“How can one love a gnat, a flea, a speck of sand—”

She puts one hand over his mouth. He is absolutely going to faint, but keeps talking anyway.

“—I am nothing! Nothing! And you are the skies, and bigger than the skies, and I live only to adore you—”

Plumette sighs and tries to giggle, but he looks too sleep-deprived to make it fun. She removes her hand. “Serve me by staying quiet as I speak, mon cheri.”

He is instantly a grave. She isn’t even sure he’s breathing. She prods his chest for a heartbeat, and is shocked by how loud it is. It seems twice its normal size.

“Lumiere. My darling. Lumiere. Why this sudden intoxication? You were romantic before—everything I ever wanted—but now, now you drain yourself to talk to me. I fell in love with you, Lumiere. Not a man who never laughed because he would not dare to meet my eyes.”

“Your eyes are gemstones lifted from Arcadia’s fonts—” he begins, and she stabs him with a finger.

“Lumiere! Lumiere. I want you to laugh, again. I want you to make fun of Cogsworth, and encourage Cadenza, and plan matchmaking trips for the Prince and his Princess. I want you to piggy-back with Chip again. I want you to love me, and love life, and love everything besides. And kiss my neck, and tell a joke.”

“That seems impossible now,” he breathes. “Ever since I saw you, my world has been nothing but you.”

“You’ve seen me every day for at least fifteen years, ma moitié.” Another spasm of reverence from Lumiere. “Why now? Why so much?”

Lumiere tries to think, though only for the sake of the goddess currently balanced on his chest. His thoughts tend to flutter off in the so soft, so light, so sacred, exquisite fairy, sublime pixie sent from the other end of heaven direction, but he tries to be mundane.

“Toast.” How strange he used to find food appealing! He hasn’t eaten for two days. It seemed so base, compared to Plumette.

“Pardonez-moi, mon coeur?” Oh sacred woman! All he is is a beating heart. He tries to bring his thoughts around to anything else that might please her.

“Toast. I had some toast. With jam brought by….the woman.” He doesn’t hold onto other people, now. He can’t really remember their names.

“Puce?”

“Say ‘Plumette’ instead. It is the only name that matters.”

“That woman brought you jam? And then you saw me, and fell in love?”

“You only speak truth. It is exquisite.”

She kisses him, then, half to shut him up and half because he is beloved, even as an idiot. He truly does faint, then. A speck of sand in the sway of an ocean.

Plumette goes to find Puce Enervant.

The palace maid doesn’t really know her way around the village, but she finds it easy enough; the neighbors sigh and point to Puce’s house, tumbled down at the edge of the village. An angry house for an angry woman.

“What do you want,” spits Puce Enervant.

Plumette looks around the crumbling parlor. It is cold and empty and angry. “Don’t you have a child?”

“Not anymore.” Puce kicks up her feet and takes out her pipe. “Witch got her. Didn’t want her, anyway. Strange child. Mostly mute. Didn’t play like a kid.”

“And do you play?”

“I used to.” Puce’s face is wistful. “Everyone used to want me. I had thirty boys on a string. But the war came, and I can’t have anyone now.”

Plumette looks around the room. It’s true that the war came—but in Puce’s case, it seems that life went. She doesn’t have any signs of a life of her own: no pastimes, no plants, no crafts, no indication that she does anything besides sit and moan her dead flirtations. Plumette is struck with pity: besides stringing along the village boys, Puce had nothing better to do, and never learned real love.

Plumette’s hand brushes before her face. “I need a favor of you.”

“You have everything I want. A lover, respect, attention.” I have a heart you do not know you need, thinks Plumette. “If I favor you, I get nothing at all.”

“I need you to kiss Lumiere.”

Puce drops her pipe. “Is this a joke?”

“Non, mademoiselle. True love’s kiss.”

The atmosphere in the cold, dead room is very charged. “And he’ll be mine again?”

“You’ll have back whatever you gave him,” Plumette says honestly.

“Love,” says Puce, and her eyebrows draw together. She thinks for only moments. “Yes, love, yes. Let me have Lumiere. Bring me to my boy.”

Your boy, thinks Plumette, fuming, but she leads Puce to the palace. The only way to save Lumiere is to hand him to another.

He doesn’t want to, but he’ll do anything for the diamond of the angels. The flower that Eden kept. The end of the world, because the world would end without her.

“Will he talk like that to me?” Puce’s eyes are hungry. Lumiere’s eyes are fixed on Plumette as he reels off his names for her.

“He has more than enough to share.” Plumette is nervous; her hands brush his. She needs Puce to kiss Lumiere—but what if it goes wrong, what if he really falls in love with her?

He will die if he does not laugh, does not eat, does not mock Cogsworth as he always does. Plumette tries to be brave. “My darling, my one darling. Kiss her, once, for me.”

He does. He doesn’t try. But Plumette asked him to, so he does.

Stars burst across his vision. Marjoram weighs heavy in the air. And hearts-ease, too, and hot-wine burgundy. Puce’s lips are hungry against his.

He reels back, crying from how strong it was, and blinks away his tears. He hasn’t cried for three days, and his lips feel very dry, and he is suddenly immensely hungry.

Before him stand Puce and Plumette. Puce’s eyes are shut. Her lips move soundlessly. She is a village woman, one he kissed once, a long, long time ago.

Beside her stands Plumette. And she is so beautiful—and so heavenly—and a part of the rest of his world, like Cogsworth and Cadenza and food and dining and serving the Prince—that he has to burst out laughing.

Plumette bursts into tears. “Mon amour? You’re you again?”

“What, because I can’t hold a candle to you?” He is smoking a little, too. “Ma chérie, I can love both you and a brilliant joke.”

He is all right again. He is Lumiere again. He takes Plumette in his arms and kisses her.

“What of Puce?” In the corner she sways, her eyes locked tight. All her anger has vanished from her face; she looks like she is dreaming.

Plumette sniffs her breath, and guides her to the door. “I thought she could draw the poison out of you, because she needs the love herself. I hope she finds a mirror. And some happiness of her own.”

“You are infinitely wise, my darling.” He tries to pick her up, and fails. He is not strong enough. He kisses her instead.

“You are infinitely endearing. Do you want marshmallows in your chocolate?”

“You are the jewel of the world,” says Lumiere, and bows with extravagant courtesy.

Down in the hollow, Agathe shows around her new owl. Little Crevette, with big brown eyes, and tawny feathers. It screams from joy and flaps its wings.

Puce wanders by, her eyes fast shut. Agathe takes her by the hand and leads her to the fallen tree. Places hot tea in her cold hands. Whispers a spell over her, and lets dead leaves fall.

At least she cured the candle’s cold. That’s all she ever meant to do.

[g0ldpainted]

King!Noctis reacting to S/O announcing pregnancy

Hey :3 it’s been forever, oh my. >.< I’ve been working on some stuff and this ended up being the next thing I decided to upload.

All other chocobros will follow within the next days! Due to the length I chose against squeezing them into one upload.^^

Edit: Gladiolus can be found here. Prompto can be found here. Ignis here.

For Noctis, I decided that it plays after the game. However, there are no spoilers in here (I think), so you should be fine even if you haven’t finished the game. [let me know if you think smth is a spoiler, pls.]

Genre: Fluff, no sadness, alternative ending, pregnancy announcement

Words: 2500+

The queen of Insomnia was nervous, incredibly nervous. For the past 6 years, they had been dating and about three years ago, he popped the question: Noctis proposed to her. There was no doubt she'd say yes. Everyone knew about their relationship, it was never a secret, to begin with. The entire nation eagerly awaited their engagement. Their wedding was enormous, every corner of Insomnia celebrated their relationship. Posters, cakes, special merchandise, a beautiful dress,… it was perfect. 

There was only one question that bothered both of them: When's the next prince coming? Or will it be a princess? Is she pregnant?

Friends joked about it, especially Prompto, the news reported on it and whenever the queen was just a tiny bit bloated, they assumed she was pregnant. Rumors spread like wildfire. Unfortunately, they never were expecting. It was quite common that the next heir was born either shortly after the wedding or conceived within the next months. But it's been over three years by now. People even went as far as to doubt their marriage. Reporters spread fake news regarding split ups all the time. To stop those comments, the queen did her best to show public affection to her beloved whenever she could. But that wasn't enough. 

Part of the nation still stopped believing in their relationship. Not once did they consider stress playing a big role in this. The couple wanted nothing more than a baby, but that was easier said than done. 

(there’s a read more here)

For years, they had been trying to conceive but it was to no avail. Well, the queen was pregnant, twice. But she so happened to miscarry within the first two months. No one knew except for Noctis and a few selected friends. That information luckily never spread through Insomnia. Losing two potential heirs took a toll on their relationship, caused more trouble than they believed it would but in the end, they came back stronger. The bond they had, the love they shared was unbreakable.

But due to public pressure, they even went as far as to get a calendar for the queens most fertile days. They kept track of her cycle and even planned when to make love. She took pills to boost her hormones, too. But unfortunately that caused even more unnecessary stress; both of them ended up too stiff to engage in the act. Most of the time, they weren't in the mood or either of them was too tired and therefore, they gave up planning. It was too much of a strain.

"It'll happen when the time is right", they both always said to themselves. And now the time had come.

It wasn't planned, wasn't expected but it sure was a happy surprise. However, the queen decided to keep it a secret until the critical time was over - which was surprisingly hard. Only selected royal nurses got to know. They had to provide her with tips and appointments for ultrasounds and other preventative check-ups. 

The pregnancy hit her hard, morning sickness was a daily issue, her back hurt and sometimes she experienced small cramps. Luckily, Noctis was busy for most of the day and when he came to their room later at night, he didn't mind rubbing her back and taking care of her - after all, he loved her more than anything.

The only thing that worried him was her lack of interest in him. She constantly declined any advances of him, claimed to have a headache or feel bad - which was true, he just didn't know it was. He sulked about it every now and then, believing it to be his fault and worrying about his marriage when really she just dealt with pain and definitely didn't need her sore breasts to be fondled with. Little did he know that their relationship was finally about to take the next step; starting a family.

After two and a half months of dealing with a frustrated Noctis, morning sickness, work, the fear of losing and all kinds of pain, the queen asked her dearest husband to take a day off. Being the pessimist he's always been, he immediately prepared for the worst, believing that their relationship was doomed to fail. And now she was standing in their room, fidgeting with the first ultrasound photos of their heir. Or well. Their heirs. She was nervous, shaking lightly while Noctis got ready in the bathroom. They both settled for comfortable, baggy clothes. Even though they'd spend the day together, they wouldn't leave the castle. They decided on walking through the indoor garden instead.

Just as the king stepped out of their bathroom, the queen stuffed the photos into her tiny clutch. It was the only reason she was willing to carry it with her. Guards were at every corner, if she'd need anything they'd get it for her, there really was no need for carrying a bag at home. And Noctis thought so too.

"Why are you preparing that thing? I thought we were staying here," he wondered, running a hand through his slightly wet hair.

"Oh.. Uh, yeah! I.. Just wanted to.. Take some handkerchiefs with me! You know.. Allergies and such," she hastily replied, awkwardly smiling at him as she quickly closed her clutch.

One of Noctis' brows raised in suspicion: "Your pants have pockets, though.. And since when do you have allergies?"

"But.. It makes me look weird. I prefer carrying them around in a bag. And perhaps I'm just.. Uh.. Getting sick. But I've had issues with pollen lately.." she reasoned, hanging her clutch around her shoulder.

"You're weird," Noctis stated, frowning lightly but grinning at the same time, "But that's why I love you."

His wife was screaming internally but only flashed him her brightest smile. He soon held out his hand for her to take. In these 6 years of being together, he never stopped holding her hand. It was his way of knowing she was still with him. It reassured him. And, as always, she laid her soft hand in his. The only difference was that her hand was shaking - from excitement. Of course, he noticed, but he decided to keep that to himself, assuming it's her shaking from fear of telling him about wanting to break up. With each step they took to the garden, the pace of her heart sped up. She wasn't worried about him reacting negatively. No. She knew he'd be happy and was overly excited to share the news.

"It's been a while since we spent an entire day together.." the king broke the silence, squeezing the hand of his beloved queen softly. 

"Indeed. I'm glad we could find some time for us," she replied, her voice shaking lightly.

"Oh yeah, I missed being with you," Noctis admitted, glancing down at his queen.

"I missed you, too," she smiled up at him.

Although her smile was genuine, it seemed a tad bit fake. The corners of her mouth weren't lifted as far as they usually were. Something was bothering her. At least that's what Noctis saw. And he was partly right. They walked the last few meters in silence. The tension between the two grew, both could feel it weight them down. And then they finally reached the beautiful garden. Roses, lilies, amaranths, frangipani, hydrangea and some sylleblossoms in memory of Lady Lunafreya. The garden was lively, full of blossoming flowers and trees. A pond was right in the middle of it, harboring tons of koi of all sizes and colors. Once they walked over the bridge above the pond, they found themselves near a small playground which was created for Noctis when he was younger.

"This garden truly is a master piece. You did a good job deciding on the flowers and taking care of them," Noctis praised her, attempting to lift the heavy mood off of them.

"It's mostly our gardeners, though," she replied, "But I'm glad you like the flowers I chose."

"Well, but you're contributing some hours into it, too," he reasoned as they walked through the greenest parts. 

"Indeed," she agreed, anxiety rising the closer they came to the little playground.

A few more meters filled by a terrifying silence was what it took for her to set her plan into action. Of course, she wouldn't just blurt the news out. This was something way too special.

"It's amazing your father built such a wonderful playground for you," she began to speak, breaking the silence between them. 

"Yeah, he did a great job. He.. He didn't just let instructors build it either; he helped them," Noctis proudly explained as they approached the royal playground.

It wasn't just a simple playground, it was designed to resemble a castle and was full of Lucian signs and official flags. It even had a throne room which was located on top of a tower that Noctis used to climb up to when he was a child. However, aside from the "adventurous" way up, there were also some simple stairs leading up to it. The throne room usually had two chairs; one for the king and one for the queen. Or one for Noctis and one for his dad - that's how he used it. But now it had two, smaller chairs added to it. Both specifically designed for a prince or princess, for their children.

"I'd be a shame if it went to waste.." she mumbled, biting her lip harshly for a moment.

Noctis looked at her, was about to ask if she was okay but before he could do that, she let go of his hand and ran over to the ladder leading up to a first platform of the playground.

"We can't let it go to waste, c'mon!" she ordered with a smile spread across her face.

Surprised by the change of attitude, the king frowned lightly but, of course, hurried after her.

"Hey.. What're you d-" Noctis wanted to speak, climbing up the ladder while his queen disappeared onto another platform by walking over a chain bridge.

She giggled while her heart was almost beating out of her chest from excitement. Noctis started laughing as soon as she saw the genuine smile of her. They chased each other through the entire playground until the queen finally arrived in the throne room.

"Slow poke!" she shouted, teasing him playfully while she quickly opened her clutch and pulled out the ultrasound photos, placing one on each little "throne" ahead of her.

Afterward, she quickly walked to the side, looking out of a "window", enjoying the sight of their garden from there. It was still just as beautiful.

"Old man, hurry up!" she continued to tease him, her heart almost bursting through her chest.

"You're too fast for me, I lost track of you for a second.. Sneaky little-.." he finally made his way up the tower into the throne room.

It was decorated just a little bit. Not too much. A couple balloons were floating around and a red bow was wrapped around each little throne. That should've been enough to give him a hint, at least that's what his wife thought. 

"What's going on?" he wondered, taking a first few steps inside.

She didn't look at him, didn't say a word either - he was supposed to explore and find out on his own before she'd say anything else. However, she couldn't hide her happiness and excitement; her smile was brighter than ever. While she listened to Noctis footsteps, she almost squealed out loud - but she held back, only let her head hang in an attempt to hide her smile.

But he saw her smile. And in that exact moment, all his worries were erased.

With slow, steady steps he walked over to the thrones. Of course, he noticed that two of them were new. That bow was unmissable. And he immediately got the hint but refused to believe that it finally came true; that their dream was finally coming true. But then he saw two photos, the ultrasounds. His mouth fell ajar as he bent down to pick them up. And that's when his queen turned around. She wanted to see his expression, his joy. The moment he saw her name on top of it, (Y/N) Lucis Caelum, tears welled up in his eyes. The king that was known for being rather unemotional gave in to his emotions, let tears run free from his happiness. After taking a first quick glance, he turned his head towards the mother of his children, the love of his life. 

"A-are you..-?" he wondered, unable to finish his sentence as his voice cracked.

Although it was so obvious, he needed reassurance, needed to hear it from her.

"Y-yes honey, I'm pregnant," she assured him, tears filling her own eyes at the sight of her husband shedding a few tears.

He stepped closer to her. She met him halfway, closing the distance between them entirely. Noctis took one of her hands in his, holding both ultrasound scan photos in one hand.

"And..-.. Twins?" he stuttered, his mouth still opened widely.

"Twins," she continued to assure him.

The king shook his head in disbelief, pulling her into a gentle embrace right away.

"Oh six.. We're going to be parents," he whispered into her ear, "O-of twins, too."

She giggled at how flabbergasted he was. Immense happiness filled both their hearts and relieve washed over them. 

"(Y/N), we're going to be parents!" he exclaimed, his lips forming a huge smile.

"Yes! Yes, Noctis. We're going to be parents" she reassured him again while he cheeks began to ache from smiling so brightly.

"How.. How Long?" he asked, creating a tiny bit of distance between them so he could look into her gorgeous eyes.

"A little over two and a half months," she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Almost three. And exactly 74 days."

He pulled her back into his embrace, kissing her hair over and over again: "Holy six.. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she mumbled, playing with the back of his hair.

"I promise I'll do my very best to protect you. Forever. All of you. You and our babies," he whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her stomach, "You mean the absolute world to me. I'm so.. - thank you so much."

Before she could say another word, he trailed kisses from her ear to her lips. Once he reached them, he placed a soft yet very passionate kiss on her lips. She was his world. She was all he ever wanted; his best friend and his lover. He couldn't imagine the world without her - and certainly didn't want to. He loved her with all of his heart. And now, more than ever, he needed her to know how much she meant to him. That's why he spent the rest of the evening showering her with his love; placing kisses on either her lips or her stomach, holding her gently and pampering her in every possible way. 

For the first time in over two centuries, the Lucis Caelum lineage was expecting twins. The kingdom was bound to applaud to this - they'd be overjoyed as well. You bet that once those two bundles of cuteness are born, uncle Prompto, uncle Gladiolus and grandmum Ignis will shower them in gifts and cuddles. Not even they can resist two adorable mini Noctis'.

[noirnorineko-blog]

Lethal | Jungkook x Reader | Smut | Part 7

Holy moly, angsty scenes ahead (with a bit of fluff, nevertheless). Please don’t hate me for writing this!

Ever so slowly, you woke up. With your eyes still closed, you attempted to move, but found yourself unable to. You forced your eyes open, and identified what was holding you in place immediately - you wrapped tightly against Jeon Jungkook.

You forgot about that.

Who would have thought you would have ended up with this cocky bastard?

Oh, well - you would be lying if you said you had any regrets.

Jungkook's chest rose and fell rhythmically, still sound asleep (and shirtless, which you attempted to ignore). He was snoring softly, and you couldn't help but smile at his sleeping form. God, you were getting soft.

Seeing as Jungkook was still asleep, your fingers, as if by their own accords, began to trace his features, which were softened by sleep. Gone was his scowl, his cocky grin. He looked younger, and more innocent - far from a dangerous hitman.

Slowly and tenderly, your forefinger traced invisible lines across his brow, down the slope of his nose. As your finger moved onto his (unbelievably) soft lips, his eyes snapped open, and he bit your finger.

You jumped and tried to pull your finger away, which was impossible seeing as it was caught between Jungkook's teeth.

'You're awake?' you yelped, blushing profusely. Jungkook rolled his eyes, but shot you a sleepy smile nevertheless.

'Wimp,' he snorted while propping himself up and pressing a kiss on your brow.

Stretching your limbs, you whimpered softly as your thighs and back ached painfully. 'My back is not happy, today,' you whined, and Jungkook shot you an apologetic look.

You rolled over in bed, searching around for your phone. Much to your dismay, you recalled leaving it in the pocket of your jeans - which were lying in a crumpled ball at the other side of the room.

With a groan you sat up and moved across the room to retrieve your phone. You found it quickly, and turned it on.

You had three missed calls from Yoongi.

Fuck.

Swearing under your breath, you sat back down on the bed, and Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. 'What is it?' Jungkook inquired, and you held up your notifications to him.

'Shit,' he said, releasing you, running to grab his phone.

'Don't worry,' you told him, 'it's not the first time I've missed a job. He'll have just wanted another stupid painting stealing. Just apologise.'

Jungkook flopped down back on the bed beside you, phone in hand. He frowned at the screen, before holding it up to you. No missed calls, no messages, no nothing.

Shrugging, you started calling Yoongi and put your phone to your ear. He didn't pick up on the first ring like he usually would. Not on the second, either.

Not at all.

Well, this was odd. He had never missed a call from you. You snorted, shaking your head. The big bad gangster must have slept in.

You were about to call again, when a message came through with a high pitched ping. You quickly read the short text, and your stomach dropped.

It was from Eul, Yoongi's wife.

And read:

Headquarters. Now.

You were frozen as you read those two words, which were so small, yet so unbelievably significant. Once Yoongi had told you that if there were ever an emergency and he was busy dealing with it, Eul would contact you.

So this meant that something big had happened, and now you would have to sort it out, Eul was worrying, and Yoongi was pissed with so much shit to deal with.

Quickly you leapt off the bed, and began shimmying into your jeans from the previous day. 'We're needed at headquarters,' you told Jungkook, and he simply nodded. Anybody could tell from your tone that something big had happened. It was grim, monotonous, and promised misfortune.

You were about to pull on your black shirt, when Jungkook tossed you one of his oversized sweaters. You raised an eyebrow in question at the large black item.

'Wear it. For me?' Jungkook asked, smiling gently at you. 'You'll look cute.' You nodded, pulling it over your head. And then you grabbed Jungkook's hand who had only just finished dressing, and dragged him behind you as you headed for the door.

It was time to get down to business.

Twenty minutes later, you and Jungkook arrived at headquarters. It was raining like the sky was going to collapse, so you and Jungkook had to move fast to avoid getting soaked to the bone. The pair of you hurried inside the building, and made a dash to the elevator. As the doors closed, you caught Jungkook's eyes running up and down your figure.

You flicked your eyes to him, and raised an eyebrow suggestively. 'See something you like?' you asked playfully.

He licked his lips and smirked darkly, and pulled you against him. 'You had better be ready for at least three rounds later, baby,' he murmured against your neck.

You blushed beet red, and before you could come up with a snarky retort, the elevator doors opened.

Quickly you walked to the end of the corridor, until you reached the large mahogany doors, which lead to Yoongi's office.

Pushing the broad doors open without hesitation, you stormed into the office, and shouted to announce your presence.

'Alright, I'm here, what's the proble-'

Your sentence was cut short when you saw the sight before you.

The office was as it always was. Wide glass windows, making the room light. Outside you could see all of Seoul, beneath the grey sky. Streaks of lightening crackled, the bolts of light webbing across the sky. The rain fell heavily - it was as if the heaven's were sobbing. Fat raindrops rolled down the glass windows, making the view of Seoul wobbly, blurry and distorted.

The bookcases looked as they always had. Orderly, organised orderly by size (not by colour, as you had suggested to Yoongi when you were a little girl.) The black glossy was spotless, as always.

Yoongi's enormous polished wood desk was the same. Neat stacks of paper, pens lined neatly, a large chair behind it.

But upon the chair, was Eul. Not Yoongi.

Eul looked as beautiful as ever - straight and glossy raven hair, full red lips, tanned skin. But that day, her large brown eyes were rimmed red, and round teardrops streamed down her cheeks.

You stepped forwards hesitantly, your eyes scanning the room.

This was wrong. This was not mundane. Not normal, as it seemed.

Jungkook stepped forward to Eul, but stayed by your side. 'What's wrong? Are you alright?' His voice was tense, his concern for his mother clear.

Rather than answering in her light, euphonious voice, Eul simply shook her head.

Taking a deep breath, not allowing yourself to jump to conclusions, you asked, 'Eul, what happened?'

Eul let out a shuddering sob. 'It's... Yoongi,' she managed to choke out between her tears.

Tears began to fill your eyes, and you swallowed audibly. 'Where is he?' you questioned, refusing to cry.

Not yet.

There was silence as Eul gasped, taking in deep breaths of air. 'He'-' she sobbed, 'He's on the, fifth fl-floor.'

And then you cracked.

You spun away from Jungkook, who was calling after you, asking you to wait.

You sprinted from the room, and ignored the elevator, and instead headed for the staircase. It would be quicker, seeing as the fifth floor was directly above you.

As you leapt up the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time, two words were chanted in your head.

Fifth floor.

Fifth floor.

Fifth floor.

You had spent most of your life in that building. By now, you knew very well what was on the fifth floor. A floor onto which you had never dared to venture.

Reaching the top of the staircase, you paused as you reached the door which lead to Yoongi.

Tears threated even more to spill down your cheeks as you read the sign upon the door.

Morgue.

You slammed into the door, and ran into the room. The morgue was icy cold, and only one thing was in the room. In the centre of the floor, was a bed.

Upon the bed, a sheet.

Beneath the sheet, a silhouette.

Slowly, now, you approached the bed, terrified to see what lay beneath that sheet.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled back the sheet on the bed.

And then the tears came.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which heaved from your chest, and tears cascaded down your face.

Because you had found him.

You had found Yoongi.

Your uncle, your beloved uncle. Your best friend, the person who had always been there for you.

This was your fault. He had called you, he had needed you. And you hadn't picked up the damn phone.

He was pale, so pale. His skin was paper white, his lips tinged blue. His eyes were closed, so you tried to convince yourself he was sleeping, although you knew this was futile.

His jet black hair was fanned around his head, and his hands were by his sides.

His skin was so smooth, just as it always had been. But it was no longer unblemished - purple and black bruises blossomed across his cheekbones, along his jaw, his cheeks.

Your eyes travelled down further, and the tears streamed impossibly heavier as your eyes fell upon his neck. A line of scarlet stood out against his stark white skin, trails of blood running downwards.

What kind of demon would kill somebody so coldly?

And then, you saw the piece of string around his wrist. And the piece of folded card attached.

With shaking hands, you untied the note from Yoongi's icy wrist. A kind of perfume had been sprayed on the card - you could smell the distinct aroma of lilies. The flower of death.

You unfolded the paper, and found words upon it. And as you read, the tears stopped.

Dearest (Y/N),

I saved you the job of looking for your uncle. He's gone.

Don't go looking for Taehyung. He won't be coming back.

And don't come looking for me.

I'll find you.

Love, Jimin.

The piece of paper slipped from your grasp, and fluttered down to the ground.

You raised a hand, and dried your eyes.

And there and then, you made a promise.

A promise for Yoongi, laid cold and still by your side.

A promise for Taehyung, wherever he was, albeit breathing or heart unbeating.

A promise for Eul, who you would never allow to feel pain like this again.

A promise for your parents, who you prayed were at peace.

A promise for Jungkook, who you swore you would never allow Jimin to ever get a hold of.

And a promise for you.

You would kill Jimin, even should it be the last thing you would ever do.

But before that, you had a funeral to attend.