#THE WAY CALLUM SINGS THAT LINE

[twinksintrees]

hey. hey bears in trees. you cant write this shit when my best friend plans on moving away across the ocean. it’s too soon for this.

[jelzorz]

183.

The damage to the castle is pretty extensive. Callum doesn't need to be architect to know that. He and Rayla had managed to fly back in just after dawn this morning, their hearts clenching at the sight of its broken silhouette on the horizon, afraid to even wonder who'd made it out and who hadn't and whose bodies might still be in the rubble. It's pure coincidence that they spot Soren and Opeli riding in from the South Gate with a handful of troops, every one of them haggard and obviously exhausted, but alive in spite of the blood and ash on their faces.

"We're all fine," Opeli tells them while Soren is barking orders at the soldiers to start a sweep for survivors and to salvage what little they can. "Most of us, in any case but there are a number of civilians who have not been accounted for. We've sent word to King Ezran to inform him of what happened but it could be days yet before his return, and even longer before we get anymore aid."

Rayla presses her hand over her lips, her face pale. "How can we help?"

"We need supplies for the rest of the survivors," Opeli tells her briskly. "And we need to start retrieving bodies. Those who were unlucky deserve their rites and their families deserve closure. Help the soldiers, if you can. Bandage up any survivors. It's all we can do. If you'll excuse me, Your Highness, My Lady." She nods at them both and hurries away, first aid pack swinging from her shoulder to help a couple of the soldiers drag an unconscious civilian out from beneath the rubble.

Callum just wants to throw up.

Soren gives them more specific instructions when he spots them—"Check the East Wing for survivors, let us know if you find anyone,"—before he too hurries away to help pull bodies from the ruins. Callum has never heeded any instructions from him in his life, but he and Rayla do as they're told without argument.

They pick their way across the ruins, sifting through powdered bricks and molten stones for people, for supplies. Rayla finds one of the maids trapped under a support beam miraculously still alive, and Callum finds a number of slightly singed bedrolls that still work perfectly and are better than not having one at all.

He doesn't tell anyone that he's on the hunt for a third thing in the ruins of his old bedroom. It's neither a person nor a supply and can't be considered a priority in any regard but it's still important, if only to him, and it'd be a heavy loss indeed if he doesn't find it: a book, bound in blue and gold, small enough to fit in his pocket but unlikely to have survived.

His dad's poetry collection.

Callum doesn't remember him very well at all, but he was a good man who loved him and his mother with all his heart. He wrote more books, but this one was written for his mother, and for him when he was born, and if it's gone too—

It's not the same as another death, but it's something else lost. Something else to mourn.

The hours pass. The sun begins to set. Soren calls off the search for the day at dusk and starts herding soldiers and civilians back to the carts at the gates. Callum is still moving rubble when Rayla gets to him, her touch soft on his shoulder.

"We have to go," she says quietly. "We're losing light. We can keep looking in the morning."

"It's not—" Callum stops, his throat clogged emotions he'd managed to bury until now. This was his home. There are a line of bodies in the square, people whose names he'd known growing up, people who'd helped his mother through her grief when his father died, all of them lost to anger and violence and hate. His dad's book is nothing in comparison but it's all he has left of him, and everything else is gone so if he just—

"I can't stop yet," he manages. "I need to find it."

"What's 'it'?"

"My dad's—" Callum swallows. "My dad's poetry collection. It's—I don't have anything else, and everything else is gone. I just—it's all I have left of him, Rayla."

Her eyes soften. She touches his face. "I'll help," she says quietly. "Let me tell Soren we'll meet them back at the temples and I'll help you look, okay?"

"You don't have—"

"Shush." She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth and brushes his hair out of his eyes, her touch jarringly soft against his skin after a day of shifting rubble and ash. "I get it," she says. "After everything you've done for me and my parents, helping you find your dad's book is nothing. I'll stay. Okay?"

Callum swallows. "Okay," he manages. "Thank you."

She squeezes his hand.

She's the one who finds it, in the end. It's a little singed on the edges but was well protected under his collapsed bookshelf, and the gold lettering still shines in the moonlight when she presses it into his hands. Callum breaks when she hands it to him, his exhaustion and his grief catching up with him in one great rush, but Rayla's arms are warm and steady, her presence a shining beacon in the dark.

She is his truth for a reason, and in the ruins of his old home, he's grateful to still have one in her.

[mccall-muffin]

The Lady and the Major - Part 1/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC

Summary: Major Bucky Egan is on leave in London, and what else is there to do than to drink, sing, have a good time, and... of course, ladies. But then he meets Liz, a Lady of the Court, and Bucky is immediately entangled in her net.

Warnings: Language, teasing, use of alcohol - soldiers being soldiers

A/N: Okay, wow... I thought today: "Uh, I have an idea for a OneShot with Bucky Egan," and now I'm sitting here with a three-part story. Jeeeeeez... Uh, but what you gonna do. (I've only seen the first two Episodes of MotA as of now, but... I just love Callum)

Here is my Masterlist

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere

(Sorry mates, you just have to be tagged ;))

The Ritz, London, 1943

The opulent bar of the Ritz in London, brimming with the raucous laughter and chatter of soldiers on leave. The air is thick with smoke, jazz music fills the background, and the atmosphere is charged with the night's excitement.

Major John "Bucky" Egan, surrounded by a rowdy group of fellow American soldiers, is the life of the party. His laughter is loudest, his stories the most captivating, and his gaze roams freely, appreciative of the scenery—particularly the women who add a touch of glamour to the smoky room.

Bucky, with a glass of whiskey in hand, leans back, surveying the room with a smug grin. "Gentlemen," he boasts, "London's no match for a Yank with charm. Watch and learn."

His eyes, however, catch a sight that stops him mid-sentence—a vision of elegance seated across the bar. Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, unbeknownst to him, sits alone, her posture the epitome of grace, a long, slender cigarette holder elegantly poised in her hand. The soft glow of the bar lights catches her blonde hair and the sparkle in her blue eyes, making her seem almost ethereal.

Bucky's usual confidence wavers for a moment, his friends noticing the sudden change. "Well, I'll be damned... Who's that?" Bucky mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

One of the British soldiers, a man who has seen his fair share of high society, leans over, a knowing look in his eyes. "That, Yank, is Lady Elizabeth Cavendish. The Duke of Wellington's daughter. I'd tread carefully if I were you. She's out of your league."

Bucky's grin returns, cockier than before. "Out of my league? Buddy, there's no league I can't play in. Watch me."

With a swagger in his step, Bucky makes his way over to Elizabeth, his comrades watching eagerly, some with admiration, others with skepticism, and some with knowing faces.

"Evening, miss. Can I say you light up this room brighter than the London Blitz," he says cockily, letting his charm play.

Elizabeth doesn't even glance up from her drink at first, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. When she finally turns her gaze towards him, it's with an air of amusement. "And can I say that's the most American pickup line I've ever heard?"

Bucky, undeterred, flashes a grin. "Major John Egan, at your service. But for you... You can call me Bucky. And you are?"

Elizabeth finally offers him a small, knowing smile. "Elizabeth Cavendish. And I'm quite aware of who you are, Major Egan. Your reputation precedes you."

Bucky, leaning against the bar closer to Liz, his confidence seemingly unshaken. "Is that so? And what have you heard?"

Liz, taking another slow drag from her cigarette, eyes Bucky with a mixture of interest and challenge. "Oh, just that you're quite the charmer. A real ladies' man. Or so you believe."

The air between them crackles with a mix of tension and intrigue. Bucky, for once, finds himself having to work to maintain his usual smug demeanor. "And what about you, Lady Elizabeth? Do you enjoy games?"

Liz's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, Major, I don't just enjoy them. I excel at them. Care to play?"

The challenge hangs in the air, a silent dare that Bucky, despite the warnings and his better judgment, finds himself unable to resist. "You're on. Let the games begin."

As Bucky signals the bartender for another round of drinks, his fellow soldiers exchange glances, some shaking their heads, others betting amongst themselves on the outcome. What none of them realize is that in the game of seduction and wit, Liz is a master strategist, and Bucky might have just met his match.

Bucky leans closer, his confidence unwavering. "So, Liz, you don't mind me calling you Liz, right?" he starts, the smug smile never leaving his face, "I've flown some of the most dangerous missions over Germany, you know. But I must say, navigating this conversation with you feels like my most thrilling challenge yet."

Liz lets out a soft, amused laugh. "Major Egan, I've met many men who believe their war stories could sweep a girl off her feet. And maybe it actually does some. But it's going to take more than tales of aerial feats to impress me," she replies, her voice laced with a teasing sarcasm that only someone of her breeding and wit could perfect.

The night progresses, and with each drink, Bucky becomes more audacious, his hand finding its way to the small of Liz's back, a bold move that, in any other circumstance, would have guaranteed success. Liz, however, is not any woman he's encountered before. She plays along, leaning in as if captivated by his charm, her lips tantalizingly close to his, only to pull away at the last moment, leaving him wanting more.

Their conversation ebbs and flows, with Bucky regaling her with his exploits, each tale more daring than the last. Yet, Liz remains unimpressed, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement rather than awe. It's a dance they're both familiar with, but in this instance, Liz leads, her every move calculated to keep him on his toes.

As the night wears on, Liz finishes her drink, placing the glass delicately on the bar. She rises from her stool, the movement graceful and deliberate. "Well, Major, it has been... interesting," she says, her tone implying a myriad of things left unsaid.

Bucky, taken aback by her sudden desire to leave, scrambles to his feet. "Wait, Liz, why don't you stay for another drink? The night is still young, and I feel we've barely scratched the surface."

Liz turns to him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I'm afraid I have other engagements to attend to, Major. But I must thank you for the entertainment," she teases, her gaze piercing through him with a challenge that silently says she's not one to be easily conquered.

As she walks away, Bucky watches, a mix of frustration and fascination written across his face. For the first time, he's encountered a woman who not only matches his wit but exceeds it, leaving him in uncharted territory. Liz, with her aristocratic poise and undeniable charm, has turned the tables on him, making it clear that if he wishes to pursue her, he's in for a game unlike any he's played before.

Returning to his comrades, Bucky's expression is a mix of irritation and resolve, a stark contrast to the confident swagger he had before approaching Liz. The British soldiers, having observed the entire exchange, can't help but wear smirks of "told you so" on their faces.

"Well, Major, looks like the ice queen has claimed another victim," one of the Brits comments, clapping Bucky on the shoulder with a laugh that's both sympathetic and mocking.

Bucky, undeterred, shoots back, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Another British soldier chimes in, swirling his drink, "Mate, many have tried to climb that mountain. From viscounts to earls, not a single one has reached the summit. Lady Cavendish is... well, she's a fortress."

"Yeah, heard she loves to make sport of men, seeing who can try and fail the most spectacularly," adds a third, his tone laced with a mix of admiration and warning.

One of Bucky's American friends, attempting to find a solution, suggests, "Did you pull the pilot card? Chicks love pilots." The suggestion hangs in the air until another British soldier, who had been quietly listening, interjects, "Her brother's Captain Edward Cavendish, Royal Air Force war hero. Your pilot card might as well be a library card."

The revelation doesn't dampen Bucky's spirits; if anything, it fuels his determination. His jaw sets firmly, the challenge now more personal than ever. "So, she's used to high-flyers, huh? Well, she hasn't met anyone like me. I'm not just any pilot; I'm Major Bucky Egan. And I don't give up that easily."

The group looks at him, a mix of skepticism and intrigue in their eyes. They know Bucky for his tenacity, his charm, and his unwillingness to back down from a challenge. But Lady Elizabeth Cavendish is not just any challenge—she's a high-stakes game that many have lost.

As the night winds down and the group disperses, Bucky's mind races with plans. He knows winning over someone like Lady Cavendish won't be easy, but he's always loved a challenge. The thought of her, with her piercing blue eyes and that untouchable aura, only makes him more determined. He's ready to prove that he's not like the others, that he's someone who stands out, even in a crowd of heroes.

The stage is set for a captivating game of wit, charm, and strategy. Bucky's resolve and Liz's cunning promise a tale of intrigue, where each move could either draw them closer or push them further apart.

In the soft morning light filtering through the hotel's dining room windows, Bucky and his fellow soldiers are halfway through their breakfast, the air filled with the light-hearted banter typical of men who've faced much together. The sudden approach of a concierge, bearing the unmistakable posture of formal importance, silences the table. With a discreet cough to announce his presence, the concierge presents a silver platter to Bucky.

Bucky, eyebrows raised in surprise, picks up the envelope resting on the platter. The envelope itself is a work of art, the calligraphy on the front flawlessly executed, hinting at the significance of its contents. His name, "Major John Egan, US Air Force," is inscribed with elegant flourishes that speak of a bygone era of meticulous attention to detail.

As he carefully opens the envelope, the anticipation among his comrades is palpable. They watch as Bucky's initial confusion shifts to an understanding smile, a silent acknowledgment of the ongoing saga that had captivated them since last night. He pulls out the invitation, and it reads:

Major John Egan,

It is with great pleasure that Arthur Cavendish, Duke of Wellington, and Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Wellington, extend to you an invitation to a gala being held at our family estate, Wellington House, on the evening of this day.

This event will assemble distinguished individuals from various sectors of British and Allied societies in a celebration of unity and resilience in these challenging times.

Date: This evening at 7 o'clock post meridiem

Dress Code: Formal (Black Tie)

Location: Wellington House, Kent

We anticipate the honor of your presence and look forward to an evening of meaningful exchanges and spirited fellowship.

Kindly present this invitation at the entrance.

Sincerely, The Duke of Wellington

Bucky's grin now spread wide across his face, confirms the unspoken thoughts of his table. "Looks like I've got plans this evening," he announces, his voice a mix of amusement and intrigue.

The soldiers around him, well aware of the story behind the invitation, erupt into a mix of cheers and playful jeers. Bucky's encounter with Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, a tale that had quickly become legendary among them, was evidently far from over. This invitation was not just a call to a social event; it was the next chapter in a story that promised to be as unpredictable as it was entertaining.

As the concierge departs, Bucky's mind races with possibilities. The gala at Wellington House was not just an opportunity to step into the world of British aristocracy; it was a chance to see Liz again, to engage in their game of wits and charm. With a sense of adventure stirring in his heart, he knew one thing for sure: the evening promised to be unforgettable.

House Wellington, Kent, 1943

As Bucky steps into the grandeur of the Wellington estate, the opulence of the gala immediately envelops him. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes mingling with the faint aroma of quality tobacco. The chatter of the high society fills the room, a mixture of refined British accents and the occasional foreign dialect. Bucky, in his crisply pressed formal uniform, stands out—not just for his attire but also for the aura of confidence he carries with him, an unmistakable mark of a man not easily intimidated.

He navigates through the crowd, champagne flute in hand, his eyes scanning the room until they find what they've been searching for: Liz. She's a vision in her gown, embodying the grace and elegance of her status, yet with a glimmer in her eye that hints at her spirited nature. As he approaches, he can't help but admire the way she holds herself, the center of attention yet seemingly uninterested in the adoration she commands.

"Seems like I can't go anywhere without you showing up to steal the spotlight," Bucky teases, offering her a playful smirk as he closes the distance between them.

Liz turns to face him fully, her expression one of amused defiance. "Oh, Major Egan, I was under the impression that an officer of your caliber would know how to read a simple dress code," she retorts, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she gives him a once-over. "But I suppose we can't all have the luxury of choice in our evening attire, can we?"

Bucky chuckles, unphased by her jab. "Well, Lady Cavendish, it seems I'm at a disadvantage here. While you dazzle the room in that stunning dress, I'm stuck in this old thing," he says, gesturing to his uniform with a mock sigh. "But let's be honest, we both know I could show up in a burlap sack, and you'd still find it hard to keep your eyes off me."

The air between them crackles with the tension of their banter, a dance they've both come to enjoy. Liz takes a slow drag from her cigarette, held elegantly in a long holder. "Confident, aren't we? Just don't let that confidence get you into trouble, Major. This isn't the front line, and the battles here are fought differently," she says, blowing out a stream of smoke, her gaze locked with his.

"Then consider me armed and dangerous," Bucky replies with a grin, his eyes never leaving hers. "But I'll admit, this is one battlefield I'm looking forward to navigating, especially if it means crossing swords with you, Lady Cavendish."

Their exchange, filled with the playful yet pointed jabs of two individuals equally matched in intellect and charm, sets the tone for the evening. Around them, the gala continues in its whirl of music, laughter, and conversation, but for Bucky and Liz, the rest of the world fades into the background. They are each other's focal point, engaged in a game where the stakes are undefined but unmistakably high, each moment building on the tension and attraction that simmers just below the surface.

As Bucky and Liz continue their verbal dance, the arrival of a British Captain momentarily shifts the atmosphere. The Captain's demeanor is one of polite curiosity mixed with the protective scrutiny of a brother. When he inquires about Bucky, there's a brief tension, a moment where the social games of the evening meet the reality of wartime alliances and personal connections.

Bucky, with the straightforwardness that military life has ingrained in him, extends a hand. "Major John Egan, US Air Force," he introduces himself with a respectful nod, recognizing the familial resemblance in the Captain's features.

Edward's expression warms slightly at the mention of Bucky's service. "Ah, a fellow pilot then. And where might you be stationed, Major Egan?" he asks, a hint of camaraderie entering his voice upon learning of their shared skies.

"With the 100th Bomber Group," Bucky responds, his answer earning a nod of respect from Edward. The reputation of Bucky's outfit precedes him, known even among the British ranks for their bravery and contributions to the war effort.

The conversation takes a turn when Edward's attention shifts towards his sister, curiosity piqued. "And how did you two come to meet?" he inquires, his gaze bouncing between Liz and Bucky, searching for a glimpse into his sister's enigmatic social life.

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, perhaps a little too eagerly, ready to dive into the tale of their first encounter. However, Liz, ever the master of her own narrative, interjects with a grace that belies the quick thinking behind her words. "We met at a charity event just last week," she states, her voice carrying a tone of casual innocence. "Major Egan was kind enough to share some fascinating insights into his experiences in the war so far. It's not every day we have the honor of hearing such stories firsthand."

Edward's expression softens, a mix of brotherly concern and pride evident in his gaze as he looks at Liz. It's clear he's unaware of the full extent of his sister's adventurous spirit and her propensity for finding herself in the company of intriguing characters. "Well, I'm glad to hear our allies are not just brave but also charitable. It's important, especially in times like these, to remember what we're fighting for," he comments, directing a respectful nod towards Bucky.

The moment passes, and Edward excuses himself to greet other guests, leaving Bucky and Liz alone once again. Bucky raises an eyebrow at Liz, impressed by her quick thinking and ability to weave a story that protects her reputation while not entirely dismissing their actual encounter. "A charity event, huh? You're quite the storyteller, Lady Cavendish," he teases, the corners of his mouth turning up in an amused smile.

Liz, taking a delicate sip of her champagne, meets his gaze with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "One must always be prepared to tell the story that needs to be heard, Major Egan. Besides, I couldn't possibly let you ruin all my fun with the truth, now could I?" she replies, her tone playful yet laced with the underlying thrill of their shared secret.

Their exchange, now even more charged with the thrill of their clandestine understanding, continues to weave a complex tapestry of attraction and intrigue, each moment adding to the layers of their unfolding story.

Next Part

[sorinethemastermind]

Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I just can't

In which Soren and the other survivors of Katolis await the return of their king in the aftermath of their city's destruction. Co-written and edited by the amazing @honeii-puff! I write the Soren POV chapters, she writes the Corvus POV chapters. Also on Ao3 and it has a playlist!

 

Everything was fine. 

Or it would be, if Soren just kept telling himself and everyone else that it was.

 “You’re going to be okay, we’re safe now.” he’d told one kid, guiding them through the chaos of the camp in search of their parents. He’d draped a blanket, only a little singed, around their shoulders. “Everything is fine.”

 He’d told the same thing to the other Crownguards when he rallied them, bruised and bloodied, in the small, foliage-shrouded clearing they'd chosen as a refuge in the woods. 

 “Everything is going to be fine.” he’d said, sounding far more confident than he felt. “And we’re going to say that to everyone who needs to hear it. We’re Crownguards; so long as we stand strong and keep our heads up, nothing can stop us.”

 They’d nodded along, but their heads had been drooping with exhaustion. The more wounded he’d sent to Opeli and the healers, but those that remained had rallied behind him as best they could and spread out through the camp; offering aid wherever it was needed. No task was too small for a Crownguard, Soren had always said. It was all about the attitude you brought to the job. If the others saw a Crownguard acting like everything was fine, then they would follow suit, and then everything would be fine. 

 But for that to happen, Soren had to his head the highest and act the strongest. And that’s what it was at that moment; acting. Because what Soren really wanted to do was go lie down or maybe scream into a pillow or something. 

  Luckily he’d gotten pretty good at acting over the years.

  So he flitted from place to place, offering advice and helping to reunite families, always with a big smile on his face and warm words of comfort. And he didn’t think about the fact that his head hurt or the weird flares of heat that the still fading Hearts of Cinder spell would sometimes send sparking through his body (except when the blanket he was holding started to smolder, he thought about it then). But that was fixed easily enough, and there were definitely no pangs of loss - or other, messier emotions - that he felt when he saw kids go running to their worried parents. And because none of that was happening, when one boy’s father scooped him up in his arms and twirled him around before hugging the kid close to his chest, tears of relief running down his face, Soren definitely didn’t turn away a little quicker than he had with the others and go offer to help Opeli with whatever she needed.

  And because none of that had happened, Soren definitely hadn’t been the only one rooting through the rubble of the castle for supplies when Callum arrived, nearly falling from the sky with exhaustion as his wings disintegrated and were replaced again by human arms. And Soren definitely hadn’t hugged the other man so tightly that Callum hadn’t been able to breathe; both of them with tears running down their faces as they apologized for not doing enough and gushed about how happy they were that the other was okay.

 Or maybe all of that had happened, and it had all just felt like a fever dream because Soren was going to wake up any moment now and everything would be fine.

 “Soren?” 

  He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the foggy feeling didn’t fade. Ignoring it, he turned to Callum, about to ask what it was - but then he saw the look on the mage’s face. 

  “Soren is this… is this everything? Is this really all that’s left?”

  “Yeah,” Soren told him softly. The same way he’d told a kid earlier that their parents weren’t coming. “Yeah, it is.”

  Callum’s mouth, already a thin line, wobbled. But he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “We’ll fix this.”

  “Yeah.” Soren agreed, happy to hear it from someone’s mouth besides his own. “Yes, we will.”

  “I’m going to go and help, uh, help them do whatever it is they’re doing,” Callum said, pointing towards a group of guards nearby attempting to erect some sort of makeshift shelter.

 “Great. And I’ll go give these supplies to Opeli.” Soren replied, hefting the satchel he’d managed to fill from the rubble. 

 Callum nodded briskly, stance a little rigid, but determined. “We just have to hold out a little longer and then Ez will be here. He’ll know what to do.”

 The idea of someone else taking charge filled Soren with more relief than he cared to admit, but the last person he wanted to set this mess on the shoulders of was King Ezran. No matter how mature, or how wise, he was - he was still just a kid.

 Before Soren could decide whether to say anything or not, Callum had strode off to help the guards, leaving him alone. He squared his own shoulders, only wincing a little bit at the twinge of pain that went through him as he did - he’d get that checked out later - and set off towards Opeli’s tent. 

  It was probably the worst place in the entire camp to be, he didn’t envy the High Cleric one bit. 

  Soren wove through the wounded, trying not to look too closely at anyone or anything, and searched the cramped space for Opeli. Even as he struggled to find spaces to stand, more people were being brought in, the line of people in need seeming to go on forever. The clerics were like little rays of light, going from place to place as quickly as they could, offering the same support here that  Soren and the other guards were trying to do outside.

  “Opeli?” he asked as he reached her. She barely glanced at him, still intent on the wounded man she was tending to. 

  “Put it over there.” she said, directing him with a nod of her head.

  Soren did as he was told, shimmying through the crowd to place the crate of supplies beside one of the tent poles. The canvas roof sagged overhead. It had been erected quickly, he could tell. And not very well. Clearly whoever had done it hadn’t gone to Camp Katolis. Or if they had, they hadn’t been paying very good attention.

  “I’ll fix your tent.” he told Opeli, ducking out the way he’d come before she could give him some task that would leave him trapped in the claustrophobic confines of the medical tent. She didn’t object.

  It turned out that the problem was that the tent poles hadn’t been driven in well enough, which was sort of difficult to rectify without having to make everyone leave and then putting it up all over again. But Soren wasn’t about to try and move the entire hospital just to fix a saggy roof. He would just have to figure something out.

  He was in the middle of trying to do just that, using long sticks he’d found extra poles to help prop it up (it wasn’t going... great) when he heard the heavy sound of incoming wings. His head popped up immediately, eyes going to the sky, alongside just about everyone else in the camp. Images of a giant golden dragon flashed through his mind, and all he could think about was just how flammable the forest around them was. And how canvas smelled when it burned.

  He was about to give the order to evacuate, hands already reaching for his sword - for all the good that would do - when the approaching wingbeats split into two separate sets of flapping, and the pair of Twin-Tailed Inferno-Tooth Tigers crested the trees.

  A smile split across his face, and he waved them over - that was about when the screaming started. It turned out that most of the  people of Katolis hadn’t seen one of Queen Janai’s prized mounts before.

  “It’s okay! It’s okay!” he shouted, trying to calm everyone down. “It’s the king! It’s King Ezran!”

  That did get most people’s attention, and slowly their screams turned to apprehensive looks, which changed to relieved ones as the winged great cats set down in the center of the clearing and Ezran clambered off the nearest one.

  Soren let out a sigh, happy to see the young king safe. His smile widened as Corvus got off the tiger behind him, and Soren hurried towards them.

  “You’re back! I’m so glad you’re back.”

  But his happiness was short-lived, because he could see it in Ezran’s eyes immediately as the young king looked around the encampment. The same look that had filled Callum’s eyes when he’d arrived, the one that shone out of every face in the camp. The one that Soren refused to let cross his own features, knowing that he couldn’t do that right now. That he had to be strong for them. 

  “I should have been here.” Ezran said softly, so quietly that even Soren, standing only a few steps away, could barely hear him.

  “King Ezran I-” Soren swallowed, determined to keep the smile on his face. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I tried to-”

  “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Ezran took too stumbling steps towards him, suddenly small again, and wrapped his arms around Soren’s waist. “I thought that maybe-”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, and Soren was glad he didn’t. “Hey.” he said, wrapping his arms around Ezran after a moment. “Hey, it’s okay. You couldn’t have done anything to stop it.”

  “Neither could you.” Ezran said, stepping back to look up at him. And just like that, the child was gone, and Soren was once again standing before a king.

  He inclined his head towards him. “I know.”  And he did. But that didn’t make it any better.

[jamiemaybeme]

the lines "i know we'll be alright/singing in the back of callum's car/'cause it's the only way we've got this far" have NO RIGHT to make me cry every time i hear them, and yet they insist on doing it anyway

[raayllum]

So for some reason this ask isn’t showing up in my tumblr inbox but I was luckily alerted to it through my email soo

@nothingmorethanageminiboar 

Behold, you have stumbled upon what is probably my favourite Rayllum dynamic pattern and definitely one of my favourite parallels / arcs in the series. Which is to say: Callum and Rayla are defined by the choice to leave or stay, specifically in their relationship with each other, more than arguably any other characters in the series. While Ezran’s choice to leave and go home to be king is noble, and Claudia’s choice to stay is tragic, for most of the characters (with the exception of Soren and Claudia’s splintering) their choice to either physically stay or go doesn’t affect their relationships, and doesn’t continually affect them. Soren chose to leave once in 3x07, thus being one big ‘leaving’. When Claudia and Soren go their separate ways again in S4 after a brief reunion (although him chasing her down definitely does factor in) there’s not a lot of focus. 

Rayllum gets this focus constantly.

From their first episode

to their last

In fact, one of the first Rayllum metas I ever wrote was about the trend of Callum running after Rayla throughout season one, and how each scene reveals a new facet of their dynamic, as well as progresses their bond. 

Which, their pattern of chasing, leaving, or staying typically goes like this. Rayla, for various reasons, leaves first. Callum either watches her go, chases after her, or both. Rarely, if Rayla leaves, does she approach him after the fact; normally it’s a full on ‘pursuit’ if you will. (Which makes sense, as Rayla usually leaves out of nobility or shame or both, and Callum usually leaves out of anger. This is why her coming back at all of her own fruition, although we don’t know why, is a massive step forward.)

Or, if Callum is leaving first, Rayla chases then watches him go, and then typically waits for him to come back to her. 

This also tends to very much entangled with their reaching motif, as well. It’s present in their dialogue too, with lines such as “It’s okay, Callum, I’m not asking you to come with me” and “But I’m not going with you” (3x08) and “Callum, please, come back! You’ve got to stay with me, I can’t lose you like this!” Rayla is more verbally connected to the theme, while Callum tends to be more action oriented (hence him regularly chasing after her, perhaps), flipping how they usually express love (but not need, which one of my favourite meta followups here). The Book 2 novelization has also commented on this, with a quote from when Callum watches Rayla leave for patrol in early 2x01 (something the show didn’t give the same weight to, I suppose) with: “Callum stared after her. He wished she didn’t have to keep risking her life for them like this” even perhaps paralleling Rayla’s own sentiment in Dear Callum: “I wish I could stay and eat fake cake and sing songs with you. I wish I could show you the Moonshadow Birthday Dance, and kiss you one more time.” 

Season four, as with many things, takes this facet of their dynamic from the first three arcs (mostly Callum running after her / choosing to stay, but plenty of Rayla seeking him out as well) and giving it even more overt dialogue, bringing it to the forefront, albeit in accordingly modified ways. For Rayla, once again, it’s more verbal. 

Soren: You can’t just go off alone. Rayla: Alright, fine. Callum and I can go look for the entrance. Callum: No, I’ll stay with Ezran. Soren, you go with Rayla. 

Dear Callum: But I can’t let you stop me, Callum. No matter how much I want to.I have to be strong. No matter what. And if you said even one word to me, I wouldn’t be—couldn’t be. If I stay even until your eyes open and you yawn your silly morning yawn, I’ll break. I’ll still be here when the sun rises today, and the next day, and the next…I should go. I have to go.

Dear Callum: Oh, Callum… I have to go. I have to. I want to give you one last kiss, but I can’t risk your waking up. I have to go.

But let’s back track and break this down a bit.

Rayla returns in 4x03 (”She was still gone, and Callum didn’t know if she’d ever come back” —Inheritance). Callum, almost immediately, tries to leave. Rayla chases and asks him not to. Callum cannot bring himself to leave the way she did; he stays, even if he’s angry, unable to bring himself to disappoint her or to bring himself to go. When he shuts her out again, Rayla asks if she can stay. (Callum, at this point, has never asked to stay, only if he can come with.) Callum agrees. She leaves silently the next morning and is unsure about sticking around to go with them to Xadia precisely because of Callum, but luckily Ezran insists.

Then in the Uncharted Forest, Rayla tries to go off on her own (again) and tries to bring Callum along with her. He refuses and she leaves, and for the first time, Callum does not (or cannot / will not) watch her leave. 

We get a smaller inversion of this in 4x07 when he at least partially watches her go back into the air sphere and when he runs to her in 4x08 

but we get a proper fulfilment in 4x09, at least in terms of watching her leave and letting her leave, but also in running after her. (If you want the “looking away” motif version of this pattern across the series, and particularly in S4, check out this post here.) Specifically, in the way that Callum is the first to say/identify that they need to leave Umber Tor, but he’s actually the last to leave, staying behind to watch Rayla go until a boulder nearly crushes him, and then running after her (once again) to pull her from the rubble and to embrace her afterwards, walking up to her sword beforehand, etc.

“And it was the night I met—” It was impossible to say her name out loud. Rayla. It still hurt. She was still gone, and Callum had no idea if she’d ever come back.

Each time Runaan leaves, it is with the weight of knowing he may not come back. That to fulfil his duty, he may have to sacrifice everything. Himself, and all that we have here. 

Remember how I said that usually when Rayla leaves, she doesn’t come back on her own? S4 gives as a repeated turning point, in that Rayla is starting to make choices (although we don’t entirely know why) to prioritize coming back rather than finishing things to the brutal end. We don’t know why she came back in 4x03 (but given that Callum asks three times and the show doesn’t let it go into detail on purpose, I’m sure we will) and in 4x09, we can possibly read it as her deciding to get out with the coins > following Viren further over prioritizing her family (over a notion of prioritizing herself) but we shall have to wait and see.

So they have their cycle. So what? Well...

Breaking The Cycle

For example, Dear Callum and then S4 in show is the first time that Rayla expresses that she wishes she could stay. That she wants to stay, deep down. Compare and contrast to Ezran in 2x09 (“I wish I could go with you, but I can’t”), Rayla has stayed far more silent on the matter: “But I’m not going with you [...] You and Ezran should take Zym, but I can’t leave. I have to stay and defend the dragon queen” (3x08) in which Callum rightly points out that this is mostly out of guilt and not a mistake that she should have to pay the price for. 

And we also know that learning to take things together is where both of them are headed. Not only because it’s crucial for a relationship to operate as a team, and that Callum needs to learn how to express himself again and that Rayla needs to learn she deserves help, but also because we see this be evident with both sets of parents she’s emulating. Lain and Tiadrin both left to fulfil their duty together, and Runaan and Ethari know that they work as a team, fundamentally, too: “Ethari-” “I’m coming with you.” “As I assumed you would.” 

So we’re making progress, but Rayla is still prone to go off on her own (and Callum currently hasn’t given her an incentive to change, given that he listened to her and therefore kept himself safe, and can now accept this is a part of her that hasn’t changed, even if it hurts and breaks his heart). Thus, I expect S5 to give them enjoying the fact that they’re sharing space again, but fracturing due to these unresolved issues. He still missed and mourned her for two years, and she’s still completely liable to put him through that again, even if she really doesn’t want to. 

This is where more plot stuff comes in. I think Rayla guiding Callum out of the possession from Aaravos, if/when it happens again, and asking him to stay with her (call backs to 2x09) and promising to stay with him and not leave would do the trick in terms of reaffirming a lot of what they need. But as noted above, Rayla has asked Callum to stay before. 

He’s never asked her. I’ve written a larger meta about this (which you can read here) but Callum tends to express his devotion through verbal admiration and deep seated “I’m here for you what do you need” in action and in emotional support. “We’re in this together” / “I don’t care if you’re crying, I’m here with you” / “You know I’m always here for you, right?” Running after her, checking up on her, trying to get her to open up, accepting whatever she says whenever she does, etc. He’s just as devoted, but he expresses it differently in speech, and mostly through action. 

But think of how Rayla’s big speeches and statements almost always revolve around wanting to keep him safe/with her:

You’ve got to stay with me. Callum, please come back. I can’t lose you like this, you mean too much to me. 

He’s smart and kind and brave and he’s… My friend. My best friend. So please, allow him to pass into Xadia and help me take the Dragon Prince home. Because I don’t think I can do it without him.

But I became so obsessed with revenge, that I risked losing the best thing I ever had: you.

Callum. I’m glad we can be here together, looking at the stars. 

Beyond his heartbreaking “I couldn’t lose you” and “I let you go into the Nexus alone and I knew right away I made the biggest mistake of my life - I could have lost you” Callum doesn’t express in the same way, and not so consistently. He’s only ever asked to come with her, not for her to stay with him. We come close, very close, in S4 when he says that he needs her (to kill him) and Rayla is very surprised at first. 

[Rayla jerks back a bit, surprised]

But I am leaning more and more towards one of their turning points being Callum making it clear just how much he needs her, just how much he wants her to stay, just how much she’s important to him, and this actually getting through to her in her thick skull for once, being a significant jump forward in terms of her “I sacrifice and protect for you, but I can’t let you do the same for me” hurdle. 

Which is also why they have a pattern of Rayla putting herself on the line first (with the smoke wolves, saving Bait, the dragon, Sol Regem, saving Zym) and Callum putting himself on the line to save her in turn. She saves everyone - she saves him - and he saves her, and that’s the way it is. Callum giving her unconditional love and acceptance with this pattern is important, especially since Rayla has faced a lot more conditional feeling love in her life, and it allows her to grow and change not based on a relationship ultimatum, but because she wants to, for herself. However, her realizing that she really is just as important - and just as worthy of love and protection and being saved - to her friends as they are to her is also something that Callum can absolutely help with and affect. 

So yeah I’m fully banking on a “I lost her once, I can’t lose her again” from Callum in S5 and even more sentiments of staying and leaving and chasing in S5, possibly even to fruition. After all going into the Moon Nexus is the watershed that split them apart, so going back down into the water would be very full circle. 

[squideo]

How Crusha Crushed It with The Crusha Kittens Advert

In this series, Squideo has examined the best ways to turn advertising content into gold. Now that we’ve broken down the eight key ingredients, it’s time to dive deep into some examples of stellar advertising. This week, the advert in question was picked by Squideo’s Production Manager Callum Major.

When asked why this particular advert had become his favourite of all time, Callum said: “I remember the advert from when I was younger, when I’d see it on TV all the time. It’s so whacky and bizarre! It's so bad it's good!”

The Artistocrusha

Crusha is a brand of milkshake mix, which recently started selling desserts as part of its range. It may be a surprise that Crusha dates back to 1955, when it was managed by British Sugar. The branding that you may associate with Crusha didn’t come about, however, until late 2001 when it came under the control of a British Sugar subsidiary: Silver Spoon. British Sugar, which has been owned by Associated British Foods since 1991, effectively owns all the sugar produced in the United Kingdom.

Over the next two years, Silver Spoon worked to redevelop the Crusha brand in order to appeal to a new audience. This included a new logo and the adoption of cats as the brand mascot, despite most adult cats being lactose intolerant.

Crusha in Boots

In 2003, the first advert for the revitalised Crusha was released. The mastermind behind this eye-catching advert was Joel Veitch of RealGood, a web animator and singer-song writer, who has been responsible for several high-profile pieces of work including the 2012 animated television special Uncle Wormsley’s Christmas.

The advert is a story of mixed success. Later in 2003, the same year the advert was released, Crusha became involved in a scandal when it’s owners discovered that a batch of faulty Crusha milkshakes had gone out to retailers. Instead of notifying the retailer, Tesco, British Sugar decided to send workers into the store and buy as many of the 580 affected bottles as they could. Tesco realised what was happening and removed the stock, creating a negative press story that undid some of the advert’s impact.

To add insult to injury, the advert was eventually banned from British television by Ofcom in 2004 after several people attempted to recreate the advert with real cats. One man was ultimately arrested for the mistreatment of animals. That didn’t stop Crusha putting out an additional advert by Veitch in 2008, this time with the cats in a gym. Eventually the brand moved away from the visual style of Veitch’s work, but the cat has remained a feature in all their adverts; fully animated since 2014.

Veitch’s animations were so popular in the 2000s, that after Coca Cola recreated aspects of his work – for a 2007 advert that ran in Argentina – he launched a lawsuit against the company. They eventually reached a settlement. Coca Cola had used his band’s song Ninja in a video full of kittens. Not exactly a subtle rip-off.

The Crusha King

Compared to the technical complexities that went into creating Cadbury’s Gorilla advert, which we explored earlier in this series, the process for making the Crusha Kittens advert was relatively straightforward. After all, no one had to travel across the world to find the right gorilla costume. Crusha Kittens wasn’t a major production, so why does it have such a lasting legacy? The advert regularly makes the lists of iconic British adverts and the song lives in the memories of many early noughties children.

Mental Music

The last two adverts broken down in the Advert Alchemy series, Gorilla and The Little Duckling, used existing music in their videos. Crusha Kittens, however, features an original song. It’s a short song, only four lines total, yet it has the overwhelming power of an earworm – guaranteed to make you sing “I want some Crusha” for days on end.

Since the video opens with several cats holding instruments, including an accordion, music was essential to the plot. Since the advert is aimed at children – who will convince their parents to buy the product – the song also had to be simple enough for them to memorise and Veitch definitely delivered when he composed this doozy.

Cute Cat

Even if you’re too young to remember the early days of the internet, scrolling through any social media platform in this day and age will prove this to be true: kittens are always cute. The Crusha Kittens advert predates the cat memes that society has grown to love in the 2020s, but even in 2003 it was well known that children like animals, and cats are a type of animal.

While none of the animals in the video are emphasised for cuteness (in fact some people state the cows gave them nightmares), by adding anthropomorphic features like holding instruments and wearing hats, and singing in an unexpectedly deep voice, the creators of this advert definitely understood the audience they were targeting: kids.

Ancient Animation

In a world of apps that deliver top-quality and relatively inexpensive video production tools, the Crusha Kittens advert may seem terribly outdated. Like something that was mocked up on Photoshop and Microsoft Paint. But to audiences in 2003, that was the beauty of the advert.

Crusha Kittens ran during the 4pm to 6pm timeslot, most popular with advertisers targeting a child audience. In 2003, Crusha Kittens was typically airing between Capri Sun and Nickelodeon adverts. Their competitors were producing live-action or 2D animated videos. Crusha Kittens stood out because it didn’t use this format, and it made something that could be recreated by people at home.

Content Worth Gold

What do you think? What made Crusha Kittens so successful? Watch the full advert below and let us know in the comments.

Get in touch with the Squideo team today to find out how we can improve your advertising strategy with video production, motion graphics, social media management and much more!

[olivieblake]

Hi Olivie!!! So, I have been severely slacking in sending you praise for all the works I’ve read of yours this year (very sorry life is chaotic this year truly). But, I am here finally to offer some words on everything I’ve read so far! I will try to keep it short (it’s nearly impossible for me, I'm a rambler, I am very sorry) but I’ll split it up into 2 parts so it’s not too insane hopefully. My goal is still to finish your blacklist this year and I’m close so fingers crossed I can do it!!

(Spoilers for Alpha graphic novels and Fairtytales of the Macabre included)

Alpha Graphic Novels:

These were so fun! I got really invested in the characters/the world really quick and just flew through them! Chmura’s art is STUNNING and it really helped me feel immersed in the world and I tabbed a lot of pages just because of the art alone it was beautiful. CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE ENDING OF VOL II: RISING THOUGH??? LIKE MY JAW WAS ON THE FLOOR TAU IS BACK???? I shipped them so hard in book 1 and was so upset when he “died” but WHAT OMG??? Fingers crossed that when things start to (maybe possibly idk) slow down in a few years you guys can finish it because I’m DYING to know what happens.

Atlas Six Re-Read:

I’ve already sent you a long ask a year ago about my love for this book so I will not make you bored and rehash everything. But, I still love them <3 (well everyone but Callum I’m sorry). So excited for Paradox this month! I’m actually going to one of your tour dates for it so I will see you then 🥺🥺🥺 (will try my hardest to talk to you but we shall see how nervous I get 😂) Although trying to decide if I should bring all your books with me to get singed or just a few so I can actually talk to you is SO hard. I gotta do some priority picks hahaha.

Fairytales of the Macabre:

Pins and Needles: Such a fun story to start off with. I love some vengeance and some obsession so I really enjoyed this story! I remember reading it and feeling like Masters and Charms lowkey gave me NicoLibby vibes (I really don’t think that’s intentional but I love nicolibby too much so I see them everywhere hahaha). The plot twist ending was insane too!!

The Animation Games: OLIVIE BESTIE A MURDER COMPETITION LOVE STORY WITH REINCARNATION TROPE WHO ARE YOU (in the best way) AND WHY DID I LOVE IT SO SO SO MUCH. I really never wanted to stop reading about Bran and Rhosyn’s strange beautiful love story. AND YOU BLESSED ME WITH A DANCE SCENE MY KRYPTONITE THANK YOU QUEEN. One of my absolute favorite lines was “He looked terribly handsome, she couldn't’ wait to see the light go out”.

Fates and Consquences: This one was really funny and some of the punishments had me laughing so hard hahahah (especially when his “mom” had to read him fifty shades of grey)

Sensual Tales for Carnal Pleasures: Although Animation Games was a close second this one was actually my favorite in the collection. I was just so entranced by this story and the takes on power, dress, freedom, and fear. I’m someone who loves longing and I just could FEEL the longing and chemistry between them. And the ending where she get a few previous sands around her neck so that she could keep her prince/her love and they could revisit their story sometimes made me emotional 🥺. It's Nightmare and Noctus’s world and I am just living in it!! This story really spoke to my soul so thank you for it.

Thank you for all these stories, I’ve been having a blast reading everything this year so far! Be back with the rest of the praise so far real soon! ❤️

-Amanda

I know I’m extremely behind in addressing these but I do love them very much! I love that you’re enjoying all your reads. I think two things of note:

- Alpha III is written, but I think increasingly unlikely to be completed due to little chmura’s workload. I think this year we’ll discuss what we plan to do, which may include releasing the script as is, or potentially with some hybrid options (including some sketches, maybe, but not fully in the graphic style, which chmura tells me is too laborious due to her unfamiliarity with illustration techniques at the time)

- I think it’s very likely that I will revisit the animation games in novel form. it would be a different storyline—a new story, not an expansion—but I feel like it’s a promising concept that I am more able to work with now. but anyway I’m glad you liked it and so happy you enjoyed carnal pleasures! that one is on the list for future little chmura collabs, as she is also a fan of that story

[ahleecollaborations]

Sea To Sea

    There’s this vastness to the sea. A vastness in the silence. Miles upon miles of open waters that any sailor could lose their mind in, if they were so inclined. Water ripples in a slow roll some days; choppy breaks that rock to and froe other days. That’s the nature of the North Sea. No two days are the same. Dark waters, almost pitch, go further than the horizon. The bottom never to be seen.

Light doesn’t go that far down.

Even five nautical miles off the coast of the Shetlands we could get lost out here.

Callum and me. If we aren’t careful.

    We don’t though ‘cause we’re skilled enough, the two of us, not to get lost. Not on accident least aways. Callum, he’s of good sort. A bit nosy. Or talkative, yeah. But of the good sort. He’s been a sailor, a fisherman, twice as long as I have; and I’ve been one most of my life. He took me on a bit over a month ago as his first mate, which is a bit silly really. It’s just the two of us. He doesn’t have the same qualms about having a woman aboard, though, like some do.

     It’s quiet most days. Just us and the sea. Only our own tales break the silence. I like the quiet. It helps one’s mind to think and just breathe. To just be.

      Callum, though, he hates the quiet. He’s always bursting with questions and tales. Like he can’t sit still if he doesn’t speak. Today’s one of those days where he’s more talkative than most. He’s curiouser than a dang cat near an open flame. He hasn’t been deterred yet by any of my cutting glares – like he’ll never get burned by it.

     He’s persistent; I’ll give him that.

      “Bit odd don’t ya think?” He sits further up deck, checking over nets for holes or knots. Weather worn hands, twisting and untangling a blanket of rope. It’ll be cast tomorrow on our rounds to replace one of the filled nets we collect. “All these stories of fae, water people…cities in the deep. Monsters to come snatch sailors off their ships in the dead o’night.”

      A soft snort escapes me before I can stop it. As well as being talkative, he enjoys telling tall tales of sea creatures and monsters. His smokey voice, gruff from years of abuse on the high seas, tells slow rolling tales even slower than calm waters. I never ask him to sing. His rough timber would put me to sleep in an instant.

      “You don't believe in such things, do ya, lass?”

      “Mer-people and monsters?” I scoff and adjust my position behind the helm. I steady my footing for a second. “Just hokum and fairytales.” His aged blue eyes furrow a bit.

    “Strange that is, lass. I heard your family was fearful of the water people.”

      “My family? Sure. Me? Not so much.”

       “Why’s that?”

     “Seems a bit stupid, innit? We’re an island race. To be fearful of the sea when we’re surrounded by it. Even my great grandad on mum’s side came from an island, all the way in the Mediterranean. If you were tryin’ to get away from killer sea people, why not go more inland? Not to another island surround by the sea.”

    I can see the questions churning in his mind as he contemplates that illogical solution to an even more illogical fear. I grew up hearing stories…myths…legends, whatever you call ‘em. And it seems to be another of those things.

            Stories.

     Just stories about fairies or mermaids. Entertain the kids, yeah. Nothing more to it. But somewhere along the way. Dehydration? Hallucinations? Hell, probably pure boredom, maybe. The stories stopped being fairytales. Started being a real fear.

     “So youse not afraid?” he asks me while he sets aside the nets. Final checks complete. We move about the deck, checking sails and lines. We prepare for the storm that’ll reach us by nightfall. It doesn’t look to be too bad, but better to check than be sorry. I think about his question a bit before answering. My folks’ fear of the sea has followed me for years and I never understood it. There’re far more immediate things to fear than myths and legends.

     “There’s a lot to fear about the sea. Lots of real things. Things we can touch, see, and hear. Storms and sea predators. Things that’ll getcha long before some imaginary monster.” I say to him.

       He chuckles, “Already preparing to get a bit taken out of ya by a shark or somethin’?”

      “Just being realistic. I only worry about what I can control. Everything else, well…don’t worry so much about that.”

     He leaves it at that for time. Our attention is drawn to the tasks ahead of us. We come across some buoys of ours and haul our catch in. It’s laborious work that doesn’t leave much room for chatter. It’s sometimes the only breaks I get from his questions. Once our catch is stored away in the hull, we’re back on deck. Callum has a couple of salmon and herring on a block between his knees. He fillets them for our dinner while I’m back at the helm keeping the boat steady on course.

       So, what is the story then? Why ya folks don’t want ya out at sea?”

       “Like I said, fear of an old story.”

       He glares at my non-response. He gestures with his knife as if to say well go on. Tell it then. It’s ridiculous how persistent he can be.  

      “Don’t have much else to do?” He finally barks out.

      I sigh at his impatience. Might as well. “Mum’s grandad came over years ago from a little island, not much different from ours. But over that way by Greece. They spoke the language too you see.”

        “Do you still speak it?”

       “A little, mostly at home with Mum and Granny. Made it easier when all the grandparents were alive; call them by their Greek names.” He gestures for me to continue the tale before he tosses some of the fish guts over the side.

      “The island was little, yeah. Nothing well known. Old. Like going back in time to the days of Odysseus and Penelope, old. Stories of cyclopes, Achilles, and tricksters followed their childhood dreams. Just slow island life, ya know?” I breathe. “The main trade was fish. Tourism didn’t come until later and it was never that big.”

       That’s the way Granddad tells it. Those who did come to the island liked the soft beaches with crystal-clear waters. Perfect for seeing the marine life and coral reefs that surrounded the island. Hills and small mountain trails were good for hiking. It was a place to get away for a while. Little to no technology. No distractions. It was a peaceful place; I’d like to think. Granddad was hellbent on leaving there and never returning though.

       “The people, Granddad said, were good, kind people. A bit nosy,” I say with a little grin. A lot like Callum, I think. “A lot superstitious. But still good. They told this story called the Song of the Gorgóna.”

      “The gorgo-hoo-a… what now?” I laugh at Callum’s twisted up face. Completely incredulous over such a strange word.

      “Gorgóna.” I repeat in between giggles. “It’s just the Greek word for mermaid. The Celtics call them Merrow or Selkies. Every civilization has their own myths about mermaids. The Romans sometimes called them Sirens. They’re known as Aycayía near the Caribbean islands. All are just the same name in a different language.”

            He huffs at me, annoyed with me. “Well, what’s this island’s story for ‘em?”

            “Yeah, yeah. Sorry side-tracked a bit there. The Gorgóna were a civilization that lived off the coast of the island, between them and the mainland. Deep in the depths of the sea. So far down that no mortal could ever reach there in one breath. They were so big they could wrap themselves around the island and grab ahold of their own tails.” I make a large circle with my arms to show him how the mermaids would themselves around the island’s coasts. “Mermaids as big as the ships from the mainland.”

      He flashes me a juvenile grin. “Were they beautiful? You know it’s the pretty ones that tricked them sailors off the ships.”

     “That’s sirens, Callum,” is my deadpan reply. “Or drunkenness. Or just plain delusions. Same difference really.” His deep bellow of a laugh rolls across the deck.

       “But yeah, I suppose some did say they were beautiful, in a monstrous way. They had iridescent scales in shades of aquamarine, sea moss, and agate. Some were like those rare kinds of opals. Pink and purple mixed with the blues. Pearlescent that’s what they’d say. Their arms and bodies were covered like the ocean floor. They’d masquerade as the coral reefs around the island in their sleep, you see. Helped them hide so they wouldn’t be hunted.”

       “Doesn’t sound like a monster to me.”

     “Except they were as big as a battleship.” I remind him before continuing. “Other’s spoke of the monster. How they’d have talons for fingers, as sharp and long as a marlin’s spear. Rows of razor teeth, like a shark’s. Eyes, too. Cold, calculating. They’d hunt like those killer whales, fast from the deep.” My hands slap together, the sound cracking across the deck. “Hit you before you’d even realize you were the prey. A pure predator in its element.”

      “What’d they hunt?”

     “Long ago, in ancient times, they’d hunt the bigger things in the sea, I reckon. Protect the sailors from the more monstrous creatures of the deep.”

     “Like what?” Good lord, does he ever stop with the questions? I can’t help but point it out.

      “You’re a bit like a kid, always interrupting with questions.” He mimes zipping his mouth shut. Yeah, like that’ll ever last.

      “Krakens, sharks bigger than ships, you see. If you sang the Song of the Gorgóna, that song, they’d come protect you. It was a bit beautiful. And sad, I think, in a hopeful way. You’d sing it and the Gorgóna would come to find you. They’d protect you from those creatures or from raging storms. But it changed.”

      “What changed?” Never mind, he’s worse than a kid.

      “The world I suppose.” I sigh. “Those creatures either died off or went so far into the deep. Then the sailors became the hunted. They became poachers, whalers, those who hunt sharks for just their fins. Maybe even those ships that dump the trash in the ocean, choking the smaller creatures that live there. It made the Gorgóna angry. So, people came to fear the song. It stopped being hopeful.”

      He pulls out the cooking equipment to grill our dinner. I keep us steady with the starboard side facing windward, keeping one eye out for any more of our buoys. I continue with the story while he adds spices to each fish. For once he waits for me to finish the tale.

      “Over time the world aged. The Gorgóna dwindled. There the stories changed with it over time, person to person. Some tell the tale that to change with the world, the Gorgóna traded their tales for legs to walk among the islands. The songs were to call their kin home to the sea or to remind them what they gave up. Others tell it that the only way the Gorgóna could have young was by taking the young of the islanders. If a child sang the song and a Gorgóna heard it, then that child was meant to live amongst their kind.”

      I catch Callum shudder at the second option and stifle a laugh at the older man’s obvious revulsion. Loves his twisted stories, but only if he can tell them, eh?

     “Well, which is it?”

    “Which is what?” I ask like I don’t already know what he means. It can be fun to mess with him. He gives me a look that tells me he knows what I’m doing, but I just grin back.

      “Which one is true?”

      “The first one? The second one? A bit of both, maybe? Isn’t that the nature of these stories?” I shrug, “to be one or the other. Both or neither one.”

     “What made ya family jump ship, so to say, all the way over here?” he asks. I not just notice he’s finished up cooking and puts our food on plates. He hands me mine and I answer him.

      “Oh yeah, that bit. Yeah, mum’s Granddad, he was a small boy then. He’d go out with his mum. Family of fishermen, that was their trade for years and years. Yeah, he saw one, a Gorgóna one day while out with his mum.”

       “Really?!” Goodness, the little kid grin is back.

       “So, he says. Doesn’t like to speak about it much unless he’s in his cups.” I say, but then I can’t help myself and continue just as Callum is about to take a bite. “He claims that’s the reason why he came back to the island after four days without his mum.” It’s comical how Callum pauses mid-bite, incredulous glare pointed at me.

       “What? Now lass, youse can’t go sayin’ something like that without tellin’ us more to it!”

       I put my hand up, placating him a little. “There’s more, there’s more. Slow down, I guess I best tell it from the start, or thirty years before that with his mum.”

      “Yeah, best do that!”

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

    Grandmama’s manoúla said…

            “Ma-mana?”

            “Manoúla, Callum. Her mama.”

   Grandmama’s manoúla said that the sea was once our home; that the islands were temporary. For a long time, she thought it was silly because her manoúla left. Left her with Pappoús and never came back.

            “Now what’s that mean? Make some sense, lass.”

            “Grandfather, he was Grandmama’s grandfather. Now shush, Callum.”

       They were fishermen by trade too. Her manoúla was drawn to the sea, almost hypnotized by it in a way, unnatural. She’d tell tales of the Gorgóna and how they were there to guide the fishermen home at the end of each day with gentle waves. They Gorgóna with their massive bodies and tails would make the waves of the sea. They always came to you if you sang their song.

      One day, long after her manoúla left, she was with Pappoús on their little gaffer. The waters were gentle that day, the sun shining clear. Pappoús wasn’t a strict or cruel man. But he did have a rule. No singing on the gaffer. Grandmama would try to get around this, you see. Hum a little tune here and there. She believed if she sang the Song of the Gorgóna at sunset then they would rise out of the water to greet her. She never gave up on that belief.

      That day she sang the Song of the Gorgóna before Pappoús could stop her. Out of the depths rose this creature, dark green eyes, darker than any sea moss. A body that climbed higher above them for miles. Its skin was made of scales in blues and greens that would twitch in the wind. Grandmama was triumphant that she was right, that the Gorgóna did make the waves. She never realized the cost.

       The Gorgóna demanded that Grandmama come home to the sea. Pappoús begged and pleaded. He said she was too young, that they already took her mother from him. Grandmama was confused by his begging and his tears. She was just a child who didn’t know any better; she didn’t know what she had done. The Gorgóna eventually granted mercy with a warning that they’d return.

        Grandmama lived for many years after that feeling the eyes of the Gorgóna on her every time she went to sea.

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

      “So, the gorog-who-what…”

       “Gorgóna.”

      “Yeah, those mermaids. They came back for her?”

     “Best Granddad explains it. He was just a kid when it happened. He didn’t believe much in the stories as real anyways. But his mum, Grandmama, would sing the song as a lullaby for him and his sisters when they were just babies.” Time had slipped by as I told him Grandmama’s story. It was near sunset now.

       “He was out on their boat with Grandmama on a day not unlike this one. Dark clouds rolling in. Electrical current in the air sparking along your skin, makes your hair stand on end. The water a near pitch black down in its depths, angry like the ocean floor was about to open wide and swallow you whole.” A shiver rolls down Callum’s spine. I could see he knew what I meant by a day like this. Something ominous on such a dreary day. I continue.

      “And Granddad, he was uh, just a kid like I said. He was scared, scared of the storm. Since that lullaby soothed him when he was a babe, he started to sing it. He didn’t realize he was singing it near the top of his lungs. But he was. Singing it amidst this storm.”

      “Ah that doesn’t sound like that’s goin’ to turn out good.” I roll my eyes, always with the interrupting. I grumble a bit. “No, I’d say it didn’t but that’s the either bit, yeah?”

       “Huh?”

      “Just let me finish.”

       “Yeah, o’right”

       “He’s singing this song, and the storm is getting worse. Thunderous rainclouds, thrashing waves, and so much water thrown around ya, you can’t even see much. He’s getting louder, but he can’t tell, and his mum can’t hear him.”

            “But something else does.” Callum whispers. He’s enraptured with this silly tale. Eyes alight with wonder and horror. Ears catching every morsel. Our dinner has long been forgotten now.

      “But something else does.” I repeat. “All at once the boat stops, knocks the wind right out o’em. The waves are still crashing around ‘em like a child beating against a boulder in the middle of a sea.” My own arms and hands come up, beating in the air wildly to show how the waves would meet the boat. Futile. “If they had looked, they’d have seen grey, sleek talons wrapped around the stern and bow of the boat, bars of steel. One wrong move and they’d rip the boat in two.”

       “Slowly, deep onyx pools crept from the deep. Miles of the same sleek grey trailing after it. This creature isn’t how the others were described. That’s ‘cause this one…this one was here to collect. A predator in search of its prey.”

        “Did it say anything?”

        “No.”

     Callum’s eyes widen, his breath quickens. He’s gripping his seat; anticipation rolling down his body.

      “It’s eyes, cold, deadly watched Granddad and Grandmama. Assessing… Stalking… Hunting. Granddad trembled in the presence of the creature.”

     “Yeah, no wonder.” Callum mumbles. I pretend I didn’t hear him.

       “But Grandmama, she was calm, calm as can be. She knew the day would come, Granddad says. She wasn’t afraid of the creature. She left the sails and went to Granddad. She hugged him and kissed his cheeks. All the while the predator watched them, and the storm raged on around them. It’s eyes never left her. Granddad tried to cling to her, tried to keep her on the boat. He was so scared. There was no use though. She pried his trembling fingers from her soaked sleeves and…”

       “And what?” Callum blurts out. I pause a little longer.   

        “Jumped.”

       “Jumped to the depths below. And just as seamlessly as it came from the darkness, the creature slipped back into its embrace.”

        “What happened then?”

      “Granddad says the storm went on for four more days. He hid in the hull; and when the sun finally shined on the fifth morning, he came out to find the boat just a mile off the island.” I don’t give much credit to this bit of the story. Now that I’ve finished, I collect my plate, toss the skeletons back into the sea for small critters to feast on. Callum cleans up his own meal, doing the same with the carcasses. This time around he’s at the helm and I’m leaning against the rails, gazing upon the horizon. It’s calm now. A bit of calm before the storm. After some time, Callum asks me again.

       “After all that, all that your family went through, you still don’t believe?”

      “In stories that change from one person to the next. Never the same as the one before; never knowing what’s the truth or just a story?” I can’t help but laugh a little at that. “No, not really.”

      Callum looks at me bewildered, “But what about what your granddad says, gotta put some stock into that?”

     “Oh, that? His mum fell overboard in the middle of a storm. Hazard of the job. He was a kid who needed to make sense of her death, nothing more to it.”

       “So, you really don’t believe?” He questions again, drawing out the words. I mock the idea.

       “Why go chasing ghost stories and fairytales when life’s interesting enough?”

      Callum finally, finally relents. He accepts that I don’t believe in all the nonsense. “You’re a rare breed lass. A rare one.”

      The sun slips into the ocean behind me just as silent as the Gorgóna. I can’t help but flash him a razor-sharp smile with a glimmer in my onyx eyes. “You have no idea, Callum.”

            “No idea.”

The End.

[unloveful]

the majority of ansong's residents know by now that whenever there is a gathering, there is also a ninety—percent chance that saeroi is bound to chase after the chance like a moth to flame; his presence more often than not lingering somewhere amongst the crowd. rare is it ever that saeroi needs to be bribed to go to illusion of all places, the nightclub being an almost second home to him. but it’s become a repeat cycle, something that runs along the lines of — as long as park saeroi is there, then, the people around him as friends will always put the offer of free drinks, free food, free everything on the table in order to keep him there as the life of the party. and free stuff, saeroi likes. so he has no reason to not indulge, even if it goes disorderly … like it does tonight.

it’s an unspoken rule that saeroi’s conjured for himself. that is, to not let anyone buy him a drink. no matter how pretty or interesting they are. … callum is an exception. he became one, at least. ( even with the fact that he fits into both of the categories saeroi swore off of. annoyingly—so. ) there was no mistaking the way ears had perked at the offer—the mention of a long island; one of the drinks that saeroi favored above everything else — only because it manages to do the job of making him tipsy. just slightly. the soju hits him like a brick on the other hand, not entirely the best idea he’s had in a while if the buzzing in his head is anything to go by.

admittedly, while saeroi is not exactly the most discernible of people when his sobriety has begun to fray at its edges with bit of alcohol lingering in his system, he knows when someone might be staring at him a little too hard, for a little too long — the entirety of himself burning right under callum’s attention. saeroi catches himself in the moment of letting his gaze drift every now and then onto callum when he isn’t looking in his direction, barely able to register the discussion much less the amount of time that’s passed until he feels a strong arm snake around him, a grumble slipping at the squeeze against skin. ticklish. and too early to go home, he wants to say. but he slumps against callum anyway, limbs going limp as he subconsciously places his trust in the hands of the man holding him, to balance him throughout his sluggishness. “b—” hiccup. and he sing—songs, “boooooring.” before a stupid, drunk giggle ( in which, he will surely regret later, when he’s come back to his senses ) towards the other escapes, corners of lips curled into a grin as he stares at callum through the haziness of his vision. “you’re taking me home?”

i've got all this ringing in my ears and none on my fingers @unloveful / illusion

despite his numerous claims that he doesn't like going out, callum is, well — still out fairly often.

but it starts out casual, okay. one beer at the bar is not how tonight pans out. that one beer turns into being poked and prodded into going to illusion for just a few hours (we'll even pay your cover! they say) which in turn becomes a night of being subjected to eardrum numbing bass combined with the smell of gross, sweaty bodies. callum nurses a watery sprite for a long while before the combined friend groups of his and saeroi's' begin to congregate at one table to discuss their next move.

callum is over it, frankly, and being the most sober friend is pretty lame anyway. it's a little before one in the morning and between having to feign socializing and shouting uselessly over the bass for hours, him and his hoarseness have had enough for the night.

his eyes flicker to saeroi, who though callum was almost positive becausehedoesn'tactuallypaythatmuchattentiontosaeroihejusthappenedtobegoodatkeepingmentaltabsonpeople had already had:

two green tea shots

one long island (this one was callum's fault — saeroi said he was going to the bar and there was a level of entrancement callum was under when he saw how much offering to buy him a drink lit him up, so he had to buy him something, okay)

half a bottle of soju

and in true saeroi fashion, the male looks nothing short of sober, at least until you look at him long enough to pick up on his subtle sway.

"i'm gonna get a cab home," callum announces untriumphantly to the group after they begin to mull over ideas about sitting in front of convenience stores and smoking cigarettes while they sobered up. not appealing. he would much rather eat the cost of a forty-thousand won cab ride home than have to stay out any much longer. he plants his feet to the ground and wraps a stabling arm around saeroi's side to stop the swaying. "g'na steal him, too," he gives the blond a teasing pinch at the waist. the group knows they live in the same building and give little to any pushback on sending saeroi home; if anything, by the looks of his glossy complexion and lack of any reasonable logic as to why saeroi should stay out longer, callum makes the executive decision on his behalf. he nudges him at the hip. "you good with that plan?"

[hozierandco]

Callum Turner x Reader - After-match, Part One (smut)

A/N: Since I'm very much obsessed with Callum Turner at the moment, I felt it was only fair I give it a go. It gets smutty towards the end, announcing a second part that will be extremely smutty. Read at your own risk.

When Callum's favourite football team is qualified for the final, Y/N has an idea in mind for the after-match. For obvious reasons, set before Covid.

"Chelsea qualified for the Final!", Callum shouted with a large grin on his lips and a tear hanging "Chelsea's in final!"

On the other side of the apartment they shared was Y/N who was watching Vikings on her computer. She shut down the laptop and reached out for her boyfriend of two years, throwing herself in his arms "Yeah! Good job! I'm sure you screaming for most of the game has something to do with it"

"Hey! For once, it's not you who's screaming!" Callum smiled with an even bigger smile, proudly exhibiting his teeth. He plucked Y/N off the floor and kissed her while she was still in his embrace "They're going to that bloody final!"

Y/N who could not resist her boyfriend's smile, joined in and together they started singing Three Lions.

There were four days until the final since the other team still had to get qualified. Although Y/N was not much of a football supporter, when a competition was on, she could not do any other way than to hear about it.

Callum was passionate to say the least. Chelsea in the final of the Premier League was absorbing all his energy. It was a miracle he was in London for it and not on yet another set. Y/N wanted her beau all for herself but a round ball was in the way and she could not compete. Or maybe she could?

Tottenham Hotspur would fight against Chelsea. Callum was more than excited at the idea of such a great game. An ecstatic Callum was even sexier than the usual version of him, which was already pretty damn irresistible.

But anytime Y/N teased Callum, hinting at the fact that he could take care of her, there was a notification popping on his phone: "Harry Kane hurt during training, could remain on the touch", "According to specialists, could be the greatest game of the season", "Bet on Upcoming Games", which distracted him from her.

Callum had been invited by a friend to see the game and eat pizza at his. In the meantime, Y/N would have a night out with the girls.

As Callum was about to leave on the night of the game with a pack of lager, Y/N stopped him as he passed the bedroom. Her too was close to leave and was finishing her makeup as her lipstick was in her hand.

"Hey! You were not going to leave without telling me goodbye, were you?"

"Fuck! You look gorgeous in that dress!", he nearly dropped the beers when he saw Y/N in a black dress made of velvet. The fabric was stroking her lines whereas the tiny straps showed her soft arms.

"I have a deal for you", Y/N offered as she drew a wave of red on her upper lip.

"Oh yeah?" Callum asked playfully as he grasped her hip with the hand that was empty, to have her closer to him. He was only a few inches of fabric away from her nudity and had to fight his urge to remove her dress.

Y/N came even closer as she whispered in his ear "If Tottenham wins, I get to do anything I want with you tonight. But if it's Chelsea, then I'll let you do anything" She went back to seeing him eye to eye "Deal?"

"That doesn't sound fair"

"No?"

"No... I mean you know nothing about football.. With Kane down, Chelsea stands its chance of winning"

"Who said I didn't want Chelsea to win?"

Callum held back a noise that got stuck in his throat and that ressembled an animalistic growl.

"Y/N... I swear if I wasn't already late, I would have ruined that dress of yours by now"

Y/N smiled and for sole answer kissed Callum on the cheek. Callum's phone buzzed to signal him his cab had arrived.

"I'll see you later, baby!", Callum said on the threshold, ready to hurtle down the stairs.

"Can't wait!"

Callum took the cab he had booked towards Islington where his friend lived. It was not until he was seated in the back that he felt a slight discomfort in the region of his crotch. That bloody dress, he thought to himself, hoping his erection would disappear by the end of the journey.

***

"Hi!", Melina, Y/N's colleague cried when the latter arrived at the pub.

The parvis in front of the establishment was packed with supporters who in turns had Tottenham's or Chelsea's scarves.

"Hey! How you're doing? Do you think we could go somewhere less crowded?"

"Are you kidding? It's the final. Anywhere we'll go, it's gonna be like that!", Melina had raised her voice to be heard.

"... At least here they serve a great fish'n'chips", Charlotte added.

Well at least she would know her fate for the rest of the night.

In Islington, Callum arrived. The commentators were already getting excited on the telly as Callum could hear from the threshold.

Callum hugged everyone there after he had set the beers on the table. Amongst them were comedians that he had met during film festivals but had not seen in years.

If the whole friend group was loud at first, making small talk and helping themselves to pizza, when the anthem started, they all got quiet.

The pub too went silent. In both the pub and at Callum's reunion, everyone had their hand on their bosom and sang along the players and the stands.

"Welcome everyone! The game starts now!", one commentator explained.

The defence was good on both sides and the tension began growing.

One missed opportunity for Chelsea later, Y/N received a text.

Cal, 9.14 pm: It's gonna be a long night Y/N, 9.16 pm: You have no idea!

Then, the release came.

Callum and his friends echoed the neighbourhood's screams.

"It's a goal for Chelsea!", the commentator exulted in the back though no one was paying attention to him, too busy celebrating the action.

"We'll be back after the break"

Cal, 9.53 pm: You can already take your underwear off. It's coming home, baby!

Y/N, 9.54 pm: Don't wear any...

Callum nearly choked on a slice of pizza when reading his girl's text. It would indeed be a long night.

The game was on again. Was it the excitement winning the crowd over or the humiliation of the goal they could not have stopped but Tottenham marked only seven minutes later.

Y/N, 10.11 pm: Looks like you'll be all mine tonight after all!

Cal, 10.14 pm: Ain't I always?

Y/N was now fully engrossed in the game, on the edge of her seat, careful as not to miss anything from her chosen team.

"You've kept your cards close to your chest. You're into football after all, huh?" Carey, a friend from college teased Y/N.

"Cal and I have a bet for tonight. My life depends on it"

The six friends laughed at the remark.

A session of penalty shoot-out had been whistled by the referee to settle a final result.

Cal, 10.51 pm: Good luck, baby! Y/N, 10. 51 pm: To you too, Cal!

The situation was excruciating. All the attendees in the bar were biting their nails. Callum and his friends had stopped drinking and in fact were competing as to know would hold their breath for the longest time.

The very last shot was for Eden Hazard, on Chelsea's side. If he marked, Y/N would have to surrender to Callum's fantasies. But if he missed the net, she could put to the test all the scenarios she had in her mind for the past few days.

Eden Hazard advanced on the penalty area, breathing in and out. Y/N breathed in and out too. Callum had won the breath-holding contest.

A few seconds later, the referee whistled the end of the game, making cheerful and despondent people in the audience.

[minimitchell]

5- “I thought we were friends.” please ☺️

Ben has four good friends in his life; the kind you tell all your secrets and keep for the rest of your life.

Him, Jay and Lola have always been friends; they’ve grown up with each other and have known one another since they were kids. Frankie on the other hand is a newer friend, who has joined their little ragtag group of people after Ben met her when he was helping out at an after-school club; she’s teaching other students sign language and they’ve immediately bonded over that.

And then there’s Callum.

They’ve been friends ever since Callum rocked up here in Walford with his weird older brother and even weirder dad a few years ago. They clicked immediately, easy banter and teasing flowing freely between the both of them, and it took no time for him and Ben to become really close.

Callum’s home life isn’t exactly the best so he spends most of the time after school at Ben’s house, or they’re hanging out with the others at the park or somewhere else around here. They become sort of like a package deal - where one goes, the other soon follows.

Things are damn near perfect until that one day - the night of Callum’s birthday party.

He’s finally eighteen, the last one of their little group to finally become an ‘adult’, and they’re having a party for him at Ben’s house. Partly because his own birthday was only a couple of days ago so it’s the perfect opportunity for a joint do and partly because Callum’s dad would never allow him to throw a party at their flat.

It took a lot of convincing and begging for Ben’s dad to agree to this but fortunately for them he had in the end - under the condition that they would get the house clean again before he comes back that Sunday.

Ben doesn’t want to toot his own horn but the party is definitely a success. Half of their year is here - singing and dancing and getting increasingly drunk. He takes a no doubt regrettable amount of shots with Frankie in the kitchen, presses in close to grind against Lola on the makeshift little dance floor in the living room and gets roped into a game of beer pong against some of the guys from their year.

More importantly though, he makes sure that Callum is happy. There’s a big grin on his face that hasn’t left all night, even if it got progressively less sober and more dopey as the night went on, and he seems to have the time of his life, laughing and shouting lyrics to cheesy pop songs with all kinds of people here.

He’s happy and that in turn makes Ben happy as well.

It’s all he could ever ask for.

When the last people eventually leave it’s close to four in the morning. Their friends are long gone and Ben can’t wait to fall into his bed and sleep, he’s that exhausted. He’s already dreading tomorrow’s hangover.

Callum is spending the night, not just because this is his party as well so they both have to clean up the mess tomorrow but because it’s just what he does. What they’ve done a million times before.

But there’s something different happening today.

Today, right there in the dark of Ben’s bedroom, where they’re both already tucked in under the cover, on the night after his birthday does Callum finally spill his biggest secret to Ben. The two little words hang in the air between them for a long moment while Ben thinks of what to say in response.

I’m gay.

It keeps replaying in his head; Callum’s careful, hushed voice now ingrained in his memory, probably forever.

Callum knows that Ben is gay as well. He’s been there for most of his figuring out, knows all about him fooling around with guys at parties and the casual dates he goes on sometimes. Ben always had a hunch, an inkling, that Callum was into guys but he never said anything about it, not wanting to push Callum in case he wasn’t ready to face that yet.

Apparently, all he had to do is wait him out and let him figure it out on his own.

It could be perfect as well. He could just tell Callum he understands and that it’s okay, that of course it doesn’t matter to Ben. And there’s that little, hopeful voice inside his head, he’s tried so hard to suppress over time, that whispers that maybe this crush simmering away inside his chest could be something more now one day.

Only, it doesn’t quite go that way.

He does say all the encouraging things to Callum, gives him the support he needs and deserves right now. But because Ben is just so fucking stupid and there’s still massive amounts of alcohol swimming in his veins, he also does the worst thing he could possibly do - he leans forward and kisses Callum. His best mate. And even worse, when Callum’s hands start wandering and tugging off his clothes he does nothing to stop him.

.

The next day is horrible.

There’s a pounding in his head that doesn’t seem to lessen even after he’s taken two Aspirin and drunk a large mug of coffee. The house is a mess and Ben is more than thankful for the fact that his dad isn’t coming home until later tonight. He probably knew what would greet him otherwise.

Ben got out of bed the second he was awake enough to do so, leaving Callum behind to sleep the rest of the alcohol off.

He can’t believe he was stupid enough to sleep with his best mate; stupid enough to get caught up in the moment and damn any consequences. Terrible consequences at that.

Because how can they stay friends after this?

How can they go back to how they were before when Ben knows how Callum feels now; how he sounds and what he tastes like.

He doesn’t want this to ruin their friendship, because it undoubtedly will. They’ll maybe decide to give it a try, Ben will ruin it like he always does and they’ll never want to speak a word to each other again. Or, they become something and in the end, Callum leaves because that’s all they ever do. No one ends up choosing Ben.

He doesn’t want any of that to happen.

Callum is the first person who completely gets Ben, in and out, often without saying anything at all. He trusts him more than anyone, more than Jay even, and Ben doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Callum by his side.

And of course he went ahead and fucked it all up.

He has already cleared the cans and bottles from downstairs, starting a load in the dishwasher, when he hears the stairs creaking and footsteps coming closer. It sets off panic in Ben’s chest because now is the time to decide whether he wants to outright tell Callum he’s at least a little bit in love with him or ask him to forget about the whole thing.

In a fit of pure panic, he does neither. He pretends nothing ever happened at all.

“Hey.”

Callum’s voice is hesitant, barely audible over the low hum of the radio Ben turned on in a desperate attempt to drown out his own thoughts. He looks over at Ben like he’s some wild animal he’s trying to approach, obviously wanting to gauge his reaction to what happened between them.

Ben doesn’t dare to look at him, can’t bring himself to face him right now, so he busies himself by getting another big trash bag from underneath the sink, avoiding Callum’s eye as much as possible.

“Nice of you to finally join me. You can get started in the living room, do some hoovering maybe. There’s crisps everywhere.”

Yeah, getting Callum into a different room, putting some much needed space between them, sounds like a good idea. At least, until Ben can figure out what to do to get out of this situation unscathed and with his dignity intact.

“I thought we could maybe get some breakfast? Talk a bit?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately, mulling his words over in his head. He wants to say yes but he’s too afraid of what could happen if he does. Is this Callum wanting to let him down easy? Telling him thanks for this experience but I’m not interested in anything more?

He couldn’t even blame him really. Callum should go out and explore, figure out himself and what he’s into without being chained to someone else. Ben is glad he could give him a good first time - at least he thinks it was good for Callum, because it was pretty incredible for himself - but he’s under no impression that he won’t be just one of many for Callum.

As he should be. Because Callum is funny and smart and gorgeous in a cute way and he deserves to have a lifetime of romance and adventure. He deserves a line of guys falling over themselves to be with him. He deserves better than Ben; better than someone who already has quite the reputation for being an easy lay at school.

“I thought we were friends. Friends help other friends clean up before their dad gets back and yells at them for leaving the house in a state.”

It’s a flimsy deflection. Ben is all too aware that Callum knows his dad isn’t coming back until later. And although it’s close to midday already, they still have all the time in the world to clean up. There’s no reason they shouldn’t stop to have a hangover breakfast first - except the fact that Ben is a giant coward, of course.

“Are we?”

“What?”

Ben finally meets Callum’s eyes across the kitchen table and it’s immediately obvious that he’s said the wrong thing somewhere along the way. Because Callum’s face is hard, his expression unimpressed and mouth a thin line. There’s something softer in his eyes though; something sad or pleading maybe, betraying the thunderstorm clouding his face.

“Are we just friends? ‘Cause I don’t think friends do what we did yesterday.”

Ben blows out a breath, hand coming up to scratch at his face in a nervous habit. Apparently, they are talking about it now. This will all end in tears, Ben’s sure of it.

“Technically it was today.”

“Ben!”

They’re quiet for a long moment; the only sound in the room the whirring from the dishwasher and the radio playing some old song about heartbreak that hits a little too close to home right now.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Cal.”

The tone of their conversation seems to shift then. Callum’s face shifts from mad to something that looks a lot like defeat; like he’s not even considering this having a good outcome anymore. It makes Ben pause somewhat because it means there was hope there sometime before.

He’s trying hard not to latch onto that hope, because what if he’s mistaken?

Callum takes a deep breath, like he’s racking up the courage to actually say what he’s about to say, and Ben is scared but ready at the same time to cling to every word.

“I want you to say you don’t regret it. Because I don’t, not at all. I know we’re mates but I always hoped it would happen. I always hoped that when I was finally ready, it would be with you.”

Ben doesn’t want to let himself hope, still stuck somewhere between denial and self-protection. Just because Callum wants him too, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t crash and burn and ruin their friendship in the process.

“Callum, you deserve better than me.”

Callum walks around the kitchen table, stopping only when he’s standing in front of Ben, placing both of his hands on either side of Ben’s face to get him to look up at him. He has to fight the strongest urge to lean into Callum; it feels too good to have him touch him again like this. He’s only felt Callum’s touch a couple of hours ago at this point but it already feels like he can’t breathe without it.

“No. I deserve what I want to. And I want to be with you. And I think you want that too. Let's just give us a chance, yeah?”

Ben tangles his hands in the fabric of Callum’s white shirt, using his hold to pull Callum a step further into him. The doubts are still there, and they probably will remain rooted in his head for a while, but they aren’t as loud when Callum is looking at him like he is now.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s try this.”

It’s hard not to be infected by the bright smile taking over Callum’s face at that, Ben trying to hide his own smile by scrunching up his face and looking at the ground as best as he can when his face is still being held by Callum.

He’s willing to give his best when it comes to this; to be the best boyfriend Callum could ever have. Because he wants him to be happy, and more so he wants to be the one who makes him happy. He’ll try at least.

Callum’s thumbs brush over the skin over his cheeks for a second before he leans into him and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s just a sweet, short peck but it’s enough to send Ben’s heart into overdrive, hammering against his chest in such a wild rhythm he’s sure Callum must be able to hear it.

When they part, Ben presses his forehead against Callum’s, not ready to let him go yet. It’s paradoxical - this whole morning he’s tried to tell himself they don’t have a future together and now that it’s within reach, under his fingers and on his lips, he doesn’t want to be without it ever again.

“You think cleaning the rest of the house can wait?”

Ben breathes out a laugh, letting go of Callum’s shirt so he can reach up and tangle their hands together, pulling him along with him out of the kitchen and up the stairs again.

No matter what happens in the future, they’ll figure it out.

Together.

[colonelpancakes]

Continued!

God that is an absolutely KILLER design. Absolutely magnificent.

Rayla, keep your cloak on, it’s fricking cold! You are going to get frostbite!

And Callum keeping Rayla safe from the ground by blowing away debris? I love them so much. The look Rayla gives him afterwards is so precious.

KNEW IT. Knew it wasn’t a just a random monster! Also, I entirely did not catch what it actually was that made her falter.

Oh?

Ohh… Soren… Viren…

I love them… Even if he thinks it’s a terrible idea, he trusts Rayla. He trusts that she knows what she’s doing and he’ll be there to back her up if she doesn’t.

Hey what if I started crying. This reminds me so much of the scene where Kipo first meets the mega-monkey in Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts. Calming a giant, rampaging beast by singing a lullaby to them… Ough… Honey…

Okay, this is my new desktop background now, this episode is so pretty (and I absolutely adore the ginormous creature being gentle with a small human(oid) who shows them kindness trope its my favorite trope).

Ough... Esmeray... Also, Rayla’s voice actress. The softness, the melancholy in her voice, the way her words are tinged with grief... It's so good.

I love the continuity of Stella still having the gemstones she stole from Umber Tor in season four.

Oh Rayla... She understands Esmeray because she sees herself. She misses Ethari and Runaan and her village and she cannot return. Esmeray misses Luna Tenebris and she cannot get her back.

WHAT IF I STARTED SOBBING? WHAT THEN?? The same line that Runaan says to Ethari??? I think the writers are just aiming to kill me.

The soft little kiss 😭

I love that Rayla can calm the storm because one of her core traits has always been that she is kind. She is empathetic. She sees herself in other people and she sympathizes. She spared the Katolan soldier in the first episode because she saw a human life, and couldn’t take that away. And now, that kindness is what allows her to see the behemoth for what it is and calm it down without hurting it. Rayla my beloved.

Ohh, Callum guiding Rayla’s hand to the diamonds so gently… Reassuring her that they’re real and it’s okay to take them. The way she looks at him first before she takes the crown…

Oh?? Well that explains why he was acting so odd earlier.

Awww… Callum… he knows her so well, he knows that she would never “waste time” doing something for herself, for her family when the world is in potential danger.

MY BELOVEDS!!!!!!!

All Hail Queen Stella!

Aww, siblings!

OH?!

More trans rep?! Let’s go!

Oh, I'm dumb. I just realized while screenshotting that Astrid’s color palette is literally the trans pride flag.

Oh, Rayla… And it’s true, had she not spared the soldier, Zym’s egg might not have been found, Ezran might not have lived, and Xadia and the human kingdoms might not have achieved peace.

Hate it when that happens.

Hate when people take one look at me, tell me my heart is filled with darkness then collapse on the spot. Alas, happens all the time.

For the first time. I have too much to say to be contained in one reblog. Uh. Continued in the next reblog?

Season Six Episode Five "Moonless Night" lets go! Given the fact that one of our protagonist’s is a MOONshadow elf, this title makes me worried. Like, I know it’s referring to the prophecy thing but still…

Skjsklf I love Rayla. She wants NO part of this ding dang prophecy business.

Hmm so Callum wants to know more about whatever Startouch magic item they could get for doing the quest. Interesting. I wonder if he’s still thinking about ways to defeat Aaravos? Since "from the heavens" does sound like it would have something to do with the Startouch elves, "beings from the heavens".

Stella’s little “just kiss already” look is killing me.

I love Soren checking in on Ez to see if he's okay is so sweet. I love his character development so much, going from considering killing Ezran to being a dedicated crownguard and making sure Ezran's okay.

Oh wedding?? That’s happening now?? Yay!

Surely nothing will go wrong, Ezran will have a nice relaxing break and Janai and Amaya will have a lovely stress-free wedding and nothing will go wrong and the fact that the episode after next is called "The Red Wedding" means nothi-

Ezran sidestepping actually saying Viren’s name and even Soren faltering a little bit before he says it. The impact he’s had on both their lives is so clear even in these little moments.

They’re so sweet they are going to melt my heart I love themm 🥹

Ohh... and Soren's upbeat demeanor vanishing as soon as he leaves Ezran's room because he knows Ezran needs the reassurance...

Fly caught in a spiderweb imagery how interesting…

Oughh poor Soren. And the voice acting is so good here. You can hear how much effort Soren is putting into keeping his voice steady and tough so he doesn’t give Viren any control over him again.

Rayla gives the exact same response as Sarai did in season two. The Ice Behemoth is already giving me huge Magma Titan vibes I really feel like killing it is the wrong move. And Rayla’s right, they don’t know anything about the behemoth or why its causing the storms. “Does it think? Does it feel? Does it have a family? […] Then is it the last of its kind?”.

Yeah, that’s something I was thinking about too. It’s interesting how Callum is the one so interested in this prophecy when before this point, he’s always been the most resistant to the idea of destiny, or the concept that there’s something you “have” to do and there’s no way around it. I wonder if there’s something else at play?

🥺🥺🥺 Rayla singing a lullaby???? Holding Stella like a baby???? My heart…

Viren, respectfully, please shut up.

I wonder if the reason Soren keeps coming down is because he needs to see for himself that Viren is still locked up so that it can be real for him? Like if he keeps checking on Viren that means he can see with his own eyes that he’s still there and isn’t escaping or hurting anyone, and it'd be hard to get that reassurance from a guard. It could also be that he feels some form of responsibility for Viren and doesn't feel right passing that to someone else. Idk maybe I'm totally off, but I could see that contributing.

"And that’s why I abandoned your sister on a beach."

Yes, including abandoning your daughter on a fucking beach. Viren. It’s good that you're acknowledging how much you’ve hurt Soren but please also acknowledge that you are in fact still actively fucking up in the parenting department.

Ohh. Soren… He’s finally hearing his father tell him the things he’s wanted to hear for so long, the things he’s had to figure out on his own. That the way he was treated was cruel and wrong. That he’s not lesser, or a bad person, or stupid or the things he’s been told aloud or otherwise for most of his life. That is father sees who he is and is proud of the man he’s become. But the last time he was down here with Viren, Viren told him that all of the awful things were in his head, that he was imagining them. That he was too stupid to understand Viren’s instructions and of COURSE his dad had never done anything wrong. He was literally gaslit and it has (understandably and rightly) absolutely destroyed his ability to ever trust Viren again. How could he when Viren lied to and manipulated him for his whole life? It’s too good to be true, so it must be a trick.

And then Soren getting angry, reaffirming that he knows who Viren is and what has happened and that it was real out loud so that Viren can’t gaslight him again, can’t convince him that nothing was wrong in the first place, can’t manipulate his point of view or taint the happiness that he’s finally found in the palace with Ez and Callum and Corvus and Opelli.

Oh, Soren…

On a much happier note, Stella holding Sneezles!!!!!!!!!!

sjaklffsjdkaljfd I love them so much. Callum, what are you doing?

Also, I noticed while screenshotting that Stella is still holding Sneezles and I just think that’s so cute.

Ooh interesting. I wonder what determines the prerequisites for a spell being cast. Like, what characteristics distinguish spells that need a physical element or a magic object from spells that can just be cast aloud with runes?

Yeah, I still don’t think that killing the behemoth is a good idea in the first place. This magma titan part two. Hopefully with a different ending this time.

Ohhhhhh I am imagining wet socks in that kind of weather and that sounds hellish. Hopefully the Celestial Elves have some spidersilk socks they can lend them.

Aww, Callum sheltering Rayla from the storm with his arms.

The behemoth’s heart even glows in the same way the magma titan’s did! Actually, how do we know this isn’t just an ice titan? Maybe titans aren't all humanoids, I mean we've only seen one type so far.

Okay I'm less than halfway through the episode and I've run out of images. Dang. Continued in reblogs

[newmusickarl]

Album & EP Recommendations

My word, the music world has well and truly spoiled us this week!

The past seven days has seen a colossal avalanche of new releases, so much so I’ve barely had chance to keep up with it all. Although this is not the full list of everything from the past seven days, here are the 16 (yes, 16!) new releases I’ve enjoyed the most this week.

As there is so much to get through the rundowns are (mostly) a bit shorter than normal and there is no single Album of the Week, instead I simply recommend checking out whichever album or track sounds most appealing depending on your preferred taste.

So without further ado then, here’s what’s good:

Californian Soil by London Grammar

It’s been four years since the release of London Grammar’s last record Truth Is A Beautiful Thing - an album that I enjoyed, but I’ll admit also left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed coming off the back of their incredible breakout debut, If You Wait. As it turns out, the band themselves were also having a tough time around that period, with front woman Hannah Reid in particular battling relentless industry sexism, as well as the persistent physical pain caused by her fibromyalgia condition. With this being the case, it is amazing that the young indie-pop trio have made it to their third album at all, let alone delivering what is their best work to date.

Opening on a grand, string-drenched Intro, the record soon morphs into the sun-soaked guitars and soaring orchestration of the album’s glorious title track. It marks an early highlight as Reid catches the audience up with the tribulations of the last few years – “I left my soul on Californian soil.” From there the album doesn’t really let up as the band move through a series of career-defining tracks – the gorgeous contemporary groove of Missing, the dance-influenced How Does It Feel, the chilled-out ambience of the dreamy Baby, It’s You and the sublime, stripped-back closer America.

However, the album’s strongest moment comes when Reid confronts music industry sexism head on with defiant anthem Lord It’s A Feeling. Beginning with some twinkly xylophone, before evolving into an atmospheric synth-laced backdrop where Reid pulls no punches:

“I saw the way you made her feel, like she should be somebody else,

I know you think the stars align for you and not for her as well,

I undеrstand, I can admit that I have felt those things mysеlf”

The cutting lyrics against some blinding quiet rave instrumentation leaves quite the impression, as does this sterling record in general. After a slight misstep, London Grammar have well and truly rediscovered themselves and they have honestly never sounded better – a truly incredible album.

If You Could Have It All Again by Low Island

Oxford electo-pop outfit Low Island are another band that have defied expectations to get to this point. This, their debut album, was not recorded in a professional music studio – in fact, the vocals were recorded in a bedroom cupboard of all places. The band themselves don’t even have a manager or a record label. In every sense of the word, they are a truly independent band. For a self-financed, self-produced effort, If You Could Have It All Again is a quite remarkable first outing.

From melodic, uplifting opener Hey Man, the record quickly jumps into spoken word electro punk banger What Do You Stand For, featuring acid-drenched synths and a dancefloor-ready groove. Fans of FIFA 21 will recall Don’t Let the Light In, with the glitchy pulse of recent single Who’s Having the Greatest Time also standing out. That said, it’s the smooth, infectious sway of I Do It For You that still pulls me in the most.

Having followed the band since their early EPs, I’ve been rooting for Low Island for a while now and this is one debut album I was highly anticipating this year. Safe to say, my expectations have been met – this is a fantastic, accomplished record, which leaves me eager to see where they go next.

The Greatest Mistake Of My Life by Holding Absence

There was a time when the difficult second album used to be a thing, but listening to the sophomore effort from Welsh rock band Holding Absence this week, I’m really not sure that exists anymore. After a dramatic and impressive self-titled debut two years ago, the band have wasted little time taking things up a notch, with this new album cinematic and masterfully produced from beginning to end.

From standout singalong anthems like Afterlife and In Circles, to the album’s epic seven-minute penultimate track Mourning Song, The Greatest Mistake of My Life shows a band pushing themselves and driving forward with ambition at every opportunity. In a year packed with outstanding rock and metal albums already, this is most definitely another one you can add onto that list. Soaring, impressive and demanding of repeat listens.

We Forgot We Were Dreaming by Saint Raymond

It’s been six long years since Nottingham-born singer-songwriter Callum Burrows, AKA Saint Raymond, released his debut album. However it seems the time away has been well spent as this long-awaited follow-up finds Burrows in fine form, with this album packed to the brim with catchy, glossily produced indie-pop anthems.

From the brilliant title track that opens the record, to the bouncy riffs of Right Way Round, Talk and Solid Gold, to more subdued and heartfelt moments like Only You, this album will have you smiling, singing your heart out and dancing your troubles away.

Flu Game by AJ Tracey

AJ Tracey may have only been three years old when Michael Jordan was winning NBA championships with the Chicago Bulls, but that hasn’t stopped him making a record influenced by the legendary icon and his famous 1997 Flu Game. Like many others including myself, grime superstar AJ Tracey spent lockdown watching the brilliant The Last Dance documentary, and this record weirdly works as a fantastic unofficial companion, but also just a great summer rap record.

McCartney III Imagined by Paul McCartney

Even if like me you completely missed Sir Paul McCartney’s 2020 album McCartney III, it’s well worth checking out this reimagining, where he has called on the help of some of his famous musician pals. This is a real who’s who line up of guest features including Beck, Khurangbin, St. Vincent, Blood Orange, Phoebe Bridgers, Damon Albarn, Josh Homme, Anderson .Paak and more, making for quite a fascinating mix of sounds and styles.

Moratorium (Broadcasts from The Interruption) by Enter Shikari

And finally on the albums front this week, genre-benders Enter Shikari have released a brilliant compilation of all their lockdown live performances, headlined by an incredible string-tinged acoustic version of The Dreamer’s Hotel and a beautifully stripped-back “At Home” rendition of Live Outside.

Tracks of the Week

Introvert by Little Simz

Wow, wow and wow again. Still fairly fresh off the back of her masterful, Mercury Prize nominated third album Grey Area, this week British rapper Little Simz released the first taste of her next record in the form of this epic and triumphant opening track. At six minutes in length, this majestic and operatic political anthem aims to grab the listener by the collar and shake them awake. Without a doubt, one of the best songs of the year so far, the powerful video for which you can view above.

Smile by Wolf Alice

The second taste of their forthcoming album Blue Weekend, Smile continues Wolf Alice’s pattern for alternating Loud/Soft releases, with this one featuring buzzy guitars, punky vocals and a hypnotic chorus melody.

Beautiful Beaches by James

Although written off the back of the California wildfires that impacted front man Tim Booth’s local community, the lyrics on the band’s latest anthem purposefully offer a dual meaning, giving hope to those dreaming of a post-lockdown getaway and fresh start.

He Said She Said by CHVRCHES

The Scottish trio made their much-anticipated return this week, with Lauren Mayberry also sharing her experiences of sexism on this arena-ready synth-pop banger.

Matty Healy by Georgia Twinn

Georgia Twinn delivers an infectiously catchy break-up anthem, inspired by an ex-boyfriend, who’s most interesting feature was supposedly looking like the 1975 frontman.

Kill It by Vukovi

Underground Scottish rock outfit Vukovi’s new single is so good, they even managed to get KILL IT trending over the weekend of its release. Masterfully produced with big bold riffs and trancey synths, this one just sounds huge.

Can’t Carry On by Gruff Rhys

The latest solo single from the former Super Furry Animals frontman is a stunning, super-melodic tune with an instant chorus you’ll be singing before the track has even finished its first play.

Ceremony by Deftones

One of the highlights off their last album Ohms, the nu-metal rockers have now delivered a cinematic new video directed by horror legend Leigh Whannell. Check it out!

Chasing Birds by Foo Fighters

And finally this week, Dave Grohl and company released a trippy new animated video for this Medicine At Midnight cut to help celebrate 420 in their own unique way. Again, well worth a watch!

[tenspontaneite]

Wish Fulfilment (Chapter 1/?)

Rayla woke up in a tiny body in a tiny bed, blinked, looked at her tiny hands, and said “Right.”

(Time travel; indulgent and light-hearted. Ao3 link)

---

  Rayla woke up in a tiny body in a tiny bed, blinked, looked at her tiny hands, and said “Right.”

She spent the next few days taking stock of herself, the time-frame, her living situation, and her own abilities. She was a pipsqueak, lacking the advantages of a decade of training and conditioning, but she’d been a scrappy thing even at this age – climbing trees, making a nuisance of herself, getting hardier and more agile than most bairns did, and so on. She scrambled experimentally about some trees for a while, and assessed her stealth by mud-bombing the townspeople she disliked, and in the end decided that it would do just fine.

Her parents had joined the Dragonguard recently, and judging by her age, Callum must have lost his mother only a month or two ago. She regretted that she couldn’t have stopped that, but, well. Nothing to be done.

She spent a further week stealing supplies, testing herself, and getting ready. The Moon answered her when she called on it, even so close to its darkest phase. Magic answered too, when she begrudgingly tested the spells Callum had bullied her into learning. It would be enough.

She left a note for Ethari and Runaan that read ‘I know you’ll never listen if I tell you not to look for me, so just try not to waste too much time, alright? I’m fine.’ She took a moment to feel disconcerted at her history of leaving notes and disappearing, then added ‘Sorry. Try not to worry. I’ll see if I can send letters or something.’ With that in mind she took a brief detour into Ethari’s workshop and stole a shadowhawk. With that tucked into her pack, she did some last-minute checks of her supplies and headed out.

First on her agenda was heading North-East and breaking up her trail. Runaan would absolutely try to follow her, so she made it as hard for him as she possibly could, laying false trails, disturbing the true ones, and dunking herself in every body of water she could find to break up the chance of the family Moonstrider being able to track her. He’d probably still find his way through the first leg of her journey, but that was okay. She could live with that.

Rayla arrived at the mountainous plains on the edge of Lux Aurea a week later, finding with satisfaction what she’d expected to: vast tracts of farmland, developed for the feeding of the equally vast population of the golden city. It took a further day to find the farm itself, whereupon she broke in, ambushed the residents, and made some very uncompromising demands.

The Sunfire farmers looked so bewildered at having been hogtied and extorted by a baby-faced Moonshadow child that they offered absolutely no resistance except plaintive questions like ‘where are your parents’, or ‘are you okay’, or ‘do you need any help’. In the end Rayla departed with her packs three bags of seeds heavier, and also stole a Sunfin on her way out. She flew on the placid creature for three days due West before running afoul of the Sunfire army.

Rayla spent eight disgruntled hours in the custody of those soldiers, refusing to talk, until they finally left a twin-tailed inferno-tooth tiger to guard her while they went off to send letters to their superiors, trusting the guard-cat’s intelligence and ferocity to be equal to the task of keeping watch on a wee Moonshadow bairn. This turned out to be a mistake.

Within an hour, the animal was eyeing her with interest. Within two, it had drifted close to sniff at her. “What’re you looking at?” She demanded, in her tiny irritable child-voice, and that was when the thing instantly and very plainly took a liking to her. She spent ten minutes grumbling loudly about being sat on by a giant cat, then finally conceded to pragmatism and started using its tail-flames to burn through her ties. They’d only used rope, not wanting to restrain a child too sternly. It was very helpful stupidity on their part.

Rayla escaped on the cat and was only mildly singed by the ordeal. Later, after a day of very enthusiastic pursuit-evasion, she settled down with said cat and eyed it with resignation. “You’re not leaving, are you.” She said. It licked her with a sandpapery tongue almost as big as her entire face, and that was answer enough. She sighed. “Well, it’ll make the journey a lot faster, I suppose.” She decided. “But you’re going to be a pain to hide.”

Unconcerned, it rubbed its face against her insistently enough to push her over. But she’d grown up with a shadowpaw, so she was used to that.

Rayla, who was not good at naming things, named it Cat.

 ---

 Brightly-coloured cats with two flaming tails were not stealthy. They just weren’t. Cheerfully unaware of how inconvenient this was, Cat spent the next two weeks ruining her efforts at stealth by roaring at inconvenient times, following her when she’d told it to stay put, and in general by being constantly on fire. As such she arrived in the Pentarchy and crossed the Weeping Bay with considerably more flair than she’d have preferred, but at least the tails eliminated the need for campfires. It had obviously been used to cook food before, and tolerated the experience very agreeably, if it had also been fed.

On the third week she finally figured out that the thing had been trained with Luçais commands, and muddled her way through her extremely bare vocabulary in the language to finally get Cat to follow basic directions. With the ability to tell it to stay put somewhere while she went off to do something else, things went much better. She disappeared into the mountain range on Cat’s wings, choosing the least-populated route she could manage, and in the end managed to approach Katolis castle with no one the wiser that she was there.

Finding somewhere to leave Cat proved challenging, though. She briefly considered the alcove in the cliff under the castle, but dismissed it on grounds that someone would notice the roaring eventually. Cat was a noisy bastard. Eventually she resigned herself to the fact that she’d just need to relocate it periodically, and left it in a relatively well-concealed ditch with a freshly-killed deer corpse to occupy it.

Rayla waited till nightfall for the first excursion, calling on the Moon to turn her skin to shadows, and stalked down the castle halls, learning it as it was in this time. Learning the guard stations, the patrol patterns, its rhythms and sounds. She was half-way to checking whether Callum still had the right room at this age when she stopped in the middle of the hallway, goosebumps raising up in lines over her arms, feeling a vast and familiar presence passing over her mind. She slumped with relief.

“Ezran.” She murmured, more thankful than words could say. “So you made it back too.”

Being a baby had apparently not agreed with him, because he seemed to lack the control and finesse he’d developed with age. Instead his ability brushed at her in vague sweeps of feeling and intent, saying relief and frustration and this way. She followed his lead to the nursery where he was kept, his guards pressed into sleep by his far-reaching touch.

She looked down at him in his cot, so tiny she wasn’t even sure if he could crawl, and raised an eyebrow. “Somehow, you’re even tinier than I expected.”

“Ee,” he expressed sourly, blinking up at her with eyes that looked too big for his face. Babies were so weird. His hands reached up and made grabby motions at her, so obediently she leaned in and let him slap one baby hand onto her cheek. With the skin contact, it got a lot clearer.

Been here months, he seemed to complain, along with a rush of gratitude/relief/fondness at seeing her. Couldn’t do anything/missed you/been awful.

“How many months?” She asked with interest, and after a little back-and-forth managed to surmise that he’d awakened in his body very shortly after the titan-slaying party had departed for Xadia. She winced, entirely aware of how terrible that must have been for him. “I’m sorry, Ez.”

His little baby face screwed up, as if he was going to start crying. He almost did, but then seemed to summon the will to suppress the infant-body’s powerful instincts before it actually got going. Really sucked, he managed to express, with a little echo of his helplessness and anger. Then, subverbal: an impression of the heavy miasma of grief that had hung over the castle. Harrow crying, Callum crying.

She inhaled sharply. “Callum-“ she couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t make it back? She thought, numbly, and that was as good as saying it, with Ezran touching her.

He blinked wide ice-blue eyes at her. Hasn't yet/getting worried, he said, tangled up in the impression he had that she’d arrived later than him, hadn’t she, so maybe, maybe Callum would join them eventually too. He hoped. But time was passing and he was afraid.

She closed her eyes. Exhaled. “Did Zym make it?” Yes, he had. “Can you talk to him the same? Reach past him?” Talking: yes, but it was hard. Reaching: no. “Okay. We can work with that.” She hesitated, steeling herself, not thinking about Callum. “I’ve got a hotcat a little bit past the castle. Think you can convince it not to make noise?” She asked, half-heartedly.

Ezran blinked again. Then he looked delighted, a wide baby grin spreading across his face. He nearly bowled her over with the wave of enthusiasm and approval for her having made a proper animal friend, and expressed his intention to begin communing with said animal at once.

Rayla nodded a little, still tightly controlling her reaction to the news about Callum, and after a moment reached into the cot to lift Ezran up under his wee chubby baby arms. He made a surprised gurgle at her, then burped contentedly when she hugged him, patting her clumsily on the shoulder. He was so bloody little. It was making her annoyingly emotional. Damn it, Callum, she thought to herself, get back here already so you can look at how tiny your brother is with me.

Ez sighed, patting her with mental impressions of hope and affection and subdued sadness. Then he told her, though not in as many words, that Cat was a terrible name and someone really needed to make fun of her for it.

Rayla huffed and set him back down again. “Shush, you.” She said gruffly, and hesitated. “I’ll…come back to see you tomorrow, alright? Maybe in the day this time.” She had to get an idea of the daytime watch rotations too, after all. She still wasn’t sure what the plan was, but taking someone hostage might well end up being part of it. That would be a lot easier, with Ez on board. A lot of things would be easier.

A little spitefully, to let off steam, she made one final stop before leaving the castle that night: she broke into Viren’s rooms and stole one each of three pairs of his boots. She took these back to Cat and watched it maul the boots in question with a great deal of satisfaction.

Cat did quiet down after whatever Ezran communicated to it, but unfortunately also decided that if it wasn’t going to announce its presence by roaring, it had to do it some other way. This was how Cat ended up spraying the brambles at the edge of the ditch in urine, and incidentally also how Rayla discovered that it was a male. Thereafter the area stank too much for her to linger in, so she had to go off to sleep in a nearby tree, beyond the warmth of Cat’s burning tails. Rayla woke the next morning with a pronounced crick in her neck, grumbled a little, then went back to work.  

  ---

 Notes:

So this story exists because I made myself Really Sad about five year old Callum when writing the latest chapter (21) of piaj, and then made myself Even Sadder by promptly writing a future scene where Callum talked about said period of his life to Rayla, and then out of abject desperation I fired up a fresh document and started writing this to comfort myself.

Setting background: canon, but with worldbuilding borrowed from piaj. Future Rayla was somewhere in the region of 18+ years old, unspecified. Circumstances of the future and method of time travel left extremely deliberately vague. I have every intention of playing as fast and loose with this story as I can possibly manage; I already have one exhaustive and meticulous tdp work and I’m not interested in reallocating my brainpower from that to this.

Warning: what plans I have for this story heavily feature piaj worldbuilding that I consider pretty critical to the setting, and also unlikely to come out any time soon. Therefore, it’s pretty guaranteed that I’ll get two or three chapters in to publishing this and then have to keep the rest to myself for the next four years while piaj progresses.

 Other details:

Sunfin: a creature I came up with for piaj worldbuilding. It cannot breathe, and uses Sun magic in place of respiratory processes. If kept indoors it will die very quickly. It’s unintelligent and usually lives at high altitudes and will not generally touch the ground in its lifetime, but can be trained for use in farming, where it’s very useful in dispersing large amounts of Stuff (i.e. water, seeds, fertiliser) over a field from the sky. They’re basically crop dusters. Concept and name inspired by the Skyfin from endless legend. Looks somewhat more like a cross between an air shark and manta ray though.

Ezran: future Ezran in this setting was very, very powerful. Less so now that he’s a one year old baby. Rip.

Rayla: future Rayla learned how to use Moonshadow form at most times of the month, and in addition was eventually nagged by Callum into learning some spells. She uses them as part of her stealth repertoire but doesn’t consider herself a mage.

Callum: is baby.

Cat: a twin tailed inferno tooth tiger, highly trained, and in use by the Lux Aurea military as a war mount prior to his desertion in this story. They had a different name for him, but he rather prefers ‘Cat’.

Luçais: piaj worldbuilding; this is the in universe name for the French language as Draconic is the in universe name for Latin. Spoken by many Sunfire elves.

[henryspearl]

on top of the world (ao3 link)

It was alluring, the night sky. They did not quite realise how captivating it really was until they stood on the balcony, bright colours exploding and blending with dark navy blue and colliding with the stars that sparkled and shined. It was almost magical the way the many dazzling fireworks burst up into the sky matched how Ben and Callum were feeling and how both of their hearts were bursting with happiness and love, completely.  

Ben, already feeling it on many occasions since he met Callum, felt whole. He was no longer filled with the dreaded darkness that was always walking two seconds behind him, his stomach was not in thousands of knots from fear and dread. He was finally at peace. The darkness had walked away, disintegrating into ash, like the bright radiant sunshine that was Callum burned over the darkness and brought Ben with him into the light, where there were rainbows, and you could hear the birds singing. It was bliss. It felt freeing, like he had left that dark world behind.

Callum’s heat was radiating on Ben, like a warm blanket as he rested his head on his shoulder. He was happy. He looked up at the sky and sniffed, his eyes starting to glass over from the freezing cold as well as being full of emotion, full of love. He silently thanked the stars above for sending Callum to him, that their paths aligned. He never genuinely believed in soulmates, until Callum came into his life. He solely believed that Callum was his destiny, his soulmate.

“You okay?”

The soft gentle warm voice transmitted into Ben’s processor. The voice that sounds so familiar, the voice that he hears muffled under the bed covers late at night, the voice that always soothes him, the voice that reassures him that he is worth it.

Ben’s eyes divert upwards as he continues resting his hand on Callum’s shoulder, his hand feeling warm and cosy as it is tucked up against his. Callum is looking down at him, a smile that is full of love and dimples. His smile lit up Ben’s world. He moves his head from Callum’s shoulder and smiles softly, almost shyly.

“Never better,” Ben says, his smile moving brighter, brighter than the fireworks that continued to explode up into the night sky.

No one was looking up at them from down below anymore, all mesmerized by the fireworks. Ben untucked his hand from Callum’s and put his arm around his waist, pulling him closer. “C’mere,” he whispers amongst the stars.

He clasps his lips with Callum, pulling him into a more passionate kiss where their lips folded together. Ben suddenly felt the rose petals scratch his back lightly, a gentle tickle as Callum moved to wrap his arms around Ben’s back, pulling him closer. Their bodies were stuck together as they indulged in each other’s mouths, smiling against them, their tongues colliding as they battled for dominance, getting lost in their own heaven.

It was just them leaving the world to its own as they stood on the balcony, kissing repeatedly. It was the first proper kiss since they became fiancés. Since their family were too focused on the fireworks that were exploding above them, they decided to use the time to absorb the love and happiness that they felt of becoming engaged and getting married, of spending forever together.

“Oi lovebirds!”

The fireworks had fizzled out, the remnants of the fireworks bubbling against the stars that sounded the same as a fizzy drink bottle being opened for the first time. Ben and Callum moved their lips apart, a smack escaping their wet lips. They looked down to find Jay looking up, smiling mischievously up at them. Jay held his phone landscape in his hands and it was lowered down, like he had just snapped a photo. The perfect photo. Ben was going to have a word with him about getting that photo sent to him and ruin his ego by posting a publicly indecent photo on his social media accounts followed by the caption ‘we said yes’ with a love heart and maybe a ring and red rose emoji.

“Get down here, the champagne won’t drink itself,” Lexi ordered loudly, her little voice travelling up the balcony effortlessly. A chuckle ruptured in Ben and Callum’s chests, used to her ways a long time ago.

Downstairs, a glass of champagne was put in everyone’s hands apart from Lexi who had a glass of lemonade. They all toasted Ben and Callum, the happy power couple of Walford. Callum had his arm around Ben’s shoulders as he felt Ben’s arm across his waist. They were smiling so hard that it would probably start to physically ache soon, but they did not care. They were so happy and in love. While everyone had a sip of their champagne, Callum and Ben looked at each other and stole a quick kiss, yearning for more but knew that it was a promise for later, for when they could finally have each other to themselves.

Ben masked the disheartened feeling in his chest when Kathy showed up a couple of hours later, clearly stressed and her main priority being his waste of a space half-brother. She walked over to Ben, who was standing with Lola at the bar, with a furrowed brow as she took in her surroundings.

“What’s going on here?” She asks. “I got the text you sent me a couple of hours ago. I’ve barely looked at my phone today to be honest.”

With a disappointed smile in which Ben refused to let those feelings take over the true happiness that he felt, he told his mother the happy news, the first bit of good news since his implant worked. When Ben told her, Kathy’s eyes started to brim with wet tears, happy tears for the first time this week of the news that her youngest son was getting married, that he had a steady. She pulled Ben into a tight hug, gushing of how happy and proud she was of him, congratulating him.

Callum was alerted to Kathy’s presence when he was standing in the corner with Jay, Stuart, Rainie and Lexi.

“Where’s that future son in law of mine?” She called out. Callum turned round to find Kathy charging over to him, a wide radiant smile on her face. When she reached Callum, she pulled him into a tight hug, muttering words of congratulations and how happy she is for them both. Callum smiled kindly and looked over Kathy’s shoulder to find Ben slowly making his way over, an amused smirk dancing his lips in which Callum mirrored.

The evening ended on very little champagne, due to the amount that had been consumed by everyone throughout the evening. It all seemed to go by in a blur but to Callum, it was magical. It made his heart swell with happiness and he felt full of emotion on how this was all for him, he had to hold back the tears when Lexi presented her pink clipboard to him, her eyes lighting up in excitement when she showed him the schedule of the whole proposal.

He meant what he had said to Ben - when he’s with him, he feels like they can take on the world.

Ever since he’s been with Ben, he has felt truly loved and worth it, and was pretty much fine the way he was. He was fine as the smiley dopey self that he was born to be. He did not just have Ben, but he had a whole family who loved and cared about him. He felt so lucky of how he just slotted into their family, into their lives and into their hearts.

It made him feel on top of the world.

Towards the end of the evening, Callum was slightly tipsy because of the champagne as well as being slightly drunk on love, drunkenly in love with Ben.

“Have this darling, you’ll look like a proper princess now,” Callum crouched down to Lexi’s level, a red rose in his hand. “Thank you, our little proposal organiser!”

Lexi’s jaw dropped as a wide smile spread across her mouth, her eyes shining in delight as she took the red rose, her heart leaping at the thought of being a proper princess in her wide skirted bright pink puffy dress.

“Thanks Callum,” She exclaims in a thrill voice. “Can I organise your wedding as well?”

“No,” Ben says, almost instantly. “You’ll have us riding about in a horse and carriage if it was down to you.”

Lexi looked over to Ben, her lips pointing outwards into a frown, lines presenting itself under her eyes as she squinted, “It’d be the best wedding ever.” She insisted.

“The best wedding ever would be having you as our flower girl,” Callum tells her, flashing one of his wink-blinks in her direction, Ben completely trying to hide the fact how it just made his heart skip a beat. Lexi looks up at Callum, her face glowing with happiness as she beams up at him.

It made Ben’s heart swell up looking at the two of them together. Just like it did every time. Callum was amazing with her and Lexi adored him and always looked up to him like he hung the moon and the stars. He started to feel overcome with emotion as he reminisced of when Lexi told Callum how there is no one in the world that she would rather have as her other dad only a few hours earlier. And also how obvious it was that they were meant to be together.

Lexi was right. They were meant to be together. There was also no other man who he would want to be Lexi's other dad. Callum was meant to walk into his life and take all the darkness away and make him see the golden sun that illuminated over him and opened a doorway that was full of hope and possibilities. Taking that step through the door was the best decision that he ever made because he was finally truly happy and accepting of who he was.

Ben smiled softly, a muted chuckle rumbling in his chest as Lexi sniffed the rose dramatically, her eyes fluttering shut like she was Belle from Beauty and the Beast, the inspiration obviously coming from one of the princesses that she has made him watch a thousand times.

He briefly looked over at Callum, who was smiling down at Lexi while stealing a sip of champagne. His heart was roaring like a warm sizzling cosy fire. The two most important people in his universe and he could not quite believe that he was going to have them for the rest of his life. It was the best feeling that could make his heart almost explode out of his chest. He could not believe that he got so lucky in gaining the most kind-hearted person to ever exist.  

However, what he did not expect was by the very end of the evening for each single lady in the bar to be given a red rose. Ben stood at the bar shaking his head in disbelief, but he could not help that laugh that escaped and rattled through his body. “Do you realise how much those roses cost babe?” He called out to Callum, who was currently giving a rose to Honey.

He didn’t care though. There were thousands of roses there, but it wasn’t about that. Callum wouldn’t be Callum without being the generous person with his compassionate soul, always thinking of himself above anyone else.

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