#we finished this mammoth story and i think it's probably always going to be my favorite thing we've written

[tonguetiedraven]

Phoenix Ryuuji and Rin cuddling and star gazing. From @marble-wolf and my Yeti raised series.

[ofmermaidstories]

Let me preface this by saying I did check your FAQ but I didn't see this there yet I still find it hard to believe no one has asked you this at least a thousand times so if they did and I just missed it I'm sorry and you can delete this ask but—

You write such beautiful, detailed fics with lots of foreshadowing that often starts from the very beginning of the story. I think you made an author note once about only posting the first chapter of a fic after you've written the whole thing (or maybe that was Andie...?). If so, is the time between updates just you going through and rereading / editing like 100k words?

Basically, I want to ask: what is your fic planning process like? From the moment you get a first idea to posting the last chapter, what does I look like? I think you're a really, really amazing (one of the absolute best if not THE best) author but I cannot fathom how one human being can write such mammoths of fanfiction and stay motivated enough to finish them.

Also you're already planning Halloween stuff ?? You plan things literally half a year in advance?? Are you even human? We don't deserve you. 😭

You called yourself lazy in the webcomic post but I think you must work unbelievably hard to make such high quality stuff and without even getting compensation for it. You're amazing and I'm very thankful to exist in the right timeline and fandom to read your work. :,)

(oh my god this became such a ramble I'm sorry)

Oh Ari. 🥺 Hello.

I update as I write! So that was probably Andie, lmao, who’s definitely the better example to follow when it comes to plotting/completing a fic. 🥺 She’s amazing and if I could fashion myself after any other writer in our niche, it would be Andie hands down!

But okay, let’s get into it. 📝

A little disclaimer, before we start; I did not go to school for any of this lmfao. The most relevant education I have behind me is a extra-circular literature class I had during my last two years of high-school. The only reason the following works for me is because I’ve cobbled it together from years of trial and error. You can read advice and watch youtube videos about the writing habits of famous authors, but you have to tailor everything you hear to suit you and the way you work. The best advice in the world from the highest paid author in the world won’t work if you’re not wired in the same way! You have to take everything about yourself and what you like and what you want into account!

Part I—first we take Manhattan

start ur fic lol

First thing’s first; I’m a plotter. I don’t pants. If I pants, I lose interest—I need to have the final vision in front of me, even if it’s just a bullet point. I have to know what I’m working towards. That is crucial to literally everything I do. Every fic you see on AO3, every WIP I’ve mentioned working on or wanting to work on—I have always known two things about them, immediately: the hook that gets us in there, and how they end.

So for fics in particular, the start might look something like—I get an idea (I want Reader and Bakugou to kiss). And then I sit there and I brainstorm to myself (What’s stopping them from kissing? Why does Reader want to kiss someone so rude when there’s so many other nice boys out there? Is Reader particularly kissable?). And then, if I’m lucky, I think of an ending (Reader and Bakugou finally kiss, but he’s the one that initiates it, because he’s always wanted to, because he likes that Reader always wears a yellow coat to work—it’s ugly and it sticks out among the black and tan ones of the crowd but he comes to associate it—and thus Reader—with routine and his mornings going well).

This is often the most fragile time of an idea. That hook (Reader and Bakugou kiss) might fall apart with a bit more prodding (why would they kiss? Reader’s a stranger to him; most of us don’t go around kissing random strangers just because we like their coats). Or maybe the hook sticks (they spend almost years in orbit around each other, a constant near-miss) but the ending doesn’t work (I don’t know how to move Bakugou to a position where he can kiss Reader, where he has the opportunity to). For every idea you see in action, or listed, there’s like three more that died during this stage and are now being cannibalised for spare parts.

Part II—running up that hill (a deal with fic)

work work work

If our idea survives, we then move to the “throw everything at the wall and see what sticks” stage; which manifests itself in this case as a doc, where I’ll just write any and all ideas I have for this little world so far.

For fanfics, it’ll generally look like—

TITLE

SUMMARY: Bakugou and Reader kiss.

(in which Bakugou first notices you because of your ugly yellow coat)

📝 Reader is allergic to diary products; for ages Bakugou thinks of her as That Cheesy Extra, because of the colour of her coat. She laughs when she eventually learns about this. (“I can’t even eat cheese,” you complain)

📝 Reader stops walking past the coffee shop Bakugou gets his coffee at, one day; moves??? Leaves the city to help a friend out for a few months. Despite himself it throws Bakugou off-kilter, and when he sees someone (not Reader) in a yellow coat during a villian attack, he momentarily loses focus—gets injured???? The news of his injury makes the news, Reader sees it in Bumblah nowhere.

📝 Her coat is donated accidentally by a roommate, in a mix up, for a charity she’s volunteering at; when Reader returns to the city, she has to make do with a new one, a more neutral colour. Bakugou recognises her anyway and that’s when he realises it was never about the coat (!!!!)

Like, this is actually a pretty good approximation of what all my current fics have looked like, at that stage, before I tidied them up and refined them into proper outlines. Because that’s what will happen next, once we have a rough idea of what we want! Things get moved, or removed—tightened. A rough plot outline takes shape! If I get any ideas for a sequel or a spin off that I might want to do, I’ll note them here (Reader’s roommate, Roomie, who’s working at a charity—eventually meets Shinsou, who’s working on a case. She thinks he’s homeless; he doesn’t realise. They carry on like this for a while.)

Once I have a rough outline (rough meaning in bulletpoints), I’ll start on my more in-depth outlines—I do these chapter by chapter! I say this a lot, but they’re basically a really rough version of said chapter. So it might look like:

Reader’s walking to work; it’s cold enough that’s she’s wearing her coat. There’s a new coffee-shop opened on the corner—it’s full, popular, you think it might be because it’s at a crossroads between two different Pro Hero agencies. Reader glances at the window, interested, but then a friend calls out and you hurry along. Bakugou, inside the coffee-shop waiting for Half and Half to get his order, is affronted; your coat is ugly as shit, and he complains loudly about it to Shouto, who mentions something about Baku. having no room to complain about ugly colour choices.

The swap between Reader/You happens a lot because I’m not using my brain properly, at this stage—I’m just shovelling the sand I need into the sandbox. Once I finish my shovelling, I go back and I rewrite it—but better, LMAO. I flesh things out, I throw things away as needed, I add things in. It’s basically really, really intensive handholding and I would not recommend it for anyone who’s already daunted by the idea of plotting; I do it because if I don’t have a chaperone there (aka my outline) then I’m prone to getting distracted. I am basically the fanfic equivalent of the undiagnosed ADHD kid at the back of the class that only gets work done when they’re sat right in front of the teacher (and even then, there’s like a 50% chance it’s not actually work that’s happening but doodles of that weird pointy S thing over and over again).

Once it’s done, though, we have a completed chapter! I then post it and wait like a little crab under some rocks for people to be tricked into being nice to me, and then I dig back in and think nice thoughts about repeating this process to get chapter two. Eventually I will—and viola! Another chapter! We repeat that over and over until we get to the end of our original outline and we have a finished story. 😌📖

Part III—you’re on your own kid

motivation

No one ever likes this part, or what I’m about to say, because at best it sounds like saccharine fodder and at worse it’s out of touch with most people’s experiences in fandom, but—the only way to stay motivated when doing a long-haul fic is that you have to do it for yourself.

People are so kind to me, about the fics I’ve done; it’s part luck and part what I choose to write and part how I write it. And I mean—I share them because I want a little bit of attention, lmao, that’s natural because we’re humans, we all want attention. But here’s the thing, here’s the secret—I take these fics 110% deadly seriously. LOL. That sounds like a joke, but I do! I do that because it’s how I’m built and how I keep myself interested in them—because taking them seriously means I’m more invested in realising the ending I’ve imagined for them since day one.

If other people stopped being so nice about what I was writing, I would be sad—anyone would. 🥺 We all want to be told that we’ve done a good job. But I’ve had the ending for the Deku fic, for example, in my head since it’s predecessor was on-going. That is literal years of knowing how I want Izuku and Scribble’s story to end. If everyone disappeared tonight I would sulk, hardcore, and then I would finish that last chapter anyway. I would finish it because I’ve spent so much time and energy working on that story that not finishing it is a disservice to the world I built around those characters and most importantly to myself. I probably wouldn’t stress as much about it, LOL, if the audience shrunk back down to just me, but I’d still do it. 🥺

I write—and try to finish—these fics because I deserve to see them finished. I want the completed tick, on ao3. I want to look at it and know that I can do it—that I can start something as simple as Bakugou hating on some rando’s yellow coat, and bring it to the finish-line where they finally come together, and see each other, without the yellow coat or through a coffee-shop window.

And this is what I mean by like, tailoring things to suit you—because I know others might be perfectly content to imagine the ending for themselves, without writing it. Or maybe they don’t want to treat fic seriously, because it’s fun escapism. Maybe disappointment that it’s not received like they thought it would be sours the whole experience of fandom for someone—there’s no right or wrong to this. I know I can write for an audience of just me because I’ve done it before. The satisfaction has always come back to the same thing—knowing I finished it, and wrapped that world up as best as I could. You have to pick and choose your poison—and then you have to run with it.

I hope that answers at least some of your questions, Ari. 🥺 Thank-you for such a thoughtful ask; for being so sweet. 🥺 You’re amazing, and I’m the thankful one—I’m glad we’re here, together. 🌷🌾✨📖

[togansweep]

TOMGREG IKEA?????🇸🇪

ooooh yes the ikea fic!!! @hickeywiththegoodhair asked about this as well. so basically this is a fic I kind of accidentally wrote with @tomwambsmilk, we were texting and before we knew it we had written 2,5k words. I copied our messages to a google doc and started making it less messy and actually write a story around it, I've done some of the beginning & the end but the middle still needs a lot of work. the first draft is around 4,5k words now, I'm intending to finish this one soon! (soon meaning 3 weeks or 6 months lmao).

the fic is about tom's bachelor pad era; after the whole italy situation he crashes at greg's place but greg's living situation is... questionable. at first glance it looks fine, but upon further inspection there are some issues: despite having guest rooms he only has one bed, his room looks like a raccoon's nest, he has one item of everything (one plate, one spoon, one fork etc)... tom has to use all his power to fight his desire to sleep in the same bed as greg and tells him they can't go on like this, they have to go shopping. tom first wants to go to some fancy furniture store, but upon further consideration it doesn't seem like the best idea to spend a shitton of money while the threat of divorce is looming on the horizon. and greg insists they go to ikea, and who is tom to deny him anything.

reluctantly tom drags himself through the store. no, that's a lie, he'd never admit it but he's actually enjoying this. greg's childish enthusiasm about the showrooms, testing beds with him, and good god ikea's meatballs ARE amazing.

after their little daytrip they get the furniture delivered they chose delivered to greg's apartment, but then the next struggle arrives: putting it together. tom wants to do it himself, because how hard can it be? really hard, apparently. tom can't get it done. after lots of screaming and calling ikea about their useless furniture he gives up. now they still don't have an extra bed, it pains tom to say this but there's really no other solution than to share a bed for now.

honestly I don't want to spoil the fic any further because that would ruin the fun, but it includes sharing a bed, hospital visits, tomgreg being idiots, and lots of toxic stupid pining. you know how it is.

here's a little snippet from the beginning of the fic:

Greg leads the way to a room in the back of the apartment. Tom thinks he almost looks a bit nervous, like he's about to reveal to Tom that he's holding some poor girl hostage to play house with.

Greg opens the door for Tom and steps aside a little to let him in.

"A real gentleman, aren't you, Gregory?"

Greg tucks a non-existing long hair behind his ear. "Oh well, it's nothing, I-"

Before Greg can finish his sentence Tom interrupts him, putting two hands over his mouth. "In the name of all that is holy, what happened here?!"

There’s laundry all over the floor and a towering stack of random books and papers on his bedside table that looks structurally unstable. A horrifying smell comes from a bowl with the remnants of something that probably was ice cream once, and are those joints taped on the wall…?

"Did I just walk into a hunter-gatherer's cave? Maybe I should get my lance and kill a mammoth for you, we can roast it above the fire and dance around it in our little leaf skirts. We’ll get married with rings made of its bones and make a bridal veil for you out of its skin."

It's a ridiculous analogy, but he did marry Greg in a way, didn't he? That evening in Tuscany, both of them in their white suits, knees brushing. The wedding band playing in the background, the cool air of a summer night full of promises. Selling their souls, a marriage bound by the devil instead of God.

Greg isn't wearing a white suit now, instead a white button up and a grey pantalon are clothing his tall body. He's still standing in the doorpost, eyeing Tom with that slightly confused expression he always seems to have.

"I never got really good grades in history class but uhm, I don't think marriage was a concept they knew of in primeval times."

"Of course I know that, Greg, I'm not some uncultured idiot. I just said that to make the story better."

"How does that make it better?"

Unsure of how to answer this, Tom just hums and picks up a dark blue tie with a silver thread pattern from Greg's enormous laundry mountain.

"Look at this beautiful, expensive Armani tie that I bought you, just laying here all lost. That's not how you treat pretty things, leaving them on the ground."

There's a metaphor in there that Tom doesn't want to dwell on, so instead he throws the tie in Greg's face. It's dirty now anyway.

"This room asks for some serious Marie Kondo, Greg. Why the fuck do you have half-used joints on the wall? Do they spark joy? Does seeing these joints bring you happiness?”

"They do spark joy actually, I'm like, really happy when I'm high!" Greg fumbles through his pile of garbage only to reveal an old shoebox. It's from the cap toe Oxfords Tom bought Greg when he first started working for him, the fact that he kept it would've made him smile if it wasn't for the next thing Greg says, "I have this box where I keep all my used joints, and when I have enough I want to make a weed-wall maybe? Like, Banksy style.”

“I highly doubt Banksy has ever made a so-called ‘weed-wall' Greg. And I didn’t know you took such interest in art? I should take you to the MET some time, show you some real masterpieces.”

“I mean, I don’t care about art, not really. But Banksy is pretty cool. And there’s this other guy who taped a banana to the wall and he got like, a shitton of money for that? So my weed project would definitely get artistic approval, I think.”

Greg picks up a doobie and twirls it between his fingers, looking at it like it's made of gold. God help him, he seems to be actually proud of his weed-wall idea.

“I don’t care Greg, this is not how we’re going to do this. I’m going for a little stroll around the block and get us both coffee because I sure can use some, and when I return I don’t want this room to look like a wannabe modern art gallery anymore. Are we clear, Gregory?”

Greg puts the joint he was inspecting back in the box with a deep sigh. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

[spidine]

The State of Questlines

As a big quest liker one update I always like to see is a continuation of a classic unresolved questline. There are a few continuations that would be easy backports but i also think just as many backports would be big missed opportunities. TIME TO EXAMINE THESE QUESTLINES FOR THEIR VALUE AND WHERE TO TAKE THEM.

Cave Goblins/Chosen Commander

This one is pretty easy to accept backport, the cave goblin line is a fan favorite and Chosen Commander is pretty well liked. However I personally like cave goblins SO MUCH that I hope to see Chosen Commander expanded to see additions to Dorgesh-Kaan, nothing too crazy, maybe a slayer monster with a decent drop added to the caves. Chosen Commander also needs some rewrites, the plot point that Bandos makes Zanik murder a racist REALLY HARD and that's bad actually is dumb. Kill Sigmund's ass queen. God forbid a woman do anything.

It's just very 2000's Marvel movie ass writing, I'd put up with it but I think we could do better. Have Grubfoot get possessed instead, seeing him kill someone WOULD be out of character and alarming.

Glouphrie/Arposandra

Path of Glouphrie was literally 2 weeks from being in the 07 backup. But perhaps its a good thing it's not in osrs because it's honestly not very good which is a shame because the story surrounding it and Arposandra has intrigued me since I was a kid. A hostile gnome faction outside of just the rogue Glouph could be used as a launch platform for more quests, bosses, challenging content, and areas. As an added bonus it would be unique to osrs, since rs3 has also only eluded to the area with the last relevant quest being Prisoner of Glouphrie in 2011. I honestly think this would be a great thread to pick up with a continued questline.

Fremennik

Fremennik Exiles was a 10/10 quest and it's time we got a sequel and I know just where to go. I think we're close to finishing off the Fremennik storyline but it's not time for the Grandmaster quite yet, so what I'm suggesting is a two part finale; Ragnarok 1 and 2.

In part 1 we head to a new area; Acheron, the long teased frozen wasteland. This area would be ruled by an empire of Ice Trolls, patrolled by dangerous Penguins, populated with imposing mammoths, and covered with unique skilling opportunities. Plenty of people have already suggested adding this area and my ideas aren't unique from theirs but I think a new "hostile" region similar to morytania or the desert could be a cool.

Then in part 2 we get the Grandmaster conclusion to the story, I don't have anything specifically in mind for this.

Fairy Tale

Zanaris is a pretty iconic part of osrs to me but I aside from the great tools they unlock the fairy tale quests themselves have always been sort of minor. I think one last Master quest to tie up this storyline would be nice, but that's all I want. I do think it'd be cool if we got to see more Fairy Dragons though, maybe they can drop Dragon Battlestaves.

Dwarf Questline

We need the Hand Cannon in osrs now more than ever, a weapon that performs off of Firemaking would be such a good fun addition.

Forgiveness of a Chaos Dwarf would honestly probably work as a backport if any files of it exist in osrs but I just don't really think the dwarf questline needs 3 more quests like in rs3. I like seeing old questlines but I prefer to see them get wrapped up rather than stretched out, so few quests get added these days that I don't really wanna wait on more than 2. One thing I do wanna see get tied up though is Between a Rock, that quest is a favorite and the weird matter demon we meet is never really brought up again, I wanna know more about that so badly.

Cold War

Cold War is a very good, funny, 2000's internet ass quest and I wanna see a follow up so bad. I think Hunt for Red Raktober could receive a backport but after that I think it should receive a close out quest after you complete after Ragnarok part 1.

Desert/Menaphos

This one has just started up again recently and I'm pretty pleased with all the lore and character progression surrounding it. I don't think we'll see more of this questline for a bit though, the next quest in the questline is shaping up to be a "Sins of the Father" sized introduction to Menaphos and I really hope that Menaphos is a big rich city with lots of detail and stuff to do similar to Priffdinas.

Kourend

Obviously there's not much to reference here since it's completely osrs original and it's a questline I hope they carry on for a while. Kingdom Divided teased the introduction of Valimore so I think the next few quests in the questline will begin to introduce that kingdom. I hope we get to see Zeah populated with some more Twisted Tales before we go to the next big step in the story.

White Knights/Sea Slug

This is a questline we could probably leave running forever since It doesn't exactly have a defined end of any kind. One thing that I would like to see concluded in a sequel quest however would be the Sea Slug questline, even just an intermediate follow up would sate my curiosity. Something I would like to see brought back to the storyline would be more Black Knights, maybe after Slug Strikes Back Camelot and Temple Knights can team up for a big Black Knight Master Quest.

Myreque

This questline is basically just waiting around for its Grandmaster finale anyday. I don't think Morytania really needs any new content so I think the next quest should just be one last big face off with drakan.

Pirate

I really like the Pirate quests and hope to see a sequel to Great Brain Robbery. Rocking Out could be a pretty easy backport but I don't have much in mind here after that. The pirate story doesn't need a big Grandmaster quest but the south east sea could probably use a few more cool islands with puffins.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

ON FEYSAND’S PLOTLINE IN ACOSF

              !!!!MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE ACOSF!!!!

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Let’s be honest for a while, okay?

ACOCF had potential to be SJM’s best book, if not for any other reason then because of the sheer idea of it. Coming-of-age, healing story of the most complex and polarizing character she has ever created set in the time of peace, away from the familiar setting (according to the later changed concept which still remains in the snippet at the end of ACOFAS), development of her arguably most feisty and angsty love story... It could be her absolute trumph. Even with the change to stick to Velaris instead of exploring the Illyrian culture of the Mountains and with the added conflict of the Mortal Queens and Koshei, it still could work quite well. 

It didn’t. For many, many reasons, but the most important one, in my opinion, being the feysand pregnancy plot. 

Nothing about this plotline made sense. Not a single thing. From start to finish, it was an absolute disaster from the character-writing POV, from the narration POV, from every single context of it. It broke the rules of real-life logic, it broke the rules of this fantasy world setting and it completely exposed that Rhysand, while not a bad guy, is a pretty terrible partner, even worse ruler and an absolutely terrible contender for the High King title. 

Let’s break this whole mess down (and expect this post to be mammoth-sized. it’s not my fault, though, write to SJM if you have any complains):

1) Feyre, 21, decides to get pregnant, even though less than a year earlier, she expresses the delight with not being forced to bear children to her new mate and told him herself she wants to wait a while and enjoy her life with him. Feyre decides she wants a baby though and Rhysand goes along with it, even though he is aware how young Feyre is and how hard her life has been up until this point. He wants a baby too much to have an honest discussion with Feyre about it, to stop and wonder what is the reason for her sudden change of heart, to reassure her that they have a lot of time ahead of them and don’t need to rush. No. She mades a sudden decision to have a baby after A YEAR OF MARRIAGE and not much more of being turned fae, JUST AFTER having her whole world put upside down, having received a completely new title and responsibilities, surviving the wat and being mated. Great. 

2) Feyre decides to get pregnant and Rhys goes along with it less than a year after the end of the bloody war. It is politically a delicate time, everyone is still not sure how the balance will shift, some countries don;t want to sign the peace treaty, etc. There are a lot of enemies and a lot of turmoil remaining. But sure. Let’s have a baby. Perfect time to add yet another target, another weakness that can be use by the Mortal Queens, Beron or whatever else with malicious intent towards the Night Court. 

2) Feyre gets pregnant after approximately a year of trying. I know healthy people of reproductive age for whom it takes ages more than this. Fae’s pregnancies are rare af and precious and happen once in a blue moon, but ofc SJM broke the world’s rules for her darling Feyre. And again, for Kallas and Vivianne who are also expecting the baby, even though it has been a maximum of 3 years since they’ve mated. 3 years is also not a particularly long time to try to have a baby for those who have issues with their reproductive systems like Fae women. Thank you, next. 

3) Rhys has unprotected sex with Feyre in her Illyrian form when she conceives, even though he knows full well having a winged baby would kill her. He does it anyway, for shits and giggles apparently. They probably have sex in the sky above Velaris, for all we know. 

4) The baby has wings. Now, the whole explanation with Illyrian wings being bony (bc they resemble bat wings) and Seraphin ones being more flexible (bc they resemble bird ones) is so insanely stupid that it takes around 3 seconds to wikipedia this shit and find out it’s exactly the opposite. But okay, the baby has wings and Feyre will die while giving birth, along with the baby. Madja forbids Feyre from turning into an Illyrian to carry the pregnancy because it MIGHT hurt the baby. Now, remember, Feyre conceived while in Illyrian form and then turned into High Fae. The baby survived it just fine. The baby MIGHT be hurt by Feyre turning .... but it will FOR SURE die if she stays High Fae and Feyre will too. Idk about you, but I would take the risk of MIGHT instead of FOR SURE. Especially when she is already in labour and dying. Cauldron or Nesta or idk who alters Feyre’s pelvis after the baby is cut out of her for no apparent reason but to allow feysand to make exactly the same mistakes later on. How convinient. And Nesta also alters her own pelvis bc god forbid she won’t be able give Cassian babies like the little useful mate she is now. She should’ve probably done it with Elain too, just in case she decides to fuck Az in the future, because fuck consequences and fuck the stakes in the story that make the readers actually CARE about characters bc they know the author may actually kill them and not save their life every fucking time.  

5) I don’t even want to comment on the fact Rhys hid the true danger of this pregnancy for Feyre and their family went along with it. It is absolutely disgusting. And Nesta telling her and that being condemned as the act of the ultimate cruelty which is a final straw to break her self-loathing back.... is abhorrent. It made my sick, actually, phisically sick. There is no justification for it. No at all. And the fact that they did not even consider abortion sends a message that I really don’t want to think too much about it. Feyre was 2 months along when they learned the baby is winged. 2 months. 8 weeks. It wasn’t a baby yet, let’s be honest. They could’ve at least discussed it. She - oh my god, I cannot believe SJM wrote it this way, I’m gonna be sick. 

6) For the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, they have no plan to really help her. Labour plan? Haven’t heard if it.  They have money and power and access to the healers of the whole land. And did not figure out how to stop her from bleeding out after a fucking C-section. THIS WORLD HAS MAGIC AND THEY COULDN’T STOP HER FROM BLEEDING OUT AFTER A FUCKING C-SECTION. Didn’t even ask Thesan, the High Lord of Healing, to be present. Cassian had guts hanging out of his stomach and survived. Az was fucking slashed apart in Hybern and survived. But yeah, Feyre was on a brink of death after a C-section. Great, Sarah. Keep it up. Let’s force the thought into young girls’ heads that labour is the most lethal thing ever, why not. 

7) Also, for the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, Rhys keeps quiet about this idiotic bargain. He, as far as we know, doesn’t make any plans for the moment when him and Feyre and possibly their baby are dead. If they died and baby survived.. who would take care of it? Does Rhys have a conversation with his family about it? NAH. Doesn’t write any sort of plan how to keep the Court going, doesn’t inform even the closest of his co-workers how they should proceed to act after he’s gone and his and Feyre’s power go to god-knows-who. Their deaths would mean a sure chaos for the weakend and fragile Prythian and the Night Court especially and yet nor Rhys nor Feyre make any sort of preparations for it. Rhys doesn’t tell his brothers or Mor or HIS SECOND IN COMMAND they will all soon have to somehow manage without him. He was about to just leave them to their own devices and told them in the last. possible. moment. 

And this man - this man is, according to Amren, the best candidate to handle the whole country? To unite it? This fool who makes idiotic bargains, who thinks first about his cock and his own selfish desires and considers his subjects and his responsibilities as a High Lord last and least important of all? Who has so much trust in his wife, in his High Lady, the mother of his son that he doesn’t tell her she will almost surely die on a birthing bed because it MAY UPSET HER? 

This plotline was the straw that broke my back. ACOTAR, at it’s heart has always been a ya fantasy with added ‘spice’ and I was willing to bend my critical-thinking skills in many cases and forget and forgive many smaller idiotic issues in this series. But this? It is not idiotic. It is massive and stupid to the point when it becomes insulting to the reader. It was a plot straight out of a bad fanfic, not something that should be in a published book written by someone who writes for a living. You could even argue that Twilight has handled this toxic trope better.  I have wasted my money on this book and thinking about it will always be painful for me. So yeah.

ACOSF could be great. Ended up quite pathetic. 

[twistedtummies2]

Descending From the Sky - Part 1 (500 Followers Special)

IN CELEBRATION OF 500 FOLLOWERS...! (freezes as someone whispers in my ear) ...Eh? You...say I have 509 now? ...Frick. WELL, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER! Something a lot of people have wanted me to write - on this site as well as an alternate site I frequent - is a “rampage story.” You know the type: macro-sized predator goes stomping around eating people and causing destruction in their wake. I have several ideas for such tales, though most of them are still in the “pre-production” stages.  I decided to go with the one that could offer me the clearest possible plot, and which I know a few people were hoping to see: this is the third chapter in my Giant AU for My Hero Academia, based on Jack and the Beanstalk. In the past two sections, Midoriya and Kaminari went up to see the Giants. THIS time, however, one of the giants comes down to Earth themselves.  I mustn’t say more though, or I shall spoil the fun. This is a two-parter; part two will be up tomorrow. As is typical, this first section is mostly just expository stuff and...well...actual STORY than anything else. Most of the “fun stuff” will be in tomorrow’s second half. Keeping this in mind, I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for the support!

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Three months had passed since Izuku Midoriya and Denki Kaminari had descended from the beanstalk with the Golden Eggs.

The result of their fortunate adventures were plainly visible: the farm where they both lived had become far more prosperous. The fields had been able to widen, as their master, Aizawa, had been able to hire new farmhands, buy new equipment, and even purchase a new cow for milking! (Although Izuku couldn’t help but notice how much whiter Milky White’s output had always been.) The farmhouse had been repaired, and plans were in motion to construct a larger building, all while a second barn was being built to house all the new supplies. Over all of this rising splendor towered the magnificent beanstalk...and on the unusually hot morning where our story begins, the boys were very glad about that. Kaminari sighed as he paused in his work, wiping his brow with a spotted handkerchief before stuffing it back into his pocket. Though the boys could afford nice clothes, they usually wore their old peasant garb while working After all, there was no point in ruining the good stuff. “Y’know something, Midoriya?” he mumbled out, looking up. Midoriya paused, putting down his hammer and looking down at Kaminari. His expression was wide-eyed and attentive. Kaminari huffed, leaning against the side of the shed the two were in the process of building. “Life doesn’t make sense sometimes.” “Yeah, that’s a fact,” Midoriya said, with a small smile, and chuckled, turning his freckled face back towards his work. He was standing on a ladder and tapping nails into place to hold the roof boards. Kaminari was holding the nails in a jar, and passing them up, and was supposed to be holding the ladder. In that moment, however, the distracted blonde was more focused on the jar, biting his lip as he stirred the nails boredly. The pair had been alternating positions every couple of boards, since, obviously, it was a lot more work to hammer than to hold. Not that the heat made either of the stations particularly fun. Kaminari tried to get a bit of shade from the side of the shed, but as the Sun was facing in the wrong direction, there was no shade to be had. “What I mean is,” Denki went on, “I thought all this extra stuff would make our lives easier: a little less of a workload on us. Instead, it feels like we haven’t a chance to just...you know...breathe.” “I know,” Midoriya murmured, pausing in his work and dipping his head. “Nor a chance to visit our friends ‘upstairs.’” “Friend. Singular,” Kaminari corrected. “Unless you count that mean man-eater as a friend…” Both of the teens shuddered, and Kaminari even crossed himself. Midoriya shook his head and refocused on hammering as Kaminari passed up another nail, and made sure to grab hold of the ladder with one hand. He didn’t want Midoriya to fall over. For one thing, it would be kind of embarrassing if either of them broke an arm falling from a ladder after managing to climb up and down a mammoth beanstalk and never tumble once.

“Mr. Aizawa says that after this is built, we should be able to rest a bit,” Midoriya said, with a bright-eyed smile that made his green irises look like emeralds. “Maybe we’ll get to go back up there in a couple weeks.”

“Maybe,” murmured Kaminari, and frowned. “Hey, do you think he’s giving us extra work to keep us from going up there?” Midoriya frowned and turned carefully on the ladder, looking to the beanstalk, then looking over the farmland...and shook his head again, this time in disagreement. “No,” he answered, and continued hammering; the boards were hard and the nails long. “With everything going on, I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt there. There’s just...so much expansion, with all the buying and selling we’ve been doing…” “I’m glad he let us keep those Golden Eggs!” grinned Kaminari. “They look cool in the bedroom.” Midoriya nodded wordlessly in agreement, and began to descend the ladder. It was Kaminari’s turn to take care of the next few boards-and-nails. “We’ll get back there soon,” he said. “Things just have to get harder before they get easier.” “That’s one way of looking at it,” shrugged Kaminari, giving Midoriya the nail jar as he took the hammer. He bit his lip and looked off to the side. Midoriya tilted his head, concerned by the unhappy expression on his friend’s face. “Hey...something else wrong?” he asked. “Just...when I went up there last time…” Kaminari trailed off...took a breath...and shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, and smiled. “Let’s just get back to work. The faster we finish, the faster we can get inside where it’s cool.” Midoriya looked skeptical, but before he could answer, a voice interrupted the pair… “It’s going to take a little longer than expected to do that.” The boys looked up. The baggy-eyed figure of Aizawa was approaching the pair. The teens stiffened, almost as if standing at attention. “Good morning, Master!” they chorused, as if speaking to a drill sergeant. Aizawa rolled his eyes and made a grumpy sound. He made a lot of those. “Relax, you’re not in trouble. Yet,” he mumbled, then went on a bit more clearly: “I need you two to stop work on the shed today. There’s another job for you both now.” The teens looked at each other, then back to the head farmer. “Um...no offense, sir,” Midoriya spoke up, and sounded sincerely polite and curious as he spoke, “But why not get one of the others to do it?” “Or do it yourself?” suggested Kaminari, in the same tone. Neither sounded defiant, just a little confused. Aizawa crossed his arms and sighed through his nose, looking out over the farmland, watching the new helpers hoe and shovel and rake away… “I have to stay,” he said, simply and strictly. “And as for the rest of the farmhands…” He looked back to the pair somewhat earnestly. “...I trust you both more than most of them.” The two boys practically had stars in their eyes. “You...you trust us?” peeped Midoriya. “Really?” Kaminari gasped. Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he droned, drably. “I trust Mineta more than you both, and he’s a donkey. And I trust my dog more than I trust him.” The pair ducked their heads with nervous, bashful smiles. Kaminari scratched the back of his head, kicking an imaginary pebble, while Midoriya rubbed one arm, trying to look anywhere but into Aizawa’s face. Aizawa rolled his eyes and then cleared his throat. “Ahem...the new help has loaded the wagon with produce to take to market,” he informed the pair. “Change clothes and hitch the horse up, then take it all. And this time, PLEASE don’t try to trade anything on the way for Magic Beans. One big green liability is enough.” He looked to Midoriya pointedly with those words. Midoriya gulped guiltily. “We’ll do our best, Master,” Kaminari promised, and slung an arm around Midoriya as he gave a cocky grin. “Just leave it to us! We’ll come back with more money than you can shake a stick at! Although I don’t know why you’d want to…” Aizawa just made another grumpy sort of sound and paused before going on… “Mind your way through the forest. Don’t stray from the path. Keep the cart moving on its course: some of the new boys have said they’ve encountered robbers in the woods, ever since…” He pointed up towards the clouds indicatively. “We’ll be careful, Mr. Aizawa,” vowed Midoriya, then looked to Kaminari. “C’mon, let’s get moving!” The duo folded up the ladder, and darted off to put away their tools before getting ready for the journey to market. Aizawa watched them go, then looked back to the partially finished shed, then turned his gaze heavenward. He glared as he looked at the top of the beanstalk...or, at least, the furthest point he could see, as it disappeared beyond the blue sky’s crest. He shook his head and pinched his brow as he walked off to see about feeding the chickens. “This place has never been the same,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t mind so much if I could decide if that was good or bad…”

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Meanwhile, in the Land of the Giants… “Sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” The red-haired, fang-toothed giant known as Kirishima looked with concern to his friend. His fellow titan, Bakugou, narrowed his own crimson eyes, a sour expression on his face as he lounged on a sofa in their living room. “Hell’s that s’posed to mean?” he sneered. “What do you think’s gonna happen while I’m here?” Kirishima opened his mouth to answer...then closed it again. “...Never mind,” he shrugged, and gave a cheerful smile as he slung the leather backpack over his back. “Anyway, I better get going. Tamaki’s probably gonna get all anxious if I’m late; start thinking if I still wanna be his friend, and so on…” “Tch,” Bakugou scoffed, and took a sip of the coffee he held in his hand. “How come you hang out with that wuss anyway? He’s softer than you are!” “Hey, you can’t pick your friends!” “Yes, you can,” droned Bakugou, boredly. “It’s family. You can’t pick your family.” “That, too.” Bakugou blinked slowly, his expression tremendously dull as he took another drink. “Whatever. It’ll be nice to not have your dumb hair poisoning my vision,” he grumbled. “Yeah, I’ll miss you, too,” Kirishima chuckled. Bakugou just grunted, taking yet another drink. He licked his lips thinly as Kirishima tilted his head. “Hey...you certain you’re alright?” “What makes you think I’m not?” “I dunno...just...you’ve been a lot quieter lately. And you haven’t gone down to mess with the little guys in a couple of months. Not that I mind that at all…” He grinned. “Am I rubbing off on you a little, maybe?” “Dream on. I just haven’t had an appetite for ‘em.” “Uh-huh. Sure,” Kirishima mumbled, sounded unconvinced, and gave a smile. “Well...anyway, I’ll be back by tomorrow. Guard the house well!” “The fuck do you mean ‘guard the house well’?!” snapped Bakugou, barking out his annoyance. “DO I LOOK LIKE A DAMN GUARD DOG TO YOU?!” Kirishima sniggered, and responded with a jaunty mock-salute. Whistling merrily, the friendly giant thus left the house. Bakugou growled (ironically sounding VERY much like an angry guard dog), his fingers twitching around his coffee cup as he finished his drink. He stifled a burp in his ballooning cheeks - “HHHMMMRRRLLLRRRPH...grm…” - and swallowed the excess gas back down, thumping his bare chest with a beefy fist before rising to his feet. The Barbarian-garbed colossus then tromped back to the kitchen, cleaning his cup and putting it aside to drain and dry. In truth, there was something on Bakugou’s mind. Something that had been buzzing around in his brain for months, and had become increasingly more annoying. I climbed a beanstalk to the top of the sky...I befriended a giant, was able to hide from another...and I was able to make my whole village happy, and even the king...do you think anyone who’s ‘just meat’ could even think of all that? The giant ground his teeth together, fingers twitching again. “Worthless little runt,” he growled to himself. “What does he know?” The little one Kirishima called “Midoriya” wouldn’t leave his mind. He kept trying to force the small one’s words aside, but the pathetic rat wouldn’t get out of his head. It was starting to drive the titan insane. He’d spent his whole life eating humans. He was bigger, stronger, faster, and all around better than they were. It was the law of the jungle: they were SUPPOSED to fill his belly. It was just their fault they were so small and tasty! That’s how he’d always justified it. That’s how he’d always felt about it. And it wasn’t as if he ate indiscriminately. But now… Someones gotta knock some sense into you, Bakugou! You can’t just eat people, it’s...it’s not right! And if one of my friends is in danger...I’ve got to do whatever I can to help them! No matter what! Bakugou snarled, clenching his fists at his sides. The little vermin had guts. What he wouldn’t give to introduce them to HIS guts... Still...he hadn’t been down to eat in months now...and the truth was, what he’d told Kirishima was true. He just...hadn’t been in the mood to eat little people in a while. It was really starting to piss him off, because this had never happened before. They were his FAVORITE food...so what was holding him back? GRRROOORRRLLLB… Bakugou winced and hissed through his teeth, clapping a hand to his belly. His fingers rubbed over his bare, strong, well-sculpted abs as his stomach gurgled and “brumbled” noisily. So far, all he he’d had that morning was coffee. It seemed his gut was demanding something more substantial. For a moment, the thought of dozens of squirming little morsels flashed in his mind...but he shook that thought away with a toss of his messy blonde locks, and instead relaxed slightly as he stomped towards the icebox. “Something light oughta kill those damn noises,” he muttered coarsely. “Where’d I put those cold cuts…?”

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The wagon full of pumpkins, apples, cucumbers, potatoes, corn, and all sorts of other home-grown delights rattled along the semi-level road that twisted and twined its way through the forest. Kaminari sat beside Midoriya, who held the reins, while an old gray mare hauled the cart along at a steady trot. “Easy there, Chiyo,” Midoriya smiled gently, as the horse huffed softly, ears flicking at a noise from somewhere in the underbrush. “Just a jackrabbit.” “Hopefully,” mumbled Kaminari, then cocked his head to the left. “Say, Midoriya? Do you think we’ll run into that Yagi guy who gave you the Magic Beans?” “I doubt it,” Izuku said wistfully. “I get the feeling that was a one-time deal, or something.” “Hm. Got it,” Kaminari grunted, looking away again, a somewhat pensive, pondering look on his face. Midoriya’s smile faded. “Kaminari...seriously, what’s been bothering you?” “What do you mean?” “You’re thinking. A lot. That’s...very unusual for you.” “Hey. Thinking is dangerous. It can lead to headaches.” Midoriya smirked and chuckled, then paused, pulling the horse to a stop. “Come on,” he said, gently, placing the reins at his side nad putting a hand on Kaminari’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Tell me.” Kaminari squirmed a bit uncomfortably. “We should keep going,” he said, quietly. “Aizawa said there were-” “We’ll be fine. Talk to me. We’re friends, right?” “Right...well, um...it’s just…” Kaminari took a deep breath, and let it out before speaking. “...I’ve felt...really bad ever since I went up the beanstalk.” “Bad as in sick?” “No, just...bad. Emotionally. I really messed things up, and I almost got killed for it. I was being greedy and stubborn and selfish, and...look, I still love money-” “And girls.” “Well, duh, girls are what make life worth living, and money helps there.” Midoriya sighed and rolled his eyes, still smiling. “But seriously,” Kaminari went on, shifting his position so he could look Midoriya in the face, “What I did was wrong and...well...kinda stupid, even for me. I wanna make up for it somehow, just...I don’t really know what to do. And with all the time that’s gone by-” “I forgive you.” Kaminari stopped short. “I forgive you,” Midoriya said, his smile gentle and friendly. “And I know Kirishima forgives you, too. If it makes you feel so bad, we’ll find a way to go up there and see if you can do something more. I wanna go back up there just as much as you do. But work’s gotta come first.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Kaminari sighed...then smirked, and adopted a dramatic pose, pointing forward. “Well...drive on, my good man!” Midoriya snickered at Kaminari’s over-the-top impression of a pompous nobleman. “Yes, My Lord,” he winked, and whipped the reins, clicking and calling out Chiyo’s name. Chiyo let out a soft whinny and began to move forward again. Kaminari paused to adjust his clothes: both he and Midoriya were dressed in sharp-looking coats and breeches, so they could look more presentable at the market. “Yellow and black are good colors,” smirked Kaminari, admiring the golden lining of his jacket. He grinned somewhat sneakily. “Hey, think I’ll impress a few ladies while we’re out?” Midoriya was about to respond...but before he could - and after the pair had only traveled about twenty or thirty yards - Chiyo suddenly let out a sharp cry and came to an equally sharp stop. “Whoa, whoa, girl!” called out Midoriya, and as the horse settled, he and Kaminari frowned and stood up in the wagon to see what was the matter. The pair were surprised by what they saw: a small girl, dressed in a somewhat ratty-looking white dress. She had metallic-colored hair, almost the color of steel, and red eyes that looked like a couple of fresh, ripe cherries. The girl was trembling slightly. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared up at the pair. She didn’t move off the path, even as she stood. The two teens looked to each other, then back to the girl, and smiled. “Hello there!” Midoriya said kindly, and stepped down from the cart, while Kaminari stayed aboard and took the reins, just in case the old mare got a bit fidgety. The girl didn’t answer. She stayed still as Midoriya approached. His smile remained gentle and good-natured as he got down on one knee, bringing himself to the little girl’s height. “What is your name, little girl?” he asked, sweetly. The girl paused, blinking just once, before answering in a plaintive, soft voice: “Eri.” “Eri,” repeated Midoriya. “That’s a nice name.” He looked back to the wagon. “Don’t you think so, Kaminari?” “Oh, yeah. Short but pretty,” Denki nodded. Midoriya smiled a little wider, and looked back to Eri. “What are you doing out here, Eri?” he asked, carefully, and looked about with some small amount of worry. “Are your parents around?” Eri bit her lip and squirmed where she stood, looking away and hugging herself. “My...my papa needs help,” she admitted quietly, sounding almost ashamed of the words. “I...I heard your cart coming, and...c-could you...could you help me?” Midoriya frowned with concern. “Of course we’ll help,” he promised sincerely, and looked back to Kaminari. “Stay here with Chiyo and the market goods. I’m gonna see what’s going on, then we can figure out what to do.” “Gotcha,” Kaminari nodded. “Be quick though.” “I’ll try,” Midoriya said, then looked back to Eri with another kind, sweet smile. “C’mon, Eri...let’s go, okay?” He extended a hand...and to his surprised, Eri stepped back, letting out a tiny, timid whimper, as if she expected to be hit. Midoriya looked at his palm, then up at the little girl. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. Just...take my hand, and tell me where to go. Alright?” Eri blinked a few times, looking between Midoriya’s face and his hand...then, her own tiny, trembling fingers clasped about his. Midoriya smiled and stood up, holding firmly but carefully onto the young lady as she led him off the path into the forest. Kaminari, for his part, watched them go. Once they were out of sight, he reached into the cart and picked out a juicy yellow apple. No reason he couldn’t have a snack while he waited: there was plenty in the cart to sell at market, anyway. He checked the surrounding trees as he took a crunching bite from the fruit. He made sure to be alert; he didn’t want to make any mistakes. After all, if Aizawa was right, it wouldn’t be a good idea to let their guard down in the forest… While Kaminari dutifully and calmly guarded the wagon, Eri led Midoriya deeper and deeper into the untouched woods, away from the road. Midoriya looked back and frowned; the cart disappeared from sight behind him. “How far away is your father, Eri?” he asked. “And what happened to him?” Eri bit her lip, and paused, keeping her head down. As they stopped, Midoriya looked to her with concern. “Eri?” he checked, quietly. “Please answer me.” Eri let out a whimper...and, without warning, pulled her hand away from Midoriya’s, as if his touch burned her. He stepped back with some alarm as her tiny, frail shoulders began to shake. He could hear her starting to cry. “...You’re nice,” she said very, very softly. “No one...no one has been nice to me...in such a long time…” She gulped and looked up to the teen with misty eyes. “I’m so sorry.” No sooner had Eri uttered the words...then suddenly, someone leapt out from the bushes behind Midoriya and grabbed hold of him. Midoriya gasped and whirled to try and fight back...but another figure lunged from behind a tree and grabbed hold of his other arm. Izuku’s eyes widened: both of his attackers were strapping, masculine figures, dressed in long black robes, with plague doctor’s masks upon their faces. “Wh-What is this?!” he shouted, and struggled to break free. “Let...LET GO OF ME!” “Good work, Eri.” Midoriya froze as he heard the words...and his eyes widened as a third figure stepped out from behind another tree, moving over to Eri’s side. They placed a dark-gloved hand on the girl’s shoulder; she whined like a kicked puppy and shuddered, clearly repulsed but unwilling to move away from the figure’s touch. This figure wore a long green coat, lined with unusual violet fur. He, too, wore a plague doctor’s mask...but this one was not the plain ivory visage the two strikers wore. His was decorated in red and gold, and covered only everything below his eyes. The golden eyes in question narrowed, a supercilious gleam in them. “Very good work, my daughter,” the voice behind the mask intoned. “Thank you for helping us, Izuku Midoriya. We have much to discuss.” The figure then pointed off in another direction, and uttered one command to the two cloaked men: “Take him!” “KAMINARI!” Midoriya yelled at the top of his lungs, struggling harder as one of the two attackers pulled a short club out of their robes. “KAMINARI! KAMINAR-!” WHACK! The world became fuzzy and filled with plain. Midoriya’s voice slurred unhealthily. “...K-Kamin-ar-i…” WHACK! Izuku knew no more. However, his cries had not gone unheard. Kaminari jolted as he heard Midoriya call to him with what sounded like real panic, the apple dropping from his hands and rolling across the dirt. It stopped right in front of the gray mare, who, thinking it was a treat, nibbled it happily. It was a lucky thing the apple distracted the horse, because the moment Kaminari heard the calls stop just as suddenly as they had come, he was on the move. He bounced off the wagon and bounded into the woods, calling back as he ran in the direction he’d seen Eri taking Midoriya. “MIDORIYA! MIDORIYA, I’M COMING!” Naturally, he was too late. Kaminari skidded to a halt, his expression horror struck, as he saw a second wagon not so far ahead...but this was no produce cart drawn by a farmer’s horse. Instead, it was a prison wagon, a cage-cart drawn by two black horses. He saw the driver’s plague doctor mask glint in the sunlight, and heard them laugh jeeringly as they whipped the horses up...then, the wagon rolled out of sight. Just before it disappeared, he caught sight of Midoriya, slumped over in the prisoner’s cage...alongside Eri and another figure he couldn’t rightly make out. Once it was gone, Kaminari stood stock still for several seconds, processing with dread what he had just witnessed...then, cursing under his breath, he dashed back through the woods to his own cart. Chiyo had just finished her apple, and let out a startled sound as the blonde-haired, yellow-eyed youth leapt back into the driver’s seat, tugging and cracking the reins. “C’mon, old girl!” he shouted. “We have to get back to the farm! This is an emergency!” The horse neighed, and the cart was soon turned around. Then, with another crack and a click, Kaminari rode the rattling wagon back down the road towards Aizawa’s farm as fast as he could…

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“Kidnapped?!” “Yeah!” Kaminari confirmed, emphatically. “I saw it happen, Mr. Aizawa! They were riding off with him; I couldn’t hope to catch up in time!” Aizawa grinded his teeth; a look of intense worry burned in his eyes. “Which way were they going?” he demanded, standing up from his desk in the room Kaminari had found him in. “South? West?” “East,” Kaminari replied. “Due East, no doubt of it.” “And you said the driver of the cart wore a plague doctor’s mask?” “Yes, sir!” Aizawa sighed. “There’s no doubt of it then,” he murmured, in an ominous tone of mortal dread. “He’s being taken to Yakuza.” Kaminari gulped nervously. Everyone in the Kingdom of Ua knew about Yakuza: it was one of two neighboring kingdoms, which had been feuding with the land for years on end. It was ruled by the evil King Kai; its armies were ruthless, and its defenses plentiful. While outright war had not been done in many years, relations between the kingdoms were still intensely...well...tense, to say the least. No one in Ua ever went to Yakuza...and lived to tell about it. “Wh-why would they take Midoriya?” Kaminari almost whimpered. “I can make a few guesses,” growled Aizawa curtly, as he dressed himself in his best hat and coat and looked to Kaminari. “I’m going to to take the new stallion to the castle. I have friends among the King’s Knights, they might be able to help us.” “I’ll go with you!” “No,” ordered Aizawa. “You stay here. I already have one of you in danger. I’m not getting you into any more trouble, and I don’t want you causing it, either.” “But I want to help!” “I know,” sighed Aizawa. “But this is no time for rash action!” “This is the PERFECT time for rash action!” Kaminari almost screamed out. “They took Izuku, and who knows what they’re gonna-?!” He stopped short at a burning, searing glare from Aizawa. He ducked his head and looked away. “...I’m...I’m sorry…” “Stay. Here,” Aizawa commanded, then added more softly, “Please.” Kaminari said nothing, but remained where he was. Aizawa looked the blonde haired boy over a time or two...then sighed again and shook his head, before hustling out of the house. There wasn’t a moment to lose. For a time, Kaminari stayed perfectly still where he stood. He listened. He waited. And the instant he heard the sound of Aizawa whistling to his horse, and the sound of the horse hooves galloping off into the distance...his eyes lifted. He looked to the beanstalk outside...and then moved to Aizawa’s desk. He hastily pulled out a small piece of parchment, and scribbled a message onto it. You said to leave you a note next time, the message read. I’m sorry, Master. I have to help my friend. I have to make up for my mistakes. Signed, Kaminari. With this managed, Kaminari clambered out of the open window, and crept towards the mighty beanstalk. He glanced from side to side, to make sure no one was looking...then, without another thought, he latched onto its based, grabbed hold of its stems and leaves...and began, once more, the long climb up...Up...UP…

“I’ll save you, Midoriya,” he promised, as he soon climbed up past the roof of the house, and kept right on climbing. “I’ll save you...one way or another…”

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“UUUURRRRRRRROOOORRRRRPH...mph...weak…” Bakugou snorted as he lounged back on the couch in the den of his and Kirishima’s home. His stomach was ever so slightly distended; just enough to make the strong, deep crevices between his six-pack muscles a little less well-defined, a clear but very small curve of fullness along his middle. One of his hands was resting upon his gut, covering his deep, black navel. He didn’t rub his stomach, didn’t scratch it...simply let his hand rest there, the limb rising and falling as his gut moved with his breathing. The ogre’s other arm was slung behind his messy-haired head as he glared with his usual, grouchy scowl at the ceiling, red eyes smoldering as he seemed to look through the ceiling itself...thinking and thinking. The (relatively) light meal he’d enjoyed left a pleasant warmth in his belly...but was not truly full yet. It barely made the slightest dent in his gut, and he knew he could fit more. But nothing around the house seemed to his satisfaction...and he had a feeling he knew what he wanted. What was stopping him? He knew what his stomach desired. He’d never denied it before. So why was he purposefully avoiding it now? He couldn’t even blame his appetite: he clearly wanted it, so what was holding him back? He didn’t know. This was...annoying. “Pissing me off,” he all but hissed to himself, fingers curling over his bare belly and twitching slightly with his ever-present anger. “Damn that little snack-rat...how’d that little fucker get inside my head anyhow…” He growled and shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts and the ever-repeating words. But they wouldn’t go away. He covered his ears, snarling and pulling at his hair. “Die, you stupid thoughts!” he snapped, trying to think of a way to force them out of his mind. He couldn’t take this much more…! He froze in the middle of his thoughts. His eyes widened as his ears pricked up. The giant listened closely. He could have sworn...he’d heard the scampering of tiny feet. He sniffed the air...and growled again, almost like a wild bear. “Fee, Fi, Fo-Fuck it. I don’t have time for this shit…” The giant swung himself out of his seat and onto the floor...but he didn’t stomp his way towards the source of the sound and scent. Instead, he cautiously began to prowl towards it, moving almost like a giant cat. He was fairly certain the little rat hadn’t realized he was around, and he wanted to keep it that way… The giant tip-toed out of the living room and towards the main hall. He peered around the corner, and his red eyes widened at what he saw. He looked both surprised and angry at the same time. Creeping across the floor was a familiar little fellow - no bigger than a mouse, compared to the man-eating man-mountain - with yellow hair and matching eyes. He nervously moved across the floor, peering from side to side and looking all around. “Kirishima?” he called out. “Hello? Is anybody home?” “Yeah. Someone’s home, little snack.” Kaminari jumped...then squealed with fright as he saw Bakugou step out from hiding. The giant’s teeth were bared in a vicious snarl, his fists clenched and visibly shaking. With a comical holler, Kaminari flailed and turned around, trying to make a mad dash back the way he had come… “COME BACK HERE, RAT!” Katsuki roared. “I’LL KILL YOU!” “That’s not a good incentive for me to come back!” Kaminari called back. Bakugou just let out a wordless shout of anger, and lumbered forward. In three long, strong strides, he moved in front of Kaminari. Kaminari skidded to a halt as the Giant glared and lifted one massive boot over him... “DIE, RUNT!” “YIPE!” Kaminari barely had time to scramble out of the way before the giant’s foot slammed into the floor. THOOM! Denki stumbled as the floor shook with the force of the stomp. He hit the floor was was briefly winded...and barely had time to lift a hand in a pleading gesture, a futile attempt to stop the inevitable, as Bakugou’s own giant fingers came swooping down towards him and snatched him. Kaminari cried out as he was hoisted into the air; vertigo hit him in an instant, and he felt woozy...but only for a second or two. He had much worse things to worry about as he was soon held up to the giant’s face. “What are you doin’ back here?” sneered Bakugou. “I...I was lookin’ for-GACK!” Kaminari choked and gasped as Bakuguou gave him a squeeze. His ribs felt nearly ready to cave in, and his spine creaked forebodingly. “I don’t give a damn,” Katsuki snorted, then smirked. “Guess it’s my luck you decided to try and rob us again. This time...you’re not goin’ home, runt.” Kaminari let out a terrified moan as Bakugou licked his lips. “I haven’t had a human to eat in months,” the ogre rumbled, his free hand rubbing his belly up and down. “Now, I’ll finally get a small taste again...thanks for comin’ to me, meat.” So saying, Bakugou closed his eyes and opened his jaws. Kaminari cried out as he was brought closer to the stinking hot maw of the man-eating monster, the tongue twitching as the teeth parted to reveal the slimy chasm of pink, soft flesh that would consume him. “W-Wait...WAIT, JUST A MINUTE! WAIT, PLEASE!” Kaminari yowled as the mouth loomed closer and closer, and he struggled in the giant’s grip. “I DIDN’T COME HERE TO STEAL, I PROMISE! PLEASE!” Bakugou stopped. His eyes opened...and he pulled Kaminari away from his jaws, closing them and glaring at the small morsel. “You’re...not here to steal?” he repeated, skeptically. Kaminari - relieved to be away from that mouth and the odor of digesting meat that came from it - sighed and nodded in confirmation. Bakugou glared darkly. “Why should I believe you?” “Um...b-because it’s true?” Kaminari eeped out. Bakugou’s glare did not soften. “Listen,” Kaminari said, and took a breath to steady himself before going on, still wiggling to try and find some semblance of comfort between the boa constrictors that were Bakugou’s mighty digits. “L-Listen, I...I’m sorry. For what I did last time. I know it was wrong, a-and I won’t do it again.” “Apology not accepted,” sneered Bakugou. “And if that’s all you’ve got, I’m eating you.” “It’s not, it’s not!” exclaimed Kaminari, desperately. “Please...wh-where’s Kirishima? I need his help!” “Stupid hair’s not here. He won’t be back till tomorrow,” shrugged Bakugou, carelessly. Kaminari looked mortified. “But...but...oh, no...now what do I do?” the human worried, speaking more to himself than the giant. “By tomorrow...b-by tomorrow, he could be dead…” Bakugou looked the tiny morsel up and down, and tilted his huge head curiously. “What do you need that extra’s help for, anyway?” he groused. “Midoriya. My friend. He’s been kidnapped.” Bakugou’s eyes widened anew. “Kidnapped?” he repeated, voice soft and somewhat shaky. “Yeah,” Kaminari nodded, his expression dour. “He...he was tricked…a-and a bunch of creeps from a rival kingdom took him away. I...I was too late to stop them. I though...maybe Kirishima could...you know...help me rescue him. Being a giant and all. But...without his help…” “Without his help, you’ll be better off,” snorted Bakugou. “Where is this kingdom?” Kaminari looked up, seemingly stunned. “Wait...you mean...YOU’LL help me?” “Psh. Don’t think of it as me helping you. I’m just helping myself,” Bakugou snorted, and smirked cruelly as he jabbed his free thumb to his chest, head held high. “No one’s gonna kill that green-haired, worthless idiot except ME. Besides, I’ve been on a ‘diet’ recently, you might say…” He licked his teeth as his stomach let out an excited burbling noise. “...I think it’s time I broke it. So...where do I need to go to eat?” Kaminari gulped nervously. “Um...uh...y-you need to go due east, f-from our home. I...I can point the way if you...um...maybe...p-promise not to eat me?” Kaminari smiled hopefully. Bakugou glared. “I don’t make promises to snacks,” he growled...then paused before going on, slowly: “Still...it’ll be hard to find the place without a guide...I guess I can let you live a little longer.” Kaminari sighed with even greater relief. “Thanks,” he breathed...then squeaked like a rodent as the giant quickly tucked him into his vest pocket. “Stay right there, and if you do anything stupid, I’ll squash you flat,” Bakugou grunted. “Now come on, snack. You’ve got another annoying bug to save…” He grinned viciously as he began to march out of the house. “...And I’ve got dinner waiting for me now. Heh heh heh…” Kaminari shuddered as he heard the giant smack his chops hungrily, and looked out over the white and blue landscape of the Kingdom Above the Clouds as his “ride” stepped out into the daylight and went on his way. “I hope I don’t live to regret this,” Denki murmured to himself. “Hang on tight, Midoriya...I’m coming…” “Ahem!” “Uh...oh, uh...w-we’re coming.” “Hmph. Better. Don’t make me regret not eating you…” “I’ll try...h-heh…”

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

Izuku Midoriya groaned; a splitting headache greeted him as he opened his eyes. Breathing, itself, required great focus, which only made the throbbing, stinging pain in his cranium worse. Something prickled like nettles inside his nostrils - it smelled like ammonia - rousing him from the bleary, black haze he’d been in for some time. He could still feel the weight of the club against his skull, and hoped he didn’t have any lasting damage to worry about. Midoriya sneezed as the odor became stronger, and shook his head with a louder groan, trying to clear it and focus on the fuzzy, faded-out world around him. “That’s enough,” a voice grunted. “He’s coming to.” The scent went away, and that’s when Midoriya became aware of a few things. One, his hands and ankles were both bound with what felt like rough hemp cord. Two, a large wooden post or pole was against his back, his arms wrapped around it behind him. Three, as he shifted his bound feet he realized they brushed against splintery wood. Finally, vision and total awareness returned to him...and Midoriya felt a chill go up his spine. The location appeared to be a city square, a huge black castle not so far in the distance, and various buildings all around him. This, however, was no city square he’d encountered before...and the people around him were the most unsettling part of all. There were hundreds gathered all around him, and while many of them looked perfectly ordinary in dress and appearance...at least a third of them were wearing dark robes and bone-white plague doctor’s masks, thee black lenses blankly staring at Izuku upon the pyre he was stationed on. At the base of the pyre, Midoriya became aware of a flicker of flame. He looked down and gulped nervously: one of the Plague Doctors carried a torch. Beside him stood King Kai: his purple eyes peering over the crest of his ruby-and-gold mask, dressed still in his expensive-looking green and purple coat. Half-hidden behind the King was Eri, who was visibly shaking, eyes darting about to look anywhere except at Midoriya. Midoriya blinked at Eri...then looked up with a glare at King Kai. “Where am I?” he asked, bluntly. “Wh-What’s going on?” “Welcome to Shie, the capital city of Yakuza,” King Kai answered, and Midoriya could sense the smirk behind the mask. “I am-” “I know who you are,” Midoriya said, trying to sound as brave as he could, but unable to stop shaking. “What do you want with me?” Kai blinked slowly. “Why don’t you guess, filthy Uan?” he responded, his voice cold and cutting. Midoriya bit his lip. “In the past few months, the Beanstalk you grew has helped make your kingdom’s capital all the more prosperous,” Kai decided to explain, his voice business-like. “I would like to know how you were able to create such a thing, and where all the wealth came from.” “And why should I tell you that?” Kai narrowed his eyes, and with a slight motion of his head, the robed figure holding a torch stepped forward. Midoriya shuddered, but held up his head, straightening against the post as he glared defiantly. “Y-You can do what you want to me,” he said softly. “I’ll never tell you anything. If someone like you figured it out, who knows what you could do!” “I can already think of a few possibilities,” Kai said, coolly. “But I would recommend reconsidering. Burning to death is a TERRIBLE way to go. Trust me.” Midoriya’s defiant expression did not shift. “Please don’t hurt him…” Both Kai and Midoriya looked down at the furtive little voice that spoke. Kai’s eyes widened as he found Eri tugging on his pant leg. “Please...j-just let him go,” she pleaded. “H-He’s nice, he didn’t-AH!” Kai sneered as one of his minions struck the girl across the face, knocking her back. Kai checked his leg and sighed with relief when he saw nothing wrong. “Never touch me,” he said, in a soft, warning tone. “How often do I have to tell you, Eri? You. Do. Not. TOUCH ME.” Eri sniffled and whimpered, holding her cheek; a bright red mark was visible upon it. “Leave her alone!” snapped Midoriya. “She’s your daughter, isn’t she?” “She’s useful on occasion,” Kai answered, in the same icy tone as before. “But she’s very undisciplined. A father is supposed to discipline his child when they misbehave, yes?” Midoriya looked ill. He looked to Eri with sympathy. “Are you okay?” he asked, gently. Eri blinked, clearly not sure how to respond to the question under the circumstances. “She is far from your concern,” Kai intruded. “I’ll ask again: will you tell us where you got those so-called Magic Beans that brought that stalk to fruition? This is your last chance.” Midoriya struggled against his bonds for a moment, but the knots were strong and taut. He heard several in the crowd snicker. Sighing in defeat, he glared at Kai, who stared up patiently. “Even if I knew where you could find them,” he said, firmly, “I would never tell you.” “Very well,” shrugged King Kai. “In that case, you are of no use to me.” He held out a hand, twitching his fingers in a beckoning gesture. The minion holding the torch handed it over. Kai then turned to address the crowd. “Citizens of Yakuza!” he thundered. “The enemy agent has refused to tell us the secret of the Magic Beanstalk. Today, we burn him, and purge his sorry existence from our clean and well-ordered society. Tomorrow, we shall treat those who live on his farm the same way...and then cut down the mighty beanstalk itself!” The crowd cheered, lifting their fists and shouting jeers at Midoriya. Kai smiled darkly behind his mask, amethyst eyes glittering maliciously as he turned back to Izuku. “Any last words?” Kai hissed. Midoriya blinked once...and gave his reply quickly. PHUT! Kai stumbled back...and his expression became one of livid horror as he felt the slimy substance on his cheek...felt his face burning, felt the hives itch and puff up… He glared with psychotic, feral fury at Midoriya, who smirked back with undying defiance after spitting in the evil king’s face. Kai snarled, and without further hesitation, hurled the torch onto the pyre. The kindling at the base of the pyre began to crackle and burn in an instant. Midoriya’s smile faded, and he began to struggle again. The crowd cheered louder than before, laughing and mocking Midoriya’s struggles as he fought for dear life. Smoke was wisping up, and growing rapidly in density...the fire would be burning fiercely in a very short while. If smoke inhalation didn’t kill him, the flames themselves would. Either way, it would be a lingering, painful demise. “HELP! HELP ME!” he called out, struggling to loosen the knots. Kai glared with triumphant anger as his robed minions taunted Midoriya by mockingly screaming for help, and the crowd pointed and hollered. “NO! NO, LET HIM GO! STOP!” Eri cried out, as two of the masked men held her back. “Perhaps you’ll scream out the answer while you burn, you diseased piece of trash,” sneered Kai. “If not...at least tomorrow we’ll make sure your family suffers the same fate.” Midoriya struggled harder in response, which made Kai chuckle. He crossed his arms, the dark king patiently watching the fire rise and the smoke billow, quickly growing into thicker and thicker curls of vapor...it wouldn’t be long before Midoriya began coughing and wheezing. He was going to enjoy every last second of this he thought, shuddering with revulsion as he touched the stinging portion of his face the boy had spat on. “Bring me my balm,” he muttered, looking towards one of his minions. “I need to-” THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP… Kai froze...and the crowd soon went silent...as a huge, pounding sound echoed through the air. The ground began to tremble, and all across the city went very quiet, confused and frightened as the noise grew steadily louder, and the vibrations more intense… Midoriya blinked, and looked upwards, as did Eri and Kai and nearly everyone else gathered in the city square. Midoriya saw a huge, towering silhouette - at least as large as the castle itself - approaching the area… “Kirishima?” he whispered to himself hopefully, with an optimistic smile.

“A Giant!” exclaimed King Kai, and barked orders to some of his soldiers as he moved a few steps away from the pyre, the people of the city clutching each other, their chatter turning into frightened noises as the King shouted and cried out: “Get to the edges of the city! Fan out! Do everything in your power, but don’t let that...that THING pollute my capital!” The soldiers hurried to move, forgetting all about Midoriya, whose pyre still burned. Midoriya himself had almost forgotten, himself, given the circumstances.: the adventurous lad’s smile quickly faded into a look of confusion and fear as he realized the hair didn’t look like Kirishima’s...and as the giant moved closer and closer, and people in the city began to fretfully murmur, he soon saw the glare of two glowing red eyes. So like Kirishima’s, yet so unlike them. A flash of green and orange caught his eye...and that’s when Midoriya knew. “B-Bakugou?!”

To Be Continued...

[lokiondisneyplus]

Holy crap. Look at Kate Herron's shirt. When the Loki director pops up on Zoom, she's donning the most glorious image anyone will see since we laid eyes on Alligator Loki: A Teletubby wearing the Loki horns. Are the Teletubbies Loki variants? Sure, why not!

"I got it on Instagram," Herron says. "There's an amazing comic book artist and he designed it. He made it into a T-shirt for me because I saw it and was like, 'That's incredible. Can I get it for the press junket?'"

Herron, no big deal, just pulled off an MCU miracle. Entering a mammoth franchise with, notably, some of Sex Education's best episodes under her belt, the director deftly brought a plot involving multiverses and Richard E. Grant in a cape and superhero mumbo-jumbo to brilliant, beautiful life. Following Loki's tear-jerking, mind-bending finale, the series has been dubbed by critics and fan's alike as one of Marvel's best efforts—which is no small feat. Of course, we needed to ask Herron how she stuck the landing. Following the most epic finale you, me, or any Teletubby can remember, Herron talked to Esquire about the Miss Minutes jump scare, filming the finale's introduction of He Who Remains, and why she won't return for Season Two of Loki.

ESQ: How are you doing?

KH: I'm good. I think I feel very relieved that I don't have to sit on the secret of He Who Remains anymore, It was a very big secret to hold, but for an important reason, right? Because it's such a good character to be launching. So yeah, I feel good.

ESQ: Loking back at your old interviews, you have such a good poker face when you're avoiding spoilers, but you're also incredible at giving aggregator crumbs.

KH: I play a lot of board games, so you need to be quite good at strategy and poker faces so people can't always read your hand. So I think weirdly board games have prepared me more for working with Marvel than anything else.

ESQ: I have to start with the Miss Minutes jump scare. What went into the decision to make her a memeable, creepy apparition in that moment?

KH: I love horror, and my executive, Kevin Wright, knew that. Me and him were talking about Episode Six and I remember that he was like, "Oh, maybe you could do something creepy of Miss Minutes." And I immediately was like, "We have to do a jump scare!" Because I haven't got to do a good jump scare in anything yet and I really wanted to, because a lot of my friends are horror directors. I was like, "I can't let them down." So I was really excited to have a shot at doing a jump scare. And Miss Minutes, it was really fun testing it because we'd kind of bring different people into the edit, me and Emma McCleave, the editor, and we'd just play it for them, watch them, and check that they were jumping when we cut it.

ESQ: One thing that I think is getting missed in all the craziness is that we see a peak moment of the love story between Loki and Sylvie. Where does the finale leave the companionship that they found in each other?

KH: When I started the show, that was always in the DNA of it—that Loki was going to meet a version of himself and they were going to fall in love. And that's honestly what drew me into the story, because I directed Sex Education. I love stories about self-love and finding your identity and your people. Loki is such a broken character when we join him, and seeing him go on this amazing journey with all this growth and finding the good points of himself in seeing her—I think that was very beautiful. It's also paying respect to the fact that Sylvie's in a very different place to him. She hasn't had the Mobius therapy session. She even says, in Episode Five, "I don't know how to do this. I don't have friends." You really feel for her because she has been on the run and her whole life has been this mission.

It's almost funny because these characters are thousands of years old, but it's almost teenage the way they both talk about their feelings for each other. I think everyone can relate to that, right? In any new relationship, there's always that kind of awkwardness and like, "Oh God, am I too keen? The important thing was the hope—like when Sylvie and him kiss, I think it is genuine and it is coming from a place of these feelings they have for each other. Obviously she does push them through that door, but for me it was a goodbye and it was with heart. But it's kind of a goodbye in the sense of like, I care about you, but I'm going to do my mission because that's where I'm at.

ESQ: I would pay for you to direct the Sex Education episode where Otis falls through a portal into the multiverse, into the main MCU.

KH: He really looks like a Loki as well, which is so funny. I always thought that. I was like Asa does look like a Loki. It didn't come to pass or anything, but it would be interesting to do a Sex Ed-Marvel crossover. I wonder who all the different characters would be within the MCU, but it would be quite funny.

ESQ: You're right, he could pull off a teenage Loki.

KH: Yeah, like a teen or a very young ’20s, maybe. But it was just funny because I was like, "Oh yeah, he looks a bit like Tom." I wonder how they could do it. I'm sure they'll find a way to do a crossover anyway.

ESQ: Can you just take me back to filming with Jonathan Majors? And you capturing him in such a compelling, quirky, scary way—I'm sure your direction was such a big part of that.

KH: I was just so excited because Jonathan is an actor that everyone was so excited about. He's like a chameleon in everything he does and he's so talented. I just feel as a director so lucky to have worked on this because I feel like I've got to work with some of the best actors out there. And when you're with Jonathan, you know you're in the presence of just someone really magnificent. For me as a director, it's giving him the space to play and feel safe. Because we filmed it all in a week, but it was a lot to film in a week. So I think it was really about creating a space where he could have fun and find this character because he's going to be playing him for a long time.

ESQ: What went into the decision to introduce us to the good guy first?

KH: I remember in the script, he comes up the elevator and it was so casual. I was like, "Oh man, that's so fun." And then Jonathan, when he plays it, he's relaxed. And I the thing he used to talk about a lot was that this is a character who's been on his own for a long time. Because at the beginning, we introduced him in a space in the universe that feels like this very busy, loud place, but actually, when we see the Citadel, he's surrounded by the Timeline and he's very isolated. Even in his costume with [designer] Christine Wada, for the idea of his outfit, he's a character who's existed for multiple millennia. So it's like, OK, let's pull from lots of different places so you can't necessarily pin down which time or which place he might be from. Also the fact that his clothes look comfy. They were like pajamas because he's living at home. He loved the idea of the office [being] the only finished part of the citadel and that the rest of the citadel was like this Sunset Boulevard kind of dusty, dilapidated space. And just again showed that he probably just keeps himself to his office. All those elements definitely fed into Jonathan's performance in terms of balancing the extrovert, but also the introvert of someone that would be living by themselves and only talking to a cartoon clock.

ESQ: It really is incredible how you pull a nail-biting finale with this battle of wits and dialogue.

KH: It was really exciting because I feel like Episode Five was a lot of fun because we got to play into all the joy of the different versions of Loki, but also just the fact that it was our big usual Marvel third act, right? Like it was where our big spectacle was as they were fighting this big monster. But I love that our finale bookends, right? We began with a conversation and we ended with one.

ESQ: I also loved that there was no end-credits scene—I think it makes the ending that much more impactful. Was there ever an end credit scene on the table, or any kind of a stinger?

KH: I think no, because weirdly, we never went after the kind of mid-credit sequences. I think we always just were thinking just of the story and where we knew we wanted it to end. For example, Episode Four, originally Loki was deleted and then we went straight to him waking up. And it was only in the edit I was like, “I think it'd be really cool actually. We should move that scene to mid-credits because then we'll really feel like Loki has died." Because if I watched that moment and then it went to the credits, I'd be like, "What?!" And then when we were talking about the best way to talk about Season Two, we were like, "Okay, well, let's do that like a little mid-credits at the end because that is exciting to confirm it in that way." I'd say we found both of those in the edit just because we wanted to kind of do it right and have a fun nod to something that Marvel does so well.

ESQ: Is there anything you can tell about the future of the story you've told here—or even where you personally would like to go with the studio or otherwise going forward?

KH: Yeah, so I'm just on for Season One. So I'm so proud of the story we told. I mean, it was amazing getting to set up the TVA and take Loki on this whole new journey. And I mean, I think we've left so much groundwork for his character, and as people see in the comics, there's so much more to be delved into. And I just am excited honestly to just see where all the characters go. Like, who is B-15? What did she see in those memories and where did Ravonna go and where is Loki? I think for me, we've set up these questions and I look forward to seeing them being answered as a fan in the next season.

ESQ: Absolutely. Well, can we please work on the Asa Butterfield Loki?

KH: I will call him and I'll be like, "You want to do some crazy Marvel crossover?"

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

How Luke Arnold went from pirate to author to Home and Away

Mediaweek Original by Trent Thomas

“2020 wasn’t the ideal year to be a debuting author let alone putting two books out”

Actor Luke Arnold first became known to Australians on a main stream scale when he portrayed Michael Hutchence in the mini-series INXS: Never Tear Us Apart. Arnold then went on to gain international recognition as a lead on the US drama Black Sails.

2020 was a busy year for Arnold who released his first novel titled The Last Smile in Sunder City followed by his second novel Dead Man In A Ditch later in the same year.

Mediaweek spoke to Arnold about life as an author as well as his career as an actor including his return to Aussie screens through Home and Away.

When we spoke with the actor, he was in the middle of a tour with the pop culture expo Supanova, which has since been delayed. Arnold said that he had relished the opportunity to connect with fans of his work, especially considering he hadn’t done many expos like this before.

“I never did any of these before. There was one time that Zach McGowan, who played Vane on Back Sails, and I did a little signing in San Diego [for Comic-Con] one year, but that was just an excuse to be there for the party.

“But now doing Supanova in the Gold Coast and Melbourne I am really loving it, it’s such a great community with the guests, the fans and all the other creative people there. And I am straddling the two worlds now being there as both an actor and as a writer.

It is the first time I can really hang out with other authors because my books came out last year and I didn’t get to do the events I had planned. This was my first time getting to go out with my books and meet some fans of the acting and some fans of the writing.”

Luke Arnold: Author

The year 2020 saw Arnold release not one but two fiction novels and Arnold said that he is enjoying juggling being an emerging author and continuing his acting career.

“2020 wasn’t the ideal year to be a debut author let alone putting two books out in the one year, but going back and forth between acting and writing I have been enjoying it a lot. I am lucky enough that jobs are coming in and I work steadily but there is always a gap between things. I finished a job in Sydney a couple of weeks ago, and my next one is not for a couple of months so it’s the perfect time to get some writing done.”

Arnold said that it is hard to know how the books are going because it’s a world that he does not have much experience in, but he is optimistic about the process so far.

“People seem to be buying them, liking them, and we are editing the third book in the series now and there are plans to keep doing more so fingers crossed it turns out all right.”

Two books in one year are rare from a writer and Arnold said not to expect that level of volume from him again, but one book a year may be possible.

“From the point I finished the first one to when we got it out, that took quite a while so that’s why I was able to follow up the first one so quickly.

“While we were working out the release of the first one, the different countries and how that was being handled I had time to really run ahead with the second. I definitely won’t be putting out two books every year as an ongoing routine! Maybe one book a year is probably doable, and I think that routine I can keep up depending on how I balance that with the acting.”

Luke Arnold on Black Sails

Arnold is best known to American audiences for his work on Black Sails, Arnold described the role as a dream job.

“It was the perfect job in so many ways. When you sign on for anything you never know what it is going to be.

You might get the pilot script or maybe a couple of scripts but even if that is good you don’t know what the actors will be like, or the directors will be like or where you will be living. There is this gamble that happens every time especially when you sign a multiyear contract, and with Black Sails I couldn’t have hoped for anything better.”

Arnold said that the show continued to improve each season because there was a clear idea of what they were trying to achieve.

“No one quite knows what type of show you’re going to be in at the start, and they have different ideas, as actors you are looking to your directors and show runners and producers trying to work out what it is meant to be according to them.

We came back for season two knowing what the show was now, when you start a show there is sometimes that feeling of too many cooks in the kitchen, but by then we knew.”

The series was filmed in South Africa which Arnold also credited with helping improve the quality of the performances.

“Over time our cast really galvanised. One of the blessings, when you work on the other side of the world, is that all you can do is focus on the job and really commit to it. It was like we were developing a play for four years with that level of rehearsal.”

Arnold said that another reason the show continued to improve after season one was that they were able to have more sets to play with.

“At that point we had one and a half ships and the town and it was like ‘okay you pretty much have to do all your story on these sets because it cost us a lot of money and that’s what it is’.

Then at the beginning of season two the world starts opening up and we begin to see different places and characters start to go off on their own adventures and that really helped shaped where the show was going.

By the time we were in season four we were spread all across the world, building sets just to see them once before we blow them up, setting ships on fire and hunting sharks, the scope of the show became quite mammoth by the end.”

Treasure Island?

With Black Sails being a prequel to the famed Treasure Island story, Arnold said that he wouldn’t rule out reprising the character of John Silver in the original tale.

“I reckon we need to let John Steinberg, Dan Shotz and Robert Levine do another couple of projects and then maybe we all come back and do that next adventure.”

Home and Away

Most actors do a show like Home and Away before going to Hollywood but due to the Covid-19 pandemic, Arnold did it the other way around with a turn as Dr. Lewis Hayes on the Aussie soap.

“2020 for me was meant to be a bit of a world-wide book tour. I was in LA doing some stuff there and preparing for the book tour and that got scuppered and I found myself back in Australia.

“I think Home and Away and Neighbours were the only things shooting in Australia. They called me up, and I guess that I have an existing relationship with Seven because I played Michael Hutchence in Never Tears Us Apart. When it came up, I was like that is something that I have never done before and is an Australian staple.

“It is the type of show where you make so much TV every week and everyone is working really hard, and it was in the back of my head a good way to let people know that I am back in town and might be around for things.”

source: Mediaweek

[new-sandrafilter]

Behold Dune: An Exclusive Look at Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya, Oscar Isaac, and More  

Timothée Chalamet remembers the darkness. It was the summer of 2019, and the cast and crew of Dune had ventured deep into the sandstone and granite canyons of southern Jordan, leaving in the middle of the night so they could catch the dawn on camera. The light spilling over the chasms gave the landscape an otherworldly feel. It was what they had come for.

“It was really surreal,” says Chalamet. “There are these Goliath landscapes, which you may imagine existing on planets in our universe, but not on Earth.”

They weren’t on Earth anymore, anyway. They were on a deadly, dust-dry battleground planet called Arrakis. In Frank Herbert’s epic 1965 sci-fi novel, Arrakis is the only known location of the galaxy’s most vital resource, the mind-altering, time-and-space-warping “spice.” In the new film adaptation, directed by Arrival and Blade Runner 2049 filmmaker Denis Villeneuve, Chalamet stars as the young royal Paul Atreides, the proverbial stranger in a very strange land, who’s fighting to protect this hostile new home even as it threatens to destroy him. Humans are the aliens on Arrakis. The dominant species on that world are immense, voracious sandworms that burrow through the barren drifts like subterranean dragons.

For the infinite seas of sand that give the story its title, the production moved to remote regions outside Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, where the temperatures rivaled the fiction in Herbert’s story. “I remember going out of my room at 2 a.m., and it being probably 100 degrees,” says Chalamet. During the shoot, he and the other actors were costumed in what the world of Dune calls “stillsuits”—thick, rubbery armor that preserves the body’s moisture, even gathering tiny bits from the breath exhaled through the nose. In the story, the suits are life-giving. In real life, they were agony. “The shooting temperature was sometimes 120 degrees,” says Chalamet. “They put a cap on it out there, if it gets too hot. I forget what the exact number is, but you can’t keep working.” The circumstances fed the story they were there to tell: “In a really grounded way, it was helpful to be in the stillsuits and to be at that level of exhaustion.”

It wouldn’t be Dune if it were easy. Herbert’s novel became a sci-fi touchstone in the 1960s, heralded for its world-building and ecological subtext, as well as its intricate (some say impenetrable) plot focusing on two families struggling for supremacy over Arrakis. The book created ripples that many see in everything from Star Wars to Alien to Game of Thrones. Still, for decades, the novel itself has defied adaptation. In the ’70s, the wild man experimental filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky mounted a quest to film it, but Hollywood considered the project too risky. David Lynch brought Dune to the big screen in a 1984 feature, but it was derided as an incomprehensible mess and a blight on his filmography. In 2000, a Dune miniseries on what’s now the SyFy channel became a hit for the cable network, but it is now only dimly remembered.

Villeneuve intends to create a Dune that has so far only existed in the imagination of readers. The key, he says, was to break the sprawling narrative in half. When Dune hits theaters on December 18, it will only be half the novel, with Warner Bros. agreeing to tell the story in two films, similar to the studio’s approach with Stephen King’s It and It Chapter Two. “I would not agree to make this adaptation of the book with one single movie,” says Villeneuve. “The world is too complex. It’s a world that takes its power in details.”

For Villeneuve, this 55-year-old story about a planet being mined to death was not merely a space adventure, but a prophecy. “No matter what you believe, Earth is changing, and we will have to adapt,” he says. “That’s why I think that Dune, this book, was written in the 20th century. It was a distant portrait of the reality of the oil and the capitalism and the exploitation—the overexploitation—of Earth. Today, things are just worse. It’s a coming-of-age story, but also a call for action for the youth.”

Chalamet’s character, Paul, thinks he’s just a boy struggling to find a place in the world, but he actually possesses the ability to change it. He has a supernatural gift to harness and unleash energy, lead others, and meld with the heart of his new home world. Think Greta Thunberg, only she’s a Jedi with a degree from Hogwarts. Paul comes from a powerful galactic family with a name that sounds like a constellation—the House Atreides. His father and mother, Duke Leto (played by Oscar Isaac) and Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), take their son from their lush, Scandinavian-like home world to preside over spice extraction on Arrakis. What follows is a clash with the criminal, politically connected House Harkonnen, led by the monstrous Baron Vladimir (Stellan Skarsgård), a mammoth with merciless appetites. The baron, created with full-body prosthetics, is like a rhino in human form. This version of the character is less of a madman and more of a predator. “As much as I deeply love the book, I felt that the baron was flirting very often with caricature,” says Villeneuve. “And I tried to bring him a bit more dimension. That’s why I brought in Stellan. Stellan has something in the eyes. You feel that there’s someone thinking, thinking, thinking—that has tension and is calculating inside, deep in the eyes. I can testify, it can be quite frightening.”

The director has also expanded the role of Paul’s mother, Lady Jessica. She’s a member of the Bene Gesserit, a sect of women who can read minds, control people with their voice (again, a precursor to the Jedi mind trick), and manipulate the balance of power in the universe. In the script, which Villeneuve wrote with Eric Roth and Jon Spaihts, she is even more fearsome than before. The studio’s plot synopsis describes her as a “warrior priestess.” As Villeneuve jokes, “It’s better than ‘space nun.’ ”

Lady Jessica’s duty is to deliver a savior to the universe—and now she has a greater role in defending and training Paul too. “She’s a mother, she’s a concubine, she’s a soldier,” says Ferguson. “Denis was very respectful of Frank’s work in the book, [but] the quality of the arcs for much of the women have been brought up to a new level. There were some shifts he did, and they are beautifully portrayed now.”

In an intriguing change to the source material, Villeneuve has also updated Dr. Liet Kynes, the leading ecologist on Arrakis and an independent power broker amid the various warring factions. Although always depicted as a white man, the character is now played by Sharon Duncan-Brewster (Rogue One), a black woman. “What Denis had stated to me was there was a lack of female characters in his cast, and he had always been very feminist, pro-women, and wanted to write the role for a woman,” Duncan-Brewster says. “This human being manages to basically keep the peace amongst many people. Women are very good at that, so why can’t Kynes be a woman? Why shouldn’t Kynes be a woman?”

 As fans will know, there’s a vast menagerie of other characters populating Dune. There are humans called “mentats,” augmented with computerlike minds. Paul is mentored by two of them. There are also the bravado warriors Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck, played by Jason Momoa and Josh Brolin. Dave Bautista plays a sinister Harkonnen enforcer Glossu Rabban, and Charlotte Rampling has a key role as the Bene Gesserit reverend mother. The list goes on. In the seemingly unlivable wilds of Arrakis, Javier Bardem leads the Fremen tribe as Stilgar, and Zendaya costars as a mystery woman named Chani, who haunts Paul in his dreams as a vision with glowing blue eyes.

The breadth of Dune is what has made it so confounding for others to adapt. “It’s a book that tackles politics, religion, ecology, spirituality—and with a lot of characters,” says Villeneuve. “I think that’s why it’s so difficult. Honestly, it’s by far the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life.” After finishing this first movie, he’ll just have to do it all over again.

[spectrumed]

8. book

I decided to start writing a book. A novel, it’s going to be fiction. It’s a big project. I dread big projects. I don’t feel as if I am ever able to complete them. It’s going to be left unfinished, why do I even bother? So many projects that I’ve started and never finished. I get an idea, then I can’t make myself do the actual work to make it a reality. Why do I think I can write a book when I can barely read books without becoming distracted and doing something else instead? I give up too easily. But, then again, do I really have it in me to produce something that is good? That people would want to read? Insecurity creeps in, telling me that I will fail. I fear failure. Of course I do, who doesn’t? Whenever people say that their greatest fear is failure, all I wonder is who out there is not afraid of failure? Is there someone out there with so much confidence that they absolutely do not in any way fear failure? Even narcissists technically fear failure, it is what leads them to such ridiculous overcompensation, putting on the facade of bravado to mask their actual dire sense of insecurity. Do not fall for the scams, no person is truly without self-doubt. (Well, I guess maybe psychopaths, but there’s a whole lot of things amiss with them.)

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve entertained myself by coming up with stories, fictional universes that I would populate with characters of my own invention. When I was a kid, what I really wanted was to become a comic book writer and artist. Well, in between other gigs I imagined would suit me, including at one point wanting to be a “singing farmer,” as I put it. Still, I’ve always returned to fiction and storytelling. There’s something about creating a world that lets you so fully distract yourself from all the stressful daily hullabaloo that goes on around you. Escapism, it’s fun, it’s therapeutic, I think. There’s a reason why humans have been telling each other stories for millennia, since even before we lived in houses. Back when we were all huddled around the fire, wearing our best comfortable animal furs, sharing tales of the hunt. Your uncle who once took part in killing a mammoth, the impressive beast nearly gorging him with its big tusks. How clever he was when he noticed that the mammoth had one leg weaker than the others, and used that to his advantage. How the entire hunting party banded together to bring the behemoth down, getting all that meat to feed their families with for months! Stories make you feel good. Like as if you have something to celebrate, even when you might be starving due to the more recent hunts not having gone as well. Damn that saber-tooth tiger that killed your uncle…

Storytelling is linked to acting. Both with acting and with storytelling you have to commit. Whatever you are doing, whatever role you are performing, you have to sell it. You may be on stage talking about that time you went scuba diving with your future wife, and how you encountered an oyster with the most magnificent pearl inside, and how you made a ring for the pearl and used it when you proposed to her. You have to sell it. You have to get the audience laughing, gasping, crying, going “aww,” feeling as if they were there with you that day. Of course, they don’t know it is all just lies. You made it up. It’s all fiction. But you committed, so they won’t ever know. Storytelling is a gift to others, people will appreciate you if you tell good stories, but you’re also kinda deviant. Even if it’s technically based on a true story, you’ve certainly added your embellishments. You’re a trickster, a devious individual. No wonder actors have historically been seen as dubious folks. They come into town, romances all the young women and men, telling them big tales of their lives on the road, and they can’t possibly know if you are telling the truth or not. You may just be lying. You probably are lying. Let’s be honest, you’ve probably not told a single true thing in your life.

I am bad at the hustle. No, I can talk quite well, and I can keep people’s attention for a long while. But I can’t be a huckster. Going out there, putting myself on the line hoping people will swallow my bullshit. I can’t really avoid speaking from my heart when I do speak. Or when I write, as I happen to be doing now. This blog has so far been thoroughly candid in places, in such a way I may come across like I’m at a confessional. Not that I have much evil to confess, but I can’t help but be transparent. I can’t flip into different kinds of personalities, each with its own schemes and plots, being some master manipulator, someone who you can never figure out what they're truly up to, or what they truly want. No, what I am is clearly written on my face. I’ve got one self, and it is the one before you. He’s hairy, and tall, and a bit of a dork. I am happy to talk to you, to engage with you, but I won’t be anyone but myself. I am me. I hope that’ll do.

Of course you are familiar with all those pick-up artists that plagues the internet. Or well, not just the internet. Go into any old-fashioned bookstore (where they store books on paper, not in digital code,) and you are bound to find some sleazy book written by a sleazy guy about how to sleazily seduce women. Those books don’t want you acting like me. According to them, seduction is all about manipulation. To figure out the very right thing to say to get women to fawn all over you. They don’t want you to be sincere, telling the truth as you see it. Nah, you gotta keep that stuff bottled up, deep down inside your soul, because most likely, your true self is ugly. It’s interesting how you can get little details from these pick-up artists depending on the sort of things they say, the tips they provide. The fact that all of them seem to harbour this festering misogyny is no big surprise, but every so often, you get these little glimpses of these people’s true worldview, one where power is everything, true love is a fallacy, and happiness is a lie manufactured by Hollywood to make us all into docile consumers. No wonder the “red-pill” so often leads to people taking the “black-pill.” First hucksters will lure you in, telling you that they’ve got the secret as to how to be a success, then when they’ve got you isolated, they reveal to you how truly misanthropic and bleak their actual beliefs are.

I am fascinated with cults, for much of the same reason why I am fascinated with storytelling. What is a cult leader if not just a great storyteller? They’re something like the modern day shaman, capable of spellbinding people with their weird idiosyncratic way of speaking. High-functioning people with autism are often said to have an idiosyncratic way of speaking. No, I am not suggesting that cult leaders are all somewhere on the spectrum, though it wouldn’t surprise me if some famous cult leaders did turn out to have been on the spectrum. However, for an autistic person to become a cult leader, I think they would have to be a true believer, and not some fraud just looking to scam others. Ultimately, no autistic person would want to surround themselves with people unless they truly do believe it is essential, to like, save mankind from damnation or something. It’s the difference between sincerity and insincerity. It is difficult for autistic people to be insincere, as insincerity requires a lot of social skills that autistic people struggle with. Having to juggle all these balls in the air, making sure you keep the big lie going, that you remember to change your behaviour depending on who you are speaking to in order to keep them from figuring out that you’re a bullshitter. Hollow people are great at being insincere. People like L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the highly profitable cult that is Scientology, was at his core a hollow individual. He had no problems twisting the minds of the people around him, because he never felt a need to be sincere. If an autistic person were to become a cult leader, I can guarantee you that it wouldn’t be a profitable cult. Nah, autistic people aren’t in it for the money, we’re all about keeping it real.

Being a sincere person, surely I should be able to write a novel and make it feel earnest. Like it was delivered with passion, because I wouldn’t be able to write anything that wasn’t true to myself. Well, I do hope so. Having something I’ve made be referred to as genuine is something I see as a great compliment. I’m a student of art history, I’ve made some “serious” art before, I know how terrible art can be when it is not delivered with good faith. Sure, some art is cynical, or ironic, but even then, it tends to come from a real place. Good artists, even when they’re fully armed with the dada mindset, must believe in what they are doing. Whether they are doing it for a laugh or not, that’s irrelevant. Even if all you wish is to be silly and make something that is comical, you have to believe in what you are creating. Or else people won’t bother engaging with it. Why look at a painting by someone who is just interested in making money? Insincere artists do exist, and they can end up becoming quite successful, but ultimately, history won’t be kind to them. Damien Hirst comes to mind, heard he's into NFTs now.

Sure, I don’t like insincere people. Does that make me a bigot? Like, it’s not as if they can help themselves. It’s just who they are, spineless maggots with no soul. It doesn’t mean we have to hate them. No, no, no... I am just generalising. Don’t go thinking there’s just two kinds of people in the world, the sincere and the insincere. It’s not a binary. Most people are both, just like with introverts and extroverts, humans are complex. But there are definitely those that decide to feed into their insincere side, realising that it is often the key to success. Through insincerity, you learn to let go of self-doubt, you stop worrying so much about what others think of you, because you are never truly yourself. If they hate you, then so what? They don’t actually hate you, they just hate a role that you are playing. So what if you seduced that woman, made her feel as if you were the perfect match, then you ghosted her and completely forgot about her? It’s her fault for falling for your tricks. You were clearly just playing the game, being a super-seducer, she should have known better. By embracing insincerity, it’s like gaining a superpower. No longer do you have to care about the impact you have on others, no longer do you have to worry about what it means to be a social human being making choices that affect the others around you. Because you’re not the person they think you are. Actually, you’re not quite sure you’re the person you think you are… Who are you?

I’ve got the plot all laid out in my head for the novel. It’s going to be based in the fantasy world that I’ve been working on for the last few years. I’ve been working on this world for almost half a decade now, come to think of it. Why do I keep feeling as if I am never able to keep to a project, when I’ve clearly been working on a massive project all this time? Sure, it’s all just in my head, but it’s not as if most people have the kind of patience to keep going back to a single big project, even if it is just in their head. Not once, while thinking about my fantasy world have I been distracted and started thinking about cute puppies, instead. And you know how difficult that is. Maybe I am too hard on myself. Maybe I will finish this book, and maybe people will want to read it. Maybe it will even get a minimal number of angry reviews, like, I may get a book published without some folks trying to harass me into committing suicide for daring to think I can write. Some people may even be enthusiastic, blowing up my ego with great praise. Maybe someone will come along and tell me that they want to buy the rights to make my book into a movie or a television series. Maybe I will get rich? Maybe I will get famous! Woo! Success here I come!

Well, no, here I go being insincere. That’s not what it’s about. I should be writing this book because I want to write it. Because I want to prove to myself that I am able to write it. Sure, it’s not as if there’s not a little brain goblin inside my mind whispering sweet nothings about how one day I might turn out a real respected author. One with real fans that gets to do big book tours talking about how brilliant I am, how brilliant my work is, and how brilliant things are going for me. I am not going to pretend I don’t have the same aspirations for success that others have. Inside of me you will find the same greedy piglet of an ego hungry for more adoration and more validation that you will find in any person. Humans don’t know when to quit, we always want more. But I am at least safe knowing that I will never debase myself, descending to the same depths as those inhabited by soulless grifters who go through life abusing the trust of others in order to get by. I’m sincere, in the end. I always turn out sincere, in the end. I am a good boy.

And I am also really sexy. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before on this blog, but I am really, REALLY, sexy. Like, you wouldn’t believe it. Oh, I am so hot. And if you follow and subscribe and hit that bell, I will teach you how you can be just as sexy as I am! And buy my book! And my merch! And my new single! And of course, my new cryptocurrency, by the name of “autism-coin.” It’s going to be a real success on 4chan, let me tell ya!

[gimmesomeguac]

For Avocado day (July 31st) I decided to write a short Selkie AU fic. Here is part 1.

I'll post part 2 soon and probably put this on ao3 eventually. Let me know if you like it- this is my first time posting any of my stories for this pairing.

Contains some violence/scary situation.

“Alone at last!” Foggy announced as he finished parking his uncle’s old car and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He turned to Matt who was smiling toward him and turning his folded cane in one hand.

“Where are we?”

“By the docks. Which will make more sense later. But first we need to talk.”

“Okay.” Matt gave a little shrug. Foggy had half expected to get grilled on why the docks of all places and at this hour but he suspected that after two long spring break days surrounded by nosey elder Nelsons and screeching young ones, Matt was relieved to be anywhere other than in the house for a while.

“So the family was talking earlier and they decided that the Nelsons are off to visit the ocean this summer. And they’re making a thing out of it, as in it will be an entire month long,” Foggy explained. That was leaving out big details, like “ocean” literally meant swimming most of the day underwater, hunting fish to eat and meeting up with extended family and friends who preferred the water to the land. The length of time was to give the kids time to practice the transformation and get familiar with the magic of their coats and the feel of their other form. It wasn’t a vacation he could realistically invite his human friend along for. He’d feel terrible leaving Matt all alone at a beach house from dawn to dusk.

The answer of why the docks was that Foggy had decided it was time to let Matt in on the Nelson family secret and if Matt didn’t believe him when he said, “I’m a selkie and so are the others,” he’d have a body of water where he could prove it right there. At least it was a lot cooler than transforming right there in the car or staying home where the others might try to help and Matt might suddenly end up surrounded by way too many seals too soon to comprehend. His coat was sitting at the ready in a backpack in the backseat.

Matt nodded, oblivious to what was coming. “Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah. But I mean… That means we’d have to go a while without being together.” Foggy began to cringe at the thought. “And I know you won’t like me doing this but just bear with me for a few minutes,” he warned, shifting and trying to get more comfortable in his seat. The seat buckle on the drivers side always had a way of never adjusting when it should and he had to wrestle it for a moment to keep it from digging into his shoulder. Foggy took a breath, able to visualize the oncoming pout Matt would inevitably give once the words were out of his mouth. Forget magic family secrets, this was the going to be the hardest part of the conversation!

“Matt, you need to set an alarm for meals so you remember to go eat.” Immediately Matt opened his mouth but Foggy cut him off, “-I know you can take care of yourself. This is not about whether or not you can survive a month alone. This is about me insisting that my best friend eats more than the bare minimum.”

Matt chuckled breathlessly. “It’s not like I’m fasting. I just forget sometimes.”

Foggy smiled painfully. “I know. Just- sometimes I notice that you do without in certain departments. You know your big beautiful brain is one of the things I most admire about you but… maybe don’t study for ten hours straight without a meal break? Or insist you earn going out for fun by completing the entire paper first?”

“I still go out.” Matt insisted. There was that pout starting to form on his lips.

“Late night gym trips where you work out alone and chat with the janitor about his grandkids do not count.”

Matt scoffed. “I go places with you all the time!”

“Uh huh. With me. Groaning about how we should be studying half the time we’re out.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Okay. The grumbling is more in the thirty to forty percent range. Point is during the month I’m away I want you to do me the favor of asking yourself ‘What would Foggy do?’”

Matt pursed his lips all thoughtfully before deadpanning, “Sounds dangerous.” Foggy swat him in the side, and Matt laughed while Foggy groaned.

“I’m serious! Dude, I will leave you with a honey-do list and I will tell other people to knock on the door if they don’t see you outside every twenty four hours.” It was Matt’s turn to groan while Foggy laughed. “Let’s see… Set an alarm for lunch everyday. Set an alarm for dinner everyday. Eat dessert at least once a week. Consume at least two alcoholic beverages by the end of the month. Finally buy a new hoodie or sweater. Consider new shoe options.”

Matt tipped his head back and rolled his eyes in the middle of the list but Foggy finally got a grumbled, “Okay, okay.”

Foggy waited for Matt’s pout to subside. “Thank you. -You know this comes from a place of love.”

Matt huffed and smiled back. “You just want to see what you can get away with putting on that list.”

“Oh it’s a mammoth temptation!” Foggy agreed. Matt shook his head but kept on smiling.

“I think-“

“Yeah?” Foggy asked but Matt had gone very still suddenly, eyes narrowed like he was trying to replay a memory or solve a complicated equation in his head. “Matt? You zoning out on me?”

Matt blinked and lifted his head, realizing he had left Foggy hanging. “Sorry! Uh. Is that all we came out here for to talk about or…?”

Foggy’s thoughts turned to the backpack in the backseat. “No. Actually there’s something else I need to tell you. It’s a big family secret but you might find it a little weird.”

“Why?” Matt tilted his head. “Does it have to do with the meat?”

Foggy laughed. “No. This is something else. Here, let me…” Foggy turned to reach for the backpack but the seatbelt held him back. “Ugh stupid.”

“Trying to reach something in the back? Here let me…” Matt volunteered and had grabbed the bag and set it between them before Foggy could free himself from the stubborn seatbelt.

“Thanks,” Foggy said with a sigh, reaching into the backpack, feeling the familiar soft thick fur of his coat under his fingertips. “Like I said, it might be kinda weird to you at first. I’m really hoping it won’t freak you out. But I wanted to tell you because you’re my best friend and I know that-“

He had just gathered the courage to spit out the secret when there was a crash somewhere outside. Foggy jumped in his seat. Matt jumped then sat straight up and tilted his head side to side like a dog about to bark at the next noise.

“Jesus! What the hell was that?” Foggy leaned forward and looked out the windshield, clutching his bag to his chest. “If I didn’t know you were my best friend ever I’d almost think that was a sign-“

Matt interrupted with a sharp hush and grabbed his shoulder, urging him downward as he slid back and down his own seat. “Stay down!”

Before Foggy could ask they both heard a man shouting in Russian. A small group appeared from around the far end of the warehouse the car was parked next to. Four figures huddled close together were walking toward the nearby water. As they passed under a flickering lamp Foggy realized the guy in the middle had his head down and wasn’t walking, his feet dragging instead. He was being carried by the two men on each of his sides, and the one following right behind was struggling to keep up, carrying a cinderblock with a corner missing. Something told Foggy that crash was probably the cinderblock getting dropped on accident- or maybe he was trying to be optimistic since it could have easily been whatever way the guy getting carried had been knocked out.

“Oh shit. Is that what I think it is?”

Part 2 coming soon!

[seriouslyhooked]

Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 24)

25 part AU written for @cssns​. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy​!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone. So as you can probably imagine, this chapter is going to be A LOT It’s double the length of a normal chapter because the midpoint was too high stress for me to leave you all on. It’s going to be high emotions and very unstable. That being said, I totally understand if some of you just want to skip it all together. Keep in mind if you do, you will be missing the final show down with George and a lot of final puzzle pieces many of you have been trying to piece together. I promise you I will leave the chapter in a stable place AND I have an extremely fluffy chapter planned for the final installment of this fic. That being said, I hope you’ll all forgive me for the angst, and happy reading!

“So what exactly do you think George has in store for us?”

After a few hours of being holed up in the car together, headed north to face her father’s Uncle, the question from Killian was direct and precise. But there was a reason it had taken hours for anyone to ask. The truth was something strange and unnerving. Without having every detail, they all knew that this was a dangerous man with an unstable mind. George Nolan’s reputation preceded him and his craven desire to do harm was undeniable. Still there was so much they didn’t understand. The only one with first-hand knowledge was her Dad, and every time she looked to him for answers, he appeared grim and stony. To see her father’s light dim, to see his kindness cool, was completely foreign to Emma, and it made her hands tremble slightly with anxious anticipation.

“It’s not going to be easy to get to him when we arrive at this ranch,” Emma’s father said, continuing to discuss the task before them just as he had for the last four plus hours. “My Uncle has never fought in any human war, but his life has been one long series of battles. The stuff he’ll have lined up will be straight from the textbooks.”

“They’ve got textbooks on shifter hunting then?” Liam asked with a tone of feigned amusement that was largely laced in sarcasm. “Well look at that. Learn something new every day.”

“Kidding aside, surely George is more sophisticated than that. He must have some sorts of surprises in store,” Killian offered.

“Oh plenty,” David agreed. “I know many of his habits, his tendencies and quirks, but it’s been thirty years since I left home, and there’s no doubt he’ll have more up his sleeve by now.”

Emma continued to listen to the others discuss, but eventually their voices started to fade. The words became less recognizable, and more a continued thrum of energy in the back of her mind. This mental distance was a defense mechanism, a means of shielding herself until the last possible moment. If she allowed her mind to linger in the what-ifs she’d go crazy. Instead, she leaned her head against the window, her temple feeling the coolness of the glass as her eyes stayed trained out, taking in their surroundings.

As the others shifted their conversation from trap types and weaponry to debate about what the best routes in and out of this park reserve might be, Emma thought back to a time before all of this chaotic uncertainty. Her eyes cast out towards the northern woods, with mammoth pine trees filling in the forests all around them. The world was green and bright. The feel of summer was thick still, and the world, though sluggish from the heat, was very much alive. The further from home they drove, the more altered the land looked. Flat coastal spaces ranged from rolling hills to jagged cliffs. Terrain was denser with brush and canopies. Heck, they’d literally left the country and were now in a totally new place, but Emma didn’t think of that, or even really see the sights before her. Instead she recalled what things used to be like, before she met her soulmate, and before everything went completely off the rails.

Emma’s life in Storybrooke was quiet and subdued for so many years. She had her work, and her friends, and her family. Every day was different, but it was also just the same. The spice of her life came from being a vet, where she might encounter varying pets and animals with a whole host of ailments and injuries, but the ebb and flow of life was rather monotonous. Nothing really strayed from ordinary, and after everything that they’d gone through when Neal was sick, Emma was grateful for that. She lived in a little pond with the fish she’d always known, happy that the big and scary waves of their past seemed to be behind them. Things were small and seemingly unimportant in their little corner of the world, but as safe as she’d felt, and as untouchable as being in Storybrooke once used to seem, it wasn’t all that she truly wanted. Where she had consistency and companionship, Emma was missing passion. She was missing that all-consuming love that comes when meeting one’s perfect match, and in more ways than one, she was missing key insights into who she really was. Pieces of her had been, for lack of a better word, hibernating, and now they were awakened, never to be suppressed or forgotten again.

But so far, these beautiful pieces had come with a tainted set of conditions. She met Killian, igniting a spark that had fanned into unquenchable flames. She fell in love with him, opened her heart to him, and started to believe that a life with real love was something she was meant to be a part of, but then she realized he had secrets and a past still left to face. She learned the truth about shifters, and her family’s place in that world. It was confusing but amazing all at once, yet with that incredible truth came a good amount of fear. There was so much left unknown, and things that could hurt them down the line. Bonding together had made Emma and Killian so much more secure in themselves and in each other. She was meant to be Killian’s fated mate, and he was meant to be hers, and Emma would never ever regret that. But saying yes to each other and taking that step brought the threat of Liam and whatever darkness may consume him. Of course, Killian’s brother was no longer a danger to them, but only a few weeks ago they’d felt differently. Before they saw Liam and understood his intentions and his destined ties to Elsa, he was looming menace that Killian had run from for years. His sickness had eroded critical human parts of Liam Jones, and though Elsa had cured him, nothing could take back the panic, the angst, and the worry they’d all expended in the days and weeks leading up to his return.

When they realized Liam wasn’t truly the enemy, there was celebration and reason for joy. Killian had his brother back, and Elsa too was blessed enough to have a mate. But in a matter of days Emma was forced to face down the risks of fully embracing who she was. The tying together of Elsa and Liam was a gift, but it also thrust Emma into more action than she knew what to do with. In a move that completely defied her past human understanding, Elsa used magic to help Emma merge her souls on some kind of spiritual, other-worldly journey. She’d met Killian’s dead mother in another unknown plane of existence, embraced her inner wolf, all while dying for just a few moments. That was crazy, and obviously something Emma should have had more time to prepare for and come to terms with, but she survived, and after the dust settled from such a stressful moment, she thought things were truly okay. They’d made it through, they’d braved their trials. This was surely enough to merit a good old fashioned happily ever after, but no. Things were nowhere near through. Her long-lost, time-ignored grandmother returned, freed from a magical coma that had robbed her of an entire lifetime with her children and grandchildren. Her brother was approached by a mad man and his safety was thrown into jeopardy. Her town was attacked by a genetically modified monster shifter. And if all that weren’t bad enough, they had not one, but two genuinely evil men hell bent on destroying them. Bad intentions surrounded Emma and the people that she loved, aimed at snuffing out her happiness and their lives, and for all of this she was yet again knocking on the door of danger and bracing for another spat with life and death.

I just want this all to be over. I’ll do whatever it takes, as long as we can go back to something even remotely like normal.

The thought whispered in her mind, but it spoke her deepest truth. All she wanted was for this to be finished. Emma wanted to rid them all of any monsters that were lurking in one final stand, and then she wanted to get to living. She wanted to get married, even though she and Killian were forever bonded already. She wanted a special day just about them and their love and their future. She might not have the determination and unyielding vision of her mother when it came to planning this wedding, but Emma craved a feeling, the sheer happiness that must come when she and Killian would say ‘I do’ for real this time. At the same time, Emma wanted to make her and Killian’s new house a home, and to prepare for the baby who she would hold close very soon. She wanted lazy mornings and sunset walks. She wanted beach days and trail hikes and running in the woods. She wanted days where she and Killian did absolutely nothing except spend time together, and she wanted to know peace again in a way she hadn’t had in what felt like far too long.

“I love you, Emma.”

The whispered words that came from beside her made Emma turn to her mate, and the look of calm and fidelity in his gaze helped Emma breathe easier. She hadn’t realized her agitation was carrying over from her mind, but as Killian pressed a soft kiss to her lips, she felt warmed through. The shadows she was grappling with and the what-ifs that would ultimately do nothing but cause more stress retreated again. For a moment it was just the two of them, and she smiled at him, raising her hand to cup his cheek as she looked into his eyes. God did she love this man. He was so right for her, so good to her. She couldn’t imagine anyone else she’d ever want by her side for a moment like this, and though she hated that they had to be here, she was grateful for their bond now more than ever. In all honesty she was thankful for everything they’d been through, huge and daunting and exhausting as it was. For ultimately they were stronger for their trials, and they had used each obstacle and hardship as a chance to grow together instead of fall apart.

“You let the light in,” she said, her words still soft and spoken only for them. She watched as his eyes lit up with both enjoyment and surprise, and it made her heart clutch in her chest that even after everything he might not know how much he meant to her. “You make me feel like this will be okay, even when hope is scarce. I don’t know how I’d handle any of this without you.”

“You’d find a way,” Killian answered immediately, pulling her closer into his embrace. “But there’s no need. I’m not going anywhere, love. Not now, not ever.”

Emma promised the same back to him, and she allowed that promise to fill her with faith as the final stretch of the drive came and went. Soon enough they were passing into the territory of the mountain lions that had contacted her Uncle, and only a slight ways on they came to the sprawling lands of the long abandoned ranch where George and the shifters were expected to be.

“Taking the car any further will alert nearby shifters or your Uncle of our presence,” Killian said to her father. “We might already have been noticed, but reports from the other clans said this area had largely been avoided by the sick shifters.”

“How far out are we from the cabin still?” Anna asked.

“A little more than a mile. There’s a road that would take us all the way there…”

“But the chances George has lined that with explosives or traps is almost guaranteed,” Emma finished. Killian nodded and her father did the same.

“As it is, we need to all be on high alert. This area might be largely vacant because traps have already been laid here and the shifters can sense it.”

“I don’t think that’s why actually,” Anna said, looking to the tree line. Emma mirrored her movement, but there was nothing there, at least nothing she could see.

“Do you feel something?” Liam asked.

“I’m not sure, but you see that path? The grass is browning there, but everything else is perfectly green.”

“What would do that?” Emma asked, but Anna was already moving. Gently she reached her hand out, a swirl of her magic touching the dying blades and when it did a tint of red blipped into existence before puttering out.

“Gold.”

“He’s here too?” Liam questioned but Anna shook her head.

“Doubtful. This magic is fading, and see the way the blades are bent, they’re heading out not in.”

“But he was here,” David concluded. Anna nodded.

“Definitely. So it would make sense that no one has sensed any shifters. Gold has likely infused his magic in their sickness. Realistically he included a fail-safe to keep any of them from attacking him. They’re probably compelled to avoid him unless he summons them.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Killian asked and Anna shrugged.

“Only one way to find out I guess.”

With that they all moved through the forest, careful to stay near Gold’s chosen route without actually setting foot on it. They monitored the area around them for pitfalls and unforeseen complications, but aside from some old and rusted out traps of times gone by, the area was clean. They moved closer and closer to where the cabin was said to be located, but ultimately decided it would be better to take down as many shifters as they could before going directly to George.

“The nearest clan said there were fresh kills from yesterday seen here, here and here.” Emma watched as her father circled three places on the map. They were congregated in clusters around the property, all of them by the nearby river’s edge. “Nearly an entire herd of deer slaughtered up by this bend.”

“A whole herd?”

“These shifters killed mostly for sport, not food.”

Emma’s stomach curdled at the thought. She still felt adamantly that killing as her wolf and claiming an animal to eat was a bit beyond her. Sure, she could technically do it, but it was extremely uncommon. Liam and Killian felt the same way, citing that the only shifters they’d ever known to take advantage of that particular power were their father and some of his closest supporters. As such, the two of them never partook, and only ever killed a wild animal while in their wolf form if the animal was a threat to others.

“That’s where we need to start,” Liam said and they all agreed, leaving the relative safety of Gold’s carved out trail and heading for the nearby waterway.

In another situation, these woods would be beautiful, a place of reprieve perhaps, and an area filled with plentiful wildlife and natural bounty. But now an eerie quiet settled on this land. There were no bird songs through the trees, no rustling of squirrels or smaller wildlife to be heard. In a matter of days, the presence of these shifters had eroded any sense of peace or serenity that may once have existed here, and that unnatural decay left Emma’s nerves even more on edge. Only a subtle wind through the trees and the distant gurgle of running water filled the space around them, and even their footsteps were nearly undetectable, as all of them were taking great pains to stay quiet and unheard.

After a few minutes of steady movement, Killian raised his hand, motioning for all of them to stop as he took in their surroundings. “There’s a hostile shifter, fifty paces out,” Killian said, his head nodding through a canopy of trees. Emma was astonished. She hadn’t heard or sensed anything at all, but then she shifted slightly closer to Killian and she smelled it.

“Mountain lion?” Emma asked, as the ungodly scent filled her nose and left her with a need to gag. It was hard to place the exact shifter when the sickness loomed so large, but from her basic knowledge of shifter scents, she thought it was some kind of big cat.

“No. Jaguar maybe.”

“It could be a panther,” David said as he readied his dart gun, loading it with the intended tranquilizer. “George’s idea of vacation involves hunting in other parts of the world. He had a particular fascination with the amazon. Always said panthers were wily and the hardest to kill. He might have trapped one for his army.”

There was no time to really soak that in, as the element of surprise would soon be lost to them. Instead they fanned out, moving to better circle the beast without alarming it to their presence. Only when everyone was in place having created a semi-circle around the river did it occur to Emma that they had one real potential obstacle – panthers could climb a hell of a lot better than any of them, and if this big cat got in a tree with enough coverage to escape her father’s scope, they’d be in big trouble.

At that exact moment, luck went against them and the wind suddenly shifted, brushing against her skin and headed straight for the clearing at the water’s edge where the shifter lurked. Knowing time was up, she moved quickly, making enough noise that the others would know to move too and coming face to face with a giant black beast a few seconds later.

The growl of the animal was feral and loud, a snarl scratched out in a blatant attempt to intimidate. Emma’s instinct was to shift to her wolf form, but that wasn’t the plan. Liam and Killian were the ones who would be shifting, and Emma, Anna, and her father would try their best to hit the jaguar with enough sedative to put him under. Emma attempted to do just that, aiming her dart gun at the jaguar’s neck, but the animal was too fast, lunging away and charging at Emma.

With lightening speed, a fully black wolf leapt at the jaguar, taking it off guard and grounding it with excessive force. Emma knew this was Killian, and watched as he and Liam both took on the panther. But they didn’t try to kill their foe. Instead, as was the plan, they attempted to corale the big cat to a more open space, in an easy line of sight for her father to hit. They were nearly there when the jaguar changed direction, ambling for a giant tree trunk in an attempt to get away.

“Oh no you don’t!” Anna said, her hands flying outwards as she dropped her dart gun and used her magic, managing to make the tree actually shake, tossing branches down below to swat the big cat away. The animal roared again, hurt to some degree from its fall, but mostly agitated. It now saw Anna and hissed at her, ignoring Liam and Killian and moving straight for her. Emma’s heart caught in her throat and protectiveness flooded her system. She was a split second from shifting and sprinting in her friend’s direction to save her, but then the jaguar let out a pained cry and she saw that he’d been hit. Her Dad had landed the blow, and now the drug was overwhelming the shifter’s system.

“Perfect shot,” Anna said, sounding almost excited at what had just happened, as if her life was in no real danger. Emma just gawked at her friend until her Dad explained.

“Anna knew what the plan was. She was never in any real danger. I’d never let that happen.”

Emma knew her father was sincere, since Anna and Elsa were essentially honorary Nolans. Still, she wished they’d conveyed that to her somehow instead of nearly giving her a heart attack.

“Well that was easy enough. One down, three more to go.”

Tracking the other shifters ended up being a much easier proposition since the noise from this skirmish had sounded through the woods. One by one they came out of hiding, two wolves were first, big, but they lacked cohesiveness in their attack, and after a bit of wrangling Emma managed to hit one while her father got the other. Soon after that the bears came, first a giant black bear and just when he was put down another that was brown, but not as massive as Anna’s grizzly from Storybrooke. These two were a bit more capable than the wolves, but they didn’t manage any lasting damage on Liam or Killian. But just when they were trying to catch their breath back in their human form, a cackling shriek of a final frenzied foe sounded through the forest.

“What the hell was that?” Anna asked, looking towards the tree line for whatever had made that awful sound.

“Wolverine,” Emma’s father and Killian said at the same time.

“Like the weasel things?” Anna asked, thinking as Emma did that this must surely be easy.

“Yeah, but wolverine shifters are five times the normal size,” Liam said bulking up his stance before turning to them. “Be on your guard, this one’s gonna be nasty.”

They watched Liam and Killian shift back again as a giant brown burst of energy scrambled through the brush. With gnashing teeth and a rabid expression, the wolverine was terrifying, and also enormous. Emma lost herself for a second, stunned at the sight of it, but when the beast moved to swipe at Killian she gathered herself back.

“Get him to the river,” David instructed, yelling out the command so all of them could hear it. Emma realized right away that this was going to be a very different fight. Their foe was too fast and it had no instinct for self-preservation. All it did was lash out, aggressively trying to maim Killian and Liam to get what it wanted. With movements like that, she had no chance of hitting her target, so she shifted to wolf form to try and help that way. It was touch and go in a few spots, and more than once the beast almost managed to get a nip at her golden coat, but in a moment where she was one on one with the animal her father yelled for her to duck. She did so without question, and as the best lunged for her, she watched the dart hit him square in the chest, knocking him back and pulling another hellish scream from the animal.

“Nasty buggers, wolverines,” Killian said when they’d all determined the beast was subdued. “Even the healthy ones are horrors.”

“Could hardly tell that he was sick,” Liam joked and Emma let out a barked laugh, shaking her head.

“No way. They can’t be that bad,” she said looking to her father who only shrugged.

“They’re packless for a reason. Put too many together, and well, you just saw what can happen.”

Emma was amazed at that, and thankful that they’d managed to put him down for the time being. All of these shifters would be down for the count for at least a day. If Anna’s bear was knocked out for that long in the test, they’d surely be down longer, what with the difference in size and metabolic rate. As such they’d have time to gather them all together or have the nearby packs lock them down to a secured space. But in the meantime they’re greatest enemy was still before them.

“Did you notice the blood on him?” Liam said, drawing their attention back to the wolverine. “Right paw, encased on the claws.”

“Well someone had to have killed all those deer, right?” Anna asked but Liam shook his head.

“It’s human blood. I caught a whiff of it when he tried to strike me.”

“Human?” Emma asked, worried that these shifters had managed to harm an innocent hiker or something of the like.

“It’s got to be George. The packs were adamant that there are no humans in these parts and they checked with local rangers. There’s a warning out for hikers and campers for a twenty-mile radius and the packs have been circling from a distance for days. No one’s out here.”

“If that beast got a piece of him, then your Uncle’s in bad shape,” Killian said and Emma watched her father’s expression, wondering if anything like remorse would appear. It never did.

“Good. I’m not too proud to admit that we need the advantage. If George is at full health, he’ll be that much harder to stop.”

Heading towards the cabin once more, Emma considered what it would take to stop such a man. No one had said the words aloud, but they all must know that George couldn’t be allowed to leave this cabin. There would be no imprisoning him. He had to die and that was a dark cloud looming over them all. None of them would want to take a life, for Emma it was something she didn’t even think she could do, but in this moment she had to be ready to compromise herself. If it meant protecting the people she loved, she might have to take a life, and though that life would be an evil one, it would still hurt her. But despite that, she would still make that choice. Whatever the fall out, she would see her loved ones protected, no matter what.

“It won’t come to that, Emma,” Killian said, taking her hand as they moved through the woods. “I won’t let your hands be bloodied like that.”

“No we won’t. The person to handle this will be me,” her father said, and Emma looked to him, knowing that burden was something he would struggle with but that he was ready to take on. “I always knew this day might come. He’s my responsibility.”

No one argued with her father, instead allowing the last bit of quiet to consume their journey. They remained alert, moving towards the cabin, finally approaching it from the side. Emma was struck by how the quiet continued, but the air smelled now of smoke and burning wood, and when the dilapidated ranch came into view, there was a hazy gray smog coming from the chimney.  

“Someone’s in there,” Anna said with conviction, her hand moving across the air in a wave, her magic feeling out for signs of life. “And they’re in there alone.”

Quietly they circled around the property, until they reached the front door. From the outside it was clearly barricaded closed, but traces of blood adorned the faded wood going up the steps. Fingerprints in scarlet red clung to the doorway, another sign that George was injured.

“We can’t take his weakness for granted. Even hurt, he could have traps in place.”

“So what do we do?”

“Leave it to me,” Anna said, bringing both hands before her and tilting her head in concentration. She held herself tight for a moment and then pushed her arms out with a violent force. As she did a strong gust moved in, visible in its intensity, shattering the windows and pushing in the door. A split-second later arrows shot from each direction, and Emma felt herself pushed behind a wall of muscle. Killian was huddled in front of her, and Liam had gone for Anna, but Anna pushed him away.

“Wait!” she said her hands still suspended. Emma waited for the sound of impact, but nothing came, and when she peaked around Killian she saw at least a dozen arrows suspended in the air, all of them stopped by magic.

“Anna,” Emma whispered, her feeling of awe over whelming her and Anna let loose a smile.

“You can say it, Emma, I’m a bad ass.”

“We can all say it the moment this is over,” Liam agreed, similarly impressed by Elsa’s sister’s show of magical control. But he was right. This wasn’t over.

“Do you think there’s more?” Killian asked, knocking down one of the arrows as he headed towards the door.

“It’s possible,” her Dad admitted.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Anna said taking the lead before whipping back to head off Liam’s impending rebuttal. “And before you say anything, we both know I can handle this. Plus Elsa will kill me if anything happens to you.”

They moved up the stairs, through the doorway of the house, all of them on alert, but no more surprises came. The place was bare, but clearly lived in. Dust remained, but there were well worn paths where people had been coming in and out. The kitchen had been used, and so had a bedroom, but they didn’t actually find George until they reached the back of the house. Only when they’d entered the great room, done in the style of a long-forgotten hunters lodge, did her Great Uncle appear.

His back was turned to all of them, though he must have heard the shattering of windows and them moving through the house. He stood facing the fire, unmoving for a while. His left arm hung down, but his right clutched at his side, pressing over a makeshift bandage. Emma could smell the wound from here and see the red beneath the white cloth. His wound was deep, and he had lost a lot of blood, but still he remained stoic and unflinching and uninterested in them all together. Only when he was ready did he pivot, looking back to them all and offering no emotion as he did.

“It’s been a long time, David,” he said, his voice more even and regular than a man with a wound like that should be.

Seeing his face now, Emma noticed that there were some similarities between her father and this man. Their size was similar, and Emma wondered if George had started shrinking in his older age or if he’d willed that nuisance away from sheer grit. Their faces held a similar shape, though there were marked differences, but their eyes were arguably the closest trait they shared. Blue and intense, Emma recognized the color, but all comparison stopped there. For her father was a person filled with life and kindness. It radiated from him, the friendliness, the want to do good. He was a good man, but George… his eyes were hollow and dulled. If eyes were a window to the soul, this man’s was lacking, hardened, and in some ways unknowable.

“I must admit I always saw this reunion very differently when I pictured it,” George continued. His free hand moving to a glass upon the mantel filled with what Emma believed was whiskey. He took a sip, seemed to revel in it and then put the glass aside again, looking back at her father once more and treating the rest of them like they were totally invisible.

“Why you wanted one at all, I’ll never know.”

“Oh but you do, David. The day you ran you ensured that this moment would come. When you betrayed your family legacy for the sake of that fool lion, you wrote this into fate’s design.”

Emma found it difficult to look away from George, knowing better than to take her eyes off a man this malicious, but she needed a better understanding of their surroundings. The room was unlike the rest of the house which was sparse for the most part. This room had clutter, knickknacks hanging everywhere, and though nothing looked overtly threatening, she knew more traps could be anywhere. As if she’d summoned one, a steal trap descended from a rafter above and only Anna’s speedy reflexes and magical ability kept it from getting a part of Liam’s head. The sound of snapping metal against shattering wood filled the space, but when it faded out there was only the sound of the crackles in the fire and Anna’s sharpened breathing.

“Oh joy, another witch,” George said, again looking cold and nonplussed though one of his attack mechanisms had just failed. He didn’t even blink at the wasted piece of equipment, instead reaching for a bottle on the table a few feet away. He poured himself another drink, and they all just watched, transfixed in a way by this clearly dying man. It dawned on Emma that this was their chance to take him out, but then she remembered that they needed answers first. If they were going to crack the code of this serum and cure this artificial alpha sickness, they needed to know more about it.

“Why this way? These sick shifters seem like an unnecessary burden. If you knew where I was you could have just come for me. It would have been a hell of a lot easier.”

“Perhaps,” George acquiesced. “But the trouble with training you in my image as I did, was you learned how to cover your tracks. I had no idea where you’d gone, and by the time I discovered your whereabouts it occurred to me – I could do more than just take you out and destroy your family. I could destroy all of them with one perfected remedy.”

When he said ‘them’ he looked to Liam and then Killian, having figured out their shifter status from the start. It made Emma’s skin crawl to think that this man had wanted to destroy so many people. Because ultimately that’s what shifters were. They were people too. But George clearly didn’t believe that.

“I thought many times over the years that your aid would be most helpful in this venture. You always took to the science so quickly, perhaps you could have been of some use,” George said thoughtfully, looking at her father in a way that told Emma that in some sick twisted way he had some kind of regard for him. George was filled with vitriol, but underneath it there was something else. Respect maybe?  “Alas, the Nolan line is old and distinguished, and the stain of your choices could not stand. I could never allow it.”

“It must eat you alive to see what I’ve become,” her father said, standing strong in the face of his Uncle’s condemnation. “To know how many shifters I’ve healed, how many I’ve saved from men just like you. I spent each day doing anything I could to unmake your mess. For every life you ended I would prolong five, ten, or more. I figured I might not be able to stop you, I’d never risk my family to do so, but I could try to make some amends for the shame of what you’ve done.”

“The only shame belongs to your traitor mother,” George snapped out, his words sharp as the lashings of a whip. “You live because of her wicked sins.  She bastardized the very fabric of our history. The lineage of our people was destroyed for her disgusting infatuation with filth.”

No one dared speak in the face of those hateful words. Emma merely looked to her father, who stood there unmoving. He didn’t tense, didn’t react. He waited there, almost mirroring his Uncle, unwilling to give anything up by revealing his anger and emotion. Emma heard something, like a wire being pulled and then watched as her father took out his gun and shot two portions of the wall on opposite sides of the room. When he did a bevy of arrows snapped, but were shot to the floor instead of out into the room at chest level as they would have without interference.  Emma looked around the room to see if anything else gave away surprise attack, but she saw nothing. Killian however did, and he grabbed a stone paper weight from the pile of mismatched and chucked it at the back wall. Only when the stone thudded to the ground did Emma see the small fuse that had been lit and was now extinguished thanks to the hit of the rock.

“You killed my father,” David said, ignoring the added excitement of the would be surprise attacks, and when she could finally turn her attention from the unrest around them, Emma watched her father and felt how much grief that fact brought him. “You killed your sister’s true love, forced her to run, and to leave her two sons behind. Wasn’t that revenge enough?””

“Maybe it would have been, if his death meant anything to me, but truth be told he was just so… forgettable,” George said, his malice lacing every syllable even as they rang out with control and practiced authority. “I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like. He was nothing. Obsolete. Just another in a long line of shifter trash that needed disposing of.”

“When did you know?”

“That you were of mixed blood? I only discovered that recently. You see I too believed your brother’s illness was just that, and I didn’t think to question Ruth’s death when you were born. I saw it as a gift – two new warriors for the cause that I would raise for greatness. The magic that shielded your true nature was well woven, and it had to be, for if I’d known what you two were there would have been no need for sickness, I’d have finished you myself. But no. It took years to discover the truth. Only when Gold showed me Ruth’s sleeping body in his treasure trove did I discover just how deep her treachery ran.”

“You knew she was alive,” Emma’s father said, anger now beginning to rise as his fist tightened on the weapon in his hand.

“Oh yes. Long before she woke, I knew exactly where she was. Gold offered her to me if we made a little deal. I refused. She had no worth to me. I consider her lucky I didn’t kill her then and there.”

“You are a monster, you know that?” Emma asked, not willing to listen to this anymore.

“Ah, and there she is, the final downfall of the Nolan line. Our dearest Emma,” he said, spitting out the words and glaring at her, as if she was nothing but inconvenience to him. “You had a chance to be worth saving. Half breed as you are, you had Nolan blood and you were still human, unlike your cursed brother. But you couldn’t resist the filth either, could you? No, you had to go and choose to mate with one of those mongrels just like my wretched sister.”

Killian growled low in his throat as George looked his way and let out a choked laugh. It was sinister, and directed, but he quickly dismissed Killian again, looking back to Emma. “And then you let that witch remove your block. You tainted yourself. Your brother was already marked for death, I couldn’t let the Nolan line live on as shifter scum.  But you – you I would have spared. You’d have been the legacy. The last hope of the Nolan line.”

“Never,” Emma swore, meaning it with all her might. “I would never have turned my back on my family, and I would never believe all this nonsense you hold dear.”

“Oh, it’s not nonsense, Emma. Shifters are despicable, a plague upon this earth, and there is no remedy for them except removal. You need only look to your mongrel’s father for proof of what I speak.”

“You knew Brennan?” Killian asked, the shock palpable in his and Emma’s mental bond, but his poker face holding firm, giving very little away.

“Did I know Brennan Jones? The single most conceited alpha on the continent? The one who devoured other packs for power and for sport? Yes, I knew the monster. Hell, I owed the beast a debt. Without him none of this would have been possible. In the end, he was the key to everything.”

“You’re lying,” Liam said, disgusted and disturbed. “Our father hated hunters and he’d never help one.”

“The bite hardly makes for a stable mind, but you know that don’t you?” George said with a sick and twisted attempt at a smile. He clearly knew of Liam’s prior ailment, and he was more than willing to use that against him. “Deep down you realize that if I told your father he could have power he’d have given me anything I dared to ask for. All it took was the promise that I would replicate the serum for his pack while making them still submissive to him. He wanted an army, the strongest pack the world had ever known. As if I ever would have let it get that far. Fucking dog. No, I take it back. A dog would be smarter.”

“And so Gold, he was just unimportant?” Anna asked, carefully dragging the conversation away from Killian and Liam’s father for the time being, and to another glaring gap in the fabric of this story. “You want us to believe you did this all on your own?”

“No, I will admit I needed his magic,” George said, as his face darkened for the first time since they arrived, giving away his extreme resentment. “The venom I extracted from actual alpha sickness wouldn’t spread without a curse to bind it all together. But Gold is not to be trusted. He made a mistake, and when the attack with the grizzly failed, he turned on me, leaving me here to die.”

“Why would he get involved? What did he have to gain?” Emma asked and George stared blankly at her.

“You know, I never bothered to ask what he wanted with you and the three witches. Truth be told, I never really cared. But I imagine it won’t be pleasant for any of you. And he assured me you’d never manage to reproduce with that animal, so I didn’t give a damn.”

“Did he promise you that?” Emma quipped, her fury rising in her chest. “Was that part of the deal?”

“Not explicitly, but if things had gone as they should, they would be dead,” he motioned to Liam, Killian and her father, “And you two would be Gold’s.”

“But it didn’t go to plan.”

“No. I could never have anticipated that of all the worthless grizzlies in the world this one would be tied to a witch.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Anna demanded, her hands coming up, ready to attack.

“Oh is he yours? I’m sorry,” he said sneering. “Sorry you too are tainted. Such a shame. But perhaps Gold will manage in the end. He’s a patient man, and really, what’s a few years matter? I waited nearly thirty for my revenge. It’s too bad I’ll only have a sliver of it.”

With lightening quick precision, George drew a knife from his hip and threw it towards Liam who dodged it just barely. At the same time more traps came from the wall and the ceiling. It was chaos, with arrows and steel traps and more, and all of it consumed Anna and Killian and her father’s attention. Emma though stayed still, not knowing how to react. She felt herself needing to respond, but then she realized that everyone else was focused on the other things and were missing what was right in front of them. Indeed George was more skilled than they were anticipating. And, having forsaken his hold on his wounded body, he grabbed a pistol from his waist and aimed it at her father.

“No!”

Without hesitation Emma jumped to push her Dad out of the way, successfully managing to  force him from the trajectory of the bullet, but then she felt the blow of impact into her shoulder. There was no slowing down of time. This was immediate and instinctive, and the pain of the hot metal piercing through her skin set in just as swiftly. She flinched at the force of it, falling towards the ground as Liam lunged for the gun, disarming George, and Killian grabbed her, holding her close.

“Emma!” he cried, panic clear in his gaze as George’s laughter filled the room. Liam meanwhile, pinned the old man down and let out a ferocious growl. Through the pain of her injury Emma saw the fear in George’s eyes, but her body was chilled, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“What did you lace it with?!” Her father screamed and Emma looked down to where she’d been hurt, seeing the black inky lines that used to be her veins. Oh God she was dying. She was going to die.

“Nothing you can save her from,” George said, his voice labored as he lay pinned beneath Liam. “Gold procured it for me. It’s potent and powerful, and cannot be survived.”

The realization that this could really be it settled on her, and Emma felt herself slipping away. This was really the end. She was too far gone. There was no stopping this poison, this toxin designed to extinguish her father once and for all. The pain that flooded her system began to subside and instead she felt cold and numb. This was shock – the last bit of adrenaline before she’d be gone and she looked at Killian, desperate to say goodbye and say she was sorry, but unable to speak.  

“Emma, no, you’ve got to hold on! We’ll fix this! We’ll save you!”

“Killian.”

“Don’t leave me,” he begged, his voice and face etched in the pain of what was coming.

Afraid to close her eyes, Emma looked upon the man she loved and she felt such unimaginable grief. She wanted to hold on for him, she wanted his pleas to be right. But she was falling under, the current of this poison too high. This was really it. She moved her hand, reaching for Killian and then she felt it, a flutter from her abdomen. Her hand changed course, and moved towards her unborn baby, tears streaming down her face. She’d failed her child. She’d failed Killian. She…

In an instant, warmth flooded from the space where her hand lay through the rest of her being. The feel of it forced Emma’s eyes to close, but when the warmth grew she opened them again, wanting to understand why she felt this way. Her eyes blinked open and the brightness in the room had totally changed. She was surrounded in a beautiful haze, and she wondered if the light she saw through her tears could be real. It had to be an illusion, right? One last crazy vision before death finally came, but Anna’s gasp filled her ears, and Killian’s whispered words, tortured and yet hopeful filled her ears.

“The baby.”

His hand came over hers, and the light grew stronger. Emma blinked away her tears and watched as an iridescent magic not so unlike Anna or Elsa’s moved over her skin. Swiftly it traced the tracks of the onyx-colored poison, soothing every line within her. Emma felt sensation again, as the magic traced over her, filling her with energy, and with hope she’d thoroughly lost. The cold she was feeling was eradicated, and when the magical light finally reached her initial wound the darkness that marred her once smooth skin ebbed away. The blackness was removed, and most of her pain went with it. The bullet hole was still there, and she was bleeding, but she was alive, and though she couldn’t truly, scientifically know for certain, she felt in her heart that she was going to be okay. She was going to live.

“That’s not possible. You should be dead! You should be… wait, did you say baby? You can’t be pregnant!” George screamed but Emma didn’t even bother to spare him a glance.

“She saved me,” Emma whispered, feeling the sensation that somehow her unborn child had stepped in. She had no rationale reason for it, especially given how early on it was in her pregnancy, but it was suddenly very clear. Their child would be more than a hybrid of a shifter and a human – she had magic in her, for whatever reason, and she had used it, even before her birth, to save Emma.

“You can’t be pregnant! Gold said -,”

“Gold is never going to beat us!” Anna yelled. “You’ve failed, and now you’ll die for nothing.”

“Oh not nothing. I still have my weapons. Mated or not, there is no cure for your wretched shifter, I’ve left no trace. It’s all gone and cannot be recreated. So you see, the secret dies with me.”

The pain on Anna’s face looked just as piercing as what Emma herself felt moments ago, but it culminated even more when Emma’s father stepped forward, raising his gun to deliver a final blow. She cried out for him to stop, but it was too late. The deed was done. Her Uncle was dead, and his secret died with him.

“Why would you do that?!” Anna screamed, and Emma looked to her father for answers. He had ruined her friend’s only chance, but he only nodded to the fire.

“I know George better than anyone, and I am willing to bet my life that he burned the secret away. It’s shifter custom..”

Killian sniffed the air and gave a slight nod. “There’s more than wood in that blaze. Paper – both old and new and a bit of leather.”

“I know that there are spells that can unburn what was destroyed,” Emma’s father explained, seeking to calm Anna and show her he was not forsaking her new mate for an easy kill. “I’ve heard about them while healing other packs. They’re not common, but possible. Call Ruby. She’ll know.”

They did just that, and through the grace of something larger than themselves, Ruby found a spell in great haste. With shaky hands and a wavering voice, Anna recited the incantation Ruby read to her, and low and behold the fire sputtered to a stop and from the flames scraps of paper formed, with scribblings of formulas and multiple solutions. A leather bound book also took shape, and there, within the pages were a scribbling of formulas and well-kept notes.

“This is it,” her father said, looking relieved that his hunch was proven right. “This is what Neal needs to find a remedy.”

“Oh thank God,” Anna said, nearly falling to her knees, but ultimately being caught by Liam. It was finally over, and in the end they had everything they’d set out for.

“We did it,” Emma said, looking up to Killian, taking in his expression of relief and some lingering pain. She could feel through their link that the trauma of thinking she would die yet again had rattled him. He was at wit’s end, and she clung to him, trying to prove to him that she was okay, and that they had both made it through.

“I’m telling you right now, Emma, there will be none of this, ever again.” His voice was stern and his eyes made a silent promise that if she ever even thought of fighting such a battle in the future he would chain her to his side and make it so she couldn’t leave. “We are going home. We are getting married. We are meeting our miracle child when the time finally comes, and we are living happily ever after. There will be no more fighting. There will be no more close calls. We’re done with this.”

“Okay, we’re done,” she promised, resting her forehead against his and soaking in the feeling of their mission being complete. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Emma. Far too much to ever walk this world without you.”

“Emma?”

The voice of her father pulled Emma from her and Killian’s embrace, and she could see in his eyes the pain of all of this. He’d almost lost her too, and he’d just taken a life. Her father, the man who was always a pillar of strength for her whenever he could be, was hurting and she moved towards him, hugging him close.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” her dad whispered, hugging her as tight as he could, with his hand cradling the back of her head like he always had, ever since she was a little girl.

“I’m glad I did. If he’d hit you, you’d be…” She trailed off as she pulled back to look at him, unable to face that he would have absolutely died.

“I know,” he agreed, leaving words that hurt to much to say unsaid. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Before she could so much as step away from her father, she found herself jostled into Anna’s waiting arms and her friend gave her a vice grip of a hug. Emma squeaked a sound of surprise out, and Killian moved toward her protectively, but she shook her head, knowing Anna needed this. A second later Anna jumped, remembering Emma’s injury.

“Oh crap, I hurt you!” she exclaimed, but looking at Emma’s wound, they could both see it was already looking much better. “I can’t believe it. The baby healed you. She must be a witch, right? But it shouldn’t be possible.”

“Maybe not,” Emma said, her hand coming back to rest on her stomach. “But somehow it is.”

“And every one of us grateful for that.” Liam said, with a warmth in his eyes and a nod of his head that told Emma Killian’s brother was glad for her speedy recovery. “But might I suggest we wrap things up and get back home? We might have slain a few beasts today, but there’s much more that still needs to be done.”

“Aye, brother, you’re right,” Killian agreed, taking Emma’s hand in his and bringing her close as he looked deep in her eyes. “Let’s go home, love.”

Emma couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than to go home and to be done with all of this, and with a swiftness she was grateful for, they managed to contain things as best they could. With the help of the nearby packs, each of the sedated shifters was returned to a cage here on the property. None of them took any pleasure in containing these animals, least of all Anna, who also needed a little magic to really keep things secure, but they knew it was for the best. Sick as they were, there was no telling what these shifters would do, and in the interest of protecting the nearby shifter clans, and any humans who may wander into this area in the future, they left these animals temporarily caged and under the watchful eye of the pack who originally called on Lance.

Driving home after that, Emma was surprised at how quickly the time went by, but that was largely thanks to the sleep she fell into once she was back in the safety of the car and nestled in Killian’s arms. Magical revival from her child or not, Emma was exhausted, and the wound she’d incurred did ache and aggrieve her. Knowing that this pain still lingered, Killian held her close, kissing her anywhere he could and whispering that it would all be all right. She trusted him in this, and slowly gave into the comfort of his presence, falling into a slumber filled with flashes of dreams. Some were blips of the fighting they’d just faced, but there were more that came later that were so much more beautiful and remarkable. Emma would never be able to explain them out loud, but these flashes were of her future, of that she was sure. She saw in them a life that was happy and bright. She saw Killian, her love, standing with her, never far from grasp. She saw her family and her friends also with her and not a one of them saddened or stressed out. And then she saw the children, glimpses of a beautiful baby girl with dark hair like her father and eyes that matched Emma’s to a tee. There were more behind her, but it all came so quickly. These flashes seemed to surround her while also staying just out of reach, but as Emma woke up, she couldn’t help smiling, and the first thought that came to mind was Hope.

“I think we’ve got a name all ready for this little girl,” Killian whispered to Emma as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. She smiled, snuggling into him further and knowing her mate had read her mind, quite literally.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Emma admitted, thinking back on her dreams and knowing in her heart that her child would be a blend of magic and love and endless possibility. “But at the same time, I can.”

“Is that so?” Killian asked, seemingly surprised by her latter admission.

“Yes. On the one hand I love her so much already. I always have, and I always will,” she said, and Killian hummed out a sound of agreement with that. “But on the other, we still have so much to do. We have to get ready.”

“In more ways than one.” Killian teased and Emma felt her cheeks grow warm as she smiled and nodded her understanding. He wasn’t just talking about furnishing their place or baby proofing their new home. Emma could see, hopefully, more than a few weeks spent relaxing, recuperating, and spending every waking moment that they could enjoying each other and strengthening the bond they’d found together.

“Speaking of getting ready, we’re nearly home, and we’re about to have a lot of explaining to do,” Anna said and Emma jumped, not realizing the whole car was listening in on their talking. “Oh sorry, were we supposed to pretend we couldn’t hear you?”

“Seems a bit late for that,” Liam replied, his voice gruff but his eyes sparkling with amusement at Emma and Killian.

“Anna’s right though. It’s best to get our stories straight now,” David said. “Better to frame some of this as, let’s say ‘kindly’ as we can.”

Emma knew her father was thinking of her mother and her reaction to everything. She appreciated that her Dad wanted to spare her Mom any more pain, but she also knew, even if he said this that it would never come to pass. Her parents never held secrets from each other, and this time would be no different.  

“No need to bother. Chances are Ruby’s seen most of it anyway. She’s probably told half the tale already.”

Killian’s guess was soon validated, and as soon as they arrived, they were greeted with huge hugs and a million more questions. They might know most of what had happened, but there was so much more they wanted verified and expanded. Ruby had her visions that were helpful, but there were blank spots and things that couldn’t be explained. People wanted details of the shifters, of the fighting, and of George. They wanted to know what they’d learned of Gold and this plan and the evil that was done to enact it. But more than anything they wanted to know how Emma had lived. Emma explained as best she could, and the others stood by her description. One moment she was dying and the next she was cured. There was only one answer to the question, but no real explanation. No one understood how or why, but still it was true. Emma was saved and that was a miracle. Maybe someday they’d understand it, but for now they were just as grateful as could be.

Every query was ultimately answered, despite the exhaustion they were all feeling, and Emma felt it was better to get this done now rather than later. If they put it all out there, then maybe they could put it all behind them. Eventually they broke apart for the night, and by that time it was nearly sunrise of the next day. Just as Liam had said there was still a lot of work to be done and over the next few days they hit the ground running. Her father and Neal made a possible cure in a matter of days, and Emma did all that she could to help them. It was a long, laborious process, but it was made totally and completely worth it when she watched the moment that her best friend truly met her one true soulmate. Seeing that it worked, they made enough to get up north, and her Uncle Lance and Aunt Gwen brought the rest to other packs, making sure every sickened shifter was treated, and reporting back that they all were now freed, and were all on their way back to the homes they’d been forced away from.

In the meantime, Elsa and Ruby and Ruth worked long long days to try and track Gold. Using everything they could ,they sought to better understand the malicious mind of this maddened man. Anything they could learn could be a clue, but Emma knew this was just the start of their long journey. Her Great Uncle’s snide remarks rang true to Emma – Gold would remain hidden for as long as he could, but if they were all patient, surely someday they would find him, and stop him before any more grief could come their way. To this point Emma still didn’t understand his endgame. He wanted Anna, Elsa, Ruby, and Emma could easily understand that. Three strong witches must surely be a threat, but wanting her for her status as a hybrid… it didn’t make sense to Emma. The only thing she could think was that maybe it wasn’t her that Gold was after. Perhaps it was her baby, who would be a hybrid too, and in even more ways than Emma. But the others remained convinced that Gold could not know. He’d sworn to George Emma couldn’t get pregnant, and for now, that secret was protecting them all. And ultimately, despite the danger Gold still posed, Emma knew in her heart that she would never let anyone hurt her child. One life threatening instance was more than enough – and she knew, down to her bones, that there would never come another time when her baby was at risk from these terrible men.

And yet, in the midst of all of this work and all of this progress, Emma found a way to make good on her promise to Killian. She helped the others as best she could, but she also took time for herself and time for her love. They made their house a home, and found many new moments of peace and tranquil calm. They planned for their wedding, and for their family, and for their future. But more than anything they lived every day to the fullest, knowing that they’d never allow anything or anyone to take this away from them again. For love, in the end, was a powerful thing, and fate was a power even stronger than that. And as for Emma and Killian, fate had decided that they were meant to be, and that they were indeed meant to live a wonderful, glorious, happily ever after.

Post-Note: Hey everyone! So I know there’s still so much that I didn’t get to go into detail on. I wanted to do so much in this chapter, like see Neal make a cure and watch Anna meet Kristoff and all that cuteness. But it just wasn’t meant to be. Instead, I am working on the first epilogue of the story (which will include Emma and Killian’s wedding) and I am on track to post it next weekend. As I’ve previously mentioned, I will also be writing a follow up story to this one, that’s not just from Emma and Killian’s POV but the POV of the other central characters as well. In that story I will be including the Anna/Kristoff meeting and probably more of the process of healing Kristoff, so if you can wait you will someday get a snapshot into that. After that there will eventually also be a second epilogue of this story, where you get to see how everyone is doing in the future, and how life has shaped up for CS and the others. Anyway, thanks so much for riding through this with me. I know it was a really heavy chapter, and so much happened, but I hope that you enjoyed and that you trust me to make everything right with a cute and fluffy wedding chapter next time. Thanks so much to all of you for reading, and as always I can’t wait to hear what you think!

Tag list: @jennjenn615, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @teamhook, @ultraluckycatnd, @resident-of-storybrooke, @artistic-writer, @snowbellewells, @snarkycaptainswan4, @allofdafandoms-blog

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This one is a little bit different, and sort of happened by accident, which is why my Patreon supporters hadn’t met Noah before in any character profiles etc.

It comes with a couple of warnings for content, but it all happened in the past, and it's a story about moving forwards and reconnecting with the things that matter. It was deeply personal to me, and I really hope you enjoy reading it.

It's been on early release on my Patreon, and it’s time to release it on Tumblr now! It's partly set in Starfall Springs, and partly in the city.

Length: 6647 words Content: death of a child, suicide, loss of loved ones, alcoholism (all past), recovery, reconnecting with family

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

The  orc that moved in next door to you was really quiet for an orc. True,  your only real experience of orcs to date had been the rugby club at  university, and their ‘legendary’ dorm parties, but still; he was very  quiet by any standards, let alone by orcish ones.

He  never had noisy lads’ nights in, never held rowdy garden parties as the  summer went on… The most noise he ever made was coming and going on his  motorbike at either end of the day. He just drove it into the garage in  the evening, unlocked and opened his front door door, closing it quietly behind him, and that was it.

One  afternoon, towards the beginning of summer, you stepped outside to clip  a few flowers from the sweet peas growing in the tubs at the front of  your house, and saw him sitting on the steps of his front porch, holding  something small and delicate between his big hands with his gaze fixed  on it.

You  paused, looking but trying not to stare. His shoulders, huge and broad  as they were, had the heavy slump of grief to them. You knew you should  leave him to the privacy of his reflections, but something about his  whole demeanour made you ache to go over there.

Glancing  down at the bunch of cut sweet peas in your hand, you sank your teeth  into your lower lip, sighed, and came to a decision.

The soles of your boots rang on the tarmac, and as you neared his driveway, he looked up.

You didn’t even know his name.

His  dark green skin practically gleamed in the late summer sunlight. He had  long, dark hair, as did so many orcs, and it was plaited back off his  handsome, rugged face, and as he glanced up, you found yourself staring  into two breathtakingly beautiful, dark amber eyes.

They  shone with a glaze of grief, and suddenly the flowers in your hands  felt utterly inadequate for the depth of this stranger’s feelings.

“I...” you faltered, guilt and awkwardness warring for prime position in your chest.

He  looked steadily up at you, his bare, muscular forearms resting on the  nondescript, beige material of the shorts covering his thick thighs.

“Hi,” he said in a gentle, deep, quiet voice.

“Hi,” you replied, swallowing thickly. “I... er...  I saw you while I was picking these,” you said and waggled the flowers a  little, “And I thought that since we haven’t really introduced  ourselves yet, I would pop over with them.”

His  already soft expression slackened a little into a genuine smile, and  something flopped over inside you at the sight of it. “Thank you,” he  murmured, that golden gaze sliding from your face to the flowers in your  hand.

As he lowered his head, you saw what it was he held in his hand, and your vision slid sideways for a moment.

A  small, child-sized bracelet dangled from his fingers. It was beaded,  the faded, dyed leather of the cord a dusky pink, and the letters of the  carved beads spelt out a girl’s name.

He  saw where your attention had snagged, and slowly closed his fingers  around it with a tiny, private smile. “I’m Noah,” he said.

You  introduced yourself by name, and he hitched his smile a little higher,  repeating your name, as if testing out the feel of it. He raised his arm  and extended his hand towards you. You shook hands and felt the smooth,  hard calluses of his warm palms against yours. His hand engulfed yours  and both of you chuckled softly at the sight of it.

One  evening a few days later, you heard the familiar rumble of his  motorbike driving into the garage as you began to wash up the dishes.  The regular rhythms of the suburban road were suddenly shifted, however,  when the click and snap of his front door did not sound, and instead  you heard your doorbell ring.

Wiping your hands on a towel, you left the pans in the sink and headed for the front door.

Standing on the step with a bunch of freesias in his hands was Noah.

“Hi,”  he said, that heart-stopping, slow-dawning smile lighting up his  clean-shaven face. “I wanted to get you something to say thank you for  the other evening. I know we didn’t talk for very long, but you did me a  world of good, and I wanted to thank you.”

You  stared at the lovely flowers, radiant in hues of magenta and gold, and  breathed in their delicate scent. “They’re beautiful,” you said. “But  you really didn’t have to...”

“I wanted to,” he insisted.

“Would  you like to come in? I’m just washing up the remnants of the pots and  pans, but there’s a curry in the slow cooker that will be ready in maybe  half an hour or so. You’re welcome to stay for dinner. I always make  enough food for about four people anyway and I just have it throughout  the week. I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”

He  laughed his earthy laugh, eyes sparkling, and he said, “Sure. I’d love  to come in. It’s been a long time since I shared a meal with someone.”

“Oh?”  The question popped out of you as you stepped back to usher him inside.  He had to stoop a little to get through the doorway.

“I’m  on my own now,” was all the explanation he offered. “And I’ve not been  in a place where I want to think about dating or whatever. It’s nice to  make a new friend.”

“In that case, I’m glad,” you smiled.

Noah gazed around the simple house and his eyes went glassy again. “You like plants, I see,” he observed with a cheeky grin.

Your lips drew into a wry, thin line, and you chuckled. “They keep me company. Them, and Gawain.”

“Gawain?”

“My cat. Well, he’s not so much my cat as I’m his human.”

“Is  he the lean, black, bird-hunting machine I’ve seen prowling along my  back fence, I wonder?” Noah asked, eyes still crinkled at the corner.

“Probably.  You don’t want to know what he brings me back as ‘presents’ half the  time. Anyway, can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got a range of  stuff...”

“Just a glass of water or juice would be fine, thank you. I don’t drink alcohol.”

Another unusual fact about him to be silently filed away; a quiet orc who didn’t drink.

Your  surprise must have shown on your face because he snorted and said, “Not  anymore. I... I went through a bad patch about five years ago. Lost  control of a lot of things, if you get my meaning.”

“I do,” you said with quiet reassurance as you handed him a glass of juice. “Here.”

“Thanks.”  He nodded at the kitchen counter where the slow cooker sat, and inhaled  ostentatiously, his orcish nostrils flaring. “That smells amazing. Do  you always cook for yourself like that?”

You  nodded. “I try to cook a couple of times a week. It’s not all that much  fun cooking and eating a meal for one, but I’ve always enjoyed the act  of cooking, and I think I’m pretty good, so...” You shrugged. “I hope  it’s alright...”

“I  like cooking too,” he said. “Maybe we should cook for each other once a  week or something,” he suggested, following you into the sitting room  and easing himself onto the sofa after you’d settled into the chair by  the window.

He  watched the way you curled your legs up underneath you, and his eyes  lingered on you for a moment with something akin to nostalgia in them.  “I’d like that,” you smiled.  

You  began a regular rhythm after that. Every other Friday, he would come to  your house, and on the Fridays in between, you went over to his.  

It  was plain from the way he had furnished his house that he was deeply  connected to his orcish culture. He had a carved mammoth’s tusk in one  corner of the room which you knew represented the gods and spirits which  orcs worshipped, and he had rugs and wall hangings and cushions that  were all woven in traditional orcish fashion with orcish patterns and  colours. He never spoke about his family though, which struck you as a  little odd.  

Family  wasn’t a topic that came up until one Friday evening when you were  sharing a meal at his house. Noah sighed and set down his knife and  fork, food mostly finished. “I’ve loved doing this with you,” he began  awkwardly. “I… I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.  Socially speaking, I’m quite hard work, I know.”

“I don’t find you hard work,” you said immediately. “I mean, you’re quiet, sure, but so am I. I think we just click, you know?”

Noah  smiled but it was a painfully sad smile. “I want to tell you  something,” he said. “It… It won’t be easy for me, but we’ve known each  other for almost a year now, and I want you to know.”

Your heart leapt to your throat, wondering what he was about to share with you. “Alright,” you said.  

He  sipped his water and inhaled deeply. “You’ve never asked me about my  family, for which I’m very grateful. You’re intuitive, and sensitive…  and… I’m sure you’ve worked out enough about what happened already, but  still, thank you for giving me that space. It’s not easy to talk about  this.”

“I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to share it,” you said. He smiled, eyes twinkling briefly with gratitude.  

“Well,”  he drew something from his pocket and turned his hand palm-up on the  table. It was the child’s bracelet you’d glimpsed on that first  afternoon all those months ago. Apparently he carried it around with him all the time. Kishara: the little carved beads spelt out the name ‘Kishara’.  “This… This belonged to my daughter,” he said, voice already cracking  with emotion. “She was pretty healthy when she was little, but as she  got a bit older, she got very sick. I married young, by human standards,  but it’s normal for orcs to marry at about eighteen. Anyway, we spent a  lot of time shuttling between Starfall Springs where we used to live  and the city where she was receiving treatment.”  

Tears  brimmed in his eyes, collecting around his long, thick eyelashes, and  he began to thumb the bracelet as though it were a set of prayer beads.  Drawing strength from that, he ploughed on.  

“She…  She didn’t make it…” he said. “She died when she was five. And my wife…  she… she took it badly. She… She never… recovered. About six months  later, she… uh… she…” He blinked furiously, tears starting to roll down  his rough-hewn cheeks. “Yeah,” he croaked. “She took her own life.”

“Noah,”  you breathed, your heart going out to the orc, to your friend. You  reached for his trembling hand and squeezed your fingers around his  wrist, saying nothing. What could you possibly say to that? ‘I’m sorry’  seemed utterly inadequate.  

He  took the gesture for what it was, and offered you a wonky smile. “After  that, I…” he puffed the air out of his cheeks and shook his head. “I’m  ashamed to say that I became an alcoholic. It takes a lot of drink to  keep an orc drunk, let me tell you, and I lost my house, I lost my job,  and in time I lost my family too. They didn’t know how to help me.  There’s… There’s a temple in Starfall Springs that… well… I don’t  worship there, but every faith is welcomed. The priest who tends it  helped me a lot. After I got myself together a bit more, I left Starfall  behind and moved to the city. I got a new job, and I joined a support  group for recovering alcoholics. I’d been doing pretty well with most of  it… until I met you.”

Your  heart dropped and the sudden shock must have shown on your face because  he flipped your hand over and grabbed it, crushing it almost painfully.  

“Shit,  I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I meant… I was doing ok, but  then you showed up and… it was like… like colour started to come back  into my life. I’m not just doing ‘pretty well’ now. I’m doing great. And  that’s all thanks to you.”

“Not gonna lie, Noah, you scared the shit out of me with that one…” you said, relief washing through you.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not much good with words…”

You  tightened your grip on his hand and then wiggled your fingers into his  big palm. He stared at the place where the two of you touched, and  smiled.  

You  swallowed and then said, “Thank you for sharing that with me, Noah. It  can’t have been easy to tell me that, and I’m… I’m so sorry that you’ve  been through so much. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d have handled  any of that, let alone all of it.”

“I  regret the way I cut myself off from my family,” he said. “I was  ashamed and I didn’t know how to face them, so I just… left.”

“Family is a big thing for orcs, isn't it?”

His honey-coloured eyes became unfocused. “Yeah,” he rasped.  

Something in his demeanour made you ask, “Is there a reason you wanted to tell me this today in particular?”

To  your surprise, a rolling laugh rumbled in his chest and he closed his  eyes as he leaned back a little in his seat. “Yes,” he said. “Gods, but  you’re perceptive. Yes, there is.”

“What is it?”

Still  chuckling slightly, he said, “It’s coming up to my younger brother’s  twenty first birthday. That’s a really significant one for orcs. He’ll  get his first tusk cuff, and… traditionally, it should be his older  brother who gives it to him.”

“Ah.”

He let go of your hand and pushed back from the table. You sat there while he disappeared into the kitchen and reemerged  a moment later with a small leather pouch in his hand. He undid the  drawstring at the top of it and upended it into his cupped palm. A  single silver cuff tumbled out, engraved with orcish runes and symbols,  and it lay there sparkling in his hand while the pair of you stared at  it. He sighed. “I had it made about six months ago. I just… I don’t have  the courage to go back. I can’t even pick up the phone.”

“Do it now.”

“What?”  

“You  heard me. I bet you know your mum’s number off by heart. Call her. Tell  her you want to come home for your brother. Tell her you’re doing  better - I bet she’ll be proud of you - and tell her you want to do  right by him.”

“I…” he faltered, looking afraid.  

You grabbed his colossal arm and shook him slightly, the cuff rolling around at the sudden movement. “Do it.”

He took a deep breath and smiled. “Alright.”

And he did.  

He crossed to his house phone, punched in a number, and waited.  

Your  heart was hammering in your ears with nerves for him, and you suddenly  wondered if you should give him some space. You pushed back from the  table and took the plates out into the kitchen. As you returned to the  living room, you heard him speaking in halting orcish, and smiled.  

“Good  luck,” you murmured under your breath as you crossed to the window and  looked out at his back garden. There was a small cherry tree in the  middle of the tiny postage stamp of a lawn, and you watched the birds  playing amongst the branches while his deep, rumbling voice drifted out  to you.  

When  he set down the phone a while later, his dark green face looked pale  and ashen, and he sat down heavily on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.  

“Noah?”

You  approached and sat down gingerly beside him, touching him lightly on  the shoulder. He smiled slowly at you and then reached out and silently  drew you into his lap, hugging you gently. He held you so close that you  could feel the pulse thrumming at his neck and you heard the rapid-fire  rhythm of his heart beating in his cavernous chest. He cradled you  against him in almost the same way a child holds a teddy bear. “Thank  you,” he said, and you realised he was crying again.  

You hugged him back and the pair of you sat there for a long time.  

Eventually  Noah sniffed and released you with a muttered apology. You drew back  and climbed off his lap while he ran both hands over his face and rubbed  at his eyes with the heels of his palms.  

“So?” you asked. “I take it that it went ok?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She wants me to come to Raph’s birthday celebration.”

“You are going to go, right?”

He nodded again. “Will… Will you come with me?”

“Will it be alright with your family? I mean, I don’t know any of them…”

“Mum  wants to meet you,” he said. “I told her about you. Don’t worry about  being a human at an orcish thing though. She said that most of Raph’s friends aren’t orcs.”

“If  you’d like me to come, then of course I’ll come,” you smiled. “I mean,  you came with me to that work thing last month, and that was boring as  all hell. I’m pretty sure I owe you for that anyway…”

His expression fell just a little bit. “You don’t have to go…”

“I’d like to. When is it?”

Three  weeks later, you crossed the street to Noah’s house wearing the nicest  clothes you owned, and when he stepped out into the sunshine, your  breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. His white shirt fitted  his huge shoulders and chest to perfection, and he had his grey jacket  slung over one arm as he pulled his front door closed behind him and  locked it up.  

“You look amazing,” you called and he turned, grinning.

“So do you!” he laughed. “You ever been on a motorbike before?”

“Never, and yes, I’m terrified.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not so bad. Here,” and he tossed you his spare helmet.  

The  ride out of the city was gorgeous. It was early enough in the day that  the traffic wasn’t heavy, and you soon got the hang of leaning into the  turns with him. He let you loop your hands around his thick waist and  you tried not to cling to him and crumple his smart clothes.  

Perhaps  two and a half hours later, you passed the cheery wooden road-sign that  welcomed you to Starfall Springs and Noah slowed as he entered the  town. It was a stunning place, the architecture and warm, golden stone  seeming as timeless and ancient as the hills around it, and the salty  tang of the sea air not far away wafted refreshingly over you from time  to time.  

A  huge old house was visible at the top of the cliffs which sheltered the  town to the north, and Noah pulled over on a bridge into the town and  pointed up at it. “That’s the ancestral home of the Silkfoot family,” he said. “They’re driders, and they own a lot of the land around Starfall Springs as well. I went to school with their eldest son.”  

You  nodded, and Noah continued his little panoramic tour, pointing out the  old watermill and the glitter of the sea and the harbour down to the  south.  

It  didn’t take you long to cotton on to the fact that, although he was  keen to point out landmarks and interesting features, he was stalling.  You hugged him and said, “Why don’t we get to your mum’s, and then  tomorrow after the party you can show me round the town?”

You  felt the way his chest expanded with his inhale, and then he nodded.  “You’re right,” he said, his voice still muffled by his helmet. “Come  on.”

His  mother lived in a large, three-storey house on the edge of the town,  and as he parked up outside it, you saw the streamers hanging from the  windows and the flags which all said “21!” blowing and flickering in the  breeze.  

He  took his helmet off and let you slide off the bike first before  following suit. He stood there for a moment outside the house and you  slid your hand into his. Noah looked down at you and smiled. “It’s been  seven years since I last saw this house. Or my family.”

“I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed to see you again, Noah, but we’ll take it as it comes, ok?”  

He  didn’t have time to respond because the door flew open, bouncing back  off the wall with the force, and a huge orcish woman barrelled out and  flung herself at Noah. You stepped back so that you didn’t get  flattened, and watched as she sobbed into his neck. She was as tall as  he was, if not a couple of inches taller. Where his hair was simply  braided, hers had long dreads woven with beads of all colours and  materials from precious metal to wood and horn.

She  cried into her son’s neck for a long time, and he simply embraced her  back, his own face hidden from view. Orcs, it seemed, were very free  with their emotions.

After  a while, you glimpsed a smaller figure standing in the doorway and  realised that a young orcish girl was standing there watching the  exchange. When Noah’s mother finally extricated herself from her son,  she stepped back and wiped her face, giving you a better view of her.  She looked very much like Noah, you realised. Her cheekbones were high,  her nose flat and wide, pierced at the septum, her gleaming tusks huge  and rounded, and her eyes a dark amber too. She was wearing a long,  flowing dress, belted at the waist, and sleeveless, and her arm muscles  were almost as big as Noah’s too. She was a formidable and beautiful  orc.  

“Hi mama,” he croaked sheepishly.  

“Oh, my boy,” she sniffled. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you. I’ve missed you so much. We all have. Welcome home.”

It  was refreshing to see a people so free with their emotions, and as you  watched the tears rolling down Noah's face, he wiped them on the back of  his sleeve and turned to you and said, “Mama, meet my neighbour and my  very good friend, and the person who’s responsible for me phoning you in  the first place.”

She  turned to you and she shook her head, smiling. “Thank you, dear,” she  said, sounding more than a little choked. “You brought my boy home  again.”

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “He was the next thing to doing it himself… I just gave him a little nudge.”

“Must have been some nudge to get that lump of muscle moving,” the young orc said from the doorway.  

Noah hadn’t seen her until she’d spoken, and he gasped. “Brie?” he asked, eyes wide. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Glad you haven’t forgotten me completely, ‘brother’.”

The  sharp resentment in her tone drew him up short, but their mother gave  them both a sharp look and told them to behave. Then she made you all  come inside.  

Noah  cast you one sidelong look and you took his hand briefly in yours. “You  knew this wouldn’t all be easy,” you reminded him when you saw how  crushed he looked by his little sister’s words. “Give her time.”

“I know. And I deserve it too…”

“Don’t think like that, Noah,” you said.  

You’d  barely made it two steps inside when another huge orc collided with  Noah and flung his arms around him. Noah cursed in orcish, staggering  back and trying not to step on you as he absorbed the impact. This, it  seemed, was Raph.

If  you’d though Noah was big, Raph was in a different category. Given that  he was years younger than Noah, he should perhaps have been a bit  smaller, but he was easily seven and a half feet tall, wide as a bus,  and colossally strong. His black hair was longer than Noah’s, hanging  right down to his backside, and you could see that his arms and neck  were tattooed heavily with orcish designs. Noah had some, you knew from  what he’d told you, but it seemed like Raph had taken his love and  respect of orcish culture to another level.  

While  the two brothers reconnected, their mother took you through the  beautiful townhouse to meet some of the others. Brie was apparently  actually called Briar, but she didn’t like the name and was seemingly as  prickly as her namesake about a lot of things. Raph’s friends, all  gathered out in the garden at the back, were easier to get along with  and they welcomed you with warm smiles and friendly gestures. There was a  naga, a good number of orcs, a couple of fauns, one chunky satyr, a  tiefling, a vampire, and a small contingent of goblins.  

Noah  emerged from the house a while later with his brother’s arm slung  around his shoulders, both their eyes sparkling. Raph yelled for quiet.  “Oi! Shut up, shut up! Everyone, shut up!” he called, laughing. “This is  my big bro, and he’s had a really shit time of things in the last few  years, but he came all the way from the city to be here today. I’ve  missed the heck out of him and apparently he’s only here today because  this tiny little human kicked him up the backside and made him come.”

Raph  grabbed a drink and poured a glass of homemade lemonade for Noah and  shoved it at him. Raph then raised his glass aloft and roared, “To tiny  kick-ass humans who aren’t afraid of calling us orcs out on our shit!”

Noah  laughed and looked you straight in the eye. Your stomach flopped over  at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. “To tiny kick-ass humans,” he  murmured, and drank to you as the cheer went up from the rest of them.  

The  party lasted all day, with music and food and laughter and dancing. The  goblins, it turned out, were some of Raph’s best friends, and it was  comical the way they bossed him around and teased him with deep  affection. As the sun began to set, you watched Noah talking with his  mother and sister in a quiet corner, and Raph came over to you. He  plonked himself down on the grass beside you and said, “Thank you.”

You  smiled at him. “Noah really wanted to be here for you today,” you said.  “He was just… I think he was afraid that you wouldn’t want him back  here after he’d been away so long.”

“He  went through hell,” Raph murmured quietly. “I get it.” He had the same  big tusks and heavy jaw as his brother, but his voice was a bit deeper.  “It was awful watching him just… disappear inside his grief, you know?  He loved his wife a lot, and Kishara was the light of their life. And  then when she got really sick… They were a really close unit, but her  death was just too much for them.”

“It’s not something you just ‘get over’,” you said. “I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d handle something like that.”

Raph  nodded. “I missed him a lot. We were really close. He… He changed when  he was drinking though. I’m glad he’s sober now. He’s the Noah I  remember. Bit quieter, but he’s my brother again.”

“He’s toughed it out. It can’t have been a pleasant journey, and he’s still going…”

He shook his head. “He seems pretty good now though. We talked earlier. He spoke about you a lot.”

“We’ve become good friends this past year,” you said. “I’m so glad we got talking.”

Raph shot you a sideways glance. “Just friends?”

You felt your cheeks heat. “I like him. A lot. But if anything else were to happen, I think it’d have to come from him.”

Raph  nodded, but before he could reply, one of his goblin friends hurled a  balled-up paper napkin at him and yelled, “Presents time, ugly!”

He laughed and looked down at you. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

“I’m glad he brought me along for the ride.”

There  was a bit more ceremony to the gift giving than you’d anticipated, but  finally it was Noah’s turn to give him the gift that would mark Raph’s  transition from late boyhood to true adulthood.  

His  eyes shone in the twilight, the little twinkling fairy lights  glimmering in them from around the garden. Whatever words were spoken  between the two of them as they stood, heads bowed, foreheads touching,  were not meant for the rest of you, but everyone watched in silence all  the same. You knew it was traditional for the older brother to give  advice at this time, and you imagined that Noah had some wise words for  him from his own experience.  

Raph  said something back, Noah kissed his brother affectionately on the  forehead, the pair laughed, and then Noah took his brother’s hand in his  and held it aloft. “My little brother - all grown up,” he said, “Not so  little any more… Mama, what the heck have you been feeding him?”

Everyone  laughed, and the brothers embraced one more time before parting. Their  mother gave her gift then, and Noah came over to stand with you. “I’m so  glad I came,” he said without looking at you.  

“Good. For what it’s worth, I’ve had fun too.”

“You tired?”

You nodded.

“Do you want to head home?”

You shook your head. “Your mum said we could stay over if we wanted.”

“Would you be ok with that?” he asked, glancing down at you.  

“Sure. She’s lovely; your whole family is.”

He smiled sadly. “Yeah. You can see why I was so ashamed of myself and the way I’d behaved.”

“Grief does unpredictable things to people, Noah,” you said. “And you’ve worked hard.”

“Yeah,” he rasped without looking at you.  

The  music started up again after that, and he turned to you and held out  his hand. There was a stone patio at the back of the house where Raph  and he had been standing to conduct the only formal part of the gift  exchange, and now couples and friends were using it as a dance space.  Noah’s mother was sitting on the edge, tapping her toes and laughing  with the vampire, but most of the others were dancing.  

“You want to dance?” he asked awkwardly.  

“Love to.”

He  moved you gently and his hand found its way to your waist. The warm  steadiness of it was almost intoxicating, and you found yourself leaning  into the contact, distracted only by the way his fingers curled around  yours as you moved to the music. Your earlier words to Raph floated into  your mind, and as you looked up at Noah, trying not to crick your neck  as you did, you realised that over the course of the last year that  you’d known him, you’d been falling for him bit by bit. He was gentle  and empathetic, quiet, reserved, and sensitive, and you knew with  astonishing clarity in that moment that if he kissed you, you wouldn’t  pull away.  

Noah did not kiss you.

He  smiled down at you, and continued to dance, and when the song ended, he  stepped back and thanked you. You tried to bite down the  disappointment, and as his sister came to wish him goodnight before she  turned in to bed, you took the chance to slip away.  

The  garden was a large one, and at the far end darkness pooled between the  tall elderberry bushes and apple trees. You leaned your body against the  back fence and stared out at the road that led out of the town and into  the dark hills beyond. Lights flickered here and there, but mostly it  was a dark, inky wash beneath the waking stars. Music wafted down the  garden, carrying a few snippets of conversation with it, and you rested  your forearms on the fence and sighed. He was a widower. He had lost his  child and his wife, and the woman he’d been married to had been an orc.  He’d given no indication that he found you attractive, or that he was  looking for anything else. And why should he?  

In  the wake of the brief moment you’d allowed yourself to hope, crushing  disappointment flooded in. You cursed yourself, letting guilt plunge to  the pit of your stomach like a handful of gravel. Today wasn’t about you  at all.  

The  rustle of the grass behind you was the only warning you got before a  large hand gently pressed itself against the small of your back. “You  alright?” Noah’s warm voice asked softly. “You’ve been down here for  ages.”

“I have?”

“Mmm.”

“Oh. I… I didn’t realise. I was just… thinking, you know?”

“You want me to leave you in peace?”

“No,” you said, a mite too quickly. “No,” you added more quietly, swallowing thickly. “I don’t.”

He  slid his palm around your waist and drew you close to his body. “I  never thought I’d feel anything for anyone ever again,” he said, making  your heart skip a beat as the meaning of his words began to sink in.  “You gave me time, and you gave me space to work things out. I can’t  pretend that I’ll love you the same way I loved… I loved her, but…  you’ve come to mean a very great deal to me.”  

“You  wouldn’t have to love me the way you loved your wife, Noah. I’m a  different person. Heck, I’m not even an orc. I didn’t know you liked  humans…”

“Nor did I,” he chuckled. “But I like you. And… I’d like to see where this goes, if you’re ok with that.”

After a moment of silence you said in a husky voice, “I’m more than ok with that, Noah.”

“Shall we go inside?” he said. “It’s getting chilly.”

You nodded and let him steer you inside.  

He  took you upstairs and pushed open a door to a small bedroom. It was  furnished with orcish crafts and handiwork, and it was clearly a guest  room. “This used to be my room when I was a kid,” he said, smiling  fondly. “Mum redecorated it when I went to university.” He cleared his  throat and said, “If you want to take this one, I can sleep on the sofa  downstairs.”

“No,” you said. “Stay.”

He did.  

After  he’d found you a new toothbrush, and after you’d both showered and he’d  given you a t-shirt of Brie’s to wear to bed, you climbed into the  double bed and he joined you a few minutes later.  

It  felt strange to be lying next to your friend, but it had a rightness to  it which, as you nuzzled up to him and laid your head on his bare  shoulder, sparked a deep contentment in your chest. You trailed the  lines of his orcish tattoos with your fingertips, breathing softly and  finding no need for words.

He  lay there with his arm around your shoulders, hugging you close to the  heat of his body, until he fell asleep, and not long after that you  slipped into dreamless sleep as well.  

Dawn  filtered through the curtains the next day and woke you slowly. You  were still lying on your side, half draped over Noah’s massive body,  with one arm across his torso and one leg hooked across his thigh. The  length of his morning wood pressed against you and you moaned.  

Noah  grunted as you stirred, and he pressed a kiss against the top of your  head. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick and gravelly with sleep.  

“Morning yourself,” you replied, shifting slightly.  

“Mmmph,”  he complained and moved his hand down to readjust himself. Your hand  beat his to it and he gasped and threw his head back, chin and tusks  jutting towards the ceiling. “Fuck,” he hissed.  

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

He shook his head.  

You  palmed the hard length of his cock through the fabric of his underwear,  the friction making him roll his hips up into the contact, and you felt  it stir beneath your hand.  

You  slid your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and drew them off,  springing his hardening erection free. His cock was beautiful, thick and  slightly curved, the veins straining as he grew fully hard. He parted  his legs slightly and you watched his balls clench softly for a moment.  

“Someone’s  horny this morning,” you murmured playfully, running your fingers up  his torso. He had a slightly soft belly, which was frankly gorgeous, and  you enjoyed the way he gasped as your fingertips found his nipples.  

“I dreamed about you,” he laughed. “I think that got me going.”

“Did it now?” you grinned. “You’ll have to tell me about it…”

It  wasn’t quite possible for you to close your fingers all the way around  the girth of his cock, but that didn’t really matter. You stroked his  length a few times before thumbing a cheeky circle over the head of his  cock through the pre-come that was beading profusely at the tip. He  gasped and cursed in orcish.  

Using  your mouth and your hands together, you got to work in earnest, and in  no time he had begun to tremble. His thighs shook as you lavished  attention on him, and his breath came in fast, heavy pants. He tried not  to thrash as you sucked the tip of his cock, using your tongue to tease  the ridge around his head and the underside of his cock while your  hands worked the rest of his length, occasionally cupping his balls as  well.  

“Shit,”  he gasped a while later, balls suddenly clenching, “I’m… I’m not gonna…  I can’t…” and without any further warning, Noah came with a stifled  grunt.  

Thick  ropes of come painted his soft stomach as he curled his torso inwards,  eyes screwed tight, hands balled into fists at his sides, one knee  drawing up as the sheer force of his orgasm tore through him. You tried  to stroke him through it but he tipped into oversensitivity almost  before he’d finished coming, and he whimpered softly, trying to swat you  away with a vague motion of his hand. Finally he lay back on the bed  and let his knee fall to one side, leaving his hips open with a gorgeous  view of his twitching, drooling cock as it now lay over his hip bone.

He  took a while to come back to you, and when he did, he looked up at you  and his unfocused eyes sparkled. “Look at you,” he said. “I’m sorry…”  

You  had a splash of his come over your cheek and down your chin, and he  reached for you and thumbed it away with a gentle gesture.  

“Fuck,” he hissed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve come like that.”

“My pleasure,” you grinned.  

“Distinctly  mine, I think,” he countered. He glanced at the sun rising through the  little crack in the curtains and turned his attention back to you. “Give  me a minute, and maybe help me clean up a bit, and then let me repay  the pleasure…”

You  nodded and he tugged you down to lie beside him. You glanced down at  his slightly soft stomach and ran your finger through the come that  covered it, making him groan. “What a mess…” you smiled.  

A smiled “Uhhnff,” was his only reply. 

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

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[pierrotdameron]

“It was really surreal,” says Chalamet. “There are these Goliath landscapes, which you may imagine existing on planets in our universe, but not on Earth.”

***

For the infinite seas of sand that give the story its title, the production moved to remote regions outside Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, where the temperatures rivaled the fiction in Herbert’s story. “I remember going out of my room at 2 a.m., and it being probably 100 degrees,” says Chalamet. During the shoot, he and the other actors were costumed in what the world of Dune calls “stillsuits”—thick, rubbery armor that preserves the body’s moisture, even gathering tiny bits from the breath exhaled through the nose. In the story, the suits are life-giving. In real life, they were agony. “The shooting temperature was sometimes 120 degrees,” says Chalamet. “They put a cap on it out there, if it gets too hot. I forget what the exact number is, but you can’t keep working.” The circumstances fed the story they were there to tell: “In a really grounded way, it was helpful to be in the stillsuits and to be at that level of exhaustion.”

***

Villeneuve intends to create a Dune that has so far only existed in the imagination of readers. The key, he says, was to break the sprawling narrative in half. When Dune hits theaters on December 18, it will only be half the novel, with Warner Bros. agreeing to tell the story in two films, similar to the studio’s approach with Stephen King’s It and It Chapter Two. “I would not agree to make this adaptation of the book with one single movie,” says Villeneuve. “The world is too complex. It’s a world that takes its power in details.”

For Villeneuve, this 55-year-old story about a planet being mined to death was not merely a space adventure, but a prophecy. “No matter what you believe, Earth is changing, and we will have to adapt,” he says. “That’s why I think that Dune, this book, was written in the 20th century. It was a distant portrait of the reality of the oil and the capitalism and the exploitation—the overexploitation—of Earth. Today, things are just worse. It’s a coming-of-age story, but also a call for action for the youth.”

Chalamet’s character, Paul, thinks he’s just a boy struggling to find a place in the world, but he actually possesses the ability to change it. He has a supernatural gift to harness and unleash energy, lead others, and meld with the heart of his new home world. Think Greta Thunberg, only she’s a Jedi with a degree from Hogwarts. Paul comes from a powerful galactic family with a name that sounds like a constellation—the House Atreides. His father and mother, Duke Leto (played by Oscar Isaac) and Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), take their son from their lush, Scandinavian-like home world to preside over spice extraction on Arrakis. What follows is a clash with the criminal, politically connected House Harkonnen, led by the monstrous Baron Vladimir (Stellan Skarsgård), a mammoth with merciless appetites. The baron, created with full-body prosthetics, is like a rhino in human form. This version of the character is less of a madman and more of a predator. “As much as I deeply love the book, I felt that the baron was flirting very often with caricature,” says Villeneuve. “And I tried to bring him a bit more dimension. That’s why I brought in Stellan. Stellan has something in the eyes. You feel that there’s someone thinking, thinking, thinking—that has tension and is calculating inside, deep in the eyes. I can testify, it can be quite frightening.”

The director has also expanded the role of Paul’s mother, Lady Jessica. She’s a member of the Bene Gesserit, a sect of women who can read minds, control people with their voice (again, a precursor to the Jedi mind trick), and manipulate the balance of power in the universe. In the script, which Villeneuve wrote with Eric Roth and Jon Spaihts, she is even more fearsome than before. The studio’s plot synopsis describes her as a “warrior priestess.” As Villeneuve jokes, “It’s better than ‘space nun.’ ”

Lady Jessica’s duty is to deliver a savior to the universe—and now she has a greater role in defending and training Paul too. “She’s a mother, she’s a concubine, she’s a soldier,” says Ferguson. “Denis was very respectful of Frank’s work in the book, [but] the quality of the arcs for much of the women have been brought up to a new level. There were some shifts he did, and they are beautifully portrayed now.”

In an intriguing change to the source material, Villeneuve has also updated Dr. Liet Kynes, the leading ecologist on Arrakis and an independent power broker amid the various warring factions. Although always depicted as a white man, the character is now played by Sharon Duncan-Brewster (Rogue One), a black woman. “What Denis had stated to me was there was a lack of female characters in his cast, and he had always been very feminist, pro-women, and wanted to write the role for a woman,” Duncan-Brewster says. “This human being manages to basically keep the peace amongst many people. Women are very good at that, so why can’t Kynes be a woman? Why shouldn’t Kynes be a woman?”

***

The breadth of Dune is what has made it so confounding for others to adapt. “It’s a book that tackles politics, religion, ecology, spirituality—and with a lot of characters,” says Villeneuve. “I think that’s why it’s so difficult. Honestly, it’s by far the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life.” After finishing this first movie, he’ll just have to do it all over again.

[azvolrien]

Five Vignettes about Asta in Stormhaven - Museum

The Stormhaven museum has been mentioned a few times and is marked on the city map I drew a while ago, but we’ve never previously ‘visited’ it, so to speak. I perhaps inevitably picture its interior as a kind of hybrid between the National Museum of Scotland here in Edinburgh (before the recent renovation) and the Natural History Museum in London, those being my default mental images of ‘museum’.

~~~

           “So that’s it,” said Mia. “It’s over?”

           Asta bowed her head and massaged her brow with her fingertips. “Look… It – sorry for the cliché – it really isn’t you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and I’ve enjoyed our dates. It’s just…”

           “There’s someone else,” finished Mia.

           Asta nodded. “Not – not physically. Not here. I haven’t been seeing anyone else. I wouldn’t do that to you. But… in here?” She touched her heart. “Yes. I’m still thinking of her, and that’s not fair to you. You deserve someone less… less distracted.”

           Mia sighed, but nodded. “I have noticed you’re not always… totally in the moment,” she said. “If you want to call it a day, well… Fair enough. But let’s finish this last date first, eh?” She lifted her teacup in salute. Asta smiled sadly and clinked her own cup against the rim.

           They said goodbye outside the café and went their separate ways. Asta tightened her scarf against the early spring breeze and crossed the road to the National Museum of Stormhaven. It was hosting a touring exhibition that sounded interesting, all about the ancient royal tombs of Kemet; Calburn had mentioned they had a genuine revenant on display, and those hardly ever left the desert province. She climbed the front steps and passed through the wide double doors into the main hall, a high, airy space that felt more like a temple than a museum, cool, quiet, and flooded with light from the glass roof three storeys above.

           The Kemet exhibition was all that had been promised, though the revenant was so fragile with age that it could no longer move without disintegrating. Asta dropped a half-crown coin into the donation box by the door and wandered off for a look around the rest of the museum, past the mounted skeleton of a huge bull mammoth at the door to the natural history wing, and on into the shadows of a leviathan skeleton suspended from the ceiling by thick hawsers bolted into the supporting columns.

           The escaped slaves who had founded Stormhaven had hailed from all over Stranatir, and that showed in the wide array of permanent exhibits. One hall was devoted to the Hawk Steppes, its back wall dominated by a mural showing a band of mounted hunters facing off against a fearsome thuru and its floor space filled with exhibits from well-used weaponry to a ceremonial caparison draped over a horse mannequin. Another detailed the founding of Stormhaven itself, outlining the story with such artefacts as chains from the slave ship whose wreck had freed them, the slightly moth-eaten original national flag, and paintings of the architects of the escape. Queen Eleri the First stared regally out from her canvas, grasping a broken chain in both hands and daring anyone to take her people back into slavery. The Falkari warrior prince Garaaz toth Kossu folded his brawny arms, but seemed to look over his audience rather than directly at them. Lady Meredith leant on her enormous battle axe, her eyes cast into shadow by the hood of her bearskin cloak and her face painted with woad and kohl.

           Asta paused in front of that last painting for a better look at its accompanying notice. Meredith, it explained, had hailed from the Sea Loch Country where she had worked as a village blacksmith, but Stormhaven had needed her more as a warrior and so she had fought to defend her new home until her death on the battlefield decades later, on the site of what would become the city of Northold. The notice concluded with a quote from Queen Eleri, describing Meredith as ‘at once a stalwart friend and a terrifying berserker’.

           Asta ran the tip of one finger over that final sentence, and carried on to the next room. That one turned out to be about the Sea Loch Country itself. Ancient carved stones circled the walls around a display of other artefacts; the preserved prow of a historic longship loomed over a reconstruction of a warrior’s burial, alongside weapons, tools, harness-fittings and more besides. In one corner, a glass case protected a scale model of a broch. Asta sat down on a nearby bench and, for several minutes, did nothing but stare at the model.

           How could she be homesick for somewhere she had only stayed for a month? It made no sense – and yet, more than a year after leaving, she still missed Dun Ardech so much that it made itself felt as a physical ache in her chest. She missed the smell of the sea, the cry of the gulls, and the main room of the broch with its central hearth and its squashy driftwood-framed couches. She missed the water horses resting on the rocks after dark. She even missed the chill wind, colder than it ever got in Stormhaven. But above all else, she missed Roan. Her cheerful grin and no-nonsense compassion. Her warm, solid presence alongside her at night, curled up together under the reindeer-skin blanket, and the unexpected sense of safety it brought with it. Her tattoos like the symbols on the stones, curving their way across her smiling face and strong arms. Asta shuddered and hugged herself, the memories now rising unbidden. The feel of Roan’s arms around her, Roan’s lips against hers. Her words on the jetty, the last time she had seen her. Forget me, if you have to.

           I can’t do that. Asta hadn’t said it then; she wished she had. She lowered her face into her hands and cried, her shoulders quivering with each near-silent sob.

           “I’d ask if you’re all right,” said a vaguely familiar voice after a while, “but the question seems redundant. Is there anything I can do to help?”

           Asta sat up, sniffling, to see a man looking at her with concern and offering her a handkerchief. She recognised him – he was one of the wizards from the College, and he was a very recognisable man – but they had never been introduced or even shared more than a few words in passing. “I don’t know,” she said miserably. “I just broke up with my girlfriend, and – I don’t know. Probably not.” She took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes as well as she could. “Thanks.”

           “Keep it for now,” he said when she tried to return the handkerchief. “I can get it back at the College later. Would a sympathetic ear be of any assistance?”

           “…Maybe.” She shuffled along the bench to make room for him and he sat down at the opposite end, more than an arm’s length away. “If – if you chat to people at the College much, you probably know I was a slave,” she began.

           “Yes, Fayn mentioned it to me once,” he said.

           “Oh, you know Fayn? I wasn’t sure if you’d have spent much time talking to the non-wizard staff.”

           “Fayn is a little more than a work acquaintance to me,” he said with a chuckle, holding up a plain gold ring strung on a fine silver chain around his neck, an identical twin to the one she had seen Fayn wearing.

           “Oh, you’re her husband? How have I been working at the College for the better part of a year now and I never heard that?” The man – Wygar, Fayn had called him – shrugged, smiling. “Well, so… I was a slave. I escaped, and eventually I got to Stormhaven. But in between those two points, there was this woman who helped me, and, well…”

           Slowly, not fully sure why, Asta told him the whole story from taking shelter in Dun Ardech to stepping off the ship in Seacourt. “…and I have tried to move on like she asked. I have. Got a job. Moved out of Ari’s house once I found my feet. Tried seeing other people. I just… I miss her. I really, really miss her. But then sometimes I wonder – she sent me away. Maybe she doesn’t miss me as much. And that’s… That’s a hard thought to bear.”

           Wygar looked down at his hands, the palms covered by fingerless gloves. “I don’t know this woman,” he said. “I can’t claim to know what she was thinking – though I do like what you’ve said about her style,” he added with a grin, not dissimilar to Roan’s. Asta giggled despite herself. “But usually when a person says they’d kill to protect someone, they’re speaking in hypotheticals. To actually do it is not the mark of a woman who is prepared to just forget about what you had with her. It sounds to me like she cared entirely too much about you to see you in danger, and I expect she misses you a great deal.”

           “Do you think I’ll ever see her again?”

           “I think you can take steps to make that happen,” said Wygar. “Duncraig isn’t terribly hard to get to these days. But all things considered, it might be wise to lie low in Stormhaven for a while longer. Fayn and I were in the Northern Forest last winter-”

           “Oh, is that where she disappeared to? I wondered why I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks. Sorry, go on.”

           “Yes, it was… quite an experience. But we ran into another escaped slave there – an elf from one of the clans, who’d killed his owner and made a run for it years ago. I gathered he’d never left the Forest since, in case he ran into his owner’s family. I don’t see why you shouldn’t return to the Sea Lochs one day – but it might be worth giving these MacArra people a bit time to forget what you look like first.”

           Asta sighed. “Will that ever happen?”

           Wygar inspected his nails. “They don’t sound like the type to look too closely at the faces of their slaves.”

           “That’s… actually not a bad point,” said Asta. “Daro would have recognised me instantly, but the rest… Hmm.” She steepled her fingers and gazed at the opposite wall without really seeing it. “Fayn didn’t send you to look for me, did she?”

           “No, in fact – she and Ari have gone to something at the theatre. I’m just very fond of this museum; it was something of a refuge for me when I was a child. I was looking at the dragon prow over there when I heard somebody crying.”

           “I was trying to be quiet…”

           “I have good hearing,” said Wygar, almost apologetically.

           “Can… can I ask you a question?” said Asta. Wygar nodded. “What does your tattoo signify?” She tapped her own cheek to indicate the blue stripe inked down his.

           “Overconsumption of alcohol,” he said wryly.

           “That’s very irresponsible,” said Asta, frowning.

           “Yes, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

           “Not you! The tattooist! They should never have agreed to tattoo someone who’d been drinking!”

           “…You are actually the first person to tell me that.”

           Asta half-sighed, half-laughed. “Well… Thank you. For listening.”

           “You’re very welcome. The gods know I’ve had plenty of practice.”

~~~

Asta has seen Wygar enough times for the shock of his appearance - that is, how, like Roan, he is also a tall, fair-skinned redhead with obvious blue tattoos - to have worn off, but this is the first real conversation they ever had.

We’ve never seen Mia before and probably never will again, but she seems like an understanding sort of person.

For anyone who’s interested, these are the two museum interiors referenced in the intro:

NMS:

NHM:

[astrodances]

A Night We Won’t Forget

Scroldie Week 2019: Day 1 - Klondike

Happy Scroldie Week!

There’s more comprehensive notes on ao3, but this first chapter is kinda an AU/canon-divergent scene insert for "Golden Lagoon." The path to the lagoon is much longer in this and therefore takes more time to travel, and for story's sake, Glomgold is just...way behind our lovebirds (he probably got tangled in the ropes of the one-man elevator XD).

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

Goldie was the first to spot them. Beautiful, ethereal pools of color that offered enchantment in the darkness. They were no gold, but even after a hundred-plus years, the falls were still a sight to behold on their own and drew smiles from the two sourdoughs.

"The Rainbow Caves!" she gasped, turning to Scrooge as he reached her side. "We're over halfway to the Golden Lagoon!"

The pair pulled out their respective halves of the map to the lagoon and held them together. Indeed, the caves had them around the center of the map. After another day of hiking and navigating the glaciers, they would surely find the motherlode. This time.

As Scrooge calculated the obstacles of their remaining journey, a flash blindsided his peripheral vision. Scowling, he turned to see his partner holding her phone over his shoulder and stepped away from her.

"What? Just giving you a little reading light is all," Goldie offered as an excuse.

Scrooge snatched her phone away, and when she attempted to feign a look of innocence, he rolled his eyes. "We should probably set up camp here for the night," he explained, returning his thoughts to their itinerary. "Despite someone making me do all the work on the elevator, we're ahead of schedule."

Goldie waved off his accusation as she began to climb down the rocks they were on. "It's okay, Scrooge. No one else is around. You can just admit you need to rest your old bones."

"I donnae-" An audible crack of the knee as he followed her tore down his defense. She smirked, and he mumbled after her, "At least I know I'm not the only one."

"For your sake I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."

After they reached level ground, they fell into the task of setting up camp amid the light of the falls. Scrooge, being the frugal man that he was, had insisted on buying only one large bedroll for them to share, with the added excuse of wanting to keep an eye on her in that should she try to steal his half of the map while he slept, he would instantly know. Goldie pretended not to notice the frustrated blush that had crept up on his beak as he explained as much, and instead took delight in making him squirm by insisting, "Don't worry, hon. There'll be plenty of better opportunities to steal your map before we sleep. But we can trust each other, right?"

With their makeshift bed all made and a roaring fire going, the two settled next to each other around the flames, their shoulders nearly touching, and managed to have a peaceful dinner together. Or dinner for Goldie, at least. She shook her head in amusement as Scrooge scavenged through his backpack and pulled out the hors d'oeuvres he'd swiped from the buffet at Glomgold's gala.

"A hundred years ago, it was a can of beans," Goldie pointed out, gathering a spoonful of soup from the bowl in her hand before deadpanning, "Nice to see you've upgraded."

Scrooge munched happily on a teriyaki skewer before answering, "Hey, when it's free, it's free. And this is the good stuff. Flinty wants people to know he has the money for it, and who am I to stop him?" He unabashedly plucked the last bit of meat off the skewer with his teeth, then turned to offer her some tiny treats from another bag. "Cupcake, Cupcake?"

Goldie nearly spilled her soup as she choked over her laughter. "I'll take 'terms of endearment I'd never thought I'd hear Scrooge McDuck say' for five hundred, Alex." Still, she took a sweet from the bag all the same, setting it to the side to eat after her soup. "What's got you in a good mood all of the sudden?"

"Mostly the free food," he reiterated. "But also, look around ye! These falls are gorgeous! We didn't stop to enjoy them the last time, remember?"

Their eyes trailed around the cave: pools of pink, purple, and blue lit up their view, with a particularly large pool of light-blue gurgling across the fire from them. Goldie smiled at the tranquility of it all, but as she returned her gaze to Scrooge, who seemed to have truly gotten lost in the moment, a new thought crossed her mind.

"I'm surprised by you, Scrooge. Old legs or no, I was sure you would've kept us going all night to find the lagoon."

He shrugged. "Like I said, we're ahead of schedule." With a raise of her eyebrow, she knocked down his bluff by dragging a sigh from his chest, and he leaned back on his hands. "It's been over a hundred years. What's another day, hm? I'll be the first to tell ya that time is money, but adventure, this-" He gestured towards the falls, and she turned to look. "-is life. I want to savor the journey more now. Appreciate the finer things."

Goldie had been ready to call him a sentimental fool at the end of his soliloquy. It'd been on the tip of her tongue, that there must've been something in the water making him talk like that, but the way he was staring back at her when she looked at him again evaporated the words, leaving her feeling light-headed. Whatever energy he was sending her way in the short space between them, she wanted it. She wanted to latch onto it with a kiss that would leave them both dizzy. It'd been over a decade since their last, after all.

But she couldn't. Not when she still had a heist to carry out, and there was betrayal on the horizon. Not when she had to keep the upper hand.

"We...should get some sleep," she deflected, easily slipping on her pokerface again and doing her best to ignore the way Scrooge's spirit fell. She finished off the remainder of her soup and popped the mini-cupcake into her mouth with a satisfactory chew, then stood up and dusted off her hands. "Thanks for the cupcake...Cupcake," she echoed, leaning back down to plant a small kiss on his cheek. The way he leaned into her hold under his beak for a few seconds helped to assuage the guilt taking root in her heart, if only by a bit.

The two ducks fell into meandering chit-chat as they cleaned up after their meal against a waning fire. By the time they got under the single blanket they were to share for the night, another blanket between them and the ground, the conversation had returned to the gold they were determined to find tomorrow, any mammoths or elephants in the room be damned.

"You know you didn't have to hide it," Goldie remarked as she rested her hands behind her head so she could watch the nearest waterfall.

"Hide what?"

"Your map. Don't think I didn't see you moving it around like twelve times after dinner."

Scrooge stammered. "I-I...you weren't supposed to see that."

Even though he couldn't see it from the way he was laying away from her, she rolled her eyes. "Relax, Scroogie. I lost track of it after you put your kiddie meal back in your backpack."

That got a reaction out of him. "Ye are outrageous!" he declared, turning over to face her. Were it not for the amused sparkle in his eye, she would've considered him furious.

"Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment." Goldie leaned up on her elbow to face him in turn, a bewitching grin spreading across her beak.

His ensuing laugh was almost bitter. "I swear, you're actually going to be the death of me, O'Gilt. If you're not aggravating me, you're stealing from me, and if you're not doing that you're-"

A finger to his beak silenced him, and she leaned in close enough to tease him with the uncertainty of her next move. Just when the fire in his eyes started to plead with her, she finally murmured, "Get some sleep, Moneybags. We have a long day tomorrow."

Goldie wasn't sure if her whisper had reached Scrooge with how stunned he looked, but as she flipped over and pretended to go to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had made the wrong move.

—————

It took about two hours of sleep for Scrooge to realize he'd even closed his eyes at all. The second he did, he jolted up and twisted about to try to find what had woken him up in the first place. Because he'd definitely heard something or, judging by the empty spot next to him, someone.

There, only a stone's toss away, continuing down the path of the map. Target spotted.

"You thieving temptress!" Scrooge shouted to stop Goldie, who turned back to face him with that telltale victory smirk, one half of the map in each hand. A quick glance at his ransacked backpack and dusty hat and—were his spats on backwards?—told him she had been ruthlessly thorough in her search. He tangled himself free from their blanket and jumped up to square off with her.

"Morning, Sleepyhead. How's that queen-sized investment in 'instantly knowing' my every move treatin' you?"

He'd known this was coming. If it wasn't Goldie's inherently untrustworthy nature, it'd been her distance all evening. Every previous encounter they'd shared in their history together should've been enough of a clue that she was going to backstab him again, but like the fool he was, he kept falling for it. For her. Confident that this time, she wouldn't trick him. That maybe they could figure things out.

Curling his fingers into fists, Scrooge growled, low and betrayed. "So that's it? Bring me all the way back to White Agony just so you can take off and steal the gold for yourself?"

"You know it's more than that, Scroogie."

"Oh? Right, yes, I almost forgot. Can't have a McDuck-O'Gilt adventure without you breaking my heart. You, lass, are nothing but trouble! Then and now, you always have been and you always will be!"

The echoes of his outburst rippled across the caves, and for the split-second he saw her face twist into genuine hurt, a deeper part of him wished he kept his beak shut. But it was out there now, and he had to live with whatever happened next.

To her credit, Goldie managed to steady herself with a deep breath off to the side, but her broken tone spoke volumes as she wavered, "Because that's all I can be. We-I can't...be anything more. I love gold, and I...I love you, but..."

"You love gold, more than you love me," he finished.

"And that's why you love me. And why I'm not worth the trouble."

With the worst of his anger burned off, Scrooge closed his eyes for a count and took some deep breaths himself. When he opened them, Goldie's retreating figure was on the move, almost to the end of the pool their camp was next to. "Wha- Are you serious?!" he yelled after her, his feet already in pursuit.

"Yes, but I was also serious about what I was saying before, if that helps!" she tossed back.

"Not when you're running off with my map!"

It didn't take long for Scrooge to catch her. With livid, moonstruck adrenaline motivating him, he managed to tackle her into the next clearing between the pools. They rolled across the ground, each pinning the other down several times, and Scrooge somehow reclaimed one of the map halves. When Goldie realized this, she sprung up in an attempt to get away and keep the other half safe from him. But just as soon as she had her balance back, she stepped and fell into one of the purple pools, unaware they had rolled that close to them.

"Goldie!"

The fall had shocked them both, but Goldie relaxed when she realized the pool wasn't that deep, only coming to her collarbone. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the water smelled faintly of blackberries and was warm enough to swim in, and even more so that she had managed to keep her hands, and thus the map, out of the water.

Scrooge scrambled onto his feet and over to the side of the pool, raising a hand to his chest when he saw that things were under control. "Bless me bagpipes, you're both okay."

"Both?!"

Realizing the error of his words, he tried to backpedal. "I- uh...I meant you mainly. You, Goldie, are okay. Good. Very good." He peered closer and adjusted his spectacles. "And, ah yes, the map also seems to be intact."

Goldie had to bite back a devilish grin as a new plan hatched in her mind. "Oh, you mean this map?" she taunted, waving the folded paper closer to the water's surface.

"You wouldn't..."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Scrooge held his breath as she dared to lower the map, just until the very tip of its corner dipped into the water. A violet hue fanned out from it.

A dangerous wak! tore its way from Scrooge's throat as he finally reached the last straw for her antics, both from the present evening and from over a hundred years ago. "Give me back my map!" he demanded, throwing his own half off to the side away from the water before jumping in the pool himself.

For a few long seconds, only the sound of thrashing water and the rush of the falls filled the air as they wrestled for Goldie's half. It was madness, pure aquatic, multicolored madness, in an attempt from both parties to simultaneously get the map and keep it dry.

It ended when Scrooge finally got his thumb and finger around the map, tugged it out of Goldie's hand, and tossed it over her shoulder to safety, trying not to wallow in the likelihood that it was dotted in purple now. He kept a hand on her other wrist to keep her from going after it, accompanied by a sharp "don't," before taking stock of just where their tussle had landed them.

Goldie was now pinned between him and the side of the pool, her free arm outstretched over the edge in a futile attempt to reach for their prize. Their clothes were soaked purple and clung to their feathers, casting them in a mystical glow, and their lungs begged for air after having to fight against the drag of the water against their garments. Drops of violet trailed down their necks in rivulets. Scrooge lowered her wrist into the water as she turned to face him and he backed off just enough to let her sink onto her feet again.

And just like that, she left him breathless.

The air was charged with electricity again, and Scrooge failed to swallow past it. At this proximity, all that he could focus on were Goldie's eyes and the way that the water's glow highlighted each individual shade of green in them with a glint of dazzling amethyst. How they watched him as her breath tickled his nerves, waiting for his next move. Daring him to make it.

Whether his free hand cupped her face or his beak crashed into hers first, Scrooge couldn't say. His grip on her wrist loosened and transferred to her hip, and both her hands ran up his chest to play with his shoulders, neck, whiskers. He leaned back and pulled her with him further into the pool and closer to the falls, letting momentum carry them both the rest of the way. Anything to prolong the feeling that they were soaring in the clouds above their own secret world.

When they parted to catch their breaths, an unspoken revelation rose up between them. The hesitation that had haunted them around the fire was gone now. Goldie no longer had the upper hand, but neither did Scrooge. Their guards were down, and whatever chapter waited for them next in their lives, they wanted it. Together.

Goldie smirked, even as carefree desire danced in her eyes. "So, still think I'm trouble?" she challenged.

After taking the time to brush back a few stray strands of hair that had fallen into her face, Scrooge replied, "I'm sure of it." He caught her beak for a few more swift, successive kisses, before leveling her with a dreamy, honest gaze. "But you're worth every second."