#LIKE SURE ITS RIGHT WHEN THEIR LIFE IS IN THE GREATEST PERIL BUT... THE LOVE EACHOTHER GUYS....

[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Sparked (part 3)

“Well, then a lot of bonds will be formed on this journey.” They both giggled, not needing to explain any further- almost everyone knew of all the romance going on in their camp. “Aye, but that is testing, is it not, not truly bonding?” Elwë said softly. “I mean, how are you supposed to know if you are drawn to a nís or a nér if you don’t know how you feel when things get more intimate? I could not tell for myself, certainly.” “Lucky Lord Enel can’t hear you speak now.” Mablung pointed out with a barely suppressed chuckle in his voice, and watched Elwë wince at the very thought. “But I agree. One could argue, though, that it needs no testing, that you’d recognise your love when meeting them, regardless of their sex? And that maybe it only feels to you like one needs to know in advance because you feel you have to push any thought of bonding away from you right now? That you cannot even give in to the idea of feeling for anyone so deeply?” Elwë regarded Mablung for a while, looking at him in something like admiration. “You have a wisdom far beyond your years, Mablung.” he said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll find out one day. But be that as it may, I am truly glad to have you as my friend. And not just because you already give more solid advise when it comes to love than most adults.” Mablung smiled even as a strange sensation welled up in his chest. He looked at the firelight dancing on Elwë’s silver hair, and inwardly sighed. If only he could give himself such solid advise, for try as he may, he could not have denied his feelings towards Elwë had his life depended on it. As he lay by the dying fire later, Mablung tried to recall exactly when the admiration he had always felt for both Elwë and Finwë had turned into more, if indeed seeing Elwë leave Cuiviénen to venture into the unknown had been the turning point. True, what he had felt then had been something quite apart from admiration, but rather sympathy and a feeling of dread. He had very much feared for all three ambassadors, and his thoughts had ever been on them, though he had stopped voicing them after his parents started to be concerned. They had told him that he was too young to shoulder such sorrow, and that trying to make everyone well was impossible, most of all for a child so young. Despite his parents counsel, Mablung had started to spend much time with Elmo, and before long, they had truly become friends. Mablung would make sure that Elmo joined their games rather than sit alone, and when the elfling would suddenly be overcome by tears in the middle of even the most joyful games, Mablung would comfort him. Mostly, that was due simply to Mablung’s nature and his friendship to Elmo, but a small part of him also felt that this was something he could actually do for Elwë. The day Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë had at last returned to them had been one filled with joy and wonder. Changed they were indeed, a light shining in their eyes that faintly recalled that which shone in Lord Oromë’s, and they had been dressed in fine raiments that had sent Míriel into fits of excitement. Mablung chuckled at the thought even now, and how they had all teased them about Míriel being happier about Finwë’s clothes than his safe return. But the moment that really stood out clearest in his memory was of Elmo running at his brother, blinded by tears, and of Elwë kneeling down in the gras regardless of his fine garments and enclosing Elmo in his embrace. Somewhere between then and now, all those emotions had mingled into a true and deep love, and young though he was, Mablung knew in his heart that this love would be at once his greatest treasure and gravest peril.

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 29: NAPOLEON’S PYRAMIDS (2007)

1. The introduction

Well, hello again, dear Citizens! Welcome back to Jacobin Fiction Convention because it is now back in session!

Okay, first I will get one thing out of the way. I’m doing much better than I did in summer, hence the decision to resume my reviews. And what better way to make a comeback than to get the promised things out of the way first?!

On that note, I introduce to you the topic of today’s meeting: “Napoleon’s Pyramids”, a novel in the adventure genre set in the Egyptian campaign. Now, Directory years don’t have a good reputation in the Frev community, but technically those years are still officially Frev, hence my decision to include this book in the Jacobin Fiction Convention category.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure some people in my audience already know it, but I LOVE adventure stories, so when I stumbled across this book on a quest to find more Frev/Napoleonic media to review, you can bet your ass that I got excited!

Also, its resemblance to an Indiana Jones story initially drew me in, as I used to like the first Indiana Jones movie as a kid (not so much now) so there is some nostalgia involved here as well.

Luckily for me, I managed to find the book in pdf format here:

Then I did more research and it’s available in Russian too, mainly online and sometimes in paperback form, so my fellow Russian speakers who aren’t good at English can find the Russian version!

Is it worth looking for though? Well, let’s find out.

This review is dedicated to @mamelukeraza .

2. The Summary

Here’s the summary from Amazon and, apparently, the back cover of the book:

What mystical secrets lie beneath the Great Pyramids?

The world changes for Ethan Gage—one-time assistant to the renowned Ben Franklin—on a night in post-revolutionary Paris, when he wins a mysterious medallion in a card game. Framed soon after for the murder of a prostitute and facing the grim prospect of either prison or death, the young expatriate American barely escapes France with his life—choosing instead to accompany the new emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, on his glorious mission to conquer Egypt. With Lord Nelson's fleet following close behind, Gage sets out on the adventure of a lifetime. And in a land of ancient wonder and mystery, with the help of a beautiful Macedonian slave, he will come to realize that the unusual prize he won at the gaming table may be the key to solving one of history's greatest and most perilous riddles: who built the Great Pyramids . . . and why?

By all accounts, this book should have been right up my alley! I mean, we have adventures, ancient artifacts, mysteries and clues! What could possibly go wrong?!

(Spoiler alert: A LOT. More on that later.)

3. The Story

First of all, I didn’t really like the beginning of the book, mostly because the narrator (Ethan Gage) really takes his precious ass time to dive into his backstory and explain how he ended up at a table playing that fateful card game. I’m talking about two pages of backstory before finally getting to the fucking point!

Don’t get me wrong, a proper introduction is important to me personally, but maybe my problem is the fact that I prefer to receive a character’s backstory over time, bit by bit. Otherwise it gets a bit too distracting for me, especially when Gage stops narrating to crank out a few pages of his damn autobiography before returning to the actual events at hand.

Also, unfortunately for this book, the comparisons to Indiana Jones don’t imply anything good here. It simply reads like an extremely predictable adventure story that desperately tries and fails to be engaging and fun while treating really old orientalist tropes like a checklist (mysterious Egypt, hot slave girls…). Even the cliffhanger ending is predictable as shit.

Moreover, there is almost no suspense. Gage either conveniently shoots his target or gets conveniently rescued all the time. In short, he always wins, which is not what should happen in a good story because most people get bored with heroes who always win.

Last but not least, too many coincidences and everyone being connected to the point where my suspension of disbelief just went right out the window.

At one point Ethan Gage randomly encounters Sidney Smith, for example. Also he gets rescued by Nelson after a naval battle. And in a later chapter it turns out that the Romani with whom Gage had to hide at one point were the ones who alerted Gage’s future allies in Egypt about his arrival. Very fucking believable.

At this point, this book may as well be a soap opera where all the heroes are somehow connected!

Speaking of heroes…

4. The Characters

I don’t like Ethan Gage. He’s basically a knockoff Indiana Jones crossbred with a Mary Sue. Perfect sharpshooter, womanizer, spy, adventurer, apprentice of Benjamin Franklin. He has a lot of skills and connections and not enough justification for having them.

Trust me, even the fact that he’s a Freemason wasn’t enough for me to justify the fact that he just HAPPENS to know a bunch of important people.

Other than that, he starts out as a typical lone adventurer with no family who enjoys gambling and the company of sex workers. I was half expecting him to go full James Bond and be an alcoholic too, but luckily it wasn’t that cliché.

The Macedonian slave mentioned in the summary, Astiza, is a slightly more interesting character, even though she’s not free from clichés. Starting out as a beautiful mysterious slave girl, she is revealed to know more than she lets on and has a knack for practicing magic. Also she is later revealed to have known the villain of the book… Welcome to Santa Barbara, folks!

As for the villain, Count Alessandro Silano is presented as this master manipulator and a looming threat who wants to harness whatever secrets the ancient secrets and/or powers this medallion can potentially provide. In reality, however, he’s more of a hammy movie villain who likes to monologue, has no positive traits whatsoever has the same ability to survive the impossible as Gage does. Or maybe they both can just respawn, I dunno.

Unfortunately, “cliché” and “flat” are the best adjectives to describe most original characters in the story. Gage’s friend, Antoine Talma, is your typical intrepid reporter but at least he’s more relatable than Gage; Ashraf, a Mameluke Gage captures, is just a loyal servant who is there to conveniently swoop in and rescue Gage Deus ex machina style, etc.

It’s basically modern clichés served under the “sauce” of the Frev setting.

By the way, Napoleon is there as well and he gives me the same vibes as the Nazi villains in the first Indiana Jones movie. He only cares about people who are useful to him, doesn’t give a shit about his troops and also wants to harness the abilities that medallion potentially can provide so he can use those powers to CONQUER THE WORLD!

Most other historical figures only have minor roles, but I’m glad we got cameos of people like Kléber, Vivant Denon and other military men and scientists who were actually part of that campaign.

5. The Setting

Unfortunately, even the descriptions of settings leave a lot to be desired. They’re just blander than stale bread and I’m not even sure how accurate they are. Probably inaccurate as fuck though, if I’m being honest…

Paris is this city of vices like brothels and gambling houses and this setting is hyperbolic like we’re in a noir detective story.

Egypt is a treasure trove of orientalist clichés - a land of mysteries, cruel people, beautiful women and wise scholars who may or may not dabble in magic. That being said, I liked the fact that the book took a sledgehammer to clichés about harems.

6. The Writing

Ooh boy, I have some complaints here too. Aside from the distractingly long backstory tidbits I already ranted about, that is.

For example, basic French grammar and spelling have clearly left the chat because there are characters whose last names are spelled d’Liberté and d’Bonneville (de is only turned into d’ before vowels or the letter “h”) and at one point there’s a hotel called Le Cocq instead of Coq (rooster). The book was written in 2007 so it’s not like the author couldn’t look up the words and basic grammar that I learned in fifth grade!

These may seem like tiny mistakes, but if the author didn’t bother to look up the basics, then this makes me concerned about other mistakes in the novel that I probably missed. So yeah, take everything in this with a grain (or a barrel) of salt.

Last but not least, this:

This is where General Dumas and General Desaix make a cameo. Now, it seems fine… except there’s no prior mention of them being present in this scene at all before they speak their lines so… did these two just randomly poof into existence or something?

Also, these two suffer from Delayed Introduction Syndrome ™️, which means we don’t find out who the fuck these men are until a few chapters later and we don’t get any descriptions of them before that either.

Why is this an issue? Well, other minor characters in the book do get a proper introduction and a brief description IMMEDIATELY or SHORTLY after being mentioned, so there is an inconsistency here, especially since some minor characters get TOO MUCH time dedicated to their descriptions despite the fact that they are not part of the main cast (d’Liberté in particular gets too much attention).

Also, some descriptions in the book are unintentionally funny, like a part where Gage compares a woman’s nipples poking out of her cleavage to soldiers sticking heads out of a trench. Yes, this is the real comparison in the book and it fucking cracked me up.

One thing I appreciate, however, is the fact that the narrative doesn’t shy away from describing gruesome injuries like traumatic amputations and sometimes the author does have the balls to permanently kill off an important character (said characters has a really gruesome death btw). I don’t mind blood and gore like this, but trigger warning just in case you’re more squeamish than me.

7. The Conclusion

All in all, instead of being a cool swashbuckling adventure, “Napoleon’s Pyramids” comes off as an Indiana Jones ripoff with clichés stacked onto one another like Jenga blocks, a cast of bland characters, mistakes that could be easily corrected by a few Internet searches and inconsistent writing.

Do I recommend it? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Please don’t waste your time on this novel.

Okay, with that said, it’s time to conclude today’s meeting of the Jacobin Fiction Convention.

Please stay tuned for updates on future reviews and stay safe.

Love,

Citizen Green Pixel

[redrobin-detective]

Ben 10 lore that exists in my heart regardless of canon

- Ben’s personality in his mid-late teens is a mix of his Alien Force and Omniverse self. On the surface, he’s very cheerful and kind even if he is a bit of arrogant showoff. He makes jokes and plays around and acts as if he isn’t bothered by the things in his life. Those who know him best understand a good portion of his outward confidence and cockiness is just a facade to cover up his insecurities and to project the ideal, effortless hero. While sometimes seen as immature, most beings know Ben 10 means business as he takes his unofficial job and people’s safety very seriously. He’s clever, adaptable, charismatic and empathetic which makes him a formidable opponent and a loyal friend. Doesn’t open up easily but if you get to him, he become so dearly attached. 

- Drinks smoothies so much for several reasons. Comfort food go brrr, reminds him of the good easy times with him Gwen and Kev. It’s also a light but generally nutritous food to give him energy for heroing. Anything too heavy and he’ll be puking (both from physical and emotional stress). Though he jokes about his mom’s health foods, his are a crazy concoction of add in proteins and vitamins/minerals bc he knows he’ll out and out collapse without it. (Still has on occasion bc boy still doesn’t eat right/enough)

- While Fame is exciting for him at first he soon begins to detest it. Not the fans, no, he can’t bring himself to hate the people who look up to him. But he hates the constant attention, that he can’t walk outside without being mobbed. the only place he feels safe is his hometown where most people are so used to him and his weirdness that they don’t react much anymore. Takes to wearing a cape and face shield when going out anywhere so he can actually get things done without being recognized and mobbed.

- Part of the reason Bellwood isn’t concerned with Ben is partially because ben’s been weird and alien for as long as they can remember but also many don’t realize how famous/powerful he is. Yeah that’s just Ben Tennyson over there, sometimes he turns into funny creatures- wait what do you MEAN he’s the savior of the universe?? He cried over a spilled smoothie the other day.

- Does mostly online schooling by the time he’s 15. At first he tries to do half day things to maintain something of a normal life but it quickly becomes overwhelming and dangerous him/the school. Finishes his GED early but the Plumbers and Azmuth make him take additional college level and alien courses to prepare him for his future role. Ben gripes but really does love learning all these things, especially on his terms (ADHD and stress + the public school system do not always go hand in hand). He’s a quick learner when he deems the information important and is made accessible to his learning needs.

- Ben definitely has ADHD speaking of which, it was nearly uncontrollable as a child bc his free-spirited parents didn’t believe in medicating. Ben convinced them he needed it and after some trial and error, found meds that worked. As he became more involved in heroics/growing up he had to change his medicine regimen (resulting in him being a bit more off the rails in OV) and needed antidepressants and therapy to manage it better. As an adult he has a whole litany of coping mechanisms (good and bad yes) and regularly checks in with his therapist and doctors to keep things under control. 

- Has a complicated relationship with his necrofriggian children. Considers himself their mother and worries after them. They too feel a connection to their parent despite this being unusual for their species. A few visit (some more than others) while they grow while others maintain distance. Ben never breathes a word of them to the media for fear of them being targeted. Still he keeps an eye on them and ensures all 14 mature to adulthood (another rarity for the species). Checks in every now and again with the ones who don’t want to see him and those that do. Two join the Plumbers and Ben is both proud and worried. His youngest becomes partners with Rook Ben.

- Just in general loves kids, they’re his favorite fans and while he’ll grumble at pushy adult fans he always smiles and kneels down for the little ones. Not so secretly wanted to have children of his own but knew it was a risk overall and used a lot of that energy with mentoring and teaching. Eventually had Kenny later in life (late 30s-40s) and was over the moon, becoming such a loving and doing parent or as much as he could be with his hectic schedule. 

- Omnitrix can’t come off, never has at any point since it first latched onto Ben’s arm. Azmuth tried and failed to get the device off, doesn’t let Ben know for many years as he feared the consequences. The watch loves and protects Ben even beyond it’s programming making him much more durable to damage and releasing energy charges when he’s threatened. Not even removing Ben’s arm would separate them. They’re stuck for life.

- Ben does have Anodite heritage but the Omnitrix actively suppresses it and uses the built up energy to power the transformations which is why ben is mostly unaffected by what should cause a massive energy drain on him. Theoretically if Ben learned to harness and safely use his Mana at an early age like Gwen he would have been fine but letting it build up without safe outlet meant activation would have killed him. Omnitrix Ben, however, went his whole life not knowing of his latent abilities and how the watch saved his life.

- Ben’s eyes get more green and glowy as time passes from the Omnitrix. At first they think its a trick of the light but by the time he’s an adult his eyes are pretty much glow in the dark. His veins light up too after long stretches of using the Omnitrix. Its vaguely unsettling to people who aren’t used to Ben.

- Max and the Earth Plumbers work so, so hard to keep teen Ben on Earth when half the universe is blowing up their comm lines asking for The Ben 10 to help with whatever problem of the day. Ben himself doesn’t quite understand when he’s younger the prestige and expectations on his shoulders. Max throws up a million and one roadblocks so Ben can live as normal a life as possible while he still can. Still, while doing that he Still overloads Ben with expectations and responsibilities on earth and beyond. He becomes a soldier again with Ben as their greatest weapon. He never forgave himself of losing sight of his grandson underneath the hero esp after Ben’s breakdown. 

- Rook partnership with Ben ends not long after Omniverse with his promotion to Magister. Ben tries to play it cool but the thought of another loved one/teammate leaving his tears him apart. Max revealing that Ben most likely wouldn’t get a new Plumber assigned partner since he’s almost an adult and won’t need it and Rook accidentally missing their last smoothie run due to a scheduling mishap causes Ben to snap and have the nervous breakdown that had been building for almost a decade. He completely loses it for a little while and needs to take an extended leave of absence from school and heroics that lasts about a year. Spends time recovering both on Earth and Galvan Prime, does some diplomatic training, learns about aliens, actually confronts the stress and loneliness of his life. He comes out the other side stronger but still fragile and exhausted.

- Ben’s above mentioned breakdown brings him closer to all his friends who didn’t quite realize the extent of Ben’s burden. Rook had been under the impression Ben didn’t like him all that much so the knowledge that his departure was the final straw for friend/hero’s collapse was shocking. Ben and Azmuth also become closer, the Galvan becoming fiercely protective of the boy seeing as his Earth family didn’t do well to keep him safe. It takes years for him to get over his anger at Max for putting so much on his grandchild. Ben makes more friends, in and out of the hero business, finally gets a therapist and gets some of his burdens eased a bit. It’s not a sure fire fix and Ben has several smaller breakdowns the rest of his life but its something.

- Azmuth was straight up suicidal before he met Ben for the first time. Ben gave him back hope for the universe and his ability to create items for peace not weapons. The boy infuriates him, frightens him, frustrates him but Azmuth cannot deny in his heart of hearts that he loves Ben dearly. He’s very upset at Ben’s breakdown and doesn’t know how to handle the worst of the initail outbursts. Azmuth talks Ben down from a suicide attempt. He reaches out to Ben that he Too felt overwhelmed by pressure, thought himself only good for war. Ben’s arrival in his life saved him and now he will do the same for Ben. It’s the first positive step forward in Ben’s recovery.

- For no other reason than I like it, Azmuth primarily refers to Ben as Benjamin (mostly to annoy the kid but he likes the way it sounds too) and Ben in softer, more serious moments. 

- Professor Paradox continues to flit in and out of Ben’s life. He says its because Ben is the most equipped to handle universal peril (true) but he’s also just very fond of the boy. Ben, existing in so many forms and having such importance also exists a beat outside of normal reality which Paradox identifies with. Ben is naturally attuned to time related problems because of this (instantly IDing Spanner as from the future before being told later deducing him to be his unborn son). Plus Ben named him, way back when. He’s just drawn to Ben.

- Adult Ben, while being seen as an impressively skilled fighter and champion, really has his strength as a universal diplomat of sorts. Based out of Earth, he helps mediate and defuse conflicts, advocate against tyranny and overall preserve peace and balance. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and sometimes is forced to become violent (and yes kill) but overall is regarded as a peacekeeper, something younger ben simply couldn’t understand. 

- Gwen gets her degree and primarily does work with advocacy and teaching about magic/alien culture. While she and Ben are still close, there’s a bit of a frustrated divide in that she isn’t helping him share the burden of the universe. Gwen never wanted to be a hero and has enough worth to not shackle herself to a job that’ll burn her out. Ben loves heroing but gives too much of himself away trying to fix everything. They get into screaming arguments that it wouldn’t be so bad out there if she just helped him but she refuses to budge and says he shouldn’t make himself do so much. They always make up and thy still are each other’s closest relationships.

- Ben marries Kai in a political move, Kai is Asexual and Ben Aromantic. They didn’t love each other but they got on well enough and Ben was really feeling the stress of carrying the hero burden so Kai also being involved made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Both were also so tired of the universe constantly asking about their love life and said ‘fuck it we’re married leave us alone’. Gwen was always mad about it feeling Ben deserved better but the two of them were happy with it. They had separate rooms, mostly separate lives but they became strong friends and supports with their strictly platonic marriage. They had Ken via Invitro in an incubator and were loving if extremely busy parents. 

- Also from the moment he appeared, Ben knew that Spanner was his future son, Kenny. He played ignorant and then was kind of deliberately teasing him in future encounters. He knew the rules of time and didn’t want to disrupt things further even if he was angry and worried as heck about why Ken felt the need to time travel. When future Ben catches up in the timeline, Kenny gets SUCH a lecture. 

- Ben isn’t quite immortal but he’s also not entirely human anymore either. The Omnitrix not only keeps him safe from most harm but it lightens the effect of aging. Ben 10 is active many, many years when most humans would have been forced to retire. He’s not sure how long the watch will keep him alive and it terrifies him. Gwen too is functionally immortal however she ages like a normal human, then when her natural death came, shed her skin and became a fulltime Anodite. So in the end, it was her and Ben together wondering which of them will die first. Gwen has trouble retaining her humanity as pure energy and swears she’ll let herself fizzle out when Ben goes. When that’ll be however...

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: DramioneFanfictionWriters (Part 4)

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Famous Shakespeare Lines, February 2021:

Short Life For A Daffodil by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Hermione and Draco have a wild daughter who likes to pull up daffodils and frustrate her parents, but the duo wouldn't be without their children.

Friends Dont by Lostinthenightrain - T, one-shot - "You don’t choose who you fall for!” “No, because I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing here now would I?” Hermione mourns the loss of a relationship.

The Malfoy Mistress by ThebeMoon - M, one-shot - Unable to bear the sight of Bellatrix carving into Hermione Granger at Malfoy Manor, Draco Malfoy whisks his hated former schoolmate to safety. He should have known better.

Rules of Engagement by Art3misiA - T, one-shot - Lucius just had to be difficult about the idea of Draco and Hermione getting married. Will Draco and Hermione allow him to throw his weight around, or will they bring him to heel?

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Popular 90's TV Shows, March 2021:

The Death of Theo Nott by Lostinthenightrain - T, one-shot - “Hermione.” Her head whipped up to see the broken expression in Draco’s eyes. “He wouldn’t kill himself.”

The Night of the Rats by rennaissance_woman - not rated, one-shot - What happens when a prank war goes too far?

Perfect Harmony by Talonwillow (TalonWillow) - T, one-shot -Professor Slughorn's star Potions pupil Hermione was tired of being the ugly duckling, so she created a potion that would transform her into a beautiful swan. Everyone seemed to like the shiny new version of her... Well, except for herself and maybe one other. Would Draco Malfoy convince her that what everyone else was seeing was what he saw every day, and would Hermione finally be able to live in Perfect Harmony?

Dramione Go Star Trekking by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Riker has made a pass at Hermione and she doesn't quite know how to deal with it.

Bloody Colonials by Maira - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger has had a long week, and the last thing she wants to do is leave the comfort of her home. But when her best friend asks for her help in dealing with a possible cursed object, what can she do but help? Brownies, Potion-making robe etiquette, and a cursed Nigerian mask all add up to a typical night at Hogwarts. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal challenge.

The Latest Teenage Drama by Art3misiA - T, one-shot - Teenagers. Gotta love em. Teenage dramas? Not so much. Draco and Hermione navigate the perils of unwanted teenage behaviour - 90s family sitcom style.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Around the World, April 2021:

The Assignment by Art3misiA - G, one-shot - Hermione and Draco, Aurors, have been sent to Cape Town on a top secret assignment - to track down a former Death Eater.

Finding Them by KrysKrossZee - T, WIP - After not finding her parents in Austrailia, Hermione enlists Draco's help and the two make their way to Vancouver when they have a new lead.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: The Language of Flowers, May 2021:

Spilled Ink by Maira - M, one-shot - It's nearly Christmas, and things aren't great. Draco Malfoy is still on house arrest due to the Wizengamot being a bag of dicks. Hermione Granger is out of the country on a job, which means he won't see her for a few weeks. And to top it all off, Hermione has sent Draco a plant. A green, spiky plant, for no reason that he can fathom. Oh, and a spelled journal that he's now supposed to write in. Because nothing could possibly go wrong with that plan. Written for the DFW Deal or No Deal Challenge!

Forever by Art3misiA - M, one-shot - Though they may be gone, our memories of them remain forever.

The Little Things by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - When Hermione buys Draco a cup of coffee and leaves it on his desk, it throws Draco through a loop and he wonders what he should get her in exchange.

The Climbing Vine by rennaissance_woman - not rated, one-shot - After receiving some startling news, Draco runs out of the house. He receives some advice from a surprising source.

Changing of the Seasons by Lostinthenightrain - M, one-shot - Hermione & Draco find a local park and two unlikely faces to greet them.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Draco's Birthday Soundtrack, June 2021:

Straight to the Heart by AdAsttra - T, one-shot - Draco's ready to tell Hermione how he feels, but Cupid has other ideas.

Stick Around by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Hermione doesn't know why Draco is the only one who makes her feel safe, but she is glad that she is able to get some reprieve from her brain.

Wild and Wired by Maira - M, one-shot - Need your lovin' here beside me, Need it close enough to guide me, I've been hopin' you would find me, You're the biggest part of me. - Hermione was expecting a fun night out with her boyfriend and her friends. She was not expecting ice cubes, sick ponies, and a serenade beautiful enough to melt her heart. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal challenge.

Let's Get Serious (Please, for the Love of Merlin!) by Art3misiA - G, one-shot - Draco wants to get serious, but Hermione isn't so sure. Will their opposing views make or break them?

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Magical Monsters, July 2021:

There's A Zouwu In My Basement by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - When a creature has broken into the Malfoy Manor dungeon, Draco has to call for help.

Miseria by crochetaway - T, one-shot - Hermione tames a Dementor.

Aegis by Maira - M, one-shot - Their world is in ruins, and their only protection against creatures wanting to kill them is about to fall. They make a plan to trek across the country to Hogwarts, where others have gathered to make a new home within the castle. There, they will be safe. One problem - before they go, there's a queen to kill. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal Challenge.

Fear & Desire by myladymay - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy wants to change his life. He returns to Hogwarts for Eighth Year and finds himself confronted with both his biggest fear and greatest desire, all wrapped up in a Gryffindor tie.

Innocent Monsters by itscometothis - T, 12 chapters - Draco Malfoy thought he had reasonable expectations for his mandatory Eighth Year at Hogwarts, where he would be confined to the grounds as part of his probation. Isolation, hatred, and passing his NEWTs were really all he had in mind. What he wasn't anticipating: 1) Having a small firstie latch onto him like a bloody koala 2) Said firstie adopting an erkling as if they didn’t feed on children. To protect his little nuisance, he’ll have to seek help from uncomfortable places, including the Swottiest Witch of Her Age. Joy of all joys.

Transformed by Art3misiA - T, one-shot - Draco and Charlie have a dragon to catch, and time is running out. Meanwhile, Hermione is missing, adding to Draco's woes.

DFW's Deal or No Deal: Legendary Duos, August 2021:

Three's a crowd, four's trouble by AnnaRitaLi - M, WIP - p>My sister is right. My life did change that evening. I just don't think Rosalind meant for me to steal her boyfriend, or I don't think I stole him, Draco, not precisely. You cannot steal something that doesn't want to be whisked away. That's my experience, at least, and I've stolen quite a few things over the years. So I can say this with confidence. You can't lose something you never had. But you’ll have to read it in the book, dear. While the Crown doesn’t wish for me to speak out in public, I have been silent for too long. You see, There were three of us in this marriage. And people, the press, have assumed many things over the years about Draco and me. So this book, as you’ll see, it’s my attempt to set the record straight. Yes, there were three of us in this marriage, but there were also much more going on than that. -- This is the story the Crown never wanted to get out. In other words, I bring you the x-rated version of the book ‘Diana - her true story - in her own words’.’ It’s the Dramione as Charles & Diana AU you didn't know you needed.

The Marquess and the Kitchen Girl by Art3misiA - E, 8 chapters - Draco Malfoy is the son of the most powerful Duke in Wiltshire. One day, he will be the ruler of a large duchy. Hermione Granger lives happily with her parents - that is, until tragedy strikes. Two children will become friends, and gradually discover a forbidden love that seems as if it might one day defy the odds. Alas, this is a tale of doomed lovers.

In Her Arms by KrysKrossZee - M, one-shot - Draco's worked his way up through Voldemort's ranks but it would seem that all of his work has been for nothing when Dolohov captures a new prisoner.

The Happiness I Seek by Maira - M, one-shot - To those without a soulmate, the world is devoid of colour. They say that if you are lucky enough to meet your soulmate, everything changes. The world is brighter, food is richer, and you find a love you never knew you needed. Draco Malfoy has never been lucky. Written for the DFW's Deal or No Deal challenge.

darling! by itscometothis - M, one-shot - When Draco and Hermione are invited to help demonstrate a path forward for Wizarding Britain and its reconciliation, neither really feel like they can refuse - Hermione for moral reasons and Draco for practical ones (read: Azkaban sounds bad). But they have very different ideas on how to play up this fake relationship. Written for DFW's Deal or No Deal: Legendary Duos - Kermit and Ms. Piggy. It's as ridiculous as you expect.

A Thousand Ships by floorcoaster - M, WIP - Draco Malfoy knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to reach out and take it.

Quiet My Demons by Lostinthenightrain - M, one-shot - “Unhappy, darling?” He murmured, his cigar placed on its resting dish, dashed out - a little puff of smoke rising into the air between them before disappearing. “Yes, completely.”

I Love Draco by crochetaway - G, one-shot - A few slice of life scenes with Hermione, Draco, and Scorpius ala I Love Lucy style!

DFW's Deal or No Deal: The Final Word, September 2021:

Crime & Punishment by itscometothis - T, 12 chapters - TRIAL TRANSCRIPT OF DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY IS FORMALLY CHARGED WITH THE FOLLOWING: CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER AIDING AND ABETTING A MURDER USE OF UNFORGIVABLE CURSES: IMPERIUS (2 COUNTS) USE OF UNFORGIVABLE CURSES: CRUCIATUS (47 COUNTS) PARTICIPATING IN A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION -- I don’t regret hoping. I thought I might, at the beginning, do you remember? But I don’t. I regret nothing about you, my love. Eternally yours, Draco -- A story of hope, punishment, and the nature of justice told in trial transcripts, visits in an interrogation room, and letters.

Boats Against the Current by AlannaTCooper - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is trying to escape his past by running as far away as he can. But the past - and his nightmares - keep pulling him backwards.

By His Side by KrysKrossZee - T, one-shot - Hermione is lonely but there's at least one person who can break through her loneliness.

Trying To Live by IzzieStellar - T, one-shot - After her husband dies, Hermione can’t seem to remember how to live and her friends vow to help her.

In the Dead of Night by AdAsttra - G, one-shot - Hermione and Draco are some of the last people to leave Hogwarts under the veil of a cold, dark night.

This fest is ongoing.

[elvish-sky]

Hope {Aragorn x Reader}

A.N: So no prompts done today cause I was working on this, but I’m proud of it and will get right on prompts tomorrow! This is the completely reader-insert version! I honestly had so much fun writing it and am honored that this person wanted me to do so. I hope y’all like it!

Requested by @ask-the-elf-stuff on Tumblr

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 1,799

Warnings: Kissing, fluff, the smallest bit of angst.

****

Hope

“You’re really leaving?” You gazed into Aragorn’s eyes, hoping that it wasn’t true.

    “I have to, Y/N. The fate of Middle-Earth depends on it.”

Your head dipped in understanding, but also sadness. 

“Do not fear. I will return.” He cupped your chin with his hand, tilting your head and kissing you. It was a light kiss, nothing like the others you had shared before. This kiss was the hope that you’d see each other again.

Breaking away, you forced a smile as you hugged him, trying not to cry. Stepping back, you waved as he followed the rest of the newly formed Fellowship through the gates of Imladris. Your father stood next to you, and as Aragorn passed through the gates Elrond drew you into his side. 

“He’ll be back, hína (child),” Elrond said as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you rested your head on your father’s shoulder as you watched the man depart.

Weeks later, you were pacing your room, determined to do something. Arwen stopped short in the doorway as she saw you pack open on your bed as you shoved things inside.

     “Y/N? What are you doing?”

“I do not know why, but I have felt a pull to follow. An ache, almost painful in its strength, has settled inside me and so I knew I must follow. We have not heard from the Fellowship in weeks, Aragorn could be hurt, or someone else could be, or he could be,” your voice broke, “dead.

The elf nodded in understanding. “The ache is telling you to be with the one you love.”

She then clasped your hand. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You looked at her, unshed tears of worry clear in your eyes.

“If he was dead, you’d feel it. And I know as your sister I should be telling you not to go, but I cannot help but notice the pain you’ve been in these last weeks. So go, find him.” She spread a map out onto a small table nearby, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you just carry that everywhere?”

She shot you a look, and you quickly clammed up, peering over her shoulder as she pointed things out. 

“After crossing the mountains visit our grandmother in Lothlorien, the Fellowship had planned to pass through there, and she will know where they are.” 

You took it all in, remembering the route to Lothlorien from visits to your grandparents you had made before your mother went west. 

“Thank you, Arwen.” You smiled up at your sister.

She clasped your wrist before pulling away, placing her hands on your shoulders as she looked into your eyes. “Stay safe, Y/N.”

You nodded, shoving the last things into your pack before slinging it over your shoulders with your bow and quiver, daggers sheathed on your thighs, hugging your sister one last time before leaving your room.

   You strode down the hallway, dressed in leather hunting clothes as you made your way to the gates of Imladris. You had stopped by the kitchens to gather food supplies, making sure they thought you were only going for a hunting excursion. 

Entering the courtyard, you saw your father standing in the center, clearly waiting for you. Silently cursing Arwen, as you had hoped to slip away unnoticed, you made your way over to him.

“I should not let you do this.”

You frowned at his words, drawing breath to protest, but before you could Elrond spoke again.

“But you are free to go. I feel the ache and have felt it every day since your mother departed. I know that nothing but being with the one you love can ease that pain, and it would hurt me to know you are experiencing it. Go to Estel. I give you my blessing.” 

You hugged your father before turning and mounting your horse, brought from the stables. Turning to wave to your father one last time, you leaned down to whisper, “Let’s go, Daeroc. Let’s go find Aragorn.” The horse broke into a trot, and you left Imladris behind.

Weeks later, you led Daeroc into Lothlorien, waiting for the sentries to appear. One dropped down from a tree, and you smiled at him, recognizing the face.

“Haldir,” you greeted him with a smile.

“Y/N. It is good to see you again. I assume you are here to see the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn?”

You nodded, “Yes. I have not seen my grandparents in a long time. But before we go to them could you find someone to take care of Daeroc?”

Another elf came into view, nodding to you as she took the reins from your hands. 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her.

Later, you walked into the courtyard, bowing to your grandparents standing on the stairs above. 

“Y/N, my daughter’s daughter. What brings you here?” Galadriel smiled at you, descending the stairs with her husband to greet you, each clasping your wrist. 

“To see you, of course, and seek news of the Fellowship that I assume has passed through here.” 

Your grandmother smiled. “It seems you are in luck, for they are here as we speak.”

Your eyes widened. “But they should have been long gone by now. I wonder what has caused the delay?”

Celeborn’s face softened. “Then you do not know.”

“Know what?” You were beginning to grow quite worried. “What has happened?”

“They could not make it through the pass of Caradhras, so they turned and went through Moria, costing them the life of Mithrandir.”

You gasped, heart aching at the grief that must have caused them and the grief you now felt. 

“May I see them?” All you wanted now was to see your friends and the man you loved.

“Of course.” Galadriel beckoned you to follow her, and you did, softly conversing with your grandmother and updating her on the lives of her family in Imladris, as well as others she knew.

Stepping into the clearing, you turned to thank Galadriel, watching her fade from view behind you for a moment before continuing. 

There he was. Tall and handsome still, even grimy with dirt and dust from his travels. You debated casually walking up and greeting him more sedately, but watching him you just couldn’t hold back. All your elvish instincts left you, and you sprinted towards him, leaping into his shocked arms as kissing him for all you were worth. He kissed you back for a moment, and then pulled away, the surprise on his face clear.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you.”

His eyes widened. “You did?”

You smiled at him. “Of course I did, meleth.”

He smiled back at you, and drew you in for another kiss, hands holding you up as your legs wrapped around his waist. Deepening the kiss, he moved so your back was pressed against a tree and his hands were free to slide up your back, tangling in your hair as you lost yourselves in each other.

Sometime later, you sat with the rest of the Fellowship after the nighttime meal, talking. It was good to see them again, you had grown fond of all of them, even the dwarf, during their time in Imladris. But of course, the only person you really had eyes for that night was Aragorn, who sat next to you with an arm around your shoulders. 

Legolas had seemed puzzled with how comfortable you were with affection, it was rather un elf-like. You had explained to him that because of your father’s past, he was slightly more affectionate than a normal elf, and showed it. You hadn’t missed the wistful look on Legolas’ face as you spoke and recalled what you knew of his family, feeling sorry for him. 

Later that night, you sat by the dying embers of the fire alongside Legolas. Aragorn had gone with the hobbits to wash up, and Boromir and Gimli were sleeping, so it was just you and the elf.

“Legolas?” The older elf looked at you. 

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, and you continued, “I was just wondering, do you know of something like an ache? It began right after the Fellowship departed Imladris, and only subsided when I arrived here. What does it mean?”

He smiled. “Y/N. That was the bond between your soul and Aragorn’s, pulled taught with your fear of losing him. Now that you are reunited, it has gone because you are together. It is every elf’s greatest dream and worst fear to have that feeling.”

You smiled. “Have you?”

The pain in his eyes told you that maybe that was not something to be asked of others.

“I am not sure if it is in my destiny to ever feel that.” He gazed into the distance.

The two of you sat in easy silence for a long time, after that. 

“Y/N.” You turned to see Aragorn beckoning to you, and with a nod to Legolas, you rose.

“You do not have to come with us. It will be a journey of great peril, and I do not want to put you in that much danger.”

You gazed at him earnestly, “Aragorn. I shall be there when the crown is finally placed on your head. I shall be with you until the end.”

He smiled at you again and clasped your hand as you walked through the towering trees.

You had left Lothlorien the day after with the Fellowship, having officially joined up. Lots had happened after that, including almost dying with most of Middle-Earth, but months later, all was finally well. Frodo and Sam had destroyed the ring in Mordor, the forces of Mordor had collapsed along with the Black Gate, and today was the coronation of King Elessar, also known as Aragorn. 

You watched, standing next to Gimli on the dais, as Gandalf lowered the crown onto Aragorn’s head.

“Now come the days of the King!” Gandalf declared before Aragorn turned to face his kingdom. Everyone cheered as he stood there, silencing quickly as he spoke. His words were wise and sincere, and you couldn’t help but fall in love all over again. As petals began to fall, he started singing, the words quickly fading as he turned to you. 

You walked down to meet him at the bottom of the steps, gown trailing behind you. Once you reached him, he grabbed your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist as he dipped you into a spectacular kiss. Unlike the one you had shared in Imladris, this was not a kiss of sadness. This was a kiss of hope, peace, and promise. As the cheers rose around you again you knew that everything you had hoped for had come true.

Everything tag: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @wellofeternalthirst @kumqu4t @katbby16

[tyrantisterror]

I’m salty so fuck it

Let’s talk about how The Mandalorian does a better job of exploring the concept of “letting go of attachments” than anything George Lucas has ever had a hand in writing.  Spoilers for, like, all of it.

The protagonist of The Mandalorian is, from the moment we meet him, defined by his attachments, and for justifiable reasons.  Orphaned by war as a child, he was rescued and adopted by an orthodox religious group that follows a warrior’s creed - space vikings, essentially, with a bit of Samurai bushido sprinkled on for flavor.  He lost his family and home - they gave him a new family, a new home, and the training and tools to survive war and other extremely violent situations on his own if need be.  Why wouldn’t he be dedicated to that creed?  Why wouldn’t he idolize it - attach himself to it, if you will?

This attachment isolates him from others.  Because his is a warrior culture, the Mandalorian works as a mercenary - one of the few jobs where he can battle people to the death often without having to follow orders that contradict his creed.  But most people don’t want to associated with, you know, a murderer for hire, so he doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends.

Likewise, his fellow mercenaries don’t care for him much either.  Most make fun of his culture and traditions, viewing them as silly at best and weaknesses at worst.  Some are also envious to the point of contempt at how his special mandalorian gadgets and training give him an edge on them in the field.

Hell, even other Mandalorians don’t care for him that much.  Many of the followers of his sect accuse him of not truly living up to the creed because of the clients he is forced to take to make ends meet.  Mandalorians of other sects look down on him for following outdated traditions, while simultaneously sneering at him for not caring about the newer traditions they hold dear.

It’s such a consistent and important part of his identity that it’s hammered home by both his name and key visual.  The iconic Mandalorian helmet he wears, which his creed forbids him from ever removing in front of another living soul, hides his face.  We don’t learn his actual name until the end of the first season - all other characters refer to him as “the Mandalorian” or variations of that word.  His creed IS his identity to most people - his true self is hidden to all others.

Defined by his attachment.

And, as is necessary for a story about this idea, the conflict of the show arises when he develops a new attachment that conflicts with his old one.  The Mandalorian is paid by remnants of the Empire to track down and capture a person, who turns out to be a child.  A child orphaned by war, who is in peril and likely doomed to die unless someone intervenes.

Is it any surprise, then, that he immediately becomes attached to this child?

But this is a conflict, both to his status as a respectable and honest mercenary, and, relatedly but more importantly, to his Mandalorian creed - as by creed, this child, his prey, is his enemy.  Helping the child is dishonorable - it puts him and his people in danger, and it puts his honor into question.

The Mandalorian is faced with a choice similar to those faced by Luke Skywalker and Anakin: do you follow the philosophy of an ancient group of warriors who saved your life, or do you save one person you love at the possible expense of countless other lives?

He, like any good person, chooses the second option.  He betrays his employers and rescues the kid.  The employers, of course, try to get the kid back, and this results in a whole TV series full of violence that ensues as a result of this choice, with many innocent people dying as a result.  Hell, the first victims are most of the members of the Mandalorian’s sect - they choose to come to his aid depsite previous misgivings, and are almost entirely slaughtered to a man as a result.

Now, in a George Lucas helmed Star Wars story, the Mandalorian would be chastised for choosing the second option.  In a choice between one life and several, a George Lucas Star Wars story says “choose the needs of the many, asshole” every time*.  “Let IG-11 cap the little bastard, you should have,” Master Yoda would say.

*well ok except for Return of the Jedi, but still

Hell, in season two we even have a character make basically this argument, albeit briefly.  Boba Fett, a fellow mercenary who encounters the Mandalorian - one whose father once followed the same creed, but who himself says, “I give my allegiance to no one” when asked if he follows it, and thus defines himself as being, well, unattached to anyone or any creed - suggests killing the child when the Empire captures him beyond hope of immediate rescue, as it would end the conflict and deny the villains their prize.

But, pragmatic as that is, it’s also, well... you know... saying we should kill a fucking child, which is kinda fucking evil, right?

Right?!!

Instead, the Mandalorian and indeed, most if not all of the good people he encounters on his journeys, chooses to risk all in the effort to save this child.  The process forces the Mandalorian to consistently abandon parts of his identity that he is attached to.  He begins the series hating robots (they killed his family, it’s a whole situation), but he puts that hatred aside when one particular robot proves vital to the child’s safety, to the point where that robot is the first character to see his face since he put on the helmet.  By abandoning that hatred, he finally found someone - a mechanical someone, sure, but someone - who could see who he truly is, and his life is saved because of it.

He is told to see out the Jedi, who are historically enemies of his people (of course they are, the fuckers let children die all the time) because only a Jedi can help the child hone its powers while keeping it safe.  Despite the peril, he does so.  He encounter unorthodox Mandalorians who, by the version of the creed he follows, would be excommunicated for their heresy - and after some misgiving, accepts them because he needs their help to save the child.  He lets a former enemy see his face, one of the greatest heresies in his creed, because doing so was necessary to save the child.

And, in the end of season two, he lets go of the strongest attachment of all.  When a Jedi finally comes to take the child - a child the Mandalorian has grown to love like a son, the only family he still has - the Mandalorian allows the child to go.  Because as much as he loves the child, as attached as he is to it, he knows it is better for the child to be with the Jedi than with him.  

That’s how you write a story about letting go of attachments without coming off like a selfish fucking asshole.

[the-littlest-goblin]

Shadowgast prompt: Essek was spying on the dinner convo with Trent (shhhh I know he probably has anti scrying wards all over that tower but idc), his reactions to hearing Trent justifying his abuse as love (maybe with thoughts about his own family situation?)

It’s angst time, folks.

______________________________________________________________

The first time, he was able to justify it to himself.

He didn’t want to contact any of the Mighty Nein directly, not with how they had left things, but he still had to know they were ok. He had to. 

He told himself that he would cast the spell just to test that it reached its target, to confirm they were alive. Maybe a quick peek to make sure they weren’t in immediate peril. Perfectly fine, not an invasion of privacy. 

The next few times were… less defensible. 

It became a pattern: Scry on one of them. Reassure himself that they were all alive. Vow not to do it again. Spend another week with a stifled fear whispering at the back of his mind, growing louder each passing day that was not interrupted by a cheery voice invading his mind with some inane message. Give in. Scry again.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to cast it on Caleb this time. A previous scry confirmed that Caleb no longer wears his anti-detection amulet, but even without it, he was able to resist when Essek attempted to spy on him directly. He should pick a surer target, or risk wasting the spell.

But Caleb remains his focus as he completes the incantation, and miracle of miracles, he feels his magic break through Caleb’s mental defenses a split-second before the scry overtakes his vision.

There are flashes of a bustling city, Empire architecture everywhere. The spell homes in on an imposing wizard’s tower and then zooms into a room inside, crystallizing on a red-haired figure seated at a lavish dining table.

Caleb is wearing the same finery he sported in Nicodranas on that night, and the sight of it sends an uncomfortable jolt through Essek. He shoves the memories aside. Focus. This is a spell that requires full concentration.

From the blurred edges of the scry, a voice reaches Essek’s ears—a sickening, familiar voice.

“...the prodigy I always knew he was. While some students take direct tutelage and study, some are unique in how they best develop: through self-discovery, others inspired through hardship.”

Trent is seated a few feet away from Caleb, far enough that he is barely a blur of pale skin and dark robe in Essek’s vision. Regardless, his insipid voice is recognizable enough on its own, with or without the unfortunate visage that normally accompanies it.

Essek feels his mouth curl uncontrollably into a sneer as Trent continues in the course of whatever it is he’s monologuing about this time.

"Historically, the most talented mages have indeed walked this path, or the greatest ambitions come from those who have endured the dark and crawled their way back."

Veth, her form equally hazy as Ikithon’s, pipes up from the other side of the table, “So you're apologizing, then?”

Beau responds, her tone and diction unmistakable even though her visual is fully out of the limits of Essek’s scry. “No, it sounds like he's trying to take fucking credit.”

Apologizing for what? Taking credit for what? Curiosity bubbles up in Essek, insatiable and undeniable.

Through all this, Caleb is the only clear thing he can see, and Essek watches as his face contorts itself in pain—not the wailing, open-mouthed countenance of physical injury, but the subdued, tight-lipped expression of internal anguish. He is looking in Trent’s direction.

There is misery behind his eyes. There is also hatred.

Trent is speaking again. 

"Forgive me, Bren.” Essek’s brain does a momentary double-take at the unfamiliar name, but it doesn’t take much to put the pieces together. 

"I could see your gifts, and your faults and limitations. To truly grow, you needed to be broken and left to build yourself. It took longer than we anticipated, but when you were ready, we turned on the light and showed you the door."

Without more context, it is impossible to fully understand this conversation, even for someone as shrewd as Essek. But though he does not know the exact nature of Caleb and Trent’s history, or what it means when Trent produces a symbol of the Arch Heart, or why Caleb appears even more distraught when he looks at it, Essek can still recognize the dynamics at play here. A slimy, squirming disgust curls in his gut, like the unctuous voice of Trent made manifest.

I understand the pressure of being young, and the expectation. Caleb had said this to him once, a thousand years ago, on the happiest night of Essek’s life. He had sensed the kinship between them long before that, the shared spark of brilliance, of curiosity, of a life shaped by cruelly pragmatic hands. 

He had replied, Experience is what hardens you, prepares you for the worst. I think you're prepared for more than you give yourself credit for, Caleb. He knows now, with absolute certainty, that he was correct. Yet another thing they have in common.

Trent is still talking. "And I cannot tell you how proud of you I am—we are. And I know you hate me, Bren. Hate what I've put you through, and I accept those feelings. For it was a hard choice for me to make. What I did, though, I did out of love."

There’s an immediate scoff—Jester, Essek thinks, though it’s hard to tell. Whoever it was, Essek wholeheartedly agrees.

No one who claims that their actions were done out of love has ever said so sincerely. If they have to justify it as such, then it wasn’t real love. Essek knows this for certain, having been on both sides of the matter, and also finally understanding what real love actually looks like.

He’s heard selfishness pitched as altruism, cruelty twisted to sound like mercy, has had as much said to his face by those who claim to love him, but whom he fully believes care nothing for him beyond his abilities and the services he can provide. The greater good has been invoked in the name of so many evil acts throughout history.

Which is exactly why he has never tried to delude himself, or others, that his own terrible deeds were done out of good intentions. Anything can sound justified with the right turns of phrase; that is half his job as the Shadowhand. That doesn’t make any of it true, or make the perpetrator any less blameworthy.

“To what end? To use me?” Caleb asks. Essek can’t help but admire the steady strength of his voice, though he knows he has no right to the pride that fills his chest at hearing it.

"No, to show you what you are capable of.” Trent’s voice is full of intensity, sounding almost desperate to make Caleb understand. "It was your parents' wish when I told them of the spark that I saw within you. They asked me to do whatever it took to help you realize it, for the glory of your family, and for the Empire.”

For the Den, Essek. For the Dynasty. How many times has he heard appeals to family and legacy and patriotism? From the Queen ordering her soldiers to battle; from the Umavi demanding nothing short of perfection from her children, whatever is takes to achieve it. How would they feel, to know their most detested enemies use indistinguishable rhetoric?

“I did just that, as much as it hurt to hurt you. It is the greater man who puts the needs of others over himself, Bren. And this nation needs you."

With that, Essek’s vision fades into black as the scry reaches its end. The image of Caleb’s pained expression stays imprinted behind his eyelids even as he blinks them open back to his candlelit laboratory. 

The sick feeling does not dissipate. It is joined by the sour taste of bile in the back of Essek’s mouth as his mind replays pieces of what he heard over and over again.

It’s not verbatim what’s been said to him in the past, but it comes from the same crop of manipulation.

There is nothing Essek can do to help Caleb, nothing whatsoever. Despite this, a part of him yearns to teleport to Rexxentrum right this second, damn the chances of a mishap, and damn the fact that if he arrives in the Empire successfully, he is sure to be arrested or killed on sight.

What ultimately shuts the impulse down is reminding himself that, even if he could get there and evade capture, it is highly unlikely that Caleb would be happy to see him.

He really hopes the Mighty Nein send him a message soon.

[honeylikewords]

jack daniels ship questions!

(Remember that ship questions prompt list I posted a while back? Here are all of those prompts, filled out for Jack and his wife! Hope you guys enjoy! Content Warnings: Not much to speak of, but some mentions of conceptual peril, Jack’s latent PSTD-linked behaviors, pregnancy. Word count is 6.8k. )

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

There are plenty of good options for this, but I prefer to imagine that Jack and his future wife met at work; the New York Statesman office is a functioning business, after all, and would therefore hold many people in its employ. Though Jack may be deployed to the field every now and then, he’s actually used surprisingly sparingly, and spends a great deal of his time actually working at the New York headquarters at a very real job as a chairman of the board for the company. His future wife worked on the same floor of the building in marketing, and the two of them crossed paths often, both in corporate meetings and just out and about in the halls of the building. 

What was their first impression of each other?

Jack immediately was drawn to her after hearing her speak up during a meeting; she’d been sent in as one of the marketing presenters and had a wonderful breadth of ideas for the company, and he was charmed by her warm presence, intelligent voice, and sweet manner. His first impression was deeply positive, and he spent the rest of the meeting eyeing her curiously, his tanned cheeks flushed with pleasure at being able to watch her shift her files around and toy with her hair as she listened to other speakers and nodded along: she was very, very pretty in exactly his kind of way, and he liked that very, very much.

Her first impression of him was, contrastingly, rather fearful; she knew him only as “Mister Daniels”, and had only heard of him through memos and word of mouth around the office. When she was called in to speak to some of the board members, she was petrified with anxiety at the idea of slipping up in front of such important people and, in fact, barely noticed Jack the first time they shared a boardroom: she was so nervous about getting everything right and speaking clearly and conveying the correct information that he sort of blurred with all the other execs and suits. That said, she did notice him watching her throughout the meeting, and any time their eyes met (and he often smiled at her when they did), she became acutely aware of just how handsome he was; his features striking, his mannerisms coolly lackadaisical, his posture wide and relaxed, his deep brown eyes smoldering under a firm brow as he flashed her a sharp smile. No wonder his name flew around the office so much.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Nobody really knew, frankly: Jack has no family to speak of, and not that many friends, either. For someone so charming and socially adept, Jack is surprisingly something of a loner, and tells very few people anything about himself, much less about his feelings or attachments. Literally nobody knew that he was developing feelings for her, much less was intent on pursuing those feelings and manifesting them into a relationship, and he liked the privacy of that.

Likewise, she didn’t mention her growing infatuation with him to anyone, particularly because it would be so embarrassing: if word got out around the office that she was making eyes at a higher-up, it’d seem deeply unprofessional. Besides, she wasn’t really close friends with anyone at the office and they didn’t need to know, especially when she believed that her feelings couldn’t possibly be returned. 

Who felt romantic feelings first?

Jack. He may not seem like the type, but when he falls in love, it hits him like a train: hard, fast, and unforgiving. It knocked him off his feet and flat onto his ass, and he didn’t mind a bit. The only hard part was keeping it a secret from her for so long!

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Big time. Jack felt it would be inappropriate to make a pass at her at all-- his gentlemanly nature insisted he was only to subtly imply his feelings for her, but otherwise treat her with ladylike gentleness and cordiality-- especially when he did hold some sway in the office, and that could be misinterpreted as, well, something unsavory. He tried hard to push the feelings down, to make them quieter and less intrusive, but he couldn’t help growing more and more attached to her, particularly when they ended up spending more and more time together as coworkers. Every new side of her that he saw made him fall more hopelessly off the steep cliff’s edge of adoration, and he barely had the willpower to hold on to propriety. Still, he did his damnedest! 

Similarly, she resisted a great deal; how embarrassing would it be for her to try and flirt with a man so far out of her league, and so far up the ladder from her rung? It’d kill her, socially and in terms of her career, to make a faux pas like that, so she kept the feelings bottled up deep, deep inside herself. Still, whenever he smiled at her or went out of his way to be so intoxicatingly gentlemanly towards her, she found herself swooning; sure, maybe he treats all the girls like this. Maybe he’s just a well-raised man. But she still couldn’t resist the inkling that, maybe, just maybe, he was particularly fond of her; even if it was just a girlish fantasy, it made her heart race to imagine him harboring some secret affection for her, and, as she would later find out, that fantasy ended up being more than a little factual.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

Jack is a sucker for the idea of soulmates. He fully believes in commitments of the heart, body and soul, and would be utterly unsurprised to know that the woman he’d given his heart to so wholly was his soulmate. He may talk a lot of big game and posture all the live-long day about pleasing women and seeing “the whole doughnut”, but that’s just pretense: Jack’s a one-woman man, and he’s happy to pledge himself as her soulmate. More than happy.

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Jack, presumably, would have continued his work without ever knowing there was something missing, but would be distinctly less engaged in the office, sharply unhappy, and would have been more inclined towards keeping himself busy with field work. He would have closed off even further from attachments and affection and continued in his hollowed state, scraped clean of any remnants of the possibility for love, and would have, likely, kept running missions until his luck ran out. A dark ending to a cold story.

Her life would be entirely up to her, ready for any path she might be inclined to follow, though she would never know the joy of being treated with such respect and love as Jack treats her with, and she would never meet a man so gentlemanly, so adoring, nor so intensely loyal. Perhaps she would meet someone else she could love just as much as she would have loved Jack, but her life would be a painting lacking  the warm hues of Jack’s mirth, love, and tenderness.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

I have a whole fic about that! But, in short, Jack did! I like to think of Jack waiting for ages and ages to find the “right” moment to tell her he had feelings for her and ask her out, and though he was petrified of making a mistake and losing her forever (and coming off like a creep), he managed to show her the sincerity of his attachment, and be granted the greatest gift of all: returned affections. She wanted to go out with him as much as he wanted to go out with her, and, from there, they melded together and the relationship progressed!

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

In that aforementioned fic, I suggest that their first date was sitting together on a long flight and watching movies together during a corporate excursion, and I like to stand by that! But if you mean first “date where they went somewhere”, after that flight, the two of them rented a car at the airport, went for breakfast at a local diner, and then took in the sights of the town before capping off the night with dinner and a movie. They ended up spending the whole day together, talking about everything and nothing, shy but ecstatic to be finally able to be open with their attraction to the other, and adored every moment of the date. It was a little awkward, at first, but they quickly matched one another’s patterns, especially towards the end of the night, cuddled up together at the theatre, resting their heads on each other and holding hands, exchanging little kisses on the hand back and forth.

It was like magic.

What was their first kiss like?

Nervous! Jack, normally so confident and slick, found himself trembling as he leaned in closer to her, hovering his lips over hers and feeling the quakes and tremors careening through every muscle of his body: all he wanted was to grab her by the face and kiss her as hard as he could and never let go, but he knew that would hardly be appropriate, so he just inched in, millimeter by millimeter, until she pressed up and closed the gap herself, sending him spiralling with fireworks behind his eyes and pure jolts of adrenaline coursing through his heart. 

He ended up accidentally deepening the kiss by leaning in and groaning through his nose-- he’d held back for so long that his body wanted to take everything it could get before it lost its chance-- and felt her hands rise to cup the back of his head, locking him into her, which made his legs turn into jelly and his eyes roll back in their sockets in delight.

Suffice to say, they were out of breath when they parted, and not just from holding their breaths during the kiss.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

Well, she wasn’t Jack’s first kiss, nor his first girlfriend, but she is definitely Jack’s first and only love of his life. And his first and only wife! As for the other way ‘round, Jack is his wife’s first long-term boyfriend, then her first and only husband, and, of course, the one and only (and thus first) true love. Ain’t that sweet?

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Jack comes in at 5’11’’, 6’1’’ in certain sets of cowboy boots, and often likes that his wife is just short enough for him to comfortably rest his chin on top of her head during hugs. As for their age difference, Jack wouldn’t be at ease with anything more than a ten year age gap, and even that’s pushing it, so his wife is somewhere in that range. While age may be “just a number” to some, development isn’t, so he isn’t looking for a woman who isn’t at the same point in life he is. He wants to always be in sync with his missus, so being close in age and close in life plans is important to him.

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Jack has no real family; his parents both passed on a while back and he was an only child. He’s charming and affable with his wife’s family, but gets surprisingly nervous at family events and prefers to keep to himself: frankly, he’d rather spend all their holidays alone at home with the missus than be around her parents or siblings. 

Who takes the lead in social situations?

Jack. His savoir-faire attitude, pleasing manners and general suave presence makes him a natural fit for taking the lead in just about every situation, but especially when out and about; his wife leans more on the quiet side, and he’s fine doing the talking towards others for the both of them. He’s fine ordering for her at restaurants, fine handling chit chat with drivers or dinner guests, fine charming businessmen or clients. He’s happy to be her voice when she doesn’t feel like talking, and happy to be the conversational springboard for her when she wants to make a foray into it. 

Who gets jealous easier?

Jack has a shockingly vicious mean streak in him, and he can border on being possessive, at times. Sometimes it’s sweet how much he cares and how protective he is over her, but jealousy is a wholly different beast; when Jack feels like someone is flirting with his wife or has caught her eye, something hardhearted and controlling in him claws its way to the surface in him, and he looks at the object of her imagined affections with nothing but pure, boiling hatred. 

For example, he can get more than a little insecure if he thinks she’s staring too closely at a particularly attractive actor during a movie-- does she think that man has a better body than him? Does she like that man because he���s younger? Prettier? Has a smaller nose and brighter eyes? Fewer wrinkles?-- and ends up hating the actor in every subsequent movie, even going so far as to refuse to watch films with that person in them. 

He also can be more than a little rude to other men in public, but in a backhanded, “disguised” way, his cruelties and biting remarks hidden under a balmy layer of “Southern kindness”. Once, at a coffee shop, a barista gave his wife an extra baked good for being “the cutest customer he’d seen all day”, and Jack grabbed the pastry, smiled toothily at the man, and remarked that the barista had “good taste, though you wouldn’t guess it”, pointedly looked the man up and down as if judging his apparel, then took his wife’s hand and left the shop in a cloud of bitterness.

She’d really let Jack have it after that one.

Inversely, Jack’s wife can be more than a little guilty of jealousy, herself; after all, she knows her husband is a very, very attractive man, and that more than a few women find him alluring-- she’s heard how other women talk about him at the office-- and upon finding out that some of his field work can involve seducing women for information, she was in a near-constant jealousy tizzy for weeks. He’d had to promise her that he wouldn’t ever allow the seduction to be more than flirting, and even sworn to her that he would turn down operations where such a means of extraction was baked into the plan, but the feeling lingers, burning sour in her stomach whenever she knows he’s deployed. Is he out there, somewhere, flirting with some floozy, whispering things in that woman’s ear that he once whispered in hers?

It takes Jack eons to assure her that all his affection for her is earnest and passionate and that he never once used “the moves” on her that he might use for a mission, but every now and then, she still gets frustrated at the idea of him being coy with other women and he’ll have to take her aside and show her just how special their love is to him.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

Mister Daniels. What he whispers is a secret between himself and the missus, but rest assured knowing that he likes to spare her no detail when elaborating on what exactly it is he’s thinking about when it comes to her.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Jack wanted to say it first so, so bad: he had a whole moment planned out, where they’d be on a night drive, parked in his truck, watching the stars, and he’d have beautiful music in the background as they lay in the flatbed, and he’d turn to her and say those three words, sweeping her off her feet, but… she beat him to it.

She’d come down with a horrible cold, one that left her practically bedridden, and he’d come over in a panic, carrying bags of medicine and ointments and cool patches and Gatorades and soup from the best deli in town, and he’d spent the entire rest of the evening taking care of her. After propping her up on her pillows, putting on a calming movie, throwing out all her used tissues, getting her changed into clean, comfy pajamas, and feeding her warm soup and cool drinks, she was drifting off to sleep. Jack was getting ready to spend the night sleeping on the couch, and just before he left, she tugged him by the hand, looking up at him with cold medicine-calmed eyes. Dreamily, she stroked his cheek and hummed a soft “thank you, baby.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, kissing her knuckles. “Get some sleep, alright, Princess?”

“Mmm,” she cooed. “Goodnight, bunnykins. I love you.”

And with that, her medicine kicked in, and she dozed off, leaving Jack floating on air, hovering by her bed, staring with utter adoration at this sleeping angel who… loved him. 

Loved him.

He barely slept that night, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he tried to fight off the silly, creeping smiles of a boy in love.

What are their primary love languages?

For Jack, he feels the most loved when he receives physical affection and is able to spend quality time with his wife. He has a deep attachment to her and feels that it’s best expressed when they’re able to touch each other; he adores being hugged by her, feeling her kiss his whole face, the way her hands playfully squeeze his butt when he wears those jeans she loves, the sensation of her fingers in his hair, tracing down his jawline and throat. Any time she’s touching him, he feels his life is complete and full, and when they’re apart, he feels fuzzy around the edges, as if only she can bring the whole picture into focus for him.

Add to that the enjoyment of quality time: Jack loves being able to spend days on end in only her company, doing anything she wants, talking back and forth and just absorbing the pleasure of being in her presence. He especially enjoys working on something together, like learning to dance together or building something (he, somehow, fell even more in love with her as they built a bookshelf together for their new, shared apartment), and, of course, traveling with her for trips and vacations. Once, they were snowed in together during a stay in Oregon, and he spent the whole three days of the snow-in just following her around the cabin like a lovesick puppy. They ended up sitting together on the couch in front of the fire, her perched on his lap, he with his arms fettered around her tummy, watching YouTube videos on resin pouring for, like, ten hours. He loved it.

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

“Well, excuse me, miss, but there seems to be something wrong with my phone--”

“Jack, no, don’t--”

“Because I seem not to have your number in it!”

“Oh my god.”

“Did I wander on in to the Louvre? Because my, oh my, I am staring at a true work of art, little lady.”

“Jack, please--”

“Lemme go get my glasses on, beautiful; you’re too fine for me to see without ‘em.”

“I’m going to lock you out of the bedroom if you keep this up--”

“Now, sugar, come on, can you blame me? I’m in such terrible pain!”

“Mhm.”

“Because it sure hurt when I fell for you!”

“OH MY GOD.”

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Every single day that Jack’s home, they’re cuddling in bed at the end of the day. He can’t sleep unless he’s got her in his arms, and he just can’t help but be a little handsy; he’s a lover of touch, after all! As for PDA, Jack tries to keep public affection “tasteful”, but also lets a little of his possessive nature pull through, at times: he likes to “mark” what’s his, and she’s his, all the way, so he likes to walk with his hand on the small of her back, sometimes cheekily stuck in the back pocket of her pants to get a feel of the nice curves back there, or periodically lean down to kiss her cheek and see if she’s interested in a more full-on kiss. At the office, they keep it limited to the occasional kiss on the cheek when there’s fewer people around, though that’s not to say Jack hasn’t teased the idea of going for something more intimate at work, before.

Who initiates kisses?

Both of them! They’re a very affectionate couple, but out of the two of them, Jack can be the most forward when it comes to making his intent to be kissed known. He has no shame about taking her chin in his hand and leaning in for a nice, deep kiss, or in pulling her by the waist away from whatever she was working, planting a wet one on her. Jack loves to feel her smile against his lips, and he’ll take just about any opportunity he can to snag a kiss from her. On her end, she loves to walk past him and press little kisses on his temples, cheeks, or the top of his head (provided he’s sitting down!), and will often try to walk off and continue what she was doing, only for Jack to grab her by the hips and tug her back for an even bigger kiss. He claims she “tempted him” into doing it; after all, a little kiss like that is more of an appetizer for the greater meal, is it not?

Who’s the big and little spoon?

They sometimes alternate, but more often than not like to go back to their favorite position, with Jack (and all his long limbs) as the big spoon, curled around his wife, resting his chin on his plumpness, pressed up against her. That said, he also adores feeling her softness surround him as she holds him from behind, all warm and cuddly. It makes him feel loved and cared for, and he melts for it.

What are their favorite things to do together?

Both of them enjoy exploring the town together: walking around the city, trying new restaurants, strolling in the park, window shopping, going to museums, anything! They like to walk and talk, discuss what they’re seeing, things going on in their lives, or what they’re hoping to do, next. They love trying new foods together, especially when it’s something unusual to them or something they’ve never heard of before. They also love to go to the movies together, and take great pleasure in reviewing films together or just canoodling in the theatre seats. Hell, sometimes Jack doesn’t even watch the movie: he spends all 90-some minutes with his face pressed into her neck, giving her hickies and letting his hands wander.

They also like to snuggle up at home and watch television, with Jack’s indulgences being cooking competition shows and dancing shows. He also has a secret indulgence: RuPaul’s Drag Race. He knows it’s trashy, he knows it’s staged, and he knows it can be, well, problematic at times, but damn, if he doesn’t get a kick out of how some of those queens fight! His wife will watch with him, even if it’s not her style, just because it’s cute to watch him gasp when one queen throws a drink at another or hear him complain that a queen is underdressed for the challenge. Watching Jack is ten times better than any entertainment the show itself could provide her!

Who’s better at comforting the other?

Both of them are actually pretty emotionally intuitive people, and Jack is deeply sentimental and emotionally intelligent, so it naturally follows that he can comfort her and show her all the examples of his love and protection when she feels low and fragile. Inversely, his wife knows him, and all his broken pieces, and is able to wrap her arms around him and tell him just what he needs to hear: the truth. That she loves him, that she’ll never give up on him, that she’s always by his side, and that they’ll weather any storm together. That he isn’t irreparable, unlovable, alone.

They both take great comfort in one another, and many couples envy their emotional honesty and how much they genuinely do care for and protect each other.

Who’s more protective?

Jack; he’s constantly anxious that something horrible is going to happen to his wife. He’s seen some pretty grisly business in his line of work, and participated in more than his fair share of that kind of business, and the ghosts of those deeds float around in his head and haunt his visions, making him fearful that something dreadful will befall her, as he’s seen befall so many others before her. He gets antsy and tends to hover around her, though he pretends he doesn’t. He also feels an obligation to protect her, as the “man of the house” and her husband; he’s old-fashioned and believes it’s his job to provide for and defend her, and while the sentiment is sweet, he can be a little overbearing at times, trying to coax her into letting him handle everything for her sometimes teetering on the edge of condescension. 

She knows he’s only trying to be her gentleman, her knight in shining armor, her cowboy, but she has to assert that she’s a fully capable adult woman to him every now and then and show him that while she loves and appreciates his dedication to her safety, she’s going to be just fine, and they can work together on things, not leaving it all up to him to take care of. He’s still learning, and he can sometimes regress into old habits, but he’s made wonderful progress!

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

It’s an interesting mix of both! Jack loves to dole out praises and pet names and playful little flirts with his wife, but he’s also not afraid to get handsy with her to express his affection for her. He prefers to use both at the same time; holding her hips in his hands, swaying from side to side, murmuring teasing tones and warm whispers to her about how beautiful she is, how sweet and kind and lovely, and how she’s all his. And for as physical a man as he is, Jack feels truly loved when his wife tells him honest and earnest things she loves about him, or when she tells him he did a good job at something, and he can tell she’s sincere. It reminds him that he’s not just a body for her to love, but a soul, a person that she admires and takes comfort in. And that’s the most loving thing of all!

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

They both really love Dolly Parton, so “Islands In The Stream” comes on fairly often as one of their “dance around the living room and sing to each other” songs, as does “Why’d You Come In Here Lookin’ Like That” by Dolly! He also loves Johnny Cash, so “I’ll Remember You” is one of their favorites. Elvis’s “Love Me Tender” is one saved for special, quiet moments; it was played at their wedding, and holds a special spot in their hearts as a song to hold each other to, or murmur the lyrics to one another to show them how much they are adored. 

Similarly, they also have “When I Fall In Love” by Nat King Cole as one of their special songs: after all, they had both promised that “When I give my heart it will be completely, or I'll never give my heart,” in their own ways, so dedicated to true and loyal love, and then they found one another, and their hearts were given in totality.

There are more, but these are just a few (particularly romantic) ones!

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

Jack calls his wife “Darlin’,” obviously, but also loves to use terms like “Honeycomb,” “Miss,” “Sugar,” “Little Lady,” “Babydoll,” “Princess”: heck, what doesn’t he call her? He loves using pet names for her!

She calls him “Mister Daniels,” “Cowboy,” “Baby,” and “My Big Man”, among other things.

Who remembers the little things?

Both of them! Each of them loves to keep track of special, unique things about their partner; she remembers that Jack hates acrid coffee and likes his with two sugars and two creams, or that he always puts his socks on left to right, or that he won’t leave the house until his tie is the perfect length, or that he always checks his mustache in every reflective surface he passes. He remembers that she brushes her teeth anytime she eats something that leaves the “fuzzy sweater feeling” and that she loves when he gently fingers combs her hair so much that her eyes close and she makes the same little pleased hum every time or that she only can sleep if there’s at least some cool air so she can bundle up and get snuggly.

The little things are what let you know you’re in love, you know?

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes?

Jack, ever the picture of the classic gentleman, absolutely takes the initiative on proposing. He makes a whole big-to do about it, planning everything down to the exact detail and sparing no expense in trying to procure the perfect moment for him to pop that perpetual question. He actually quite enjoys the planning and that enjoyment does carry over to when they’re planning the wedding itself! 

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

The wedding itself, despite Jack’s indulgences, was actually rather small: Jack doesn’t have that many people in his life he’d want to invite, so his side of the affair was rather empty, and so, in keeping, his wife decided to limit the event to just very close friends and immediate family. Both were very happy about that, being rather private people, and enjoyed being able to have an intimate wedding with a greater attention to atmosphere and personal touches than would be afforded for a much bigger wedding.

Jack had a few firm policies about the “tone” of the affair: he didn’t want a bunch of loud music, he didn’t want people getting drunk, and he wanted it to be fun but not “trashy”, a loose term he threw around at anything he didn’t really like or considered “gauche” when shopping around for wedding ideas. He also wanted to have at least part of the event take place outdoors, so the wedding ceremony was held indoors while the reception was outside, under the stars on an autumn night. 

He hired a full, live band to play the affair, and had a fair amount of fun dancing with his wife all through the night, from the traditional slow dance to up-tempo square dancing to just uncoordinated wiggling as they laughed their way into their brand-new marriage. Jack loves to dance, and having her in his arms, swaying to whatever beat life threw at them, made his heart soar.

I could go into more detail about themes and color palettes and the ceremony itself, but that’s for another day!

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

Jack wants tons of kids. He wants as many kids as nature sees fit to give them, and has absolutely no shame in expressing that desire to his wife. Thankfully, she’s on the same page: while she may not want to be pregnant every bout of nine months or so, she also wants kids and is happy to raise as many as come along over the course of her and Jack’s lifetimes; a big family does not daunt either of them. As such, their marriage became a very fruitful one as time went on, and they soon welcomed their first child, a baby girl.

Jack was absolutely, unbelievably smitten with the little creature the moment he found out his wife was pregnant, and became even more resolutely devoted to her when she was placed, wriggling and crying and all red and small, in his arms, mere moments after her birth. He’d stared at her, half-sobbing, half-laughing, as his wife gripped his hand, and both of them fell utterly, hopelessly in love with that tiny little girl as she took her first breaths.

The little family only continued to grow after that; a few years later, when their little lady had grown into a chubby, grinning toddler, she met her baby brother, a squirmy bundle of miniature limbs and his Daddy’s dark curls, who Jack swore was born knowing how to smile, giggling as soon as he felt his Daddy take him into a hug. Three years after that, another tiny Daniels came into the world, a bright-eyed and curious baby boy who seemed to only snuffle, not cry, when he was placed in his Mama’s arms that very first day, peering around with a wondering gaze that made Jack’s heart break with utmost adoration.

(There may definitely come more little babies, but I think three is a good number to start with describing!)

They’re each amazingly different, and Jack loves them all as unique souls: his daughter, Lucinda (shortened to Lucy), is playful like her father, and loves to follow him around the house and ask him what he’s up to, sometimes running off with his hat just to win his attention away from desk work or some other ‘unimportant’ task. She adores her Mama, and hangs off her mother’s every word, copying her mannerisms and asks near-constantly to help with cooking or with playing with her brothers, who she loves to play “pranks” on (translation: she raspberries their tummies, then shoots off to another room, laughing hysterically).

Their first son, Joseph, is a rowdy little whirlwind, and learned to walk quickly just to keep up with his older sister, giving chase wherever she went. He loves to toddle around the house, squeaking and cheeping, showing his Mama and Daddy what he’s doing (often putting something in his mouth that he absolutely should not be putting in there). He loves being carried by Daddy and will crawl into Jack’s lap on the couch, sitting on his knees and making faces until Daddy laughs. He absolutely loves to make people laugh, and will play games like peek-a-boo for hours, gleefully shrieking and adoring when he hears his parents laugh at his silly noises.

The littlest one, Johnnie, is the quietest of the children, and enjoys cuddling up to his Mama and Daddy and taking naps on their chest. When not sleeping, he likes to sit and watch what others are doing, and seems the happiest when resting in his carrier on the table, watching his Mama hard at work on a project, and especially enjoys watching her partake in crafts like knitting, sewing, or cooking. Johnnie also enjoys watching animal programs on TV: he cries if they play anything loud and bright for him, and calms immediately when Animal Planet or National Geographic is on. He’s barely old enough to hold his head up, but will stretch in his bassinet to see his favorite animal, horses, on TV, or if Daddy is reading a book and doing horsie noises. He loves to wiggle his miniature arms around in circles, delighted by the pony sounds, and Jack can’t help but grin at how adorable his little man is.

Do they have any pets?

Yep! Though they save getting pets until the kids are older, the family gets a pair of dogs, both adoptees from a local shelter. The bigger dog is a mutt between a lab and German Shepherd named “Messy” by Lucy, and the smaller dog is a beagle-mix named “Buster”. They’re both deeply well-loved dogs, and though Jack may have pretended to not want dogs, he dotes on the two of them relentlessly.

Who’s the stricter parent?

Jack can be paranoid, at times, about anything bad befalling his kids, and he while he tends to be relaxed and fairly easy-going with the children, he can sometimes have bouts of militaristic tenseness and scold them for going somewhere without telling him, playing in the street, talking to strangers, et cetera. He gets so nervous that sometimes it bubbles up in controlling mannerisms, trying to keep his children as safe as possible, but going about it the wrong way. That said, he is a loving father, willing to apologize if he steps out of line, and he never yells at his children.

Who worries the most?

As mentioned before, Jack can teeter into paranoia that something will hurt his babies, but his wife gives him a run for his money, at times, especially because it can be harder for mothers to be separated from their little ones at first. The truth is, all loving parents worry about their kids, and always will, and both Jack and the Missus worry about their wee ones out in the big world.

Who kills the bugs in the house?

Joseph keeps trying to eat them! But it’s usually Jack, if only by default as the taller partner with the long, willowy limbs that can actually reach the corner of the wall where the damn spider is hiding.

How do they celebrate holidays?

As best they can! Mostly, they like to keep it to just the family, and don’t do any huge parties, unless it’s a birthday, especially for one of the kids: Jack tends to indulge the kids, particularly on their birthdays, so while the parties aren’t massive, they often have lots of kids and their parents come over for a big playdate and run around the house, lots of cake and balloons and party hats and presents wrapped in puppydog paper. 

As for holidays like Christmas, Hanukkah, et cetera, they like to stay home and do all the decorating themselves, and often involve the kids in the decorating process. A cozy, safe at home feeling fills all their hearts and Jack loves seeing his family all gathered together, making little ornaments or snacks together, cuddled up watching movies or playing with toys, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Ol’ Missus Daniels has the greatest track record in the world of being able to coax her early morning-riser husband back into bed, back into her arms, and back to sleep. He can’t resist her sleepy eyes and beckoning smile, the way she opens her arms and pouts at him, the rusty creak of her tired little voice cooing “c’mere, you big lug, they can wait”. He has yet to convince himself to leave her side after a ploy like that.

Who’s the better cook?

Jack is flat out terrible. He’s great at a lot of things, but cooking is not one of them. He really is doing his best to improve his cooking, but he gets frustrated with how long it takes to make a good meal; he was so used to getting exactly what he wanted at fine dining restaurants and having things delivered to his apartment as a bachelor that he barely touched any of the dishes in his kitchen, and kept his fridge almost bare. Now that he’s a family man, he really does try-- he practices alongside his wife, watches the Food Network, stuff like that-- but he ends up burning things and getting pouty, and his wife will have to take over and show him how it’s done, which he appreciates. She was always the better cook out of the two of them, anyway.

Who likes to dance?

Very often, Jack’ll click on the radio and take his wife’s waist in his hands, giving it a loving squeeze as he twirls her around the kitchen, out through the living room, sometimes at the foot of their bed, his cheek pressed to hers, grinning from ear to ear. Sometimes, the babies will want to join in; Lucy will stand on her Daddy’s feet and hold his hands, swaying all around and screaming with delight, or Johnnie will be held to Mama’s chest and bop around with her to the tune of one of his favorite songs. Joseph, much like his father, likes to boogie on down and shimmy his diapered tush around, giggling as his Daddy applauds him. They all love to dance together!

Thank you for reading! Feel free to send in any requests for similar questions!

[fatefulfaerie]

Memory

Link couldn’t see any of the castle from where he sat, his feet dangling over the ledge of the large rock and his hands planted behind him in his comfortable lounge. From Tarrey Town, the Akkala Citadel Ruins and descending sharp peaks and valleys of Death Mountain’s lower sections covered up the castle in its entirety.

In places such as this, it was easy for Link to forget his responsibility, at least for the moment. But for the blue Sheikah tower rising above the citadel and Vah Rudania’s red stream of light aimed at an angle towards a castle he couldn’t see, it was places like this that surely allowed the people of Hyrule to forget about what Daruk called “that swirling swine”.

There was a peace and a resounding apathy they had that he simply couldn’t submit to. After all, a hundred years was a long time. People had survived the Calamity, had given life to children and grandchildren in a world Link saw as ruined. This was their normal, as thus Hyrule was, for the most part, complacent.

But he couldn’t be.

As relaxing as the sunset was upon Akkala, he couldn’t rest within it. Call it his inner courage, that pushed him into battle with a confidence unbefitting of an amnesia-ridden warrior. Call it his sense of justice, that looked at Hyrule and its state of ruin and felt pulled to correct it by some instinct he couldn’t explain. Call it something else entirely, something that burned and ached within him whenever he heard her voice or saw her face.

Link was restless in a world that rested upon chaos, and there were so many reasons to explain why.

“I was wondering where you wandered off to.”

Link looked behind him, his eyes following Hudson as he sat next to him. It wasn’t long after Hudson settled that Link’s gaze went back to the sunset.

“I wanted to thank you,” Hudson started. “For everything you did to bring this town together, for even introducing me to my wife because of that. Really, I can’t thank you enough. You really are amazing.”

Link shook his head as he looked out at the distance.

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” Hudson said with a slight chuckle. “But I do know that it’s hard to find someone in Hyrule who will drop everything for someone else. It’s an admirable trait, and so is your humility.”

Link took a pause. He was in this conversation now, whether he wanted to be or not. And he could tell from his tone of voice that Hudson wanted from him what Link knew he could do the least.

Explain himself. And make conversation.

“I think I just…” He tried before exhaling a breath. “...needed some busy work...I’m nervous about something.”

Hudson nodded.

“That was me this morning,” he said. “Before the nuptials I was so nervous. I needed to make sure every little thing was perfect, prepare myself in every possible way, for every possible circumstance, almost training myself to be ready.”

“Seems kind of obsessive,” Link said, knowing he was projecting, knowing that for the past three months he had gone to every shrine, explored every corner of Hyrule, fought any malicious monster that would put up a fight. He was fueled by the pure fear of failing Hyrule again, failing her again.

“How did you get out of it?” Link asked.

“Trusted myself,” he said. “That I was ready, that in a way, I’ve always been ready, that when it comes down to it, there’s only so much I can do.”

Link nodded in understanding. It was time. It felt like time. In fact, it had felt that way for a while now. Link had felt the desire to right the wrongs of his failure ever since he first paraglided onto the soil of Hyrule.

And yet the more he ventured through it, the more he learned of his weaknesses, the more he learned of the champions’ death, the destruction of the Hyrule he was supposed to save, his fall at Blatchery Plains, the more he doubted he was worthy of the Princess’ confidence. He could smell the way his blood ached in his nose, he could feel the Princess’ hands as she clutched onto him, the tug on his heart as he inwardly insisted upon staying alive for her, his neck pulling the weight of his head to ensure that if he were to see one last thing before he died, it would be her.

That was his failure, dying at Hyrule’s greatest hour of need, but his recompense for that was surviving, given the opportunity to become stronger by perhaps the goddesses themselves, the opportunity to save her. And thus, his determination to not fail her again consumed him with a near obsession of self-improvement.

“What about you, huh?” Hudson asked, completely interrupting Link’s train of thought. “Got someone special?”

“No...no…” Link said with a bashful chuckle and a bowed head, as if averting his glance from the sunset.

“Oh come on,” Hudson insisted, not believing Link in the slightest. “Strapping young lad like you, there’s got to be someone.”

Green eyes shone in his mind like emeralds in the moonlight, but even brighter was the smile he liked to imagine her wearing, that made his heart burst at the seams. He thought of her blonde hair billowing in the wind as the breeze shifted upon him, rocking his own strands of light brown hair.

“Maybe once, but…” Link said. “We’re kind of...separated.”

“Bad break up?” Hudson asked.

“Something like that,” Link said, trying not to laugh at the fact that he was fairly certain they were never ‘together’ in the first place. They never got the chance. The term ‘separated’ was a bit more literal.

“Do you still love her?” Hudson asked.

Link looked up, looking in the direction of the castle, his blue eyes extending beyond this conversation.

“Yes,” Link said with a piercing vulnerability and a breathlessness, as if it was the first time he said it out loud.

“Then that’s all that matters,” Hudson said. “Go to her and show her your love. I’m sure she’ll take you back in a heartbeat.”

That wasn’t the problem. Well, it was a problem, whether her love for him lasted a hundred years or not, and after that, all that foreign relationship stuff, but that was something to suss out much, much later. The problem now was his readiness to save her and not fail.

“Y-yeah totally,” Link said in reply before out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hudson standing up.

“I’ll leave you to your pondering,” he said. “I bet Rhondson is looking for me anyway. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yeah,” Link said, turning his head to force a small smile.

“And be sure to invite us to the wedding,” Hudson said as he walked off. Link didn’t have the energy to correct him, to chase after him and insist upon the ridiculousness of that concept. Technically, they were still only seventeen and Hudson didn’t know he was talking about a princess, or that Link was nervous about something much more perilous.

Link shook his head as his gaze returned to look at the sunset, imagining the castle bathed in that same light behind the citadel.

“Trusting myself,” Link whispered.

He purposefully fell to his back with an exasperated sigh. His fingers interlocked and his hands resting on his forehead.

Could he really do this? Was he really ready to face Calamity Ganon? All this extra time, was he ready earlier? Stressing too much over being perfect? He just needed to win once, to defeat Calamity Ganon once. Maybe it wasn’t about feeling ready, one moment he didn’t know he was waiting for where everything clicks into place. Maybe it was just about getting up the courage to try.

He closed his eyes slowly with his next inhale, searching for the motivation and finding it quickly.

You’re going to be just fine.

Her voice was soft, like an angel as his mind replayed the memory. With what seemed a great effort his glance shifted to her. His head rested on her shoulder and he could feel the love in his heart as he looked at her, but he also felt himself fading.

What he saw of her was always an image that faded, lasting mere seconds. If he had the choice, he could look upon her for thousands of seconds and it still wouldn’t be enough time. He tried to stay here, in this moment, holding on to it for dear life, coaxing himself to focus on her and by sheer willpower ignore his fatal injuries. A breath escaped him quickly after.

Darkness.

Open your eyes.

Link did just that, to an Akkalan sunset, clouds reaching and spreading, like smears of white upon an orange canvas.

He felt his breathing, the one reanimated by the Shrine of Resurrection all those months ago, the way it coupled with the wind and the wild.

To anyone else in Hyrule, this moment would be peaceful and serene, perfect. But when it came down to it, at the end of the day, after all the rigorous training and perfectionism, the worries, the overzealous anxiety about failing at his role…

No matter what he feared, he knew one thing for certain.

He wanted to see her, know her, feel her, love her as more than just a memory.

He wanted her beside him.

[hyena-frog]

I personally don't understand people who think that Virginia 'can't win on her own'. As if she has to prove herself or she is 'too nice' and has to learn 'how to violence'. Just because Sevro's solution for everything is cutting some fingers or worse, doesn't mean he is always right or that Mustang's work to keep that balance and play within the designated lines is not badass or interesting. She is the only demokratic ruler and her own people gave her absolute power of decision making to end the war at any cost. What's not great about that!?

If Virginia was indeed 'too nice', she would have perished long ago - last absolute cinnamon roll we saw was Julian and we all know what Society thinks about people like him. Just because she plays by the rules, doesn't mean she has no claws - she wiped a terrorist's memories away for fuck's sake. Now that the rules have been extended, you can bet your ass that she'll take more than one page out of Nero's playbook. After all, she said it herself, she tamed herself, but it's fun to let the lion out.

Agreed 110%! I don't understand people who give Virginia shit in general tbh. I mean, how do you not fall in love with her immediately? How are you not ride or die for her from the get-go? It boggles the mind.

Those arguments, being "too nice" or being unable to win on her own, are reaching and easily debunkable. The lack of reading comprehension. 😒 If you don't like her, then whatever. I may not understand how that’s possible, but it really isn’t necessary to make shit up, you know?

Virginia can't win on her own, huh. The nerve! Where would Darrow be without her? Dead. Many times over. He would have bled out after Cassius stabbed him if Virginia hadn't helped him. And it was Virginia who brought the Howlers back from the Rim weeks in advance of Darrow actually needing them, just in case. So many things would have gone wrong in Morning Star if she wasn't at Darrow's side (and if Ragnar hadn't gone out of his way to make sure she'd be there, the absolute legend).

Perhaps it's Darrow who can't win on his own? But that sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? All of his successes were achieved through teamwork. Darrow acknowledges this many times. It's the same for Virginia. While it's simply not true that she can't win on her own, it’s also untrue that the inability to win on your own is a bad thing. The whole argument doesn’t make any sense.

The idea Virginia still needs to “prove” herself despite doing so plenty of times already throughout the series is frustrating. The fact of the matter is, the success of the Rising relies just as heavily on Virginia's intelligence as it does Darrow's battle skills. The Solar Republic simply wouldn't exist without her. Fitchner never had a clear vision of what "after the Society" would look like and neither did Darrow for a long time. The war effort needs a conscience and a vision for the future, otherwise it's just endless bloodshed. Virginia helps Darrow see beyond the bloodshed. Plus, Darrow has no interest in politics. He'd be the first to admit he’s not good at the slow game of political maneuvering. But Virginia thrives in that environment. In Dark Age, Darrow even admits his current predicament is a consequence of not trusting his wife's way of running the Republic, and he vows never to do that again.

Sure, Virginia doesn't get into physical fights often, especially now that she is Sovereign. But politics is no less perilous a battlefield. I feel like because the political battlefield isn't as flashy and fast paced as a literal one, people forget the constant danger she is in, even before the Senate's betrayal. Silenius' Stiletto is a delicate tightrope act she has to perform every day to drag progress forward while keeping her opponents in check. This requires a level of self-restraint, clear-headedness, and badassery, that no other character can achieve.

Virginia is not "too nice." She is practical. And often, is it practical to play nice. Not every confrontation is best solved through violence Sevro. We all know the line: Virginia is the mustang that nuzzles the hand; people know they can work with her. That’s why the people chose her consistently for ten years, over literally everyone else in the solar system, to run this new government. And her steadfast resolve to gain Imperium legally, to not force her will on the people, proved to them again that she won’t abuse this ultimate power to end the war.

No, Virginia may be reasonable but that doesn't mean she is too nice. If she was too nice, she wouldn't have used her relationship with Cassius to protect her family. She wouldn't have shot Cassius in the throat with an arrow. She wouldn't have promised Ephraim he would "die shitting in a foreign bed" if he skipped about on their bargain to return the kids. She wouldn't have zapped the Duke of Hands' entire personality from his head. Like you said, she never would have made it this far if she was truly toothless. She's practical, and sometimes the practical solution doesn't require violence, but creative thinking.

Speaking of creative thinking, one thing Virginia doesn’t get nearly enough credit for is abolishing the death penalty immediately after Adrius was hanged. That wasn't her being "too nice" or too lenient on her caste. Yes, she feels life in prison is the moral option over the death penalty. But she knows her people. The punishment for the worst criminals in Deepgrave is a Gold's worst nightmare. Life in prison denies a Gold their desire for a glorious death, to be remembered through the ages for their deeds in battle. The Republic's justice system sends a clear message: "Mess with us, and you won't get your notoriety or fame, you'll only get obscurity and shame and sucking algae through a tube until you die naturally of old age." That to me is crueler than hanging.

Virginia’s mind is her greatest weapon, but more than that, her greatest strength is how she applies her intelligence. Her ability to read people, and to communicate, is greatly underappreciated imo. These skills require nonviolent interaction yet they yield great results. There are many examples of this. She used her natural charisma to gain Octavia's trust. She brokered an alliance with the Rim when she thought Darrow was dead. She held the Republic together for ten years despite constant, increasing animosity from the Vox. She refused to torture Lyria and was able to see she was not lying about being an unwitting pawn in the kidnapping scheme and was rewarded with information and a new ally. She figured out exactly what Sefi was planning for Cimmeria, even manipulating the situation to her advantage without Sefi realizing it. She knew Victra was going to bargain with Sefi for the kids, without being told. In her own words, this is simply what she does.

There is a quote in Iron Gold that caught my eye: "Communication is the soul of civilization." (532) Now, this line has nothing directly to do with Virginia. This is Ephraim trying to get a rise out of Gorgo. But it fits Virginia perfectly, doesn’t it? The Republic is able to exist as a civilization because it has such an amazing communicator at its center.

Virginia is such an excellent communicator that she is even able to get parties who refuse to communicate with her initially to reciprocate communication eventually. She convinces Sevro, Dancer, and even Victra to stop freezing her out and work together. She does this by speaking their "language." She knows exactly what to say or what to do to get them to finally listen to her. Revealing she already knows exactly what is going on works for Sevro, providing hard evidence of conspiracy works for Dancer, and proving her actions (showing her scars) works for Victra. This isn't to say she never makes mistakes. She shouldn't have called the Wardens on Darrow, for example, just as Darrow shouldn't have kept the meeting with the Society "diplomats" a secret from her and the Senate. But more often than not, her nonviolent communication skills yield valuable results.

As for Virginia apparently needing to learn how to use violence… While Victra and Sevro’s feelings were justified, their actions at the end of Iron Gold and the beginning of Dark Age were just wrong, wrong, wrong imo. Freezing out Virginia did nothing but delay the return of the kids. It's frustrating to think how much heartbreak could have been avoided if they'd just put their heads together from the moment the kids disappeared. And what exactly did Sevro's rampage through Luna's underground accomplish? Some dead Syndicate thorns, sure. But that tantrum put a huge target on Sevro's back. As Virginia said, one lucky sniper and boom, no more Sevro. What would Victra have done then?

While it may feel like Virginia would have achieved more if she just beheaded some people, she has a responsibility as Sovereign to consider the bigger picture. She has to consider the Stiletto. If the Vox saw her offing some fools it would have added credibility to their smear campaign. The people would have lost faith in her and think she turned into another Octavia. Whoever replaced her could use her actions to justify their own dictatorship. Violence was simply not practical for her until she legally gained Imperium. Now though… 😈

Virginia's over here playing 3D chess while everyone else is playing Connect Four, but this still isn’t enough for some people. After the clone gets the better of her, she gets flack for not being an omniscient god and just knowing her twin brother laid out a plan to clone himself ten years ago. Tut, tut, should have seen that one coming, despite the lack of evidence. If only she’d punched some people. (Can you see I hate this argument with every fiber of my being?)

In Dark Age, Ozgard says this about Electra and Pax: "She is better fighter. He is more dangerous human." (184) Well, Pax gets it from his momma. Pax and Virginia may not be able to throw devastating punches but in many ways, their intellect is what makes them the greater threat to their enemies.

Thank you for the ask!

[betterdaysareatoenailaway]

RANDOM REVIEW #2: ANY GIVEN SUNDAY (1999)

“This game has got to be about more than winning. You’re part of something.”  Any Given Sunday (1999), directed by Oliver Stone and featuring Jamie Foxx, Dennis Quaid, Cameron Diaz, Al Pacino, LL Cool J, James Woods, and Matthew Modine, is my favourite sports movie of all time. Of all time.

I’m not betraying my favourite sport by saying this. The Mighty Ducks is a kid’s movie. It’s okay, but it’s not a timeless classic. I don’t like the Slap Shot series, Sudden Death is fun but silly, and the Goon movies were a missed opportunity. The only truly good scene in Goon is the diner scene where Liev Schreiber tells Seann William Scott: “Don’t go trying to be a hockey player. You’ll get your heart ripped out.”

  Such is the sad circumstance of the hockey enforcer. They all want to play, not just fight. Here’s a link to a video in which the most feared fighter in the history of the NHL, Bob Probert, explains that he wanted to be “an offensive threat...like Bobby Orr,” not a fighter: https://youtu.be/4sbxejbMH4g?t=118 Heartbreaking. But not unusual.

Donald Brashear, Marty McSorley, Tie Domi, Stu “The Grim Reaper” Grimson, Frazer McLaren: they all had hockey skills. But they were told they had to fight to remain on the roster, so they fought. As Schreiber says in the film: “You know they just want you to bleed, right?”  If the players don’t bleed, they don’t get to stay on the team. So they fight, and they pay dearly for it later. Many former fighters have CTE or other head injuries that make day-to-day life difficult. The makers of Goon should have taken that scene and run with it. I was so disappointed they didn’t, especially given what happened right around the time the film came out, with the tragic suicides of Wade Belak, Derek Boogaard, and Rick Rypien, all enforcers, all dead in a single summer. So Hollywood hasn’t even made a good hockey movie, let alone a great one. Baseball has a shitload of good films, probably because the slower pace of play makes it easier to film. Moneyball has a terrific home run scene, Rookie of the Year does too. Angels in the Outfield was a big favourite of mine when I was a kid, plus all the Major League films, and Bull Durham. 

Football has two good movies: The Program (1993) and Rudy (1993).    

And football has one masterpiece. The one I am writing about today.

A young Oliver Stone trying not to die in Vietnam. ^ Now, I know Stone is laughed at these days, given his nutty conspiracy theories and shitty behaviour and the marked decline in the quality of his films (although 2012’s Savages was underrated). I know Stone is about as subtle as a sledgehammer, but do you want a football movie to be subtle? Baseball, sure. It’s a game of fine distinctions, but football? Football is war. And war is about steamrolling the enemy, distinctions be damned, which is why Any Given Sunday is such an amazing sports film. I love the way it shows the dark side of football. In fact, the film is so dark that the NFL withdrew their support and cooperation, forcing Stone to create a fictitious league and team to portray what he wanted to portray.

This is not to say the movie is fresh or original. Quite the opposite. Any Given Sunday has every single sports film cliché you can think of. But precisely because it tries to stuff every single cliché into its runtime, the finished product is not a cliched mess so much as a rich tapestry, a dense cinema verite depiction of the dizzying highs and depressing lows of a professional sports team as it wins, loses, parties, and staggers its way through a difficult season.  Cliché #1: The aging quarterback playing his final year, trying to win one last championship. (Dennis Quaid) 

Sample dialog: Dennis Quaid (lying in a hospital bed severely injured): Don’t give up on me coach. Al Pacino: You’re like a son to me. I’ll never give up on you. ^ I know this sounds awful. But it’s actually fuckin’ great. Cliché #2: The arrogant upstart new player who likes hip hop and won’t respect the old regime. (Jamie Foxx) 

Cliché #3: The walking wounded veteran who could die if he gets hit one more time. Coincidentally, he needs just one more tackle to make his million-dollar bonus for the season. (Lawrence Taylor) 

Cliché #4: The female executive in a man’s world who must assert herself aggressively in order to win the grudging respect of her knuckle-dragging male colleagues (Cameron Diaz). Diaz is fantastic in the role, though she should have had more screen time, given that the main conflict in the film is very much about the new generation, as represented by her and Jamie Foxx, trying to replace the old generation, represented by Al Pacino, Dennis Quaid, Jim Brown, and Lawrence Taylor. Some people think Diaz’s character is too calculating, but here’s the thing: she’s right. Too many sports GMs shell out millions for the player an individual used to be, not the player he presently is. “I am not resigning a 39-year old QB, no matter how good he was,” she tells Pacino’s coach character, and you know what? She’s right. The Leafs’ David Clarkson signing is proof positive of the perils of signing a player based on past performance, not current capability. Diaz’s character is the living embodiment of the question: do you want to win, or do you want to be loyal? Cuz sometimes you can’t do both.

Cliché #5: The team doctor who won’t sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (Matthew Modine).

Cliché #6: The team doctor who will sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (James Woods) 

Cliché #7: The grizzled, thrice-divorced coach who has sacrificed everything for his football team, to the detriment of his social and familial life, who must give a stirring speech at some point in the film (Al Pacino…who goes out there and gives the all-time greatest sports movie “we must win this game” speech) 

Cliché #8: The assistant or associate coach who takes a parental interest in his players, playing the good cop to the head coach’s bad cop (former NFL star Jim Brown). 

Best quote: “Who wants to be thinking about blitzes and crossblocks when you’re holding your grandkids in your arms? That’s why I wanna coach high school. Kids don’t know nothing. They just wanna play.” 

Cliché #9: The player who can’t stop doing drugs (L.L. Cool J).

Okay, so the first thing that needs to be talked about is Al Pacino’s legendary locker room speech.  Now, it’s the coach’s job to rile up and inspire the players. But eloquence alone won’t do it. If you use certain big words, you lose them (remember Brian Burke being endlessly mocked by the Toronto media for using the word “truculent?”). The coach must deliver the message in a language the players understand, while still making victory sound lofty and aspirational. This is not an easy thing to accomplish. One of my favourite inspirational lines was spoken by “Iron” Mike Keenan to the New York Rangers before Game 7 against the Vancouver Canucks in 1994. “Win tonight, and we’ll walk together forever.” Oooh that’s gorgeous. But Pacino’s speech is right up there with it. 

“You know, when you get old in life…things get taken from you. That’s parta life. But you only learn that when you start losin’ stuff. You find out…life’s this game of inches. So’s football. In either game – life or football – the margin for error is so small. I mean…one half a step too late or too early and you don’t quite make it…one half second too slow, too fast, you don’t quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team, we fight for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches that’s gonna make the fuckin difference between winnin’ and losin’! Between livin’ and dyin’!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_iKg7nutNY  Somehow, against all odds, Any Given Sunday succeeds. It is the Cinderella run of sports movies. You root for the film as you watch it. The dressing room scenes are incredible…the Black players listen to the newest hip hop while a trio of lunkhead white dudes headbang and scream “Hetfield is God.” There is a shower scene where a linebacker, tired of being teased about the size of his penis, tosses his pet alligator into the showers where it terrorizes his tormentors. There is a scene where a halfback has horrible diarrhea, but he’s hooked up to an IV so the doctor (Matthew Modine) has to follow him into the toilet cubicle, crinkling his nose as the player evacuates his bowels. There is a scene where someone loses an eye (the only scene in the film where Stone’s over-the-top approach misses the mark). There are scenes that discuss concussions (which is why the NFL refused to cooperate for the film), where Lawrence Taylor has to sign a waiver absolving the team of responsibility if he is hurt or paralyzed or killed. I wonder how purists and old school football fans reacted to the news that Oliver Stone was making a football film. If they even knew who he was (not totally unlikely…Stone made a string of jingoistic war movies in the 1980s) they probably thought the heavy hands of Oliver would ruin the film, take the poetry out of every play. But the actual football is filmed perfectly. The camera gets nice and low for the tackles. It flies the arcs of perfect spiral passes. It shows the chaos of a defensive line barreling down the field. When Al Pacino asked quarterback Dan Marino (fresh off his own Hollywood experience acting in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective) what it was like to be an NFL QB, Marino said: “Imagine standing on a highway with traffic roaring at you while trying to read Hamlet.” A great explanation. Shoulda made the movie. So the football itself is fabulously done. Much better than what Cameron Crowe did in the few football scenes in Jerry Maguire. The Program had some great football, as did Rudy, but neither come close to the heights of Any Given Sunday. In one of the film’s best scenes, Jamie Foxx insists that his white coaches have routinely placed him in situations where he was doomed to fail or prone to injury, and we believe him because white coaches have been doing that to Black players for decades. Quarterback Doug Williams, who led his Washington Redskins team to a Superbowl victory in 1987, was frequently referred to by even liberal media outlets as a “Black quarterback,” instead of just “quarterback,” as if his skin colour necessitated a qualification. Even now, in 2021, the majority of quarterbacks are white, although the gap is gradually closing. The 2020 season saw the highest number of starting Black quarterbacks, with 10 out of a possible 32.  Quarterback is the most cerebral position on the field, and for a long time there was a racist belief that Black men couldn’t do the job. Foxx’s character is a composite of many of the different Black quarterbacks who came of age in the 1990s, fighting for playing time against white QBs beloved by their fan base, fawned over in hagiographic Sports Illustrated profiles, and protected by the good ol’ boys club of team executives and coaching staff. Foxx’s character isn’t demoted because he can’t play the game. He wins several crucial games for his team en route to the playoffs. He’s demoted because he listens to hip hop in the dressing room, because he recorded a rap song and shot a video for it, and because he’s cocky. Yes, the scene where he asks out Cameron Diaz is sexist, as if her power only comes from her sexuality, not her intelligence and business acumen, but it’s meant to show how overly confident Foxx is, not that he’s a sexist prick. Any Given Sunday isn’t a single issue film. It’s basically an omni-protest piece. It gleefully shows football’s dark side, and there is no director better than Oliver Stone for muck-raking. He’s in full-on investigative journalist mode in Any Given Sunday, showing how and why players play through serious brain injuries. How because they are given opiates, often leading to debilitating addictions (this happens in all contact sports...Colorado Avalanche player Marek Svatos overdosed on heroin a few years after retiring from injuries). As to why, Stone gives two reasons. One, team doctors are paid by the team, not the players, therefore their decisions will benefit the team, not the players. And two, the players themselves are encouraged to underreport injuries and play through them because stats are incentivized. James Woods unethical doctor argues with Modine’s idealistic one because an MRI the latter called for a player to have costs the team $20k. But the player in question, Lawrence Taylor, plays anyway because his contract is stat incentivized and if he makes on more tackle he gets a million dollars. Incentivizing stats leads to players playing hurt. And although I loathe this term, a lazy go-to for film critics, Stone really does give an unflinching account of how this shit happens and why. When Williams is inevitably hurt and lying prone on the field, he woozily warns the paramedics who are placing him on a stretcher to “be careful…I’m worth a million dollars.” It’s tragic, yet you’re happy for him. The film really makes you care about these guys.  Thanks to the smartly written script, the viewer knows that Williams has four kids, and you’re pleased he made his bonus because, in all likelihood, after he retires, his injuries will prevent him from any kind of gainful employment (naturally, they give the TV analyst jobs to retired white players, unless Williams can somehow land the coveted token Black guy gig). Stone is not above fan service, a populist at heart, and he stuffs the film with former and then-current NFL players, a miraculous stunt given the fact that the NFL revoked their cooperation. Personally, I think this was a good thing because it meant Stone didn’t have to compromise (the league wanted editorial say on all issues pertaining to the league…meaning they would have cut the best storyline, which is the playing hurt one). It also meant that they had to rename the team and the league. While I’m sure this took away from the realism for some fans, I’m cool with it. It also allowed the moviemakers to name the team the Sharks, a perfect name for this roving band of predatory capitalist sports executives. In another example of fan service, the call-girl Pacino’s quintessential lonely workaholic character rents a girlfriend experience from is none other than Elizabeth Berkley of Showgirls, who had been unfairly blacklisted after the titular Verhoven/Esterhaz venture, a movie my wife showed me one day while I was dopesick, which I became so transfixed and mesmerized by that I forgot I was. As mentioned above, the only misstep in the film is one of the offshoots of the Playing Hurt arc, where a player loses an eye on the field. Not because he gets poked, but because he gets hit so hard his eye simply falls out. A medic runs onto the field and puts the white globe on ice. Stone cast a player with a glass eye in order to achieve this effect. No CGI! Still, the scene is unconvincing, a tad too over-the-top. But this is Oliver Stone. At least Any Given Sunday’s sole over-the-top moment is a throwaway scene lasting all of thirty seconds. It easily could have been a secondary plot-line in which government officials try to sneak a Cuban football prodigy out of Castro’s communist stronghold but the player is brutally murdered the morning the officials arrive at his apartment to escort him to the private plane. Or else the team GM is revealed to be a massive international cocaine dealer. Or the tight end is one half of a serial killer couple. The film follows its own advice, focusing more on the players growth, particularly Beamon’s (Foxx). The anonymity of the title, Any Given Sunday, elevates the game, not the players. Thank God, the movie doesn’t force Beamon to assimilate into Pacino’s mold. He buys into the team-first philosophy without renouncing his idiosyncratic POV or his fierce individuality. This is a triumph. One of my biggest problems with sports is the flattening effect it can have on creative individuals. Players take media training in order to sound as alike as possible during media interviews, a long row of stoic giants spouting cliches. It’s boring. Which is why media latch onto a loudmouth, even while they scold him for it. All sports are dying for an intelligent mouthpiece who can explain his motivations in a succinct, sound-bite-friendly, manner. Sports are entertainment. As much as I love Sidney Crosby, in my heart I have to go with Alexander Ovechkin because Ovechkin is far more thrilling, both on and off the ice. Unlike almost every other NHL star before him, all of whom were forced to kneel and kiss Don Cherry’s Rock Em Sock Em ring, Ovechkin defiantly told the media he simply did not care about Cherry or Cherry’s disgusting parental reaction to one of Ovie’s more creative goal celebrations (called a “celly” in the biz). On the play in question, Ovechkin scored the goal, then dropped his stick and mimed warming his hands over it, as if his stick were on fire. As cheesy as the celebration appeared to the naked eye, it’s both a funny and accurate notion. Ovechkin was the hottest scorer in the league for many years and his stick was on fire, metaphorically speaking. The only celly I can think of that matches up in terms of creativity and entertainment value came from Teemu Selanne in 1993, who scored a beauty of a goal, threw one of his gloves straight up into the air, then pumped his stick like a shotgun while “shooting” his glove. Of course, Cherry took exception to it. Cherry’s favourite goal celebration features Bobby Orr putting his head down and refraining from raising his hands over his head. Cherry’s idea of an appropriate goal celly is no celly at all. This from a man who claims “we’ve got to sell our game.” But when an arrogant player shows up and he’s not white, he’s in for a shitload of bad press. Foxx’s Beamon illustrates this beautifully when he yells at Pacino after Pacino cuts him for an older QB who has lost four games this season. “Don’t play that racism card with me,” Pacino warns. “Okay…okay…” Foxx nods, “Maybe it’s not racism. Maybe it’s ‘placism’…as in…a brother got to know his place.”

Here is the original theatrical trailer, featuring Garbage’s classic “Push It.”

Above Lawrence Taylor begs Matthew Modine for Cortazone.  There’s also a great scene where Pacino is trying to figure out where he has gone wrong and Diaz just looks at him. “You got old,” she says simply. No enterprise is more cruel to an aging human being than sports. And this movie makes football a big giant corporate machine that chews players up and spits them out, injured and drug addicted, after four or five years. Those who play for a decade are lucky. This is still how the NFL works. And the NHL is increasingly becoming a young man’s game. Experience matters less and less.

When I started watching hockey in the 90s, players regularly competed into their late 30s. Not so anymore. Players peak at 23-24 now, and are often out of the league by age 35. Thornton and Chelois are exceptions, not the rule. After more than two hours, Any Given Sunday finally lurches across the finish line, bravely refusing to give its viewers a traditional happy ending, in the great tradition of underdog sports films like Rocky and Rudy. The bombshell dropped by Pacino’s character at the end feels less surprising than inevitable, but by now the movie has explored so much of professional sports' seedy underbelly that you're glad it's over. The film is great but exhausting. Stone seems to be advancing the notion that the sport itself is pure, but the people in it are corrupt. If money weren’t involved, the game would be played for its own sake.

I agree with this. People playing pond hockey are engaging in wholesome fun, not necessarily practicing to make a professional league. Commerce corrupts the purity of the game, and the extent to which it corrupts is directly proportional to how badly the individual in question needs the commerce. Of course, the sport is highly racialized, with people in positions of authority white, and those being told what to do with their bodies Black.

Any Given Sunday is an important film, but it never sacrifices entertainment for the sake of moralizing. That it pulls off such a strong moralistic stance is a testament to the actors, who are all incredible, and the material, which is among the strongest of Stone’s career.

He never really made a great movie after this one. So check it out sometime.

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, The Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 1)

Summary: In the wake of the events of Putting Others First, Roman is desperate to feel like the hero, even if for just an afternoon. He invites the core Sides on an adventure in the Imagination, patterned after one of the great works of children's literature that features heroes and villains. But stories in the Imagination can take on a life of their own, and this one seems bent on pushing Roman to be the villain... 

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: None so far

Word Count: 1463

Read on AO3: here

“I thought I was your hero.”

Roman’s own words echoed hollowly in his memory. The fact was that the…the occurrence with Deceit—Janus—had just been the culmination of a long, slow crisis of purpose for the prince. It wasn’t just the wedding vs. callback dilemma; it had been going on for months. Thomas’s cringing recollection of past phases he had gone through had gotten him wondering whether his current life path would eventually be added to that pile. There had been the encounter with the old friend who didn’t seem to think YouTube was a proper career. Before that had been the dispute with Logan over whether developing his artistic career was even valuable for its own sake, or just a way to keep the lights on and the fridge stocked. In fact…

It seemed to Roman that the period of misgivings had actually begun when Deceit was introduced to Thomas in the first place. Roman himself had inadvertently drawn the connection between acting and deception, and for all Logan’s reassurances to the contrary, a seed of doubt remained.

If lying was wrong, and acting was a form of lying, and Roman was the linchpin of Thomas’s acting abilities…did that make Roman the bad guy all along?

“I thought I was your hero.”

Was that why Thomas seemed to be hitting so many blocks when it came to his passions? Had Roman tainted his own function?

What did it even mean to be a hero?

It had been so simple when they were young. A hero was someone who helped others, preferably by doing flashy, impressive things. Little Thomas had loved the idea of being a hero, and Roman—just Creativity, back then—had dutifully provided him with a portfolio of daydreams. In the fantasies Roman constructed, Thomas could be a firefighter, charging into a burning building in order to rescue a puppy. Or he could be a sheriff in the Old West, rounding up bandits and cattle rustlers. Or he could be a superhero, foiling bank robberies and catching crashing airplanes. But his favorite kind of hero to be was the fairytale prince with a magic sword, defeating wicked witches and saving fair maidens from dragons. He had sent his Creativity to tap that well so many times that the Side himself took on the form of the prince.

As Thomas grew, his ideas about heroism became more complicated, the focus of his imagination shifted, and Roman’s job changed drastically, to cover his Center’s artistic ambitions (and in time, his romantic ones). He hadn’t minded for the longest time, because Patton had been there to handle the new complexities. If Roman’s understanding of right and wrong was a floodlight sweeping across an open field, then Patton’s was a fog lamp, cutting through the gray haze of moral ambiguity. Roman had always been perfectly content to follow Patton’s lead, knowing that the father figure would never steer them wrong.

But now…Patton was sharing control of the fog lamp with Janus, whom Roman had always understood to be one of the greatest villains of Thomas’s mind. Janus embodied dishonesty, selfishness, temptation to evil—exactly the traits a true hero should reject. The gray haze was where he thrived the most; how could they possibly trust him to help guide Thomas through it?

Roman just wanted to understand.

“I thought I was your hero.”

And until he could understand, he just wanted a break from it all. A day where he could just follow his bliss without worrying that he was either playing into evil’s hands, or pushing Thomas to the breaking point. A day where he could just be the hero, and know that he was the hero, and that he wasn’t about to be sucker-punched by all these nuances.

A day like the old days.

He wanted—he needed—a simple adventure, one where good and evil were obvious, and he was the leader of the good guys, and they were able to beat the bad guys with a certain amount of peril and excitement but no actual doubt that they could do it and that it was the right thing to do. And he needed…he needed his fellow Sides (his fellow light Sides) to be involved, so that they would see him as the hero. He needed that. He could set it all up in advance and take them through it, smooth as cream. And they would all have a great time and the other three would lavish praise on him for treating them to something so beautiful.

And as long as he was revisiting Thomas’s childhood understanding of the world, why not go all the way and model his adventure on a story Thomas had loved in childhood? Not a Disney one, for a change…something a bit more intentionally meaningful than that.

He knew just the thing.

Roman set aside his current project and marched himself into the Imagination, intent on his mission.

*****

Hours later, the prince burst into the common area, practically vibrating with anticipation. Four heads swiveled to notice him. He took in the scene in an instant: Logan, standing at an easel with a large whiteboard propped upon it, bearing the heading “WORK/LIFE BALANCE” and a number of bullet points scrawled in three colors of dry-erase marker; Patton and Janus (ugh) sitting on the sofa nearby, engaged in relaxed discussion with the Logical Side and each other; Virgil at the other end of the sofa, headphones clamped over his ears, keeping a wary eye on the proceedings across the room while simultaneously scrolling through something on his phone.

Roman faltered, uncertain of how to begin.

Janus sighed loudly through his teeth—and it was a sigh, not exactly a serpentine hiss—and proclaimed “Mercy me, look at the time.” (There was no clock within his line of sight.) “We’ve been at this for so much longer than I expected while making hardly any progress. I’d best be on my way so we can pick it up again later once our heads have cleared.”

“Aw, Janus, you don’t have to go just because Roman’s here,” said Patton.

“Perhaps not, but I prefer to,” Janus said, shooting Roman a look before spinning on his heel and exiting the room. He assiduously swerved around Roman on the lower steps as he passed, making no physical contact.

“For the record,” Logan said, dismissing the whiteboard and easel, “we have actually made excellent progress in our discussion. I suspect that Janus was engaging in his trademark falsehoods.”

Roman squirmed internally a little. So did that mean…Janus didn’t prefer to leave? Then why—

“So!” Patton said, shifting the room back toward a chipper mood. “What’s going on, kiddo?”

Roman found his voice. “I would like to invite you three…on a quest! Well, more of an adventure than a quest, if you want to get technical. Please come! The story is all set up and we just have to run through it!”

Logan frowned slightly as he often did when considering new information. “Approximately how long do you expect it to take?”

“Hardly any time at all,” Roman stated with absolute confidence. “It has this sort of time…warp…thingie, built in. We go into the Imagination, have the adventure, and come back out at the moment just after we left.” No one replied, so he forged ahead. “And it should be totally safe! A little scary or sad in certain parts, maybe but I can personally guarantee a 100% happy ending.”

“A happy ending sounds pretty good,” said Patton.

“My principal objection has been eliminated as well,” Logan agreed.

Virgil heaved to his feet. “Sure, why not. Got nothing else to do tonight.”

Roman felt his heart swell with pride and affection. It was working! This was going to be amazing! “This means a lot to me, guys. Really. Come on, then! I can't wait to show you!”

He led them upstairs and to his room, where the doorway to the Imagination had been transformed for the occasion. It was always an ornate double door, made of dark-stained hardwood and covered with carvings of fantastic creatures, but now instead of being flush with the wall, it was part of a tall cabinet, a couple of feet deep and smelling faintly of cedar and camphor.

Roman took hold of the door handles and paused theatrically, looking over his should. “Do not be alarmed by what you see inside.” He threw the doors wide, revealing an assortment of fur coats.

“What is this,” Virgil scoffed playfully, “a wardr...wait a sec.” His eyes widened. “Wardrobe full of fur coats...time warp thingie...dude. Are you taking us to Narnia?”

Roman nodded, beaming. “I'm taking you to Narnia.”

[mdelpin]

The Red Dragon - Chapter 34

AO3 | Tumblr: Ch1 | Ch33

Chapter 34

Gray’s soul had indeed tethered to his new body, but Igneel had attached his soul to it as well. This would allow him to cast the spell that would transfer his remaining life energy to Gray while he and Atlas raced to Natsu’s aid.

Or that had been the plan, anyway. Despite all of their considerable planning and research, there was one thing that apparently neither dragon had ever considered.

It was going to take some time for Gray to get used to having an actual dragon body.

While his first emotions and thoughts had been those of a dragon whose mate was in mortal peril, his first attempts at movement had been more akin to a baby fawn taking its first steps. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it had also dismayed him to realize that his newly heightened senses proved difficult for him to adjust to.

They wouldn’t be racing anywhere.

With no time for him to get his feet under him, there was no other choice than to have Igneel take control of the body’s movements while Gray focused on figuring out his magic.

As humiliating as it was to be a passenger inside his own body, Gray was actually grateful to have one thing less to worry about. It ensured they would get to Natsu sooner, and that was the most important thing to him.

He focused on the soul bond he shared with Natsu, delighted to discover their connection felt even stronger than before. It didn’t take him long to feel his mate’s location and lead Atlas and Igneel there.

They landed a short distance away from the battle and, though Gray itched to go help Natsu, Igneel kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, determined to use the element of surprise to their advantage.

Gray struggled to remain silent as Igneel and Atlas discussed the locations of the different combatants and drafted a battle plan. One that depended on his magic actually having the counter spelling effect they’d observed in the astral realm when Igneel had attempted to breathe fire on it during their experimentation.

He felt Atlas stiffen next to him as Acnologia began to cast a spell on a defeated looking Natsu and Gray felt his rage mount. His magic screamed to be let out and just as he was about to comply, he heard a dispirited Natsu in his head.

Please hurry, I don’t think I’m going to make it this time…

Not even Igneel could stop him from replying to that. He communicated all of his love, rage and determination through the bond, hoping to boost his mate’s fighting spirit.

Don’t you dare give up, Flame-Brain! Help is on the way…

Gray collected as much magic as he felt he could control, letting it out through his mouth in one large burst and watching as the strange mist crept towards Natsu and Acnologia.

“Those markings are back,” Atlas said. “That mist is definitely connected to them somehow.”

Gray glanced down to see that black inky substance work its way up his right foreleg, leaving a trail of strange markings in its wake.

Sure, why not?!

He was about to take part in a battle unlike any he’d ever experienced before, in a body he couldn’t control, using a magic he didn’t fully understand. To say he was terrified would be an understatement, but he hadn’t changed everything he was to let this asshole take his happy ending away from him now.

Igneel spoke up then. I know you’re scared. This is your first time using this magic and you’re not convinced it will do much, but I have faith in you- in your courage and determination to do what’s needed.

I’ll do my best. Gray felt a twinge in his heart at the thought that Igneel would soon be gone forever.

I know you will. Just follow your instincts, they will be your greatest ally in this fight.

It didn’t take long for him to realize Igneel was right. If he didn’t know what he was doing, then he might as well surrender to his instincts in the hopes they did. He emptied his mind of all doubt and followed his intuition.

His first impulse was to lift his marked foreleg towards the mist, noting with increased amazement that the mist seemed to respond to the gesture.

0-0

Natsu watched the mist advance toward him, covering the ground quickly. As it neared, he became even more convinced of its origin. It wasn’t a perfect match by any means, but it carried just enough of Gray’s scent to identify it.

But what was Gray even doing here?!

He couldn’t understand what could have possessed Atlas and his father to bring his mate along when they knew how deadly Acnologia was. And what was this magic? It was like nothing he’d ever seen Gray cast before.

All these questions made him feel uneasy, but he had to set them aside for now. There would be plenty of time for that once the fight was over. At the very least, he knew he should have nothing to fear from it.

He’d just have to make sure not to act in any way that would alert Acnologia to Gray’s presence, and hope that was enough to keep him safe. With any luck, the dragons' scents would be enough to conceal it.

The unexpected appearance of the mist had prompted Acnologia to cease casting his spell and Natsu couldn’t help the surge of pride he felt at seeing the hesitation and uncertainty on the renegade’s face as he too studied it.

When the mist enveloped Natsu, he felt a cool numbness spread through his acid-etched scales. The smoke ceased to pour out from them, and he felt blessed relief as the acid seemed to be completely denatured upon contact with it.

Natsu struggled to his feet and used the reprieve to cast a quick healing spell. He felt the deeper wounds mend, and some of his strength returned, but his magic was unable to mend his wing or scales. As soon as the energy emerged from his body and touched the mist, it sputtered and dissipated like a candle being blown out. At the same time, the mist seemed to become more agitated where it touched his magic.

What the hell?

Natsu panicked at this revelation, but his concern quickly turned to absolute shock and confusion as the voice of his soul-mate sounded in his head, albeit with an odd deep undertone, as if someone else were speaking in harmony with him, sounding nothing like what he was used to.

Don't worry Love, I'm(We're) here now.

The mist continued rolling past Natsu, heading directly toward Acnologia. As it approached the renegade, the thick blanket roiled and churned, making it seem as though the fog itself was angry. Swells rose within the mist and sped toward the black dragon, stopping at the leading edge of the mass, but pushing it forward in a ragged advance.

As the waves within the mist grew higher and were almost large enough to crest, Acnologia unleashed a torrent of hellfire at the oncoming fog. Rather than evaporating it or even pushing it back, the moment the flames touched it, they guttered and withered away to nothing. At the same time, the blanket of fog exploded into a massive cloud that covered the entire area of the clearing where the two dragons stood.

The sparks that whirled within the cloud flared brightly as they ceased their chaotic spinning and gathered together into pairs. Each set of lights was only a few inches apart and approximately six feet above the ground. They seemed to draw the cloud around themselves as if it were a misty cloak, and within ten seconds after Acnologia's hellfire was spent, the cloud had shifted into a troop of twelve humanoid forms, their eyes blazing with twin pools of pure magic.

The figures stood between the two dragons, facing Acnologia, and as one, they crouched and reached into the thick fog at their feet. As they stood and continued their advance, each form drew various types of martial weapons fashioned out of gleaming ice from the mist. The six forms at the front wielded falchions and short spears paired with large, foggy shields. The four standing directly behind the front line held a pair of long spears and a pair of halberds, while the last two star-eyed warriors in the rear held a pair of heavy crossbows.

It was clear that Acnologia was at a complete loss as to what was going on. With a roar, he unleashed a volley of lightning bolts at the misty warriors. The foggy shields intercepted most of the bolts and the electricity disappeared within them with no effect other than a brief brightening of their starry eyes. One bolt skirted the edge of a shield and it hit one of the crossbow carriers. Its weapon shattered into glittering shards of ice, carving a hole through its torso before the lightning grounded out into the blanket of fog. But the warrior did not fall or even falter. It simply crouched again and drew another crossbow from the fog as the hole in its chest filled in with more mist.

The warriors retaliated with a charge at the black dragon, and he responded by raising a wall of ice between himself and them. But while it seemed thick and impressive, within seconds, there was an ominous crackling sound from its base as the fog quickly ate through the foundation. The six leading warriors concluded their charge with a shield bash against the wall, and the ten foot tall structure toppled over, forcing the dragon to leap backward to avoid being hit.

The mist warriors moved around the crumbling remains of the ice wall and continued their march on Acnologia. Gajeel took advantage of the distraction, transforming his arm into a massive steel sword, and swinging it at the dragon’s back leg. The sword broke off a few scales and left a small gash just above the knee, but Acnologia knocked it away with a swipe of his tail, sending Gajeel tumbling across the clearing.

Rogue provided cover for the downed slayer, forming a large curtain of shadow interposed between the black dragon and where Gajeel lay. The shadow caster gasped as he felt the drain on his magic from where the shadows touched the blanket of fog, and he concentrated on trying to keep the curtain close without touching the strange mist. He looked around, trying to locate its source, and he saw when it reached the shield dome.

The dome’s holy light dimmed sharply upon contact, and the blanket of fog reacted by surging against the dome like breakers. Rogue could make out the form of Sting collapsing to one knee for a moment before stubbornly hauling himself back to his feet. Rogue took a step toward his mate, but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the mist pull back a bit, leaving the shield dome as a small island untouched by the sea of fog that covered the rest of the clearing.

As impressed as he was by Sting’s efforts, Rogue couldn’t help but worry. His mate was expending a ton of magic to hold that barrier spell. How much longer could he keep it up? He had to be running low by now, but despite that, he showed no sign of slowing down.

His chest swelled with pride and for just a moment he flooded their bond with it so that Sting could know how he felt.

You’re amazing, I love you!

Sting didn’t respond with words, but the love that flowed back from him was unmistakable. Rogue thought he noticed a tightening of his stance and a slight glow to his body that hadn’t been there before.

Shaking his head with a smile, Rogue returned to scanning the clearing for more information. He saw two dragons emerge from the shadows of the trees. One he immediately recognized as Atlas, but the other looked nothing like Igneel. It was a dragon he’d never seen before.

Its body was covered in navy and white colored fur, rather than scales. A silver marking decorated its chest, its shape making Rogue think of a sword, while its horns, talons, wings and even the tip of its tail all looked like they were made of ice.

An ice dragon?

If so, it was certainly unlike any he’d ever seen. And what were those black symbols on its foreleg?

The more he looked at the dragon, the more Rogue couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about it, but he shrugged the thought away, deeming it too ridiculous.

The two dragons approached Natsu while the star-eyed warriors held Acnologia at bay, and Rogue continued casting curtains of shadow and forming vague decoys shaped like the warriors to assist them in their battle against the raging black dragon.

0-0

With Acnologia somewhat occupied for the moment, Atlas and Gray rushed over to Natsu to check up on him. Gray kept the bulk of his attention on the figures he called Dragongard in his head, making sure they continued to put pressure on the black dragon.

Truth be told, he was incredibly pleased with how well he’d been able to adapt his maker magic to his as yet unnamed new one, but it took a lot out of him to control the individual mist constructs.

Gray watched Natsu intently, trying to gage his reaction as he knew there was no way his mate wouldn’t figure out who he was right away. Over the last few weeks, he’d explored many fantasies of how he’d present himself to Natsu when the moment came, but not a single one of them had played out like this.

“Gray?!” Natsu gawked at Gray’s new form.

“Surprise?”

Gray felt suddenly bashful. He didn’t know what to say or where to look, too worried about what Natsu might think of his sudden transformation.

“You’re so beautiful!” Natsu breathed, his eyes shining with unconcealed affection.

“You really think so?”

“Can you two hold off on flirting until we’re not fighting for our lives?” Atlas grumbled.

Natsu tore his eyes away from Gray long enough to ask, “But how did you do this, and what is that magic?! It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“I hardly think this is the time to be asking those sorts of questions.” Atlas held Natsu’s gaze with an equanimity that Gray envied, especially given what he knew of Atlas’ feelings on the matter.

He, on the other hand, could only stand tongue tied and paralyzed by the onslaught of all of Natsu’s conflicting emotions bombarding him through their bond, not to mention his own guilt at having Igneel within him.

Gray felt Natsu prodding at their bond and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what to tell him, too terrified of letting what he was feeling filter through.

Igneel’s voice resonated in his mind. I know you want to tell him everything, but now isn’t the right time. He still needs to fight.

Gray couldn’t deny the truth in Igneel’s words, but they did nothing to ease his guilt at withholding the fire dragon’s presence from his mate. He could feel Igneel’s magic working away inside of him and had the presence of mind to realize his father-in-law would likely disappear once the spell had finished. Wasn’t he depriving Natsu of his last chance to say goodbye to his father?

A sudden thought occurred to him, something he hadn’t considered before. If they defeated Acnologia before Igneel’s spell had run its course, then they might be able to restore the fire dragon’s soul to its former state. And wouldn’t that mean that Igneel could reunite with Porlyusica after all?

He wanted to ask Atlas, but he couldn’t do that in front of Natsu and he didn’t want to get Igneel’s hopes up if he was wrong.

One thing was for sure, if that outcome was in any way possible, then he would do his damndest to make it happen. At least then, Natsu and Atlas could both know peace.

He reached for his magic with renewed vigor, determined to put an end to the renegade’s reign of terror as quickly as possible.

0-0

Atlas left Natsu to Gray as he quickly flew over to the shield dome. He stood before it, impatiently waiting for Sting to let him through. That was, until he realized the dragon slayer’s eyes were closed, and he was oblivious to anything other than maintaining his magic. The dragon raised one massive claw and gently, but firmly, knocked on the shield.

Sting opened his eyes with a start, but soon realized that he was facing the hellfire dragon rather than another attack. He shook his head and looked around blearily until he located Acnologia at the other end of the clearing. He quickly opened a hole in the shield large enough to admit the dragon.

Atlas wasted no time in entering and looking over Wendy’s patients. Nodding firmly, he stepped forward and gently pulled her back with a claw while he cast his own healing magic on Wendy and the three injured combatants. Wendy fell back on her rear, propping herself up with her arms. Sweat streamed down her face and she panted in relief.

“Nice of you to make an appearance.” Irene said once he’d finished, sitting up and offering the hellfire dragon a tight smile. “What’s going on out there?”

“Gray, Rogue and Gajeel have Acnologia contained for the moment, but who knows how long that will last. I need to get you all out of here quickly.” Atlas replied, noticing the patches of dragon scales Natsu had mentioned.

“Gray’s here? Natsu’s gonna flip out.”

“He already knows. I was just with them.” Atlas answered Sting absently, looking over the wounded to assess the results of his healing spell.

Happy’s wings appeared to have healed nicely, but his hind legs were still in terrible shape. Oliver’s wounds had all but closed up, but he was unconscious. He’d have to ask Irene to keep an eye on him, which would also serve to keep her out of trouble, as she wasn’t completely out of the woods, either. Wendy and Sting were almost out of magic, so he cast one last spell to replenish some of their magic stores.

It was the best he could do for them. The day’s earlier spells had used up a lot of his magic, and then he’d cast a speed spell on himself and Gray to make up some of the time they’d lost. He was wiped.

“Happy, do you think you can get back in there?”

Atlas hated to ask the young dragon to get back in the fight when he must still be in pain, but he couldn’t afford not to.

“Aye, Sir!”

He felt especially cruel because he knew Happy looked up to him and would never say no, but there was still a chance that if they killed Acnologia before Igneel’s spell ran its course his soul would heal and he wouldn’t have to experience soul death. They had to try to make that happen.

“Alright, that’s as much as I can do for you right now. I don’t have a lot of magic to spare, but I healed and boosted what I could. There are a few things you should know before we go. Gray is a dragon now, so Sting and Wendy, I’m going to fly you over to him. You’re going to have to help him fight however you can as he has less combat experience and is still learning his magic.”

“Gray’s a dragon?!”

Atlas ignored Wendy’s question in favor of giving instructions. “Irene, I’ll fly you and Oliver somewhere safer. You’ll have to remain there until the fight is over. I’ll try to heal the rest of your injuries then.”

“What do you mean Gray’s a dragon now? You can’t just say something like that and not explain. How? And what about Rogue and Gajeel? And where’s Igneel?”

“There’s no time to waste.” Atlas said, too tired to inject his usual bluster into his reply. “Our friends need us. I’ll explain everything once we’ve killed that bastard. Now, everyone climb on. Sting, don’t release your barrier until we take off.”

Atlas picked up Oliver in his talons, being careful not to jostle him too much. He could tell that Sting and Wendy were unhappy at being kept in the dark, but they climbed on and didn’t put up any more of a fuss. A minute later, he and Happy took off.

They split up, Happy rejoining the fight, while Atlas flew towards Gray and Natsu, wanting to drop Sting and Wendy off so he could find a safe place for Irene and Oliver.

0-0

Acnologia might have been on the back foot, but he was far from defeated. A reinvigorated Natsu traded blows of claw, fang, and tail with the black dragon while the star-eyed warriors continually harassed his flanks. The swords and halberds tore scales off of the dragon whenever an opening presented itself, while the spears and crossbow bolts sought out those vulnerable openings.

Any time one of the icy weapons struck deep, the raging dragon roared in pain and fury, spinning to face the warriors and drive them back again. Whenever he saw an opening, he flung some form of magic at the dark blue dragon lurking behind Atlas. Invariably, each attack was intercepted by a large shield of holy light cast by Sting. Gray and Atlas repositioned themselves continuously, keeping the Dragongard between themselves and Acnologia.

Wendy had immediately attempted to cast a reinforcement spell on her teammates. That spell failed, however, as it tried to envelop the entire body of the person, and the magic quickly drained wherever it remained in contact with the fog.

Her next attempt was a smaller and more targeted spell. This one focused on the person’s head, imbuing them with enhanced senses and quicker thought and reaction speed. It seemed to help, so she concentrated on keeping as many of her teammates in sight as she could and maintained the spell on them while she sat astride Gray’s massive back behind Sting. One hand clutched Sting’s shirt tightly, while the other was raised with a ball of wispy magic that extended long ephemeral tendrils that kept her connected to each of the combatants receiving her enhancement.

Sting held on to one of the fin spikes on Gray’s neck with one hand while his other was constantly raised palm outward toward Acnologia, prepared to cast a shield at a moment’s notice. It burned him that he couldn’t take a more aggressive role in the battle, but he knew there was nothing he could physically do to injure the dragon, and while the mist was a tremendous equalizer, it still did nothing to prevent the black dragon’s immunity to magic.

He did his best to focus on the dragon’s attacks, struggling to avoid being distracted by the sight of Rogue risking his life as he darted around the battleground, casting various spells to distract and hamper their foe. He was tiring, though, and as another bolt of lightning flew toward them, he failed to summon another ward in time. They all braced for a blow that never came. The development was made even more peculiar by the sound of Acnologia’s frustrated roar.

“What happened?” Sting asked, glancing around to see if Natsu or Atlas had intervened.

“I don’t know, right as that attack was about to hit there was ... I don’t know, something.” Gray said, not knowing how to explain what he’d seen. It was like a shield had manifested out of his chest to stop the blast, but it had felt like Natsu’s magic, not his own. And his mate had been nowhere near him when it happened.

He moved them once again, puzzling about what it could all mean, and wondering if maybe he’d discovered some other magic. He decided to ask Igneel about it.

Do you know what that was?

I’m not sure, but it did feel like Natsu’s magic. Maybe something to do with your pendant? He imbued it with a lot of protection magic and it saved you once before....

Happy circled above the fight once more, looking for any opportunity to swoop in and attack. He’d learned from the last encounter to account for the black dragon’s tail and ensure his opponent was thoroughly distracted this time.

Seeing an opening as an icy crossbow bolt struck deep into the dragon’s side while Natsu’s jaws were clamped on Acnologia’s tail, he dove, landing with all four legs right on the black dragon’s head, driving it under the blanket of fog and into the ground. Happy tried to regain his footing and move clear, but the pain in his legs slowed him down.

The black dragon shook off the stunning blow too quickly and managed to grab one of the young dragon’s legs in his jaws. His powerful neck whipped around and threw Happy at Natsu. They collided with a sickening crunch, and they were both bowled back toward where Atlas and Gray stood.

“Natsu!” Gray cried as he darted forward, almost unseating Sting and Wendy in his haste, the mist flickered and the Dragongard seemed to hesitate in his distress. He noted with some trepidation that Igneel’s control over his limbs was weakening. His mental acuity, however, seemed to be intact.

I know it’s difficult, but you must keep a level head, Gray. If you don’t, all is lost.

I know, I know! I just-, I can’t lose him now.

Trust in him… the key to defeating Acnologia lies within you both. I can feel it.

“I’ve got them! You just focus, damn it!” Atlas scolded, hurrying to check both dragons over. Natsu was fine, but Happy’s legs would need to be tended to. He lifted the small dragon out of the blanket of fog and cast a healing spell, using up what little magic he had left.

Gray glared at Acnologia, who still looked slightly wobbly from the blow to the head. How could the damn bastard be so hard to kill?

“Die already.” He spat out, his frustration mounting as Igneel’s time counted down and his hopes of a quick defeat were dashed over and over again.

He directed his star-eyed warriors to close ranks and form a shield wall to guard their downed teammates, then he leaned down and nuzzled the fire dragon’s head gently.

“Get up, Natsu. Battle’s not done yet,” Gray said while looking his mate over for any severe injuries. Other than minor cuts and missing scales here and there, the only major problem was Natsu’s torn wing sails. There had been no opportunity to remove him from the fight long enough to heal them.

“Y-Yeah yeah, I know. I’m going. It’s just so frustrating. No matter how hard we hit him, it’s never enough to keep him down,”

As he got to his feet, Natsu noticed something strange. Well, stranger than every other strange thing that had happened since Gray had arrived. As Gray’s new dragon body crouched over Natsu, close enough that the red dragon could feel his mate’s icy cool breath on the back of his head, his eyes were drawn to the silver marking on Gray’s chest. He had noticed it earlier, and thought it was beautiful. It reminded him of the token he had given Gray, but what he noticed now was that it was glowing — pulsing as if it were a beating heart — and it seemed to glow even brighter as he drew closer to examine it.

“Princess… what is that?” Natsu whispered as he lifted a claw and touched the silver marking. Upon contact, there was an actinic flash of light, and he reared back in surprise. That surprise was multiplied as he found his claw was drawing a silver colored icy sword out of Gray’s chest, hollowing out the marking until it appeared as only an outline.

The hilt fit perfectly in his draconic grip, as though it were intentionally forged for it, and small motes of starlight swam through the ice of the blade, causing the silver edge to twinkle as wisps of mist curled around it. Natsu regained his footing and rose up onto his back legs as he lifted the sword and gazed at it in dumbfounded wonder.

“Gray… what is this?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it saved us earlier too.”

Natsu examined the sword’s magical signature closely. “It feels like it has both of our magics running through it.”

“Do you think it might be enough?” Gray dared to hope. He could feel Igneel getting weaker, and he knew they were running out of time.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to find out,” Natsu readied himself for another charge, hoping against hope that it would be the last one. He was exhausted and knew the others weren’t doing much better. “You think you can give me some cover?”

Gray answered by thickening the existing fog between them and Acnologia, and making it taller.

Atlas took to the air. Given how tired he was, he had no illusions of inflicting any actual damage, but he knew he was one of the few dragons left that Acnologia considered a threat, and he was certainly going to use that to their advantage. All he had to do was distract him long enough for Natsu to get at him.

Natsu advanced on Acnologia, carefully hiding the sword clutched in his claw under the cloak of the fog covering the ground. He watched as the black dragon batted at the star-eyed warriors with a massive tree trunk. It drove them back and held them at bay even as the dragon used the wooden cudgel to parry a series of strikes from Gajeel, then riposte with a swing that sent the iron dragon slayer diving back out of the way.

Atlas roared in challenge and dove towards Acnologia, commanding his attention. Natsu wasted no time in making use of the opening his uncle had provided and made his move.

“Acnologia! Your senseless slaughter ends now.” Natsu challenged the black dragon boldly. “You will not live to see another dragon reaped.”

Acnologia drew back the tree trunk, his gaze darting between Atlas and Natsu. He opted to swing it at Natsu’s head, but the red dragon reared on his hind legs and raised the hidden sword in a parry. The silver edge of the sword bit deep into the wood, and the momentum of the swing split the trunk in two. Acnologia dropped the stump of his cudgel and slashed at Natsu with his claws, and Natsu swung the sword up in a strike that met the black dragon’s arm right at the armpit. There was a crunch and a loud pop, and the dragon’s arm separated from its owner in a gout of blood.

Acnologia’s head reared back with an anguished roar, but moments later, the roar fell off and turned into a gurgling cough. His neck bent curiously, and he stared down at the icy sword embedded hilt deep in his chest.

“What? No… I-I…”

He fell back, causing the sword to slide out of his chest. As it withdrew, it was covered, not in blood, but in a shimmery aura of pale light. Acnologia collapsed to the ground, his head covered by the blanket of fog, but where his chest rose above the mist like an island at sea, the hole in it leaked equal parts blood and pale light. The blood dripped down, but the light coalesced into globes, each of them hovering above the dead dragon for a few moments as they grew.

Gray dispelled his magic, and the fog faded away, revealing the mangled remains of the battlefield.

Natsu turned and walked back to Gray, holding the sword out to his mate reverently, point down. As it neared his chest, the outline of his marking pulsed in time with the light of the sword, and when they touched, the sword disappeared, returning to a silvery marking on the dragon’s chest.

Atlas landed next to them, having collected Rogue and Gajeel from the trench. They all stood together, exhausted but proud, as they watched the globes continuing to pour out of Acnologia’s body. Some of them winked and fizzled out and Natsu took a moment to grieve for them, knowing there would be no Dragon Eyrie for them or even the chance to be reborn. Their existence was over.

He rejoiced to see the number of globes that suddenly raced off in the direction of Drak Aast far outnumbered them. His thoughts immediately went to Weisslogia, hoping that regaining the missing portions of his soul would help the white dragon regain some of the strength he’d lost, and to Belserion, who had selflessly sacrificed his soul so that Natsu might live.

One last globe remained in the sky, glowing softly above them and Natsu felt drawn to it. He instinctively knew this was the missing piece of his father’s soul. The relief he felt at the thought that his parents could now reunite was immeasurable and he watched its trajectory with a smile, expecting to watch it race towards their cave where his father no doubt awaited their return. But rather than do that, it slowly traveled towards them and entered Gray’s body.

Natsu stared at Gray with mounting confusion. Why would his father’s soul enter his mate’s body? Souls were tethered to their earthly vessels. It didn’t make any sense. He turned to Atlas for an explanation, but his uncle wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Atlas?”

Natsu remembered that deep undertone he’d heard in his soul bond earlier and shook his head, dismissing the thought before it could gain any traction.

No, it couldn’t be.

But as much as he wanted to deny it, things were adding up.

He had grown up around Atlas and his father, listening to them talk about the limits and applications of magic for hours on end. More than once he’d heard them speak of the existence of spells so powerful they required sacrifices from the caster, although it was usually things like life force, like the spell his father had used to transform into a human temporarily.

Wait, did that mean that Gray’s transformation was also temporary? His heart sank. He'd allowed himself to believe that the impossible had somehow come to pass and they could be like this forever. Natsu wanted to ask, but he didn’t want Gray to think he was disappointed, and the truth was he loved him no matter what. That would just have been more convenient.

None of these thoughts were helping him to figure out what was happening, and he was done guessing. He looked at Atlas once again, determined to get answers this time.

“Atlas, what’s going on?”

“Natsu, I-”

“No.” Atlas interrupted Gray. “I’ll tell him. He deserves to hear it from me.”

The dragon slayers whispered amongst themselves, none of them understanding what was happening but feeling the tension in the air.

“Igneel’s gone.” Atlas finally looked up at him, and the pain Natsu saw in his eyes was enough to let him know his uncle was speaking the truth.

“Dad’s gone?”

Natsu felt like he couldn’t breathe. Even if he’d suspected as much, hearing it spoken aloud was more than he could bear. Gray’s worry and grief inundated their bond, and it was then Natsu realized it had felt muted earlier, but he’d been too focused on the fight to notice.

“Once he realized Gray possessed a dragon soul, he became determined to find a way to give you the life he’d always promised you.” Atlas’ usual bluster was nowhere to be seen, and Natsu felt for him too. He couldn’t even imagine how hard it must have been for his uncle to go along with this. “He wanted that more than anything. I tried to find another way but—,” his voice broke as he added, “there just wasn’t enough time.”

Gray had a dragon soul? But how could that be? What would have made his father ever think that?

Natsu shook those thoughts aside, recognizing them for the distractions they were. It was just his mind’s way of distancing him from the pain he didn’t want to accept.

He could see it so clearly now. That invitation to go flying together had been so out of character for his father. Not only that, after a lifetime of avoiding his questions, Igneel had shown him his mother at long last. And then there had been that strange comment about getting Natsu what he needed.

Everything clicked into place then, and he could no longer deny the truth of it. His father had given up his life so that he and Gray could have a chance at a normal life together. It was an incredibly selfless act, but all Natsu could think about at that moment was that if things had gone differently, then he would once again be the reason that his parents were separated.

Except this time it would have been for eternity, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“You didn’t need to do that!!” Natsu yelled out in a strangled cry.

“Natsu?” Gray reached out to touch him, but Natsu shook his head, not wanting his comfort, at least not yet.

Of course I didn’t need to, I wanted to.

Igneel’s voice rang in his head a moment before Gray’s body pulsed with a blinding light and his legs buckled underneath him. Natsu moved to help, but before he could do so a beam of light shot out of his mate and into the air. It flickered and coalesced into a semblance of his father.

“I’m so glad I got to see you once more.”

Igneel hovered above them, and although there were many cries of surprise at his sudden appearance, the red dragon only had eyes for Natsu.

His form flickered and flared in the air, making it all too clear that it wouldn’t be long before he was gone for good. But all Natsu could do was stare back in frustration.

How was he supposed to just accept all of this when Igneel had been there for him ever since he could remember? Offering his counsel and showering him with affection when it seemed like there was no one else who understood him.

“Why?” Natsu struggled to find the words he wanted to say, even as the tears began to flow. “You should have told me what you were planning! I could have- I would have-”

“Natsu,” Igneel interrupted, his eyes pleading with him in a way Natsu had never seen before, “There was nothing you could have done. I know this is hard for you to understand, but I needed to do this. Not just for the two of you, but for myself as well. I wanted my life to amount to more than just the sum of my mistakes.”

You’ve always tried to do your best for the ones you love. I think sometimes you forget you deserve to be happy too, and that’s what I wanted to give you.” Igneel’s smile was fond and warm and damn it, it hurt, because Natsu knew this was the last time he’d see it. “Seeing the two of you like this, and knowing how far you both had to grow to get to this point, it makes me so proud of both of you.”

Igneel’s form began to fade and Natsu reached out with his hand, even though he already knew there was nothing there for him to grab hold of. “Please,” he sobbed. “I just want a little more time with you.”

“I’ll always be with you, Natsu, In your heart and in your memories.”

Igneel turned his head suddenly, and when he looked back at Natsu, there were tears in his eyes. “I can hear your mother calling for me.” His voice trembled with the yearning he’d tried to hide for so long. “I can’t wait to tell her all about you. Take care of each other, my sons.”

His last words were barely a whisper as his form flickered one last time before reshaping into a globe and racing skyward. Natsu watched for as long as he could make out its progress, making no effort to stop his tears.

“Thank you, Dad.”

And even as his heart ached, he also felt a sense of peace settle over him. His parents, separated for so long, would once again be free to continue their eternal dance. He felt a tail coiling around his, as an icy wing attempted to envelop him in a tight hug, grounding him and reminding him that despite the enormous loss he’d suffered, he’d also gained something of equal value - a lifetime with his Ice Princess.

A/N: I have mixed feelings about this one, it was by far the hardest chapter to write to date. I'm glad that while Igneel died, he was able to get his fondest wish in the end. He's one of my favorite dragons in the series and I really enjoyed giving him more life than he usually gets. Next chapter they'll finally head home. 

 I really love what Dein did with Gray's magic. Acnologia was so incredibly overpowered that the only thing that could help defeat him was to neutralize his magic and put them all on an even playing field. Maker magic is so incredibly versatile, and I really enjoyed how Gray used it to create those warriors, which reminded me a bit of both his decoys and of course the weapons he constantly makes in canon. 

 When I first asked @khaoticvex​ to design Gray's dragon form (God in like April of 2020) I was blown away by what she came up with. She incorporated all of Gray's magic and elements in his design. One of the things I instantly loved and wanted to do something with was the sword pendant. She had made it into a marking on his chest and that is where a lot of the inspiration for that scene came from. She also included his devil slayer markings which I had not considered using at first, but opened up the possibility for this magic Dein created which we are currently calling NegaMagic as it negates magic. ;) 

 I hope you enjoy this chapter. Only one left... I'll get to work on it soon. It should hopefully be up on or before August 30th.

[hamliet]

The Rose and the Raven: Ciri and Cahir’s Journeys

Or the post analyzing their foiling throughout The Witcher Saga. 

While there are quite a few characters who undergo development in the saga, I’d say the four most complete arcs are Yennefer’s, Geralt’s, Ciri’s, and Cahir’s, because all four of them follow the same Jungian/alchemical structure. I’ll write something on Yennefer as the Red King and Geralt as the White Queen (no, those terms are not me mixing them up) later on, but for now I want to focus on Ciri and Cahir, because they are utterly necessary for each other’s arcs. They meet three times, and each of these meetings mark particular points in their development. 

In this meta, I’m going to focus specifically on the very blatant Jungian symbolism employed by Sapkowski. (Honestly the symbolism is basically Jung 101.) In particular, Sapkowski draws from Jung’s Psychology and Alchemy, which explores alchemy as a metaphor for individuation. Individuation is the main goal of Jungian psychology and literature, and it refers to a person reconciling with themselves to become a complete person, without repression, the best they can be. This “complete person/best person you can be” is akin to the philosopher’s stone in literary alchemy, and that is the journey of Yennefer’s, Geralt’s, Ciri’s, and Cahir’s arcs. Additionally, Cahir is Ciri’s shadow, and Ciri is Cahir’s anima. 

NB before we continue: while anima/animus is often romantic in stories, it does not have to be; for example, Jung spoke of one potential frequent anima as a character���s sister. So while Cahir does say he’s in love with Ciri, I’m not delving into that debate in this post. Ty. 

The Black Raven: Cintra

Literary alchemy begins with the prima materia, the primary material that comprises the entire world and from which the philosopher’s stone will be formed (the reason alchemists want to form the stone? It creates the elixir of life, which grants eternal life. This is important for The Witcher’s themes). The Fall of Cintra is where the main saga begins, and it’s also where Ciri and Cahir meet. Cintra itself is not the prima materia; rather, Ciri and Cahir are. 

Cahir describes his mindset before the fall of Cintra as, essentially, the opposite of the ultimate goal of individuation:

A soldier does not question commands... He does not analyze them, he does not think about them, and he does not expect an explanation of their meaning. This is the first thing they taught us soldiers.

Whereas Ciri is quite literally a child at this point: innocent, mischievous, unaware of the horrors that await her. A child relies on adults to help them survive; they cannot individuate because they need people to care for them. 

Ciri is in a sense Cahir’s inner child. In Jungian works, true adulthood can only be achieved when the person learns to parent or care for their inner child. Later on, we hear that Child!Cahir is noted to be mischievous and fun, much like Ciri:

Small Cahir preferred running around the walls and fighting with his peers from families who came with their parents for the funeral, burial and ceremony. Cahir was devoted to making mischief by the walls.

But that changes with his brother’s death and his mother’s admonition:

“Remember, my son,” Mawr sobbed, clutching her child to her breast so hard he could not breathe. “Remember this day. Never forget who put your dear brother Aillil to death. It was those damn Nordlings. Your enemies, my son. Be sure to hate them. Never stop hating that damn nation of murderers!”

“I will always hate, Mother,” Cahir promised.

Jung comments that the inner child “represents the strongest, the most ineluctable urge in every being, namely the urge to realize itself;” i.e. someone has to connect with their inner child in order to be able to develop a sense of who they want to become and thereby achieve individuation. Cahir’s goals prior to meeting Ciri are to achieve fame and glory in war, but once he encounters his inner child, that gradually becomes less important. 

The first stage in alchemy is Nigredo, or the blackening. Nigredo is associated with night, death, dark nights of the soul, and specifically with ravens and crows as well. In fact, Jung called the darkest parts of Nigredo “the raven’s head.” (Yes, really.) 

The Fall of Cintra and Ciri and Cahir’s meeting takes place at night, and Ciri’s main memory of this is the knight with raven wings on his helmet, marking this as Nigredo in both of their developments. 

But even more than that, Nigredo can be divided into further steps. George Ripley’s Magnum Opus (which influenced Shakespeare, among other well known writers who shaped literary tradition) identifies the first stage as “calcination,” which refers to heating something to extremely high temperatures (thus, the blackening). To rescue Ciri, Cahir has to ride through literal flames. 

The second step is “dissolution/solution,” in which something dissolves. The bath scene is dissolution, as Ciri is covered in burns an coated in blood, feces, dirt, and smoke. However, this is traumatizing for Ciri, because she has no idea why this stranger who can’t even bring himself to speak to her is bathing her. Cahir regrets it as well. 

The next step is “separation.” Cahir falls asleep and wakes up to find Ciri gone. Jung cites this separation as being a particular separation of the anima and animus. But it’s this that gives Cahir time to reflect on his life choices and his allegiance to Emhyr (even if he doesn’t break right away with Emhyr): “I cried with anger against an emperor who likes chasing little girls. I cried for a year while sitting in a cell in the Citadel.”

Following their first meeting, Ciri has nightmares about Cahir, and Cahir has dreams about Ciri.

Ciri sees Cahir as a nightmare, a nightmare she needs to face rather than repress, in order to find hope for herself after all the trauma she’s been through. But at this point, she can’t quite do that, and at first is somewhat imprisoned by the nightmares. This marks Cahir as Ciri’s Jungian Shadow (the archetype Jung associated with Nigredo), which is essentially the part of ourselves that we try to repress. Ciri cannot remember exactly what happened with Cahir (a sign of repression), but she does remember his helmet and her fear. She is afraid of him in her dreams.

The White Monster: Thanedd

Prison and repression are strong motifs in both Cahir’s and Ciri’s arcs, but the difference is that Cahir is the one who starts out imprisoning himself whereas Ciri’s is more natural as a result of her being a literal child. Cahir is not going to grow at all by taking Ciri prisoner, but he tries to do so because he himself is a prisoner. He’s a prisoner of his family’s role and then a literal prisoner in Emhyr’s dungeon, condemned to die for over a year. He’s allowed to go free specifically because he’s literally the only Nilfgaardian who has seen Ciri and thereby they need him. Thus the concept of Ciri sets him free, but you can’t be truly free when you’re seeking to imprison someone else.

Yet Cahir still dreams about the girl with a rose tattoo. Cahir sees Ciri as a rose (something beautiful rising from thorns/pain), as his destiny according to the line of thinking that destiny is hope. The rose is red, symbolic of Rubedo, or what Ciri will become and what Cahir needs to aim for: philosopher’s stones, capable of producing eternal life. 

I do think it’s important that the Ciri Cahir expresses himself as in love with is the one who appears in his dreams—as animas often do (Anima is the archetype of the Albedo stage, according to Jung). Jung says:

It belongs to him, this perilous image of Woman; she stands for the loyalty which in the interests of life he must sometimes forego; she is the much needed compensation for the risks, struggles, sacrifices that all end in disappointment; she is the solace for all the bitterness of life. And, at the same time, she is the great illusionist, the seductress, who draws him into life with her Maya – and not only into life’s reasonable and useful aspects, but into its frightful paradoxes and ambivalences where good and evil, success and ruin, hope and despair, counterbalance one another. Because she is his greatest danger she demands from a man his greatest, and if he has it in him she will receive it. 

Seductress doesn’t have to mean sexual in this context, FYI. Think of the anima as tempting/seducing the man to grow as a human being. The point is that it’s this dream that encourages Cahir to grow, thereby setting himself free on the path to individuation.

Their second meeting comes at Thanedd, signifying Albedo, or the whitening. If Nigredo is the process of breaking things down, then Albedo is the process of cleansing away the impurities. “Conjunction” is a term in which all the separated parts that can be salvaged from the Nigredo come together: for Ciri, in the persons of Geralt and Yennefer and the like; for Cahir, it’s more internal (again more fittingly, because he’s an older teenager at this point). What he has left to grasp cannot be grasped as who he is currently, but he’s freed because of Ciri, and needs to continue to pursue what Ciri represents. That’s kinda all that’s salvageable. 

They fight, and Ciri spares his life, marking Ciri’s decision towards individuation... because Ciri sees her inner child in Cahir, a bruised innocence she chooses not to kill:

There was no black helmet, no wings of a bird of prey, whose sound had pursued her in her nightmares. He was no longer the Black Knight of Cintra. Instead there was a pale dark-haired young man writhing in a pool of blood, a young man with blue eyes and his mouth twisted into a grimace of terror. The Black Knight of Cintra had fallen under the blows of her sword, had ceased to exist, the wings that caused her to be afraid were no more than limp feathers. The frightened boy, bent over, vomiting blood, was nothing. She did not know him, had never seen him before.... She was not afraid of him, did not hate him. She did not want to kill him.

She threw her sword on the ground.

This marks step towards maturity and towards reconciling with her shadow for Ciri. 

Sapkowski then focuses on emphasizing just where we are in Ciri and Cahir’s refinement, making sure we recognize the white motif in this scene. Like, we get it, Geralt has white hair. It’s repeated so often for the symbolic purpose (emphasis is mine):

A white-haired monster attacked them. He jumped from the wall. From a height it was impossible to jump without breaking a leg. It was impossible to land softly, turning a pirouette that blurred to the eye and killing a split second later. But the white-haired monster did it. And he began to kill.

The Scoia’tael fought fiercely. They had the advantage. But they had no chance. Cahir gaped in horror at the sight of the massacre that was carried out. The gray-haired girl who had struck him a moment ago was fast, was incredible agile as a cat who was protecting her kittens. But the white-haired monster who jumped upon the Scoia’tael was like a Zerrikanian tiger. The gray-haired girl from Cintra, who, for unknown reason, had not killed him, had seemed to be crazy. The white-haired monster was not crazy. He was calm and cold. And calmly and coldly killed...

When Cahir opened his eyes, the monster was right before him. ‘Don’t kill me...’ he whispered, abandoning his attempts to rise on the floor slippery with blood. The hand that had been wounded by the gray-haired girl had stopped hurting and was numb.

‘I know who you are, Nilfgaardian.’ The monster with the white hair kicked the helmet with the broken wing. You’ve stubbornly pursued her for a long time. But you couldn’t even hurt her.’

‘Don’t kill me.’

‘Give me a reason. Just one. Quickly.’

‘I..’ whispered Cahir ‘I was the one who took her from Cintra. The fire... I saved her. I saved her life...’

When he opened his eyes the monster was gone, he was alone in the yard, alone with the bodies of the elves. The tinkling water from the fountain, poured over the edge of the pond, washing the blood from the floor.

Not only is there emphasis on white, but there is emphasis on washing away blood, or impurities, for Cahir. His reputation in Nilfgaard cannot be salvaged; only his soul, which chose to save a girl once, can be. 

But guess what the next steps are in Albedo (if you said happy, you’d be sadly wrong): “putrefication” and “congelation.”

We see putrefication (focus on death and rotting) in Ciri, when she’s wandering the Frying Pan and trying to survive, her mind breaking and frustration and abandonment welling up inside of her. While this marks a darker, negative turn for her character, it’s actually very necessary towards getting Ciri to a place where she can accept her shadow self, represented in the person of Cahir. 

In Cahir, putrefication lands him captured, to brought to Nilfgaard chained in a coffin. This is not subtly symbolic of him listening to his mother and chaining himself to an idea of hate that was born in death and can only ever end in death. When Geralt (the white monster) frees him, he is reborn, in a sense, and given a second chance not in the same sense Emhyr gave him a second chance: he cannot spend a second chance doing what brought him there in the first place. No, he has to change. This is further symbolized by Geralt giving Cahir the knife and telling him to free himself or wait to be found by other Nilfgaardians, sharply contrasting with how Cahir was freed before (for the purpose of serving Nilfgaard). 

Congelation involves heat and requires lots of water, which is also seen in Ciri in the Frying Pan (for her, putrefication and congelation are kind of combined; this is not unusual in alchemical stories). When Cahir is freed from the coffin and when he later asks to join Geralt, Milva, and Jaskier, it is noted to be raining: “After the summer drought, the land was now soaked with water and the forest paths had turned to mud slides.”

Buildup to Stygga

So... I know I said I would be talking about their three meetings, and I am doing so, but technically there is another stage between Albedo and Rubedo (red), called Citrinitas (yellowing/golden). However, it’s most often compressed into Rubedo. So you could see Citrinitas as the buildup to Stygga and thereby part of Rubedo, and I kind of do, but I’m putting it in its own section for now. 

Citrinitas focuses on the light, or fire. Basically, it’s where everything starts to go very, very wrong for Ciri. 

Life isn’t kind enough to let Ciri continue as an innocent, merciful child. She literally draws from fire to save the unicorn, but ends up in a dark place afterwards. The next stages are “cibation,” “sublimation,” and “fermentation.” Ciri’s journey through these stages are quite clear: cibation is with the Rats, in which she distracts herself but also feeds herself with skills she will later use in her journey, sublimation is when she literally travels to a different world for (with sublimation meaning solid becoming air, and Ripley describes it as “in the air our child must thus be born,” which very much reflects Ciri’s journey back to her world), and fermentation... Stygga. It’s also telling that Ciri encounters Jung’s archetype of the wise old man in Vysogota during these stages, because Jun associated Citrinitas with that archetype.

Cahir, however, has a slightly different journey. Cibation is when he joins the hansa and starts to learn from Milva, Geralt, Jaskier, and Regis--in particular, from Regis, his own wise old man archetype, he learns redemption. They feed him in a spiritual sense. Sublimation is when he finally reconciles with his inner child as himself, exemplified in his relationship with Geralt. 

For starters, Cahir acts like a child in punching Geralt for accusing him of betraying them, and is then treated by a child by Milva when she literally uses her whip to spank them apart. Then, Cahir gets injured and Geralt has to save him, which marks a moment at which both Cahir and Geralt reconcile with their inner child. (While I plan on writing a different post for Geralt and Yennefer, this point in Geralt’s development matters for Cahir’s own journey; hence its inclusion.)

Geralt has been blaming Cahir because he fears Yennefer has betrayed them, and so lashes out at someone he knows hurt someone he loves once, projecting his own insecurities and fears he abandoned Ciri onto Cahir. Geralt is only able to get over his distressed fears about Yennefer’s betrayal by acting like, well, a dad to a feverish Cahir, who opens up at last and keeps asking for reassurance like a child:

Cahir finally showed some signs of life, and shortly afterwards – miraculously – he stood up, cursed himself, and held his head. They continued on. Initially, Cahir moved quickly. Then, he slowed down. Then, he fell.

Geralt took turns carrying him on his back and dragging him, groaning, pushing against rocks.

...

“Geralt?” “Yes.” Cahir straightened the logs in the fire with the help of a leg bone he had found. “In the mine, as we fought… I was scared, you know?” “I know.”

...

“I've seen her constantly in dreams… I see her still, as a woman – beautiful, confident, provocative… with details, such as a fire-red rose tattooed in her groin…”

“What are you talking about?”

“I do not know, do not know, myself… But it was, and still is. I see her still, in the dreams, just as I had seen her in a dream back then… So, I agreed to take the mission on Thanedd. That's why I wanted to join you later. I… I still want to once again… to see her once again, to touch her hair, to look into her the eyes… I want to see her. Strike me dead, if you want. But I'm going to stop pretending. I think… I think I love her. I beg you, do not laugh.”

“I am not laughing.”

In a sense, Cahir’s role in regards to Geralt is giving Geralt a chance to see what Ciri has become before they reunite: an innocent mistreated by the world, a red rose striving to grow even among thorns, marked by her trauma but strong. Geralt helping Cahir is Geralt coming to terms with his inner child in both Cahir and in Ciri. And for Cahir, he comes to term with his inner child in himself, and acknowledges Ciri as not just his anima, but as a necessary part of the philosopher’s stone he’s becoming. Ciri’s tattoo is notably red, the color of Rubedo, of completion. The red rose is a sign of what Cahir has to pursue. 

The Red Rose: Stygga Castle

“Exaltation” is where, according to Ripley, all things combine at last. He quotes Christ from the Bible as saying: “if I exalted be/Then shall I draw all things unto me.” Hence, Stygga is where everyone and everything comes together, from Ciri to the Hansa to Bonhart to Vilgefortz and Yennefer to Emhyr himself. 

Exaltation is where “two contraries together shall meet.” By the time Ciri and Cahir reunite, they have both changed. This time, Ciri still is afraid, but then she recognizes the idea of redemption inside him, because it’s one she’s had to grapple with herself now. In doing so, she is no longer afraid of her shadow self. He apologizes and she sees him as a human and not as a nightmare, she accepts her shadow, thereby freeing herself from her fear that she is irredeemable. In other words, Ciri is brought closer to individuation than ever before.

Cahir, likewise, decides who he is and who he will be right there, thus achieving individuation and fulfilling the Jungian Self archetype (which is the archetype Jung associated with Rubedo). Cahir goes from being Ciri’s literal nightmare to being the one Ciri trusts to protect her from her nightmare in Bonhart:

“Run,” Ciri whispered, seeing who was coming down the second passage. “It is the devil incarnate. But he wants me and will not chase you… Go. Help Geralt…”

Cahir shook his head. “Ciri,” he said mildly. “I’m surprised at you. I cross the whole world to see you, and now that I found you, to redeem myself, to save you and defend you. And you want me to run away now?”

“You don’t know who you are dealing with.”

Cahir tugged on his gloves, removed his coat and wrapped it around his left arm. He waved his sword and swung it until it whistled in the air. “I would know.”

At the sight of the trio, Bonhart stopped. But only for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “There was a rescue? Your friends, witcheress? All right. Two more or less, it does not make a difference.”

Ciri suddenly thought of something. “Say goodbye to your life, Bonhart,” she cried. “This is your end. Here is your match!”

Undoubtedly she exaggerated. Bonhart caught the false note in her voice. He looked suspicious. “The witcher? Really?”

Cahir swung his sword, standing in position. 

Bonhart did not waver. “Well, well, the witcher is younger than I thought... It would be more sensible, in that case, to get out of my way and flee. I want this wench, I have nothing against you.”

“Strong words,” Cahir said calmly. “Let’s see what else you can do. Angoulême, Ciri, run!”

Cahir’s being equated with Geralt in the above fight with Bonhart is significant. Ciri is Geralt's innocent side, and Cahir his not-so-innocent side. That Cahir both is held accountable by Geralt and comforted by him is important for Cahir and Geralt’s respective growths. By growing towards Ciri, his anima, Cahir has become more like Geralt, and towards Cahir’s ideal self as well: a knight who really saves people. He has become a philosopher’s stone. 

The scene where Cahir dies describes quite a bit of red, noting that his blood falls at the feet of a statue like a sacrifice. He knows he doesn’t have much of a chance against Bonhart, but instead of the terrified boy begging Geralt to be spared, he’s willing to lay it all down to give Ciri a chance to escape. And he’s able to do it knowing that she expressed that she believed in him, and was trying to unnerve Bonhart to give Cahir the best chance possible. 

Cahir’s mother told him to fuel himself with hate, but in the end, Cahir died for love, and he was better for it. 

It’s also no coincidence then that after reconciling with her shadow in the person of Cahir, Ciri is finally able to defeat Bonhart. Nor is it a coincidence that she extends Bonhart the same mercy she once showed Cahir, sparking his redemption, to Bonhart. She can do this now, because she is no longer afraid of her mercy, her inner child, or of her darker side. She is fully herSelf. When Bonhart tries to kill her anyways, she is able to do what she has to do in that situation and without blaming herself. 

Only then does Ciri truly mature and then reunite with her parents in Yennefer and Geralt (black and white, as Ciri is gray in hair; not coincidentally). She is exalted, then, as the philosopher’s stone. She is able to express her innocence and darker instincts together, weeping when she is told to say goodbye to them, and it’s the sight of that innocent child, the one that coexists inside her now, that spurs Emhyr to free her.

Neither Geralt nor Yennefer. Never again.

That awareness, in one fell swoop wiped away her fake mask of courage. Ciri’s face contracted and contorted her eyes filled with tears, and her nose ran. The girl fought with all her might, but in vain. A wave broke the dam as the tears made an appearance.

The Nilfgaardians in salamander cloaks looked on silently. And amazed. Some had seen her on the stairs covered in blood, had seen her talking with the Emperor. A witcheress with a sword, who was defying the Emperor himself. And now they were stunned, seeing a simple girl crying and sobbing.

...She struggled, but to no avail. The more she tried to restrain herself, the more she cried.

...

“A strange thing, fate,” she heard him whisper faintly. “Goodbye, my daughter.”

Of note, exaltation is where “man and wife” are “bur[ied] together/To be after revived in the spirit of life.” Geralt and Yennefer are sealed in a bath to commit suicide together, but make love first, and Ciri’s being freed means that they do not have to die after all. As the philosopher’s Stone, Ciri is able to produce the elixir of life. 

Multiplication is the next stage, which is less overt in the text because in literature it’s often quantity, but it can be quality as well. Ciri taking her own destiny in her hands before the council of mages increases her quality as the philosopher’s stone; thereby I’d call that multiplication. Cahir dies during exaltation, but you could perhaps see his sacrifice as a way of enabling the multiplication and projection of Ciri.

Ciri’s ability to produce the elixir of life is further seen in the end scenario, where Ciri spirits both Geralt and Yennefer away to Avalon. Whether they are literally alive or not is not clear nor important, because they have transcended life itself. They have become legends, living eternally in them, as has everyone who traveled with them. Ciri telling Lancelot her story is projection, the sharing of the legend, the stone, the elixir of life, with the whole world... or in this case, worlds. 

[musicollage]

Benoit Pioulard. The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, 2016. Kranky. ( Mastered By – Rafael Anton Irisarri )  ~ [ Album Review |   1) Pop Matters  +  2) Exclaim!  + 3) All Music  +  4) Impose Magazine  + 5) Echoes And Dust  ]

1) The peculiar title of Benoît Pioulard’s latest album gives the impression that it could be some kind of best-of collection. It isn’t, but The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter could stand in as a succinct summation of Thomas Meluch’s charismatic melding of dream-folk, field recordings, and sandwashed atmospheres.

The completion of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter has been trailed by poignant timing and tragic coincidence. Meluch’s first album for Kranky, Précis, was released ten years earlier, nearly to the day. His brother, for whom the record is dedicated, passed away on the same day that it was finished. Listening Matter’s mood is not easily read. Its pleasure and melancholy are both wary. Meluch being a photographer as well, several of his Polaroids serve as the album art. There’s surely some reflection of the music to be drawn from the cover image; a fish eye mirror on a dark weathered wall, offering a detached and bent view of a beautiful day.

Starting with Sonnet in 2015, Benoît Pioulard has let loose an outpouring of ambient releases. There was Stanza, a companion to the Sonnet LP, Stanza II, the Noyaux EP put out by Morr Music, and the tour EP Thine. This past June he released the Radial EP, which featured an ‘interpretation’ of the Aphex Twin song “Stone in Focus”, to help pay for medical bills he incurred breaking his wrist while hiking in the Cascade foothills near North Bend, Washington.

Listening Matter swings back toward the singer-songwriter yin to Meluch’s structure-averse yang, a mode he hasn’t dwelled much in since Hymnal in 2013. Working again with Benoît Pioulard here is Rafael Anton Irisarri, who mastered the album at Black Knoll Studio in New York. Along with being the go-to guy for completing his own music, Irisarri is a composer with whom Meluch collaborates as Orcas. The duo’s stunning, underappreciated second album, Yearling, is a standout in both of their bodies of work.

Opening euphoric gust “Initials B.P.” is both a clearing of the throat and a girding of the loins. Outside the door lay a progression of perils to face down. “Narcologue” wastes no time, cutting into time and distance’s grip on love: "But this freezing of the heart / Is a shameful shuttering born of being apart / With numbness but in command / My senescence proves we hold together like sand”. Addiction lurks in “Layette”, which begins with the admission, “In a matter of time / I’ll slowly burn through my vices / Cos when I level with them / They still put me through my paces”.

The elated melody of the brief but voluble “Anchor as the Muse” belies its sense of futility. Nearly halfway in and there’s still no resolution in sight on “I Walked Into the Blackness and Built a Fire”: “So I will give chase / The back roads are clearer than before / But mist is in pace / And I can’t see the paths anymore”. Not to overstate the point, but after going practically speechless since Sonnet, Meluch has a lot to get off his chest here. He also gives himself a narrow window in which to do it; a baker’s dozen of future-past pop songs etched onto water-warped tape that average in length somewhere in the two-minute range.

Contradictions being key to the album’s balance, it is only natural that Listening Matter’s greatest moment of levity comes wrapped in cataclysm. On “The Sun Is Going to Explode But Whatever It’s OK”, each successive verse is an eloquent capture of a different thought or perspective in the context of the end of it all; a couple of the sentimental kind, but most of the ‘oh well’ variety. “Oh in the great conflagration of the universe / The sun is going to fucking explode/It doesn’t help to block it with your hand / So just tremble with the ruptures in the land”. It’s the “Take It Easy” this generation deserves.

2) Over the past decade-and-a-half, Thomas Meluch (aka Benoît Pioulard) has covered a lot of musical ground. The Washington-via-Michigan producer has averaged a release per year, tackling electronic, ambient, electroacoustic and even shoegaze and folk along the way but on his latest LP, the aptly titled The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, Meluch has focused on a subject that has seemed to elude him over the years: himself.

According to Pioulard, the album was recorded during a rough period in his life; the 13-track LP tackles such subjects as grief ("I Walked Into a Blackness and Built a Fire"), turmoil ("In-the-Vapor") and self-medication ("Narcologue"). Opening the record off with the bleary and antonymous electronics of "Initials B.P.," Pioulard goes on to fill the album with guitar strums and vulnerable vocal sighs, while distancing himself from his most recent work. Despite the themes covered throughout, tracks like "Defect" and "A Mantle for Charon" sound honourably optimistic and cheery as Pioulard's voice comes off clean, clear and often chatty, akin to the warbling vocals of the Beta Band's Steve Mason.

Surrounded by ambient hiss and faint female backing vocals, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter shows Pioulard expressing emotion through simple but intensely personal songwriting.

3) Over a decade's worth of albums, Thomas Meluch took Benoît Pioulard's music in such wide-ranging directions that, by the time of Sonnet's expansive ambient instrumentals, it seemed unlikely he'd return to the project's folktronic beginnings. However, he does exactly that with The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, an album title that hints at coming full circle: if Precis was a concise introduction, then these songs are a poignant summary. Benoît Pioulard's music feels lighter and freer than ever, even as it touches on heavy subject matter. Within half an hour, Meluch reflects on life's impermanence ("Narcologue"), the fleeting comforts of vice ("Layette"), and mortality ("A Mantle for Charon") in ways that give Precis' affecting simplicity a greater depth. On songs such as "Perennial Comforts" and the gorgeous "I Walked into the Blackness and Built a Fire," he couples his flair for atmosphere with lyrical storytelling that paints a more complete picture of his world than ever before. Meluch surrounds these deep dives with ambient pieces that are the mainstay of Benoît Pioulard's work -- the breezy album opener is even called "Initials B.P." -- and the interplay of space and texture is lovely as always on "In-the-Vapor" and the velvety final track, "Ruth." Nevertheless, a voice as expressive as Meluch's should be used as much as possible, and his singing is especially welcome after Sonnet; on the lilting "Like There's Nothing Under You," he says as much with his circling harmonies as he does with his poetic words. Indeed, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter features some of his catchiest songs in some time, from the shimmering "Anchor as the Muse" to "The Sun Is Going to Explode But Whatever It's OK," a brisk singalong for an end-of-the-world campfire. A tenth anniversary is as good a time as any to take stock, but to Meluch's credit, it doesn't feel like he's revisiting the past merely for nostalgia's sake. Instead, adding the clarity of experience to his early work's atmospheric conciseness only makes The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter all the richer.

4) Musicians often need to assume a persona, giving an alter-identity to better create and perform. Thomas Meluch has been working under such a pseudonym for his solo efforts since 2005, moving deliberately toward his current intersection of folk and ambient electronica. His previous output under his Benoît Pioulard name has often been nebulous and, as with the case of last year’s album Sonnet, voiceless. With the release of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter, Meluch opens up his expressions both lyrically and via acoustic guitar. With this new effort, he shades his atmospheric music with a humanity that also works as a curative measure for his grief and emotional state.

Listening Matter begins with one of Meluch’s signature drone-based expressions, reminding of the ethereal and isolating moods of Brian Eno. Throughout the album, he uses these quick interims as a respite between vocal sets, seemingly giving himself a breather from his realizations and confessionals. When he does open up, his voice has a calming lilt reminding of many heartfelt troubadours like Nick Drake and Elliot Smith, recalling moments while looking forward. “Narcologue” has a flamenco flair but soothes like a opiate, emulating that painless relief from reality. With the bright outset of single “Anchor and The Muse”, Meluch reaches for balance and awareness in the aftermath of his struggles. Meluch states poignantly that “If you still resent me after everything I’ve done/ Well, then I can’t really blame you, can I?”, owning his faults with a weary finality.

The tracks on The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter rarely last beyond the three minute mark, but the impressions made are distinct and indelible. His production is stark yet sprightly, finding the right moments to add a layer of anodic ambience or environmental hum. The harpsichord produced on “I Walked Into the Blackness and Built a Fire” matches well with an understated gallop as rhythm track, echoing with rich history and a tangible sound. The album’s best track “A Match for Charon” features an uplifting chord progression and swells that creep out gradually bursts through the mix like sunlight. The listener acts almost as an audience member in a theatre, where Meluch’s songs are vignettes to be experienced as well as heard.

That hazy, memorable ambience is a trademark of the music from Chicago-based label Kranky and its impact is easily recognized on the Benoît Pioulard signature. What makes the efforts of Meluch distinct on this LP is his representation of the ebb and flow of life, acting both as the cause and effect of his music. One can perceive Meluch lift the weight off of his shoulders as his songs resonate with individual pain and resilience. This feeling becomes clearer with the knowledge that he lost his brother tragically upon completing this album. With this, Listening Matter is an unmistakable release from a record label committed to a singular sound and an individual effort from a musician still coming to terms with his own art and station in life.

5) Following an excursion of a wholly ambient release, one that truly enveloped the listener into a world that offered intrigue and mystery, composer Thomas Meluch offers his latest work under the Benoît Pioulard moniker. Returning now to his roots of experimental ambient folk, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter features Meluch taking a step back from his 2015 album of Sonnet, utilizing his incredible range of ambient composition to further push and extenuate his own acoustic-folk musings. The result of it all is an album that that feels strangely familiar and comforting, whilst managing to express many ideas and notions that are certainly different.

Whilst Sonnet emphasized ambient techniques greatly and featured very sparse vocals, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter instead focuses around Meluch’s own folk notions, all accompanied, pushed, moved and broken up by his own ambient techniques. At the heart of every musical technique, is Meluch himself who examines himself and his own experiences and understanding of troubling times with great examination, using the recording process of The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter as a growing and healing process. Vices, virtues, life and death are all mused upon and expressed by Meluch, all blurred and obscured by ambient washes, as though there’s only so much we’re supposed to see.

There’s a great intrigue following this album and its release. Meluch seems to have spent much of the past two years really turning his gaze into himself, looking at how he views the world and understands it, before turning at introspection outward through the medium of his songs. There’s an incredible fragility to much of the work on the album, whilst also being incredibly headstrong and confident. As a body of work, much of the album seems to jump further ahead than much of Meluch’s work, sounding more concise and direct than the 2015 ambient work of Sonnet or even the more folk-directed 2013 album of Hymnal.

Meluch’s works may sometimes feel a little hard to really tap into at times, especially much of his earlier work which really felt experimental at times. It seems now Meluch has really honed in his incredible range and talents, creating an album that is no doubt experimental, but is also much easier to digest and understand, whilst still being a wonderful album experience that simply achieves everything it has set out to do. It’s arguable that Meluch has created a perfect entry point into his music for those who may be unfamiliar to his unique style, whilst also releasing a work that will really inspire his many lifelong fans.

[elvish-sky]

Aragorn and Taniara [an elf] (That's what my sister calls herself. Lol.)

Hmmm... maybe Taniara is Elrond's youngest daughter and she sneaks away from Imladris to go with the Fellowship. She could meet up with them in The Golden Woods? Um... and Legolas explains to her that the pain she had felt was her fear of Elessar not returning to her...? And maybe a time skip to when Elessar gets crowned King of Gondor?

Is this what you mean by "ask"?

A.N: So this was an insert request and uses someone’s name but I’ll be posting a completely x reader version for everyone else. I hope this is what you wanted, and I’m wishing your sister a very happy birthday! I hope she likes it!

Requested by @ask-the-elf-stuff on Tumblr

Pairing: Aragorn x Character Insert (Taniara) {Not an OC! I’m also posting a full x reader version for everyone else!}

Word Count: 1,790

Warnings: Kissing, fluff, the smallest bit of angst.

****

Hope {Aragorn x Taniara}

“You’re really leaving?” You gazed into Aragorn’s eyes, hoping that it wasn’t true.

“I have to, Taniara. The fate of Middle-Earth depends on it.”

Your head dipped in understanding, but also sadness.

“Do not fear. I will return.” He cupped your chin with his hand, tilting your head and kissing you. It was a light kiss, nothing like the others you had shared before. This kiss was the hope that you’d see each other again.

Breaking away, you forced a smile as you hugged him, trying not to cry. Stepping back, you waved as he followed the rest of the newly formed Fellowship through the gates of Imladris. Your father stood next to you, and as Aragorn passed through the gates Elrond drew you into his side.

“He’ll be back, hína (child),” Elrond said as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you rested your head on your father’s shoulder as you watched the man depart.

Weeks later, you were pacing your room, determined to do something. Arwen stopped short in the doorway as she saw you pack open on your bed as you shoved things inside.

“Taniara? What are you doing?”

“I do not know why, but I have felt a pull to follow. An ache, almost painful in its strength, has settled inside me and so I knew I must follow. We have not heard from the Fellowship in weeks, Aragorn could be hurt, or someone else could be, or he could be,” your voice broke, “dead.

The elf nodded in understanding. “The ache is telling you to be with the one you love.”

She then clasped your hand. “Taniara. Look at me.”

You looked at her, unshed tears of worry clear in your eyes.

“If he was dead, you’d feel it. And I know as your sister I should be telling you not to go, but I cannot help but notice the pain you’ve been in these last weeks. So go, find him.” She spread a map out onto a small table nearby, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you just carry that everywhere?”

She shot you a look, and you quickly clammed up, peering over her shoulder as she pointed things out.

“After crossing the mountains visit our grandmother in Lothlorien, the Fellowship had planned to pass through there, and she will know where they are.”

You took it all in, remembering the route to Lothlorien from visits to your grandparents you had made before your mother went west.

“Thank you, Arwen.” You smiled up at your sister.

She clasped your wrist before pulling away, placing her hands on your shoulders as she looked into your eyes. “Stay safe, Taniara.”

You nodded, shoving the last things into your pack before slinging it over your shoulders with your bow and quiver, daggers sheathed on your thighs, hugging your sister one last time before leaving your room.

You strode down the hallway, dressed in leather hunting clothes as you made your way to the gates of Imladris. You had stopped by the kitchens to gather food supplies, making sure they thought you were only going for a hunting excursion.

Entering the courtyard, you saw your father standing in the center, clearly waiting for you. Silently cursing Arwen, as you had hoped to slip away unnoticed, you made your way over to him.

“I should not let you do this.”

You frowned at his words, drawing breath to protest, but before you could Elrond spoke again.

“But you are free to go. I feel the ache and have felt it every day since your mother departed. I know that nothing but being with the one you love can ease that pain, and it would hurt me to know you are experiencing it. Go to Estel. I give you my blessing.”

You hugged your father before turning and mounting your horse, brought from the stables. Turning to wave to your father one last time, you leaned down to whisper, “Let’s go, Daeroc. Let’s go find Aragorn.” The horse broke into a trot, and you left Imladris behind.

Weeks later, you led Daeroc into Lothlorien, waiting for the sentries to appear. One dropped down from a tree, and you smiled at him, recognizing the face.

“Haldir,” you greeted him with a smile.

“Taniara. It is good to see you again. I assume you are here to see the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn?”

You nodded, “Yes. I have not seen my grandparents in a long time. But before we go to them could you find someone to take care of Daeroc?”

Another elf came into view, nodding to you as she took the reins from your hands.

“Thank you,” you smiled at her.

Later, you walked into the courtyard, bowing to your grandparents standing on the stairs above.

“Taniara, my daughter’s daughter. What brings you here?” Galadriel smiled at you, descending the stairs with her husband to greet you, each clasping your wrist.

“To see you, of course, and seek news of the Fellowship that I assume has passed through here.”

Your grandmother smiled. “It seems you are in luck, for they are here as we speak.”

Your eyes widened. “But they should have been long gone by now. I wonder what has caused the delay?”

Celeborn’s face softened. “Then you do not know.”

“Know what?” You were beginning to grow quite worried. “What has happened?”

“They could not make it through the pass of Caradhras, so they turned and went through Moria, costing them the life of Mithrandir.”

You gasped, heart aching at the grief that must have caused them and the grief you now felt.

“May I see them?” All you wanted now was to see your friends and the man you loved.

“Of course.” Galadriel beckoned you to follow her, and you did, softly conversing with your grandmother and updating her on the lives of her family in Imladris, as well as others she knew.

Stepping into the clearing, you turned to thank Galadriel, watching her fade from view behind you for a moment before continuing.

There he was. Tall and handsome still, even grimy with dirt and dust from his travels. You debated casually walking up and greeting him more sedately, but watching him you just couldn’t hold back. All your elvish instincts left you, and you sprinted towards him, leaping into his shocked arms as kissing him for all you were worth. He kissed you back for a moment, and then pulled away, the surprise on his face clear.

“Taniara! What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you.”

His eyes widened. “You did?”

You smiled at him. “Of course I did, meleth.”

He smiled back at you, and drew you in for another kiss, hands holding you up as your legs wrapped around his waist. Deepening the kiss, he moved so your back was pressed against a tree and his hands were free to slide up your back, tangling in your hair as you lost yourselves in each other.

Sometime later, you sat with the rest of the Fellowship after the nighttime meal, talking. It was good to see them again, you had grown fond of all of them, even the dwarf, during their time in Imladris. But of course, the only person you really had eyes for that night was Aragorn, who sat next to you with an arm around your shoulders.

Legolas had seemed puzzled with how comfortable you were with affection, it was rather un elf-like. You had explained to him that because of your father’s past, he was slightly more affectionate than a normal elf, and showed it. You hadn’t missed the wistful look on Legolas’ face as you spoke and recalled what you knew of his family, feeling sorry for him.

Later that night, you sat by the dying embers of the fire alongside Legolas. Aragorn had gone with the hobbits to wash up, and Boromir and Gimli were sleeping, so it was just you and the elf.

“Legolas?” The older elf looked at you.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, and you continued, “I was just wondering, do you know of something like an ache? It began right after the Fellowship departed Imladris, and only subsided when I arrived here. What does it mean?”

He smiled. “Taniara. That was the bond between your soul and Aragorn’s, pulled taught with your fear of losing him. Now that you are reunited, it has gone because you are together. It is every elf’s greatest dream and worst fear to have that feeling.”

You smiled. “Have you?”

The pain in his eyes told you that maybe that was not something to be asked of others.

“I am not sure if it is in my destiny to ever feel that.” He gazed into the distance.

The two of you sat in easy silence for a long time, after that.

“Taniara.” You turned to see Aragorn beckoning to you, and with a nod to Legolas, you rose.

“You do not have to come with us. It will be a journey of great peril, and I do not want to put you in that much danger.”

You gazed at him earnestly, “Aragorn. I shall be there when the crown is finally placed on your head. I shall be with you until the end.”

He smiled at you again and clasped your hand as you walked through the towering trees.

You had left Lothlorien the day after with the Fellowship, having officially joined up. Lots had happened after that, including almost dying with most of Middle-Earth, but months later, all was finally well. Frodo and Sam had destroyed the ring in Mordor, the forces of Mordor had collapsed along with the Black Gate, and today was the coronation of King Elessar, also known as Aragorn.

You watched, standing next to Gimli on the dais, as Gandalf lowered the crown onto Aragorn’s head.

“Now come the days of the King!” Gandalf declared before Aragorn turned to face his kingdom. Everyone cheered as he stood there, silencing quickly as he spoke. His words were wise and sincere, and you couldn’t help but fall in love all over again. As petals began to fall, he started singing, the words quickly fading as he turned to you.

You walked down to meet him at the bottom of the steps, gown trailing behind you. Once you reached him, he grabbed your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist as he dipped you into a spectacular kiss. Unlike the one you had shared in Imladris, this was not a kiss of sadness. This was a kiss of hope, peace, and promise. As the cheers rose around you again you knew that everything you had hoped for had come true.