#i think having it so early meant the companions reactions made a lot more sense

[vigilskeep]

maybe i stumbled into it by accidentally triggering her arrival super early but the uh early big durge moment landed much better with me this time

[dontcallmecarrie]

Ohhh I’d love to see the Doom POV!!! Justin X Doom has my vote

Loki would be cute too, much drama with the avengers

Honestly? This snippet mostly summed up my take on Victor von Doom in this AU, and I'm not sure how in-character he is considering my main reference base for him is the 2005-7 movies and a handful of comic book panels.

Apologies for any inaccuracies, I'm playing very fast and loose with how I would have made him fit in the MCU. Plus this AU's turning out a lot, lot fluffier than I'd originally expected, too, considering the original premise was supposed to just be 'SI-OC as a villain protagonist, let's see where it goes!' and not much else.

.

Okay, so if we're talking about potential crushes, then it's obviously very one-sided at first [because Justin's brand of obliviousness has him younger-sibling-zoning anyone remotely his age for the longest time].

After all, these two met in boarding school, and were only physically reunited years later but if we're exploring how this ship would work, here's how I think it'd go:

Victor von Doom didn't think much of his study buddy, at first.

Because at first, he just wanted a quiet place to read, and most other children his age were rowdy and kept trying to get him to play with them, or tried to pick childish fights over nothing, and he had no patience for anything of the sort because he was here, at boarding school instead of with his family, and he'd heard the whispers of growing tensions and he knew they'd sent him away for his own safety but that didn't mean he had to like it.

So he mostly kept his nose in a book, and focused on his studies, and just generally tried not to think too much about what was going on in his home country.

If that meant he was a bit more snappish than the average child, he didn't particularly find it in him to care. Sure, this place was lauded as where the social elites sent their spawn to network from an early age, so what?

...as such, he didn't expect to make any friends.

But he did, starting from the moment they wordlessly agreed to share the alcove because there weren't many other quiet places to study for the upcoming exams.

From there, what Victor would have expected to be a one-off turns into a strange sort of routine as they meet up week after week from then on, giving each other a brisk nod as they pull out their books and set to work.

It's...surprisingly nice, having someone to study with. Victor's not certain how old his companion is, but he's quiet and hardworking and generally less draining to be around than most children their age.

Their first conversation is several months after they've first met, when Victor didn't notice he'd forgotten to grab a pencil for his worksheets and his...schoolmate[?] lends him a spare.

From then on out, their friendship is something gradual, something comfortable. Victor's companion respects boundaries in ways he hasn't really seen outside of his family— is sensitive enough to his moods that he knows when to change the subject, and when Victor's struggling to articulate his feelings and just needs time to do so.

...it's one of, if not the thing Victor misses most, when he gets pulled out of boarding school.

Because after that, things only go downhill from there.

.

Latveria's civil war was... bloody, let's just leave it at that.

Brutal, with a laundry list of factions and alliances that were forged and broken from one breath to another and Victor hadn't set out to be the leader of his faction— but it wasn't like he had any other choice.

He was one of the last surviving members of his family, if there was any hope that his country would be anything other than a fragmented mess then he had to step up.

Even if that meant a teenager was the face of one of the most eminent factions of this damn war, someone nobody really took seriously, and if Victor hadn't had years of seeing his oldest friend's charisma at work then he honestly has no clue how he would've managed to get as far as he had.

And then things escalated even more, and Victor honestly hadn't expected to live to see the end of the fighting, let alone what came after.

One of his advisors was the one to suggest making one last attempt at buying their weapons through a vaguely legitimate source; nobody with any sense was selling to their region, but the black market favored some of their biggest rivals and things were getting desperate enough that Victor signed off on it.

It was a long shot, and they all knew it.

...as such, that first shipment of Hammer Industries weapons took them all by surprise.

.

Victor had never set out to become the new leader of Latveria.

But here he was now, loved and feared and reviled around the world and he doesn't know where to go from here, but... the fact that he's alive to even be able to think about a future after the war was an incredible boon as it was.

Now that he is where he is, he can afford to think about more than just surviving from one day to another, and apart from working on rebuilding Latveria, he's also got some personal projects going on.

Such as finding out who came through at the eleventh hour, because now that he has the time and space to look a gift unicorn in the mouth he's realizing just how many laws must have been broken for those first few shipments to have gotten there.

The paper trail is a dead end, but once Victor starts poking around it should be so, very easy for him to get answers.

After all, Victor was a warlord-now-technically-dictator with access to black-ops personnel and honest-to-goodness death squads, getting intel on what he wanted should not be this hard. Sure, Hammer Industries had good information security, but... apparently, Hammer Senior wasn't the type to get involved in this sort of mess, which meant Victor had no idea who was responsible and he wanted answers—

In the end, one picture is all it takes.

Actually— when he'd first seen the picture, Victor had been in the middle of a meeting with some of his most trusted advisors and generals.

...suffice it is to say, nothing productive got achieved after he recognized the face of the heir of Hammer Industries, once he realized he'd never actually gotten his childhood friend's full name.

The less said about his reaction to the picture, the better, too: Victor's advisors had seen him at his best and at his worst, why they'd freaked out so much was anyone's guess.

So what if he'd kept it, after the meeting was over? Those looks were uncalled for!

.

Victor owes Justin more than he can name— so when there's a ghost of a chance to reconnect, he takes it.

.

Regrets were had.

Everyone at the UN summit looked at him, and he gritted his teeth as he faced off against seasoned politicians twice and thrice his age and he knew what they were expecting, knew they called him a dictator where his country called him a hero and neither of them wanted him here but Latveria had to re-enter the international sphere somehow so they were stuck with him.

Until Zemo got his act together and finished that international relations course, at least. Oh, and got out of the habit of shooting his problems, that too.

Victor had managed to get them diplomatic immunity, but that'd be a hard sell.

...it's funny. Latveria's civil war was over, but... he found himself at odds as to where to go from here.

.

It's funny, how the more things change, the more they really, really don't.

Victor had been a quiet and antisocial bastard back in boarding school, surviving a civil war hadn't exactly done much for his temperament either.

Or his social skills, for that matter.

And just like always, Justin's mere presence was weaponized sunshine.

...Victor never stood a chance.

[mybg3notebook]

The Party Scene

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

In these “scene posts” I will explore the scene of the title looking for the information in the dialogues. What I will be looking for is how much Gale “lies”, how much lore is provided, and any extra detail that may be of our interest to highlight. At the end of these posts there are summary points for those who don't want to read the whole post.

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in this (post) while disclaimers about Context in this (one).

The party scene, I personally think, needs plenty of polishing. The fact that many characters can have a "jealous" behaviour towards Tav no matter their approval looks suspicious to me. Gale's case is even weirder because if Tav did not romanced him at all, Gale will still share those judgemental comments that seem to come from jealousy, as well as strange dialogue options about “being a bad loser” when the context is not romantic at all. This would make some sense—to a certain extent—if Tav romanced him, but if Tav locked him as a friend, it has no purpose. Especially if Tav explores the option of suggesting him to spend the night together, which ends with Gale rejecting the situation because "they are just good companions" after such display of incoherent jealousy coming from a char who values privacy (and therefore would not meddle into Tav's personal affairs). It seems to contradict his character and therefore, it makes me suspect that the whole party scene is just very raw and unpolished in general. 

As I said, the party interaction is very confusing since it doesn't follow the relationship context created by Tav, and in Gale's case looks inconsistent with his char as well, inviting a strong misinterpretations of his character (this is probably a consequence of the decision of making Gale part of EA in the last moment). So this scene analysis may be a bit messy since the scenes are messy too (hence this post's length. I'm sorry). 

Whether Gale was locked into friendship or romance, Gale drops his famous line: 

As they say in Waterdeep: In wine there is truth. That's usually followed by: In water there is good sense. Good sense will have to wait till the morrow.

A great warning line from a narrative point of view: he is basically saying that what will be shared that day under the effect of wine is true, but it certainly won't be "good sense".

In a friendship path, he would not want to waste Tav's time any longer, and will bid them a good night while promising a bed-story the next day. In that case, the wine line could be interpreted as the final decision of a confession that will happen the next day: Gale has finally reached a degree of trust in Tav that gives him enough courage to finally speak about the details of the "orb" (and I emphasise details because in broader aspect, he already shared what's most important: the "orb" in his chest is a dangerous thing. If Tav assisted with his death protocol, this is undeniable by now, unless Tav allowed him to keep his privacy). 

In a romantic path, this wine line could be interpreted as the decision of inviting Tav to share a night, and explaining the details in the morning, the “good sense”. After the wine phrase, we have other piece of prose in which Gale describes a book that it's a bit more than a sexual book:

Gale: Allow me to make the following proposition: there is a book that circulates in Amn, detailing the first thousand nights of a newly-wed king and queen. They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time honoured and newly acquired. The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself. I say we take a page from their book. 

Considering that Gale is not only a verbose char, but also a poet and a scholar, the enumeration of the concepts in the description of the book speaks a lot in my opinion. Gale is not inviting Tav to a night of sex (let's remember he never uses that word in EA) but to a deeper degree of "intimacy", as he calls it. There is a lot more involved in what he asks for: confessions in the art of conversation, pleasures in the art of the body, and, hopefully, acceptance. For Gale, acceptance is a big deal: it’s not by chance that he left it last in the enumeration, summarising the whole concepts with the "art of the night". Gale is truly eager to access these concepts, and in doing so, I personally believe he shows a fair level of naivety on this matter. It seems (especially later with his unpolished arguments in the morning) he felt he needed this level of intimacy—of acceptance first—so he could speak the details openly. He wants to have this night before any confession because he thinks that it would allow him to acquire something that would prevent the abandonment that he viscerally fears: acceptance.

Any of the options taken by Tav keeps showing his eagerness. He wants this to happen in whatever terms Tav desires: as a brand new experience (“blank slates on blank sheets”) or with the promise of commitment (writing the prequel of a newly-wed couple). Or if Tav romanced Gale and then chose to spend the night with another companion, Gale will still insist in sleeping together, showing he was open for Tav to have casual sex as long as the "commitment" part would be established with him. This is reinforced by the fact that, if Tav never shared the Weave with Gale, there is no way to sleep with him: Gale is not a character for one-stand nights. He craves for deep connection, for commitment, in whatever fashion he can get it. Mystra taught him not to ask about exclusivity after all.

Gale is so desperate to have this deep connection that if Tav doubts about spending the night with him, he will drop a line which can trigger an alarm in the player:

Tav: I'm not sure you're the one I want. Gale: That's because you've yet to find out what you're missing. Doubt is a spoilsport. Cast it aside.

Gale, the scholar, the one who kept encouraging Tav to doubt and to think critically about everything, suggests to dismiss doubts. Once more we see he needs this to happen. Some players interpret this as manipulation as well. I personally think this also says something else in Gale: since the dev's notes show no second intentions in the only two scenes where dev's notes existed, and instead, they display how much fear Gale has for a second abandonment, Gale is showing here his inexperience with relationships as well as a constant fear for abandonment.

Gale is looking for commitment, for something that can last longer than Mystra's affair did: he wants something solid, but his inexperience in this field made him "acquire" knowledge of how things should work via romanticized means such as books and poetry. In his mind, the acceptance he needs can only be acquired due to the "art of the night", very well detailed in this book he describes. 

It's true that, all this part, if we completely ignore the narrative weight that the book has for a book-based character such as Gale, can be interpreted as Gale manipulating Tav to have sex alone; desperate to obtain it, doing everything in order to get it. We can also see the description of the book as a “bait”, as some people do. It's a valid interpretation, especially for a Tav who respected Gale's privacy during the Loss Scene and the protocol, so that Tav has no information with which to connect the dots. But I personally find it an over-magnification to see him as a "mastermind of manipulation". The few dev's notes we have about Gale seem to confirm that nothing shadier than his “orb” despair and his fear for abandonment are going on. These fears are constantly echoing in his mind, and they are, as I said in other posts, the main reasons why he becomes emotional and prone to make mistakes. 

Is this action manipulative? It can be seen as “withholding information” by any Tav who didn't push him to explain, otherwise, all the information in a general way has been offered already and there is no withholding at all. Is Gale a manipulative character? In EA we don't see a pattern of that behaviour to qualify him as such. He has been quite honest, explaining in all scenes what he can say and what he cannot, drawing his boundaries clean and clear. We saw him struggling with the explanation of what he lost. The few Dev's notes reinforce mainly his fear for abandonment, lacking any manipulative behaviour behind his actions. His pattern, in my opinion, is that he tends to make mistakes in his emotional state, which is mostly triggered by the “orb” and the concept of “abandonment”. Not so much with Mystra per ser. He seems to be nostalgic but more aware of what loving a God causes (his regret is explicit during the conversation of Karsus). He is quite done with "her love as a lover", but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be forgiven nor he doesn't love her as the essence of Magic itself. More details in the post of "Mystra and her Chosen ones".

After the party, Tav can have a romantic conversation before the sex “intimacy” or can reject the chance. What seems incoherent in this part is when Tav is not in the mood for sex, and Gale simply cuts off the situation. He is a character who craves connection and intimacy, and pretty much like Wyll, he needs a bond before stepping into romance. To waste a night of celebration that could be used to share any other level of intimacy (let's say, talking? The man clearly LOVES to talk) seems strange. If this reaction is truly meant to be in the game, it would seem that he certainly was more desperate for sex than what all the previous scenes hinted, but in that case it would have done little sense to leave the tale of the wizard for the next night. Gale already knew Tav did not want to have sex, so no point in delaying the explanation of the details. I personally suspect these incoherences are a consequence of Gale being added into EA at the last moment, making him more “shadier” than he is meant to be. 

To justify my opinion that this seems to be an unpolished scene: if Gale is not romanced, and conditions are given, Lae'Zel will spend the night with him, talking. Why would Gale prefer to share a night of talks with a companion with whom he had not the Weave connection before, but he won't do it with a Tav who shared it? I see some incongruence here, probably as the result of being added into the EA in a rush. His scenes are less polished and much more messier than the other companions' (certainly not more than Wyll, though) and his bugs and triggering priority show it. 

This part is also seen as "coercive" by some players:

Tav: I’m sorry, but I actually don’t think I can do this. I’m just not in the mood. Gale: Not even a simple kiss would change your mind? Tav: No, it wouldn’t.

Tav: Maybe a kiss was enough Gale: Are you sure? One kiss is like one chord in an entire symphony. It begs for more.

Gale: (disapproval) What a pity. One should never be afraid to live life to the fullest. Before we part.. I know there are many things about me that remain shrouded in mystery. You’ve been very patient with me, and I appreciate that. You’ve brought me back from the grey shores of death. You know of my condition, and you know about my unfortunate efforts to win Mystra’s favour, but those are but the broad strokes. The time has come to paint you the true picture. So come find me another night, yes? No kisses, just words. (Leaves)

Asking seems to be coercive for some people just because there is a disapproval. I personally separate very clearly what Tav sees and receives as information from the NPCs and what I, the player, do. Tav should react to what they see, but the player is having a “meta-knowledge” of the situation with the info of the narrator and the approval system. The player knows Gale is disappointed in not having intimacy now, and he expresses it. Then he behaves completely natural, and continues talking (of course) about what he will explain about in the following morning (I don't understand what impedes him to say it in that moment: is it the wine? He fears his charisma checks are at a disadvantage due to the wine? Is it just a reflection of the rush in which he was added to the game? We will see in the full release. To me it looks inconsistent.)

Anyways. The scene continues in the early morning or simply the next night depending on what option Tav picked. Here, Gale presents the details of the revelation: “It is a story full of answers long overdue. It is a story of a man who fell in love with a goddess.”

Tav: You're really about to tell me about another lover? What's wrong with you? Gale :I couldn’t do it before. I couldn’t ruin the chance for us to happen. You were there. How could I say no to you? Dev's notes: Gale revealed he was in love with Mystra. He tells this the morning after. Understandably, the player can react negatively to his timing. He tries to explain himself. 

This line clearly shows that there was an intention in hiding the relationship he had with Mystra, which it's an “answer long overdue” (is it?). Now, some players consider this the proof of Gale's manipulations; the greatest betrayal, because people are entitled to know all the details of their partner's past before sleeping with them. Other players consider that it's in poor taste to disclose this exactly the morning after sharing the night with Gale. And I agree. However, I see a scene with a lot of over-magnifications and making things more problematic than they truly are. In my opinion, “the chance for us to happen” is deeply linked to the book of Amn for all the reasons explained before. It's not by chance that this book has such a weight in the scene. Gale also shows with this line that he has no experience nor idea how relationships develop. 

I also think that Gale fails so much in delivering decent lines in this scene because, 1) this is a very unpolished text in EA, or 2) this is very on purpose, emphasising that Gale is ready to speak about the two topics that turn him into an emotional disaster and his word choices could be attributed to as someone failing many charisma checks. Maybe that's the intention.

If Tav considers this the greatest of the betrayals they can tell him to leave and Gale will not resist the rejection, leaving the party immediately and facing one of his biggest fears: Abandonment. And once more, the abandonment as a consequence of his own mistake. The irony of this path. 

If Tav allows him to explain, Gale will accept any "judgement after telling his story". This is something very related to Gale's approvals: to have a complete grasp of a situation, you need to have all the evidence, hear all the details of the event, before drawing a conclusion. And curiously, no matter what aggressive option Tav picks, Gale gives no disapproval unless he is forced to leave the party. So, after some dramatic reaction, Gale will try to proceed with the telling.

Tav: It’s clear as day you are talking about yourself, you know Gale: I know, but a bit of narrative distance will make it all so much easier in the telling. Indulge me.

From here, Gale gives Tav another courtesy gesture: to pick the version in which this will be explained. He clarifies that the long version, more pompous and verbose and in third person, is the one he would prefer due to the distance. Since the first meeting on the road, or the stew scene, passing through the Loss Scene, we see this pattern again: Gale, the character who always has a lot of things to speak about, has also topics that are difficult to explain and needs to use narrative tricks to do it. Not by chance he is a reserved person: those topics he can't talk about are always personal. 

Long version

Gale: Once upon a time, not quite that long ago, there lived a wizard in a tower. The wizard was what one might call a prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it, like a musician or a poet. Such was his skill that it earned him the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady Of Mysteries, Mystra.

Tav: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love.  Dev's Notes: nostalgic, regretful, bitter, sad, lost romance–all with a bit of hesitation on the front of the line. Tav :He sounds like a very talented individual Gale: He was. Even though it was in Mystra’s affections that his true power lay. Tav: Teacher’s pet, was he? Gale: He fancied himself much more than that. He fancied himself favoured above all others. 

These three options give interesting additional information: Gale was convinced that Mystra's attention was love, because he was young and naive. He is now very aware that his talent meant little, because the true power he had was in Mystra's affections, meaning in being a loved Chosen one. He fancied himself unique, as a Chosen would do. 

Gale: Perhaps it was not quite love, Dev's Notes: A little embarrassed Gale: but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. Mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘Chosen One’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

This is another fragment with interesting, yet disturbing lines: Gale now, as a narrator, questions if that past feeling was Love. He has matured his sentiments for Mystra, they are less "teenager-like". He is convinced that in the past it was love to him, implying that now he has doubts (concept reinforced once more by the end of the scene). The disturbing line is the definition of "very young man", which I will talk about in the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1", section: "Grooming". 

Tav: The veils draped across the Weave? Gale: Indeed. What most wizards perceive is but the ripple of the Weave’s surface. Untold wonders lie beyond. I enjoyed them for a while, as we enjoyed each other.

Once more, in these details, the narrative reinforces how intense is the connection of Mystra with a Chosen one. Again, this is lore information. Chosen ones have a deep connection with Mystra/the Weave/Magic, which is unique. More on this matter can be read in the post about "Mystra and her Chosen ones".

Gale: One day all too soon, the whispers stopped. The goddess spurned the mortal. The veils were drawn once more, and the wizard was left behind heartbroken.

Tav: Poor wizard Gale: Poor wizard. Silly wizard too, for he wouldn’t take no for an answer Tav: What happened next? // I hate to say it, but he really could have seen this coming Gale: He was blinded by love. Good stories are rife with lovers’ follies after all. Tav: Perhaps she, like you, had other lovers she didn’t tell him about. Gale : She might well have had, but that didn’t stop the wizard from trying to reclaim her affections.

Gale: Like so many of the heartbroken, he did something infinitely foolish. One has to think big if one seeks to win back a goddess. So the wizard thought big. [Here he explains all about Karsus who] sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed but not quite, and his entire empire – Netheril – came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, rolling like the prime chaos that outdated creation. A fragment of it was caught and sealed away in a book. No ordinary book, mind you; a tome of gateways that contained within it a bubble of Astral Plane. It was a fragment of primal Weave locked out of time – locked away from Mystra herself. ‘What if’, the silly wizard thought. ‘What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the Goddess?”

Another part of the scene that keeps giving us a lot of information: Gale is very aware now how silly he was in his youth (at this point, one can almost remember his words during Arabella's quest: she is not innocent but that doesn't mean she is guilty) and his past young self was unable to take a no as an answer (which apparently Gale learnt very well when before this revelation or after, Tav can reject him and he simply leaves the party without putting much resistance, despite knowing that Tav only has a fragment of the big picture). The other answer reinforces his blindness by this strange concept that Gale thought it was love, and pretty much uses the word Folly for describing or making an analogy with his past, which again, it's not a casual word: Folly is a formal way to say stupidity and it's also a word that Gale uses to compare his mistake with Karsus' folly. As an extra, the last answer seems to explain very much what he does when Tav romanced him and then slept with another companion. Details of this in the post "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat".

Short version: 

This version is shorter and more into the point without an excess of dramatic details that may end up annoying Tav more than making the process of comprehension better. The short version makes much more clear where Gale is standing: the facts are presented without his typical pattern of embellishing the story.

Gale: […] I am what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it like a virtuoso. Such was my skill that it earned me the attention of Mystra herself. I soon fell in love with her, and she returned my affections. […] Before long Mystra tired of me. What was I, after all, but a mortal plaything in sacred hands? You have to realise I was heartbroken. I was a young man, she was my first love. I thought it would last forever. 

This part reinforces once more that he is very aware that a relationship with a goddess was very unbalanced, that Mystra was his first love, he was a young man, and he thought it would last forever. 

For completion's sake, the goblin version has a different introduction:

Gale: Let's just get this over with. No doubt you've guessed by now there was something rather special about my relationship with the goddess Mystra. The thing is, we were lovers once. I am what one might call a wizard prodigy [...follows the same speech of the short version]

Three versions converge in the kneeling. The scene in this point has a different narrative value; a proud character as he is, who has a deep regret for his mistake with the “orb” (he says it explicitly in the "Loss Scene" post) kneels before Tav to humbly show the traumatic experience by placing their hand on his heart, where the “orb” resides:

Gale: Here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you Narrator: You feel the tadpole quiver as you realise Gale is letting you in. Into the dark. You see through Gale’s eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It’s teeth, it’s claws, it’s unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever hungry…

This scene speaks of opennesses in all senses, honest and without any interest of pretence: Gale is showing his greatest regret, the lowest of the lowest he reached, the despair that it inspires. For once, he is not talking, he is showing it (because the experience is the one that makes him speechless and its memory seems to cause him great pain too due to the facial gesticulation). And what Tav sees shows again that Gale has nothing extra to hide: this has been the same exact information that Tav could extract from him in earlier opportunities with successful tadpole intrusions. So, if Tav never reveals that they saw this in Gale during the stew scene, Tav will realise that Gale kept his promise: he was reserved for a while, trusting slowly in Tav, to finally open up and show that he was going to explain the “why” much more later, because it's truly difficult for Gale to speak about.

1-Yank your hand away Gale: Terrifying isn’t it? And that is only the beginning 3-Tav: Gods – why show me this? Gale: I’m sorry, but I had to. After all, that is only the beginning 4-Tav: I slept with a monster. Gale: I didn’t sleep with a monster despite the tadpole in your head. We are none of us monsters. We are merely hatcheries for monstrous things. So we fight them.

This is one of the most ominous information Gale gives us, in my opinion: The experience of how the “Black Weave” rushed into his body is grotesque and painful, and it's meant to cause despair. But that was only the beginning: Gale is everyday dealing with that feeling, but on a bigger scale as its hunger increases with each passing day. The descriptions of his emotions during the artefact scenes adds more despair and anxiety to it. Gale is living in the worst mental state that a person can, but he manages it thanks to his wizard training and the Weave he consumes (he is still alive thanks to Magic, of all things). This shows the mental power of a wizard in DnD. And if you read the post about "Well-known Characters" section: "Elminster", Gale could have been inspired in him since I can see this level of endured torture similar to the one that Elminster was exposed to when he was kidnapped and dragged to the Hells. 

Gale: This Netherese taint.. this orb, for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as it absorbs Weave it remains stable – to an extent. The moment it becomes unstable, however..[...] It will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I’d say even a fragment as small as the one I carry…. It’d level a city the size of Waterdeep. Dev's Notes: He admits he’s a walking disaster waiting to happen. This is said very seriously. The truth is finally out and he has no idea how the player will react to such monstrous news.” 

Tav: I should godsdamned kill you Gale: Perhaps that is what I deserve, but you deserve no such thing. To kill me is to unleash the orb. I understand your anger, I do […]

Here is where we know that Gale calls it “orb”, but it's not an orb. For more details, read the post about the "Orb". Tav already knew since the Stew scene that Gale could cause a catastrophe without artefacts. In this scene we just get some extra details about it. 

Gale: It is my truth, finally revealed. It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through.. (After the night we spent together). Surely we can brave even this side by side. Dev's notes: Solemn. Full of yearning his news will not lead to him being abandoned by the player.

And there, Gale's “truth” is “revealed” (not truly, it is only more detailed in the information): We know that the Weave he consumes from the artefacts keeps this condition stable (something we already knew since the Stew Scene) and it will erupt if it doesn't consume artefacts (which is something we knew since the Stew Scene too). So the revelation scene is not so much of a revelation. The whole scene has a writing with a lot of weight in “shocking” revelations and “dramatic” reactions when the context provided shows that there is little to be shocked about, in my opinion. If anything, this whole scene needs serious polishing.

Then it follows the “coercive” part according to some players, which again... it's only Gale hoping this situation doesn't end in a second abandonment. The concept that the “intimacy” of the shared night gives more reasons to stay by his side seems pretty naïve, but maybe that was the intention (thus my suspicion that Gale has no experience at all in relationships, only what he learnt from romantic books). What it's clear is that after the detailed explanation, Gale is desperate to avoid a second abandonment, yet he knows it's unavoidable. This can be seen when Tav doesn't forgive his betrayal (?) of not saying anything about Mystra or the "orb" (he did in the Stew and following scenes, but this context is not acknowledged here), and Gale simply accepts it, showing that Mystra's experience made him learn to accept a no, leaving the party forever (in EA). 

Tav: No. This is too large a betrayal. Gale: I see. I am sorry. I am sorry that it had to come to this. All that’s left to say is farewell. Dev's Notes: A slight hesitation, hurt but understanding. He makes a polite little bow, then we see him walk away.

Really, I don't understand what happened with this scene because it's either ignoring any annoyance that the situation can cause on a Tav who didn't push Gale to talk, or it offers an over-reaction when all the information has been shared already, at least in a very generalised way during the Stew Scene. A Tav who doesn't push Gale to speak will have no more details than the ones provided during the Stew Scene at this point in the game, but one who pushed Gale will basically have the whole story covered. The Rpg-options we get here are so white-and-black, and not even coherent with the context, no wonder so many players turned Gale into a “mastermind in manipulation”. This scene is very unpolished in my opinion.

Tav: Gale, are you still in love with Mystra? Gale: I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know. She is my muse still, the embodiment of magic, but the embodiment of love? Only if we ever meet again will I know

Here we have once more confirmation that Gale questions what kind of love he has for Mystra. Considering all the context he gave us previously, it seems that his love for his Goddess as a devotee will never cease, but romantic love is a big question for him. He has given Tav all the hints to make them suspect that Gale probably never knew romantic love outside his experience with Mystra or what he could read in books.

Tav: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerûn brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

The last bits of information are more interesting: Gale thought of two possible solutions to solve his “orb”problem. One is to expel the object out of his body in the Astral Plane where time doesn't exist so its hunger or ticking mechanism stops, so the magic will remain inert. The other option is to control Netherese magic. He informed Tav that he already tried this option, so it's clear that Gale's intention when obtaining this book was to master this strange piece of Weave and give the secrets of that control to Mystra. But he failed.

Summary of the post:

There is an important emphasis in acceptance: only through acceptance Gale can open up to share the details of his mistake. He wants to have this night before any confession because he wants to acquire this acceptance that, in his mind, would prevent the abandonment he viscerally fears.

In all the scenes there are many hints suggesting Gale is very inexperienced in relationships: the acceptance he needs can only be acquired due to the "art of the night'', which is one of the main points in this book. His notions related to relationships seem to have been acquired via romanticised means: books and poetry. He may believe that intimacy guarantees acceptance.

Gale “reveals” his truth: he was a Chosen of Mystra, he was Mystra's lover, and the “orb” problem was a mistake he made to earn Mystra's attention. All this information is now detailed here when it had been shared already. There is little “revelation” in it.

Gale's actions can be interpreted as manipulative for a Tav who respects his privacy and has little information about the “orb”. But hardly the pattern extends to his behaviour. His need for acceptance makes him make bad decisions.

A Tav who pushed Gale to speak in previous scenes finds little new information in this one: they will have a more detailed picture of the situation and they will know that Gale and Mystra were lovers.

Gale is very aware that Mystra's love was not exactly love, but it felt like that when he was young. He also knows that the true power of a Chosen is related to being loved by her. He is also aware that a relationship with a goddess is a very unbalanced one. He states that Mystra was his first love, the affair happened when he was a (very) young man, and he thought it would last forever. 

Potent narrative image: Gale, a proud character with great confidence, kneels before Tav to humbly show the traumatic experience by placing his hand on his heart, where the “orb”resides.

In general, the whole tone of the scene jumps constantly in my opinion. Tav's options are not toned to the general atmosphere of the scene: or they ignore completely the value of what Gale says, or over-react magnifying information as if it were the first time Gale says it, when a lot of it was shared during the Stew Scene and following scenes. It feels like a very unpolished scene, probably as the result of Gale being a companion added to the EA in a rush.

The Dev's notes explain the whole situation as: 

Dev's notes: synopsis: The principal portion of this dialog consists of two main parts: a romantic night intro that leads to a fade to black and implied intimacy, and a section in which Gale tells you his true story in either of two ways (chosen by the player). These are the ‘story’ variant in third person, and the slimmed down ‘story-light’ version in first person. It is the story of how he fell in love with the goddess Mystra, was spurned by her after a brief affair, and how he got himself into big trouble when trying to win her back. The dialog was originally meant to contain only the above, but for recording and cinematic purposes, the story sections of it are also used in a variety of other ways, that is to say, the dialog also contains an intro section in which the scene begins with no romantic intent. In specific cases though, Gale will still try his luck, which you’ll see in the repeat of some lines of an earlier dialog. 

This shows that, so far, the intention was always to make Gale explain the “true story” in this scene, which was the one we were told. I think that expecting more secrets would water down this intention here. In any case, the future secrets, if there are some left, may be secret even for Gale himself.

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[d-xs]

PROMPT:

KEEP THEM ALL IN AWE

Jason Todd & Damian Wayne & Jason Todd

The ruckus that welcomes Jason Todd into the cave is very different from the usual post patrol noise he is well used to. The atmosphere is tense and he knows, if he didn't have the protection of his helmet, he would be choking on the scent of their stress.

For starters, one of the batmobiles is revving, Tim's arm is bleeding so badly it looks like someone almost got away with the arm. Dick's usual smile is very strained, while Bruce and Damian are absent. Usually, when there's a ruckus of this magnitude combined with a bleeding Tim, Damian can be found in the middle of it.

Jason is debating on the merit of getting on his bike and leaving the others to deal with whatever mess they're currently in the middle of when Dick pulls out what is unmistakably Damian, from the driver's seat of the batmobile.

"Tim!" Dick growls with a slight hint of alpha command, as he bodily hauls Damian away from the car.

The brat doesn't make it easy on Dick.

"You were meant to be watching them!" Dick scolds.

"Yeah, I was!" Tim retorts angrily from where he is trying to clean his freshly acquired cut.

It looks more serious than Jason first thought.

"And I almost lost my arm for it. Why didn't you search him properly for all his weapons?"

"Be grateful I did not go for your jugular," Damian's haughty voice cuts in, before Dick can respond to Tim's retort. "The next time you attempt to lay a hand on him, I will relieve you of your head."

There is so much wrong with this picture, Jason feels like he's slipped into an alternate universe.

That must be it, because Damian in Dick's grasp is much smaller than the Damian Jason had seen earlier on patrol. Hell, he's much smaller than he was when he took up the Robin mantle. He looks just like the kit in Jason's memory of the League.

It has been years since he made an attempt to hurt Tim. Not to mention, he is fighting against Dick, the only person in the world who can get him to behave.

On second thought, Jason wishes he was in an alternate dimension. At least that way, he could return to his own universe without dealing with a de-aged Damian, who still has the values Ra's instilled in him.

Since settling into his life and his place in the pack, Jason has been recovering some memories he didn't even known he was missing. A lot of them he could do without. Especially his memories of the League, both before the pit and the early days after.

As bad as remembering how he really died and the events that led to it had been, Jason would take that over the memories of just how evil Ra's al Ghul truly is. The vile things the man had put Talia and Damian through always makes Jason sick.

However, as much as Jason would like to escape this situation, the Omega in him would never abandon a kit in danger. And there was no one in greater danger than someone challenging an alpha.

Damian is backed up against the passenger side of the batmobile now. Or rather, he's blocking Dick's path to it. His dagger is missing, but he's not deterred.

"Damian, no one will hurt him here," Dick says in a placating tone.

"Of course, you will not," Damian sneers. "You will not live long enough to regret it if you do, because I, unlike you lot, do not suffer those who hurt my family to live."

"Then let us help him."

Dick may be trying to maintain his friendly attitude, but Jason can see how strained it is.

"I have seen what help you offer," Damian says, absolutely unrelenting. "We have no need for it. If my father will not come out to face me, then we will be on our way."

Jason snorts at the brat's attitude.

The sound distracts them from their fight, gaining him both their attention.

"Who are you?" the brat demands, as he takes in Jason's form.

Jason can see the wariness in his eyes; he knows he won't stand a chance if Jason decides to team up with Dick against him. But the kid stands his ground and holds his chin up.

Brave boy.

Now Jason is curious about what he's protecting so fiercely.

"What are you doing here?" a deep voice asks from behind him, before he can answer Damian's question. "I told you not to return to the cave after patrol." Bruce continues, stomping into the cave from the manor.

"When have I ever done anything you told me?"

"Little Wing, B is right," Dick cuts in softly. "You don't want to be here right now.

The fact that Jason knows they're not dismissing his presence from the cave because they don't think he is a trusted member of the pack does not help. He may be an Omega, but he does not need to be protected. Certainly not from a child.

Not Damian.

Dick may be their resident Damian-whisperer, but he's clearly out of his element right now.

"Go fuck yourself," Jason snaps,

He takes off the helmet and domino mask underneath to give Damian a better view of his face.

"Ahki," Damian breathes, staring at Jason in disbelief.

The brat's reaction is exactly what Jason hoped for, but he did not anticipate how hearing that word from the kid would make him feel. He's stripping out of his jacket and armor to rip off his scent blockers before he's aware of what he's doing.

"Habibi," he acknowledges, crouching down so the kid can look him in the eye as he runs a hand through Damian's hair.

A soft cooing sound he wasn't aware he was capable of escapes his throat when the kit leans into his touch. He's not aware of his actions when he pulls the kid into a hug.

Damian is speaking to him in Arabic, and Jason knows he should listen, but his instincts are too jumbled for him to make sense of anything.

It has been too long since the Omega in Jason was let loose like this. Having this kit, the one he claimed so long ago in his arms again is pushing everything to the extreme.

He and Damian never talked about their shared past in the League. Jason knows it's partly due to his lack of memories, but also because he would never make Damian relieve those awful memories.

"Jason." The name is a command, a demand and a question all rolled in one, judging by the tone of Bruce's voice. It drags Jason out from the haze of instincts and hormones.

Jason bares his teeth, snarling at the alpha, even as he gathers his kit into his body to shield him from both alphas.

"Hey," Dick says, raising both hands in surrender.

"You're both safe, Little Wing. No one's going to hurt him," Dick continues.

Jason knows deep down that he's safe. They are his pack, his alphas. They will never hurt him or his kit, but the thought that they would take him away is unsettling. However, the haze of instincts has cleared off enough for him to think.

He turns an accessing gaze on Damian. He looks dirty and unkempt. Jason notes that his pants are a part of the traditional League attire, but he's missing the shirt and hood coat.

"You know Dick and your father," Jason tells Damian. "You can trust them."

Damian doesn't respond for a moment as he watches both alphas warily. "Even him?" He sneers at Tim who's currently stitching his arm.

"Yes, Habibi. He means well."

He gives the kit a little lick on the neck when he doesn't argue with Jason. He is proud to know that this Damian, at least, trusts him.

"Can you tell me what happened to you?" Jason asks, ignoring Bruce and Dick's looks of surprise and confusion.

Instead of speaking, like Jason expects, Damian pulls out of Jason's hold and nudges him away from the passenger door of the batmobile, reminding Jason that Damian has been protecting someone since Jason arrived.

It takes a while for him to coax them out, so Jason rises from his crouch to stand beside Dick and Bruce as they wait.

Knowing Damian, Jason had been expecting his precious cargo to be a dog, or cat or just about any one of the strays he has a penchant for adopting.

The last thing Jason expected to see, however, is a miniaturized version of himself.

The shock of it causes him to stumble forward, which turns out to be a very bad move as it sends the kid scrambling back inside the car.

"What the fuck?" Jason hisses, turning to Bruce and Dick for an explanation, while Damian -- God, that's not their Damian, is he? He wasn't de-aged by a spell or anything. Just one from an alternate universe -- focuses on comforting the kid.

"That's what we were trying to avoid," Dick sighs tiredly. "Red Robin ran into them on patrol. We still don't know how they got here, but Bruce thinks they've been in our time a couple of days, at least."

"And you weren't going to tell me that you have a younger me present?" Jason growls lowly. "Where's Damian?"

"Upstairs," Bruce grunts. "Where you should be. We don't know how you two interacting with your past selves will mess with the timelines."

"Yeah, you have Flash turning back the time whenever things don't go his way, or hopping back and forth to the future, but Damian and I interacting with our past selves is what will mess with the timeline," Jason scoffs. "Perfect logic, Bruce."

"It's not like that, Jay," Dick says, in his mediator voice. "We were looking out for you, too."

"How about you ask me next time?" Jason informs them.

During his confrontation with Bruce and Dick, Damian has disappeared inside the car with little Jason.

"I'm going to talk to him," he informs the alphas. "Both of you make yourselves scarce by the time they emerge."

He doesn't wait for a response before he turns away. It's not like they can object. He's the only one who can ensure this doesn't end in someone getting seriously hurt.

He knocks twice on the door to announce his presence, before opening it.

Little Jason is curled up against Damian. He looks even smaller next to Damian. Jason knows he was very small for his age when he was younger, but he has a hard time remembering ever being this tiny. He can't be older than four or five years old.

The kid doesn't look up at Jason, but the tremor running through him, the hand clutching Damian tightly, and the scent of his fear filling the car lets Jason know he's aware of him.

Jason knows the feeling. It was a constant companion whenever Willis was around and he's aware that he's reminding this kid of the man.

"Hey, Sky Lark," Jason coos softly, just like his mom used to. In hopes that both the familiar pet name and the tone will help him relax.

The boy's head snaps up to stare at Jason, mouth hanging open like he had something to say but has forgotten it.

"I know you're scared, and that's okay," Jason says in his most comforting tone. "But you don't have to be. No one here is going to hurt you."

The boy is watching him with wide eyes now, through the mistrust.

"I promise you."

"You can trust him, Jason," Damian adds confidently. "He is what you become in the future. You should be proud."

Jason isn't sure about that. Sure, he has come a long way from the helpless little kid he used to be, but he's not sure he can take pride in what he is now. But young Jason is even more fascinated with him as he watches Jason with big doe eyes.

"Is that true?" Little Jay asks, his voice a timid little voice. "Are you me in the future?"

"Yes, I am."

"But you're so big!" the kid exclaims with a cute lisp.

Jason grins. It's all he can do not to gather the pup in his arms and scent him. "You will be as big as me when you're grown, too," he promises. "I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

"Can Damian come too?" he asks, his hold on Damian tightening for a moment.

"Of course, I will," Damian assures him. "Not that I need caretaking." He backtracks.

Jason snorts. "Damian is coming with us. I'll take care of both of you."

The kid looks to Damian for support, copying Damian's action when he nods.

"'Kay."

When Jason stretches his arm to pick the pup up, Little Jay meets him halfway, snuggling closer as he breathes in Jason's scent.

They remain there for a while longer, with Jason scenting and grooming his mini me before stepping out of the car.

When he does, he doesn't pause to speak to anyone. He heads directly for his nest in the manor. Whatever there is to know can wait until the kids are cleaned, fed and well-rested.

One thing he knows is this: there's no way he's returning these kids back to their timelines. If Bruce has a problem with it, he can take it up with Jason.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

What do you think about the relationship between Napoleon and Lannes? Were they like best friends or something? I read that when Lannes died Nap was really sad he cried and wasn't in a very good mood even after he returned home

Oh I love their friendship. Love their love. And they were intimately close. Terribly familiar and affectionate with each other (if in a bit of a rough-housey military sort of affectionate). Lannes was Roland to Napoleon’s Charlemagne. Patroclus to Napoleon’s Achilles. 

They met as young men during the 1796 Italian Campaign and became fast friends. Both were from more modest backgrounds, both were stiff-necked and hard-headed, both had a military background, and so on. Lannes also fits into Napoleon’s category of “people he loved in part because they were there from the beginning”. Lasting sixteen years (and it would have lasted through to the end I think, had Lannes lived) their relationship was deep, intimate and meaningful to both.

Lannes was one of the few who could tutoyer Napoleon (in private and, more importantly, in public), and did so with great enthusiasm. He’s also one of the few who could publicly oppose/butt heads/insult/be overly familiar with Napoleon and not suffer any real consequences. (e.g. Lannes famously called Napoleon a harlot once in public. To which I am sure we can all hear Napoleon going: Fuck you Lannes. Lannes’ “punishments” when he overstepped the mark were either temporary banishment [it never lasted long] or being sent on diplomatic journeys he didn’t want to go on.) 

They were what some would call intimate friends, or romantic friends. 

Lannes’ death cut Napoleon to the core in a way that is only matched, I would argue, by Duroc and Josephine. Napoleon was mournful and grief stricken over others, such as Desaix and Chauvet, but not to the same degree or intensity. 

(Desaix’s death did prompt that heartbroken line from Napoleon of (roughly) “he always wanted to die in battle but did death have to be so eager to grant him his wish”. Chauvet’s gave us that letter to Josephine where Napoleon says that Chauvet is dead, his ghost whistles through Napoleon’s tent.) 

Indeed, in terms of displays of emotion on the battlefield, particularly open weeping and almost inconsolable grief, Lannes is one of the few that garnered such a reaction from Napoleon. (Duroc being another.) Which speaks to their profound relationship and what Lannes meant to Napoleon (and it certainly goes the other way around as well). Napoleon said of Lannes, “Lannes adored me…he was certainly one of the men on whom I could most depend in this world.” 

Later on St. Helena: “he [Lannes] clung to me [Napoleon] … for the rest of his life; he wanted only me, thought only of me … Certainly, he loved his wife and children more than me; nevertheless, he never spoke about it because he expected nothing of it; he was the one who protected them, while in turn, I was his protector.” (A sort of military-esque marriage.)

One of my favourite exchanges, which can be summed up as: Presenting you the married couple of Napoleon & Lannes. 

You damn Gascon! What the hell were you doing… trying to prove you’re so damn brave when we already know that? No… you were out there risking your men and yourself for no bloody reason! You’d do better to follow your orders from now on. When I want you to get yourself killed I’ll let you know!

– Napoleon to Lannes, after the takeing of Malta, 1798. Cited in The Emperor’s Friend: Marshal Jean Lannes

Mostly because you can hear Lannes yelling back: I DO WHAT I WANT YOU STUPID CORSICAN. Also because this is such a “I’m so panicked you almost died I love you and also want to slap you” moment from Napoleon. 

Married Couple #2: 

There were a few diversions, however, particularly the evening meetings of the savants who would later organize the Institut d’Égypte. Bonaparte took these meetings seriously and made his generals and staff attend. He could not always control such a diverse crowd, however. Several officers were unimpressed and obviously bored with scholarly discussions. A participant claimed Lannes and Junot were the worst behaved, joking with each other and making rude remarks while the savants attempted to educate them. Junot would deliberately mispronounce Lannes’s name as one of his better jokes, calling him l’âne, or ass. Lannes told Bonaparte that nobody could hear the scholars over Junot’s snores rumbling from the back of the crowded gathering. Bonaparte excused Junot from further sessions, but he made Lannes stay, fidgety, bored, with no one to listen his sotto voce comments.

— Margaret S. Chrisawn, The Emperor’s Friend: Marshal Jean Lannes.

Junot and Napoleon though, that’s another complicated situation. (It was a mess, a hot, hot mess. Junot was in Love. Napoleon was embarrassed. It got messy and mean.)

A few accounts from Lannes’ death: 

As soon as the Emperor saw him, he ran, hastened to him, covered him with kisses. He called to him in the middle of his sobs, and said to him in a muffled voice: ‘Lannes, my friend, do you recognize me? It’s me, it’s the Emperor. It’s Bonaparte, your friend!’ … Napoleon, kneeling before the dying hero, cried hot tears. This most touching meeting, these most tender embraces moved us profoundly … The Emperor’s pain was so intense that none of the witnesses to this scene could ever deny the profound feeling that it inspired.

– Account from Jean-Jacques-Germain Pelet

“My Cousin, the marshal died this morning of wounds he received on the battlefield. My grief is equal to yours. I lose my armies’ most distinguished general, my companion in arms for the last sixteen years, the one I considered my closest friend. His family and his children will always have a particular right to my protection. It’s to assure you of this that I wanted to write you this letter, because I sense that nothing can relieve the true sorrow that you will feel.”

— Letter from Napoleon to the Duchess of Montebello, 31 May 1809.

Following Lannes’s agonizing death on May 31, 1809, Napoleon retreated to his tent where his valet Louis Constant later found the Emperor “seated, immobile, mute, and staring into space, in front of his hastily prepared meal. Napoleon’s eyes were inundated with tears; they multiplied and fell silently into the soup.”

[…]

Napoleon’s grief for Marshal Lannes took on the very public character of open lamentation. Rather than grieve behind closed doors and conceal his personal vulnerabilities in order to show public strength, Napoleon’s mourning for his beloved friend became a matter of great public spectacle. Like Achilles mourning his beloved Patroclus, Napoleon wept publicly and openly expressed his affection in a way that was widely reported, discussed, and admired by the officers and soldiers in his armies.

[…]

Napoleon’s public grief at the death of Jean Lannes represented a new model for social relations between soldiers in the early nineteenth-century France. weeping over his friend’s broken body, Napoleon demonstrated how the revolution and empire had made it possible not only for an emperor to grieve openly for a fallen marshal, but for a soldier to love his comrade. This uncharacteristic expression of affection between Napoleon and Lannes was echoes in similar relationships between officers and foot soldiers in Napoleon’s armies. Military memories of the first empire bear witness to a wide range of intimate relationships among generals, colonels, and captains as well as sergeants, corporals, and grunts (grognards), the infantry soldiers who made up the majority of the imperial armies. Napoleon’s love for Lannes might thus be said to represent a broad spectrum of masculine affection and intimacy in the ranks of the Grande Armée, or what could be called Napoleonic friendship.

- Napoleonic Friendship: Military Fraternity, Intimacy, and Sexuality in Nineteenth-century France

“The Emperor also spoke of the last moments of Marshal Lannes, the valorous Duke of Montebello, so justly called the Roland of the army, who, visited by the Emperor on his deathbed, seemed to forget his own condition and tend to him whom he loved above everything.” 

-Las Cases, Memorial of Saint Helena. 

Indeed, Napoleon’s friendship and open pain and grief at Lannes’ death is one of those rare moments that allows us to separate the Napoleonic Myth - that enigmatic Emperor who is a repository of collective fears and hopes - and see the man beneath it. And while, as with everything relating to Napoleon, his friendship with Lannes can be either over, or under, stated - I think we can all safely agree that there was love, intimacy, affection and friendship between them and Lannes’ death impacted Napoleon in a way that I’m not sure we can fully appreciate. 

Until the end, whenever Lannes was brought up Napoleon would discuss him briefly then quickly move on to other subjects and it’s clear, based on how he is described in those moments (going silent, blinking a lot, looking away), he’s trying not to cry. 

[muffinwalloper]

Book vs. Film

Far from the Madding Crowd (2015) is the first film I enjoyed MORE than the book it's based on – and here's WHY (spoilers):

The Characters

First of all, I loved the cast! Especially Carey Mulligan, Michael Sheen and Matthias Schoenaerts, three actors talented beyond compare and simply PERFECT for their parts.

The costumes looked realistic and were in tune with the characters wearing them. Also, the dialogues were true to the book where necessary but also optimized so they didn't sound too aloof or too simple without losing the authenticity of dialogues written in the Victorian era.

Bathsheba

In the book, Hardy describes a heroine who is mainly characterized by her independence. However, she's still young (early 20s) and makes mistakes. Whereas Bathsheba in the book sometimes comes across as rash and even downright cruel (almost every time in regards to the men in her life), Mulligan's performance shows us a prideful woman who is also a bit naïve which makes her a more relatable character than in the book and also more likeable. There are explicit scenes of her doing hard work and also making tough decisions which is clearly not expected from a young woman at that time. Mulligan shows us a her determination to to make a living with her farm and bring back it's former glory days through efficiency but also her insecurities regarding her new role as head of a household. It's easy to identify with her in that matter. Furthermore, despite of all the things that happen to her (the fire, her husband, etc.) she's never portrayed as a victim but as a capable individual who faces anything that life throws at her, never giving up true to her headstrong nature. Apart from that, Bathsheba is never intentionally cruel in the film which shows mostly in her relationship to Mister Boldwood. For one, the valentine she sends him is much more harmless than it is in the book (she wrote the words 'Marry me'!). We understand that it was originally meant as a prank for a man who ignored her so profoundly. This reminds us once more of her youth and naivety for not even thinking about the possible consequences of her actions. In the book, the idea to prank a man like Boldwood seems to come out of nowhere and furthermore out of a very dark humoured, almost sadistic corner of her soul.

Even though, her behaviour can be irritating in the film as well, we understand exactly why she's doing what she's doing. Again, Mulligan's performance is FLAWLESS!

Gabriel

As for Gabriel Oak, he's portrayed exactly the way he was described in the book. He had a good, loyal and true nature. His advice to Bathsheba is never forced or arrogant and their friendship is shown wonderfully through the years. It's not a love at first sight story, at least not on her part. But Gabriel ends up to be the man any working woman would wish for. He's there whenever she needs him, he offers support in work as well as morally. By the end of the film it gets clear that he's become her most trusted companion and the only one she can talk to about anything, despite having a female friend, Liddy, at her disposal. Gabriel furthermore is no stranger to suffering both emotionally in regards to Bathsheba as well as existentially speaking (that sheep scene killed me!). With every passing moment between them we realise that he's exactly what she needs and is actually looking for without realising it. Gabriel never judges her and stays by her side until the end. However, in the film he's quite quickly made the obvious choice due to cinematic reasons which I thought wasn't necessary.

Boldwood

William Boldwood's character is easily the most changed one from book to film. At this point, HUGE credits to Michael Sheen whose performance single handedly saves the character! Boldwood is Weatherbury's most eligible bachelor, rich, handsome and respected, in other words: for a woman at that time he's the obvious choice. Boldwood, however ignores her at the beginning which is something new for Bathsheba. It's also why she decides to send a valentine with a classic rhyme of roses and violets to Boldwood, intended as a joke. But Boldwood, a lonely man as we learn reads much more into it and asks her to marry him. In the film, she lets him down gently, explaining that she made a mistake and does neither want nor need a husband. Still, she promises him to at least think about his proposal. In the book her actions are far more egoistic. She doesn't let him off the hook at all until she's accepted Troy's proposal. In the meantime, Boldwood has fallen madly in love with Bathsheba and is trying rather desperately to get her to change her mind. In the book he even goes so far as to find Troy and beg him not to marry Bathsheba, even offers him money. I hated this scene in the book for it's disrespectful towards Bathsheba and makes Boldwood much more pathetic than he is in the film. While Boldwood appears rather desperate in the film as well, he's not nearly as creepy as he is in the book where his behaviour gets almost stalkerish. In the film we see an older gentleman who's hopelessly in love and absolutely heartbroken by Bathsheba's rejection, however, he respects her decision. Also, there are some extra scenes between Boldwood and Gabriel which let us see that Boldwood is actually a man of good character but doesn't handle rejection well. What makes it even harder to watch on his behalf is the fact that the film gives us moments that indicate that there is something building between Bathsheba and Boldwood (or could be but she decides not to let it happen) whereas in the book their interactions consist of him turning up at her doorstep unannounced and unwanted with her being too polite to send him away. After Troy's disappearance, Bathsheba's farm falls into an existential crisis and Boldwood offers to help her out financially under the condition that she marries him. While this move is much closer to the Boldwood in the book it's somehow made understandable by what we've seen of him until this point. For Boldwood, Bathsheba represents his last chance at happiness or else, so he feels, he's going to die alone. I have no doubt that Sheen's Boldwood is just as obsessive as his book counterpart and therefore would have been the wrong choice for Bathsheba. But in contradiction to book Boldwood, I actually felt sorry for the man. His ending surprised me in the book, as well as in the film for I had originally anticipated that he was going to kill himself eventually. When he killed Troy I couldn't help but think, well, good riddance but Boldwood, in my opinion deserved better.

Troy

The film also does Francis Troy a lot of good. We get to see him suffer from bad timing and jumping to wrong conclusions in the film which makes him appear nothing but human. That doesn't change the fact that he's still the obvious WRONG choice but we get a better view on Frank's personality and his internal conflict. I still didn't like him but as with Boldwood, I felt sorry for him at some point. Also, in the book I failed completely to understand what Bathsheba saw in him of all men but watching the film I did. Her choice to marry Frank does not contradict with her independence and freedom because she thinks that she's in love and that's all she wants/needs. She's head over the hills for this daring soldier who doesn't court her like a gentleman (like Boldwood in the film) but openly pays her compliments and after a short while, to put it bluntly simply goes for it. Bathsheba is a stranger to such passion and it whisks her off her feet. The fact that Troy is a gambler and a drunk only comes to light after their wedding which is realistic as well as dramatic for it takes us (and Bathsheba) not long to realise that she made a mistake. In the end, Troy gets what he deserves, rightfully so in regards to Bathsheba, however, as with Boldwood, he appears more human in the film then the book and his actions are at least comprehensible. Again, I'm so grateful they left out the scene between him and Boldwood!

2. The feminist idea

I think for Hardy it was essential to let his heroines suffer which makes sense in a way that any woman who dares to swim against the current especially at that time is mostly met with criticism and rejection from society.  After Tess of the d'Urbervilles I think he was rather mild on Bathsheba. Still, it seems logical that a feminist woman at that time would face the same obstacles as any woman but with a different focus. For one Bathsheba is described as an independent being who faces judgement because of that from the very beginning. Second, as she takes over her uncle's farm it seems that nobody expects her to do actual work. The same goes for business on the market, the man's world through and through which is shown perfectly as she enters the room and every man turns to stare at her as if her mere presence is a scandal. Her first day on the market is shown from her perspective and the reactions of her male competitors are just what you'd expect. When she names the price for her corn, her first customer immediately tries to beat down the price. It's Bathsheba's first test and she manages just as well as a man would by not backing down. I felt like the feminism came across better in the film because it was shown more explicitly, whereas in the book it works as an underlying theme which is not a bad way for a book but wouldn't work in a film. Instead, the film chose Bathsheba's independence as a theme, romanticising it a little bit but again, for a film this works rather well.

When it comes to marriage, Bathsheba seems to hold her own very well, too as she rejects two men's proposals regardless of how good a match they appear to be. With Gabriel she fears that he would not be able to handle her nature and “grow to despise [her]” which some see as a weakness but I felt it looked like a strength of a woman who knows herself. With Boldwood, she's in no need of a husband and makes clear (on several occasions) that she doesn't need a protector which Boldwood would very much like to be for her. Bathsheba is perfectly capable of looking out for herself and the men at that time (some still today) are not used to that. Through this theme, the film and the book show us that as soon as a woman doesn't NEED a man the man quickly runs out of reasons to convince her of marriage at all which underlines the fact that at that time it was mostly about tradition and standard and hardly ever about love but of women being dependent on men.

The film's theme is also beautifully laced into almost every scene, for example at her farm's gathering where Bathsheba plays a song which sums up her entire world view:

“Beware, beware keep your garden fair

Let no man steal your thime....”

However, in the end Bathsheba learns that she does indeed need help from time to time but is too proud to ask for it. It's Gabriel that makes her overcome said pride and in doing so, helps her to grow. Gabriel is the one man whose loyalty stays unwavering and yet he's also the man she runs after twice. Gabriel is the man she needs but it takes her a long time to realise that because she's actively fighting it as to accept it would mean the end of her freedom to her. It's ironic that she traps herself in an unloving marriage with Troy but she does so believing to make the right choice for herself which is realistic in my opinion for she's only in her early twenties. When Gabriel confronts her with her naivety she reacts angrily for she feels as if he's attacking her as a woman and therefore eroding her authority which she cannot stand. But here she's in the wrong because Gabriel is only worried for her well being which she doesn't recognise until the very end. In her fight for her independence and freedom Bathsheba has lost her way and sees attackers where there are none which is shockingly realistic. Therefore, I feel it's unfair to judge Bathsheba by her reactions which are when you keep her position in mind quite understandable. And yet, Gabriel stays without judging or belittling her which is why it had to be them in the end.

[capricornus-rex]

Hey! Idk if you do these type of requests but I was wondering if you could a Cal Kestis imagine based on the song "Say Love" by James TW? Where Cal is ready to say "I love you" but the reader is a but hesitant because of how messed up things are with the empire and her past. If not that's okay!thank you first taking the time to read this!❤❤

“Say Love” | Cal Kestis x Reader

To Anon: Hi Anon! I’ve been listening to that song whenever I write and it’s one of the fluffiest things I’ve ever heard!! Oh and btw, reeeaaaallly sorry if I kept you waiting for a long while since I had a lot in my WIP fic list 😭 But I hope you still enjoy this fic!

Additional tags: Song Prompt, Love Confession! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Masterlist

The liberating of the Wookiees was a victory indeed. It may be miniscule to the Empire, but to the partisans, it was a giant leap of faith.

You and Cal joined the partisans in retreating back to the landing pad, some of them have personally invited the two of you to come drink with them. It’s a tad bit early to celebrate, but it’s good of a reason to celebrate either way.

“Come on, we’ve ransacked their rations in the southern trench!” a partisan urged.

“Is it true that Imperial ration packs have liquor in them?” you inquired.

“That’s what we’re gonna find out! Come on!”

Like children in a schoolyard, the lot of you climbed over the wrecked walker and found an outpost on the ground. The blast door entrance had been damaged but your companions assured you that the goods are still intact.

“What do we got?”

“Usual foodstuffs, purified drinking water… Aha! I got a bottle of Dust Juice here!”

“Holy hell, they got Corellian alcohol here too!”

The soldiers murmured amongst one another, apparently discovering that each crate of rations had a different kind of alcohol stored in them—but by the bottle, perhaps meant for sharing. They gathered all bottles of alcohol on one side and then the foods in another. Each partisan carried a single bottle and whatever rations they can carry; you and Cal did the same.

You and your newfound comrades camped by the wrecked AT-AT, away from the eyes of the sterner adults who wouldn’t want anyone seen horsing around with the Imperial rations. All eight of you gathered around a power lamp that paled in comparison to an actual bonfire, thankfully enough, the weather in Kashyyyk isn’t too cold. Cal even borrowed Cere’s hallikset for this one occasion.

“Okay, okay, let’s just go with the classic game!” the same male partisan from earlier hollered, but was consequentially shushed by his more sober mates.

With an empty bottle of what was once Dust Juice, a single flick of his hand made the bottle spin. Everyone was either anxious or eager to know where the tip of the bottle will point to; they all leaned closer, nearly touching heads with one another. Eventually, you and Cal accidently bumped temples with one another and an awkward chuckle between the two of you followed.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled.

“Nah, I’m fine. I mean, I got a thick skull,” you awkwardly joked.

The bottle pointed at one of the partisans, prompting them to close their eyes and reach out for one of the drinks that they mixed together—it was the dare of the game. All of you watched the poor, marked partisan hold out his hand towards the row of glasses, take one and then chug. Awaiting his reaction, his grimace made everyone laughed—apparently, it was a bad mix of Meiloorun juice and then Corellian brandy.

The game went on for a few minutes until an older partisan from the landing pad had spotted them, scolding them—except for you and Cal—and made them go to bed like children hanging out past their bedtime.

“Some celebration, huh?” you joked.

You leaned against the foot of the walker, resting your back and tilting your head to look at the stars. Cal fixed his gentle gaze on you while you’re too busy counting and tracing the constellations in the night sky. Every time he looked at you, he’s reminded of the one thought that has been troubling his mind ever since.

He has the words prepared, but they always go back right into nowhere when he parts his lips. When you ask him if there was something bothering him, he just ends up making up an excuse to lure himself away from what’s really in his mind. Of course, you’re too smart for that—he knows it perfectly well.

To shake away the thought, he distracted himself with a song he’s making up right from the top of his mind with the instrument, while sitting next to you. Light strumming twanged and chimed across the forest floor, you continue to gawk at the white dots riddling the dark blue sky; little did Cal knew that his thoughts were the verses to his wordless song.

“I wonder what you’re thinking right now,” you mutter out of the blue, practically startling Cal. “The same way you wonder what I’m thinking now.”

“Sorry, I thought I got a hold of my thoughts for a second there,”

“Oh, but you do,” you lowered your head to face Cal. A little chuckle escaped you. “It’s just that there’s this one thought that slipped.”

Even in the night, the vibrant red flushed across his face. You found it endearing to see his freckled cheeks burn a bright pink hue. Cal knew that you got him backed to a corner and there was no excuse to save him this time.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking…”

You bobbed your head slowly, mirroring how low he’s hung his head while waiting for him to continue.

“You and I have been going around together in a while and I guess it just happened to me naturally,”

“What did?” you pressed.

“I can’t explain it, [y/n], but I know I can’t deny it,”

For once, your eyes have truly met—not just with subtle glances or quick glimpses, but genuinely looking into one’s eyes and from there. From that exchange, Cal felt his chest become light, as if an AT-AT has taken one of its feet off of him; but after one weight has been removed, another replaces it—your would-be reaction.

Your breath shuddered and your palms got clammy all of a sudden. You fiddled your fingers, hoping that your circulation hasn’t halted for reasons unknown.

Not planning to keep Cal waiting, you take a deep breath.

“Cal,” you awkwardly chuckled. “I’m not that dense. You probably have sensed I was feeling the same thing for you too, but…”

Cal’s eyes lit up and then softened as fleetingly as a shooting star comes and goes, eager for you to finish.

You sighed, averted your gaze back to the stars.

“Everything’s just a mess right now—with the Empire and all our little endeavor with Cordova’s holocron—I’m just afraid that if I ever give myself to connect with someone, the consequence of loss will always scare me. I wouldn’t even dream of losing you. I don’t wanna end up going back to the time I was alone, y’know? I guess that’s what the Jedi was trying to warn us about: attachment leading to fear, aside from that stoicism stuff.”

Your heart felt heavy, knowing that as much as you feel the same way towards Cal, the pressure and risks that came along with it frightened you. Not once did you ever doubt Cal, but with the Inquisitors constantly chasing you, how long until he’ll be caught in their net? You’ve been used to being alone and afraid of it at the same time, that you end up thinking of one too many outcomes of every situation that sits in front of you.

You awkwardly tried to dismiss yourself out of this situation. It was too emotionally exhausting for you to handle, even if you’ve already said your piece with Cal and have said every point in your mind. You bring yourself up, attempting to slowly walk out of this predicament while hoping that he doesn’t misinterpret your answer.

“You won’t lose me. I won’t leave you alone at all,”

That promise stopped you in your tracks, slightly glancing over his shoulder—hoping that he’d repeat what he said even if you heard it loud and clear—and watch him fiddling with the hallikset.

Cal felt like a door had been left open for him, but no one to greet him. He didn’t know what to feel with your reply. It wasn’t a “no” after all.

Oh, what the hell, [y/n]?

“Oh and by the way,”

Cal had little to no reaction time when you sat yourself next to him and cupped his cheek gingerly.

Your first kiss.

It was so sudden for him that his heart almost exploded through his ribs. He had his eyes open when you locked your lips with his, and when he realized what was happening, he kissed you back—savoring the lusciousness of your lips with hints of tonight’s liquor. He even dared to dip his tongue into your mouth, a mischievous curl appeared at the corner of your mouth.

Finally withdrawing, you kept his cheek nestled under your fingertips, “Just so you won’t misinterpret what I said seconds ago.”

You left for real this time, leaving him flabbergasted in the best way possible. One quick look behind your shoulder and your eyes bade him “good night” as you walked back to the Mantis. He chuckled to himself, unable to firmly plant his fingertips against the frets of the hallikset and strum a single note. His free hand softly ran across his bottom lip, hoping to find more of the taste that your lips left in his mouth.

[havenoffandoms]

Hi! A little idea for your requests, if you don’t mind. A Jaskier x Geralt : Jaskier feels finally brave enough to confess his undying love to Geralt but each time he tries, something gets in the way. Yennefer and Ciri support him and even try to help (successfully or not). Fun and fluff please !!! I hope you find the idea interesting~ 🌟

Okay, sooooo I may have got slightly carried away with this idea and I won’t apologise for it. Your idea really inspired me and I think it’s the cutest thing. Jaskier and Geralt are just two idiots in love in this one. There is the slighest bit of angst at the end, but the rest is fun and fluff as you wanted it. I hope I did your request justice. 

Thanks for your ask! Hope you enjoy the read xx

Warning: teeny tiny bit of angst, fluff, mild swearing, smutty references, and mild canon typical violence

1.

Jaskier was known for many things across the Continent – his ballads, his poetry, his many, many conquests that often got him into trouble (and inspired many, many ballads) – but his bravery was certainly not one of them. The bard was painfully aware of this fact, and he thought that joining Geralt on his adventures would somehow remedy this, but he had been wrong. Nonetheless, after nearly twenty years of pining and admiring the Witcher from a distance, Jaskier had decided to tell Geralt how he truly felt about him. No matter the outcome, Jaskier would tell Geralt and finally get this secret off his chest. He needed to know if Geralt felt the same way and he was ready to face the possibility that Geralt only liked him as a friend. Geralt may live for several centuries, but Jaskier did not have nearly as much time left in this life and had to make the most of the time that he had left. Even if it meant spending that time getting over Geralt…

Jaskier had a plan. He would tell Geralt over dinner, the nicest dinner they could afford, which at present consisted of stale bread, meagre pieces of cheese and some fruit that had seen better days but would do just fine. The location would be wherever Geralt decided to stop for the night on their way to Kaer Morhen. They would likely set camp at the edge of the woods (moonlit dinner, anyone?) and probably start a fire for warmth – that classed as romantic, right? Jaskier knew he could not overthink this too much. He did not have the luxury of waiting until they reached a town with a half-decent inn that offered nice (and most importantly cheap) food. He would have to work with what he had, and at the minute all that mattered was that Geralt knew how Jaskier truly felt about him.

They stopped at the edge of the woods, as Jaskier had anticipated, with the added bonus of the mountain range in the distance backdropping their campsite. The bard noticed the white peaks as the sun set just behind the mountains, casting large shadows over the plains that stretched from their current location all the way to the foot of the mountain range. The surroundings looked nothing short of picturesque – not that Geralt, the big oaf, would notice it! He was too busy unsaddling Roach, gathering sticks for the campfire and gathering his dirty clothes from his back before tossing them on the muddy ground for Jaskier to deal with in the morning, as was usually the case. When the bard’s stomach began rumbling loudly, Geralt finally looked up and his amber eyes rested on his travel companion. He looked irritated, as per usual, but there was something else reflected in his cat-like eyes. Concern, perhaps?

“Here,” Geralt said, his voice gruff and raspy and sending shivers down Jaskier’s spine, “eat this.”

Jaskier barely managed to catch the piece of hard bread with his hands. He watched in a panic as Geralt strapped his swords onto his back and readied himself to leave.

“Wha- where are you going, Geralt?”

“Hunt. We need meat to last us the next couple of days on the road,” the witcher answered without looking at him.

“But… when will you be back?” Jaskier asked, trying not to sound as needy as he felt.

“When I’ve caught something, bard,” Geralt huffed before taking off into the woods without as much as a glance over his shoulder. Jaskier was speechless for a while even after Geralt had disappeared into the dark woods.

Son of a bitch!

***

“I think the best way to Geralt’s heart is through Roach,” Ciri told Jaskier over dinner one night. The young heir to Cintra and the bard had both hit it right off when they had met. Ciri enjoyed his ballads and his poetry, and Jaskier loved teaching her about the history of the Continent, algebra and even taught her one or two songs on his lute. The girl was a natural and he felt it would be a shame to let this talent go to waste. Of course the sword training with Geralt and magic lessons with Yennefer were a lot more glamorous, and Jaskier could not hope to compete with that. Yet, Ciri enjoyed the distraction nonetheless and often used her free time to visit Jaskier. She was like the little sister Jaskier had always wanted but never had.

“I don’t see how that’s helpful…,” Jaskier admitted after a minute of considering Ciri’s words.

“Geralt loves Roach. He has a special bond with her, and I think he trusts her instincts about people more than his own. I think if he were to see you bonding with Roach, he would considerably soften around you.”

Jaskier had to admit he had never thought of that before, but it did not sound like the worst idea. The following day, he decided to follow Ciri’s advice and headed to the stables early in the morning to be sure to beat Geralt to the chase. When he arrived near Roach’s stall he noticed that the mare’s ears perked up when she saw him coming. Jaskier made soft clicking noises as he brought his hand to pet her long head. The mare let out a happy snort as she nudged against his hand demanding more pets.

“Hey girl, how are you doing? I know it’s usually Geralt who takes care of you, but today I thought I’d come and say hi myself. You’re awfully more friendly than what Geralt makes you out to be, you know. I always thought the reason I couldn’t ride you was because you’re a temperamental little thing.”

Jaskier chuckled as Roach shook her head and huffed indignantly. The bard looked around the stables and spotted a bucket with brushes, hoof picks and mane combs. Blankets and leading rope hung inside the stall Roach was residing in, right next to her saddle. Jaskier went to grab the bucket and returned to the stall, opening the door gently as to not spook the mare. He entered Roach’s personal space and fished a body brush out of the bucket. He began brushing Roach’s coat, making sure to scrub the sand and dust out of her coarse hair as best as he could. His ministrations seemed to relax the horse judging by her steady heartbeats that Jaskier could feel through her ribcage as he slid his hand along her strong body.

“You know, I never realised how big you actually are, girl. You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you? And so sweet, too. Your coat is so silky. Geralt takes really good care of you,” Jaskier mused as he worked one side of Roach’s body.

“Of course I do,” a deep voice interrupted Jaskier’s actions and made him jump out of his skin, “Roach works hard when we’re on the road hunting monsters. The very least I can do is make sure she’s as comfortable as possible.” Geralt stared at Jaskier with a half-smile on his lips, his eyes soft as he watched the bard pamper Roach. Jaskier was not used to that kind of expression on the witcher’s face. The last time he had seen such kindness in Geralt’s eyes had been at princess Pavetta’s engagement festivities right after the witcher had saved him from yet another cuckold husband’s ire.

“I… I didn’t hear you come in,” Jaskier said, returning his attention to Roach and willing his racing heart to calm down. Geralt grabbed a second body brush from the bucket and got working on Roach’s coat as well. The mare let out a pleased snort at having both men take care of her.

“You were so lost in your own world that a troll choir could have burst into the stables and would’ve escaped your notice,” Geralt jested, making Jaskier stop in his tracks.

“My, my, Geralt, was this a joke? Who knew witchers have a sense of humour?”

“She likes you, you know?” Geralt commented, ignoring Jaskier’s sarcastic comment. The bard blushed at those words, and he was unsure how to respond.

“I like her, too. Despite her grumpy owner, she’s a surprisingly tame horse.”

“Hm… maybe it’s a blessing that she can’t hear your incessant singing,” Geralt teased, but his tone was light which told Jaskier that he was looking for a reaction. The bard was certainly not going to rise to the bait.

“My incessant singing is probably a nice change from the monosyllabic grunts she hears on a daily basis.”

Well, he tried not to rise at least. Jaskier dropped the brush in the bucket and retrieved the hoof pick. He kept a hand on Roach’s flank and allowed it to travel to her rump and down her leg to make her aware of where he was going. He pulled her leg up between his thighs and began picking out the dirt from between her hooves. Now was the time or never to tell Geralt how he felt about him, while they were both alone in the deserted stables and where no one could witness his humiliation if Geralt rejected him. Pull yourself together, Jask.

Deep breath in – 1, 2, 3 – and deep breath out. Go.

Just as Jaskier opened his mouth, he noticed Roach’s tail rise slightly out of the corner of his eyes. The movement distracted him long enough to momentarily forget about his intentions and before he had time to react, he felt a heavy weight land on the back of his head. Next thing he knew the stall was filled by loud and rich laughter and the stench of horse shit which had just landed on Jaskier. The bard stood frozen in place, unable to move and not wanting to believe what had just happened to him.

On the other hand, Geralt’s laughter was a sound that Jaskier wished he could bottle up and keep forever.

“Hardy-har-har… really funny, Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled under his breath as he stepped away from the mare and glared at the witcher, who was wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Sorry, it’s just…,” Geralt could not even finish his sentence before he was assaulted by another fit of giggles that brought fresh tears to his amber eyes. Well, Jaskier could definitely not tell him now… that would just look plain stupid.

“Yeah, I get it. Well, don’t just stand there! Help me!” Jaskier urged the witcher, who could barely contain his hilarity.

“Oh Jaskier… I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.”

Somehow, those words brought Jaskier joy despite the overwhelming humiliation he felt.

***

3.

“Yennefer, pleaaaaase,” Jaskier pleaded the sorceress, dragging out the vowels as much as he could and ignoring the irritated eye-roll.

“Oh fine, whatever it takes to get you to finally shut up about Geralt and let me get back to my work!” Yennefer snapped at him, slamming her book shut with enough force to make the entire desk rattle in protest. Jaskier smiled brightly at her.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Yen. My other attempts have failed dramatically.”

“So I have heard,” Yennefer said, a nasty smile appearing on her lips, “the smell of horseshit will follow you for the next months I can sense it.”

“Geralt told you, huh?” Jaskier guessed, feeling embarrassed at his expense all over again. Yennefer nodded, biting back the laughter that threatened to push past her lips.

“He told me and Ciri, and Ciri then told me what you had planned that day. I must admit that I felt slightly bad for you. So I’ll help you just because I’m sick of you and Geralt beating around the bush like blushing maidens who are too shy to tell her crush how she feels.”

“Wait, what do you mean Geralt and me... do you think that... he likes me back?” 

Jaskier was concerned that if Yennefer rolled her eyes any harder they would stay stuck like this forever. 

“Yes, dummy. Geralt is head over heels with you, how have you never noticed this before?”

“But... I...,” Jaskier was not too sure where he was going with this sentence, but as it seemed Yennefer was in no mood to wait any longer than necessary.

"If we’re going to do this, you need to do this my way, understood?”

Jaskier had a funny feeling that he would come to regret trusting Yennefer, but what other choice did he have?

“What have you got in mind?” he asked her, insecurity lacing his tone.

“Let’s just say we’ll have to hit where it hurts…,” she told him mysteriously, her smile growing more wicked and not exactly filling Jaskier with confidence.

***

Geralt grinded his teeth at the sight of Jaskier and Lambert in such close proximity. Vesemir had insisted that everyone stay several nights longer at Kaer Morhen and enjoy a feast together to celebrate the witchers returning to their former keep. There was plenty of food and ale to please everyone, and while Geralt thought he would take the opportunity to get drunk and finally admit his feelings to Jaskier, he had certainly not anticipated this turn of events. Ciri was sitting next to him but seemed blissfully unaware of his current emotional state. Why would Jaskier cosy up to Lambert of all people? His jokes were not funny, he had bad breath, not to mention a bad habit of drinking himself into an aggressive mood and physically Lambert had not much going for him either in Geralt’s humble and perfectly objective opinion. So why, oh gods why, was Jaskier looking at him like Lambert had plucked the moon from the sky?

“Aren’t they sweet together?” Yennefer cooed in his ear, only infuriating him further. Geralt barely managed a grunt as he brought his tankard of ale to his lips, took a large swig and all but slammed it back on the table, causing every dish in the vicinity to rattle. Ciri shot Geralt a quizzical side glance, which the witcher ignored.

“Why do I have a feeling that you did something shifty, Yen?” Geralt asked her, his voice barely above a growl as he watched Lambert pull Jaskier onto his lap. The sorceress merely shook her head.

“I don’t know Geralt, but I have to say it’s not your best quality.”

“Is Jaskier snogging Lambert?” Ciri asked, incredulity lacing her tone. Geralt felt every fibre in his body vibrate with anger and his blood boiled in his veins as he watched Lambert’s hand wander over Jaskier’s body like he somehow owned the bard.

Lambert had no fucking right to touch his bard.

Lambert would soon regret his decision to paw Jaskier like he was nothing but a common whore.

“Hey Vesemir,” Geralt was not acknowledging Vesemir but he knew that he had his mentor’s attention nonetheless, “have you ever heard of a witcher developing abilities to fly after undergoing the trials?”

Geralt noticed Yennefer, Ciri and Vesemir eye each other questioningly out of the corner of his eyes. The older witcher looked as puzzled as the rest of them.

“I have never come across such a case, Geralt. Why the interest?”

“Just making sure Lambert won’t survive a fall from my bedroom window,” Geralt announced as he rose from his chair and headed towards where Lambert and Jaskier were sitting. He ignored Vesemir and Yennefer’s protests, his eyes locked on Lambert who seemed to pale when he saw Geralt approach.

“Geralt, to what do I owe the…”

“Knock if off Lambert,” Geralt snapped at him, his anger only amplified by the fact that Lambert still had his arm wrapped around Jaskier, “Jaskier, how about you join me and the others over there…”

Although he had phrased it as a question, Geralt had definitely meant this as an order… something Jaskier picked up on and did not appreciate judging by the indignant expression on his face.

“I like it here, thank you very much.”

Those, as it turned out, had been the wrong words to use. Geralt had to actively calm down his nerves so he would not pummel Lambert to the ground and wipe off that cocky smile off his face.

“You heard the bard, Geralt. So piss off and go huff somewhere else.”

“There’s something I would much rather do,” Geralt said before landing a punch to Lambert’s face.

***

“What was that all about, you big brute?” Jaskier yelled at Geralt as soon as he found the witcher standing on the balcony of his room, brooding by himself as per usual. Geralt did not reply; in fact, he did not even seem to acknowledge Jaskier’s presence, which infuriated the bard to no end. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and pulled on it with enough force that it attracted Geralt’s attention. The witcher groaned in warning, but at this point Jaskier did not care if he was punched in the stomach. He needed answers.

“I could ask you the same question, bard,” Geralt snapped, his voice low and menacing. His amber eyes narrowed as Jaskier stood toe to toe with him, not showing any willingness to back down.

“I’m allowed to snog whomever I please. You aren’t my father and don’t get to tell me what to do, Geralt!”

This had all gone terribly wrong. Yennefer had suggested making Geralt jealous by flirting with Lamber, and at the time Jaskier thought it was a brilliant idea. He never thought that Geralt would act out like this. Much less give him orders like he had a say in Jaskier’s life and actions.

“I will tell you what to do when it means keeping you safe!” Geralt hissed back at Jaskier, and despite their barely noticeable height difference it felt like the witcher was towering over Jaskier.

“Keep me safe from what? Lambert is your friend, not a vampire or werewolf that you’re hunting. You know what, this was all a terrible idea, I should never have listened to Yennefer and her stupid ideas.” Jaskier did not wait for Geralt’s reply and meant to storm out of the room, but a large hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back.

“What do you mean by that?” Geralt demanded to know, but Jaskier was done talking.

“Let go of me, Geralt!”

“Lambert may be my friend, but I know what he’s like. I’ve seen it before. There’s been times where I partnered with him on hunts when we were younger. I saw the way he sweet-talked to women, promised them the world and took them to bed. You… you deserve better than this, Jaskier.”

Geralt’s words caused Jaskier to pause. It did not make sense. Since when did Geralt care who Jaskier went to bed with? And more importantly, since when did he care how these encounters left him feeling?

“This was all Yennefer’s idea. I was never interested in Lambert. I just… wanted to make you jealous,” Jaskier finally admitted, his voice small. He felt like a child who was being scolded. He braced himself for Geralt’s rejection.

“Why did you and Yen want to make me jealous?”

“Because I was sick and tired of seeing you two pining for each other and both being too cowardly to do anything about it,” Yennefer’s voice interrupted their little conversation. Jaskier and Geralt both looked up and saw Yennefer and Ciri standing at the door, wearing the same unimpressed expressions on their faces.

“Yen, stay out of this,” Geralt growled under his breath, but the sorceress merely smiled patronisingly at the witcher.

“Oh Geralt, I am in way too deep at this point. Either you two admit that you have feelings for each other, or I swear to the gods I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

Jaskier gulped audibly at Yennefer’s words, and as soon as Geralt felt his anxiety he pulled the bard closer to him. Geralt positioned himself before Jaskier so he was shielding the bard from Yennefer’s attacks. Yennefer and Ciri cast each other knowing looks at the witcher’s actions.

“I believe my work here is done. Geralt, don’t mess this up.”

With these final words Yennefer and Ciri disappeared leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone. The witcher kept his back turned to the bard, almost as if unwilling to face him now that his dirty little secret was out. Jaskier, on the other hand, could not have felt happier if he tried. Yennefer had been right. Geralt liked him back and that was why he had reacted the way he had upon seeing Lambert and Jaskier together.

“Oh Geralt…,” Jaskier whispered, running his hands along the broad shoulders and down the thick arms, pulling a shudder from the witcher, “and here I was worried that you would reject me.”

Geralt finally turned around at those words and hesitantly placed his hands on Jaskier’s hips, his eyes scanning Jaskier’s face nervously. Without any words being spoken, the witcher leaned closer and placed the softest kiss on the bard’s lips.

That was all the reassurance Jaskier needed as he returned the kiss. Safe to say they would not be leaving Geralt’s room any time soon.

[caffeinetheory]

Searching for a New Home [WIP?]

Hey y’all, this is very different from anything I’ve posted on my tumblr before but it has been sitting in my drafts for a while and maybe if i post what I have it’ll encourage me to write more.... dream smp style fantasy au that i have a lot planed for but who knows if I will ever finish at this rate

~~~~

if you are interested what i have is under the cut 

The sound of his own breathing was getting to him. Dream was wandering in a new land, he could sense the magic in the air, it wasn’t hostile--yet. The only sounds in the current meadow he stumbled upon was his own warm breath, a quiet river in the distance and buzzing of bees he couldn’t yet see. He was used to being alone but it still ate at him, having to hide his face, even if he was a lone made it worse.

The sun was high in the sky when Dream made it to the flowing river, the slashing of fish welcomed after so long. He checked around him many times before deeming it safe to move his mask to the side, not fully off because you can never be too careful in unknown lands. How had he even gotten there? Leaning back on his hands the blonde stared into the great expanse of sky above him like it would have the answers he wished for. It never did, but the sun on his face was more than enough. 

The sun was no longer high in the sky when Dream opened his eyes again, the only sounds being the running river by his feet. He took to rifling through his bag looking for a fishing rod and what he would need for a small campfire. It took him a minute but he found his trusty pole. Checking his surroundings one more time before taking off his mask and storing it safely in his bag, it was still empty; he had no worries of anyone seeing his face. 

Plonk, the bobber hitting the water made a satisfying sound as he threw his pole. In one hand he idly held it, with the other he flicked his wrist making a small campfire to cook his dinner. Right as he was about to say the incantation to light the fire a tug focused his attention back on to the river, he got a bite. It fought back for about a minute before Dream was able to win, yanking it out of the water and into his waiting hands. It was well worth the fight as one of the biggest cods landed in his gloved hands. He would have to dry his gloves but well worth it as the fish would be at least two meals, maybe even four if he smoked it right. 

The sky was a mix of orange and purple when the fish was almost done roasting over the fire, it smelled heavenly. While it was cooking Dream made sure to put up a small barrier and find his bed roll in his seemingly endless bag. It was probably really dumb but the sjy was beautiful here so he wanted to sleep inder the stars, not the canopy. 

The flaky fish melted in his mouth, he wanted to moan with how good it tasted. It was one of the best things he had ever eaten, maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. Half the fish was gone before he stopped himself, he needed to save the rest for later. By the time he had preserved it the crescent moon was out, the fireflies were saying hello and the kindling was gone, long since offering heat of light. Dream stifled a yawn as he stretched, a good shut eye would do him some good. Before he curled up into his bedroll a smile on his face.

~~~

Incessant pounding on his barrier is what woke the sleeping blonde up. His arm currently covered his eyes as he groaned, the pundung seemed to hesitate for a moment before it picked up again, slightly slower. Dream was glad he made the spell that would become opaque once the sun rose, he rubbed some sleep from his eyes and looked for his mask and a pocket knife, you can never be too careful. 

“Hello?” the voice came through muffled and unsure, whoever was on the other side was persiant but shy? Was that the right word, Dream wasn’t sure but he made sure he had his bag and knife concealed before he dropped the only thing keeping him and this stranger apart.

~~~

It was early morning when Sapnap stumbled upon a greenish double by a river. That was certainly new, and new meant something interesting. 

He started by tapping the surface, it seemed to ripple where he touched but otherwise did not change… interesting indeed. Sapnap spent the next 15 minutes walking around the sizable bubble poking it in different spots to see if there would be any other reactions, spoiler alert there were none. He considered setting fire to the outside, a small flame coming to life on his fingertips before a that sounds suspiciously like a Siren he knew advised him against it.

He had nothing better to do with his day, thus began his constant pounding on the outside of the odd barrier like thing in the middle of this field by a river. This continued for at least 40 minutes, he was thinking of giving up when he heard what sounded like a groan? Was someone in there? Were they okay? Subpoena continued his pounding with more purpose.

Nothing had happened yet so he hesitated before pausing his punding to ask, ”hello, is anyone in there?” his voice was getting quieter feeling stpuid as he asked the question. Surely if someone was there he would have heard it right?

As Sapnap was going to start pounding again the barrier dropped and he was left staring at a white mask devoid of anything but a drawn smile. He dropped his hand awkwardly,”...uh hi?”

~~~

Dream blinked at the person who had woken him up, no that the other could see. It took him a second to respond but he decided to just tilt his head at the other in question. Said person rubbed the back of his neck, it was clear he was nervous.

“You knew around here?” his voice was light and crisp, before Dream could even respond though he continued, “Well of course you are. I’ve never seen you before and I practically know this place like the back of my hand,” Dream loosened his grip on the knife and waved his hand at the person to stop the rambling.

“Yeah you could say that,” there was a smile in his voice as he saw them stumble over their words now that he had spoken. 

They blinked before holding out a hand, “Sapnap.”

Dream tentatively reached out and shook his hand, “Call me Dream.” The guy's hands were warm, very warm, he would have to keep note of that. 

Dream simply nodded at him and went to take his leave, the guy was clearly not going to hurt him. Sapnap didn’t leave though, he followed walking idley around him. Sometimes he was walking backwards in front of him, sometimes he was circling Dream and sometimes he would walk to his side but widely gesturing talking with his whole body. At first the constant talking was something Dream wanted to be mad at, but he found himself enjoying the other’s voice. The longer they stayed together the more he noticed about the slightly shorter man. Like the way he smelled of applewood and cinnamon, and the way he talked so casually to a stranger. 

It was close to noon when Sapnap finally asked him a real question that he couldn't just nod an answer to, “Where are you going?”

Dream paused, his humming stopped as he thought about it, “I’m not sure to be honest,” his response seemed to throw Sapnap for a loop as he nearly walked into a tree. 

Dream now had fully stopped walking a hand on his chin in thought, sure he was exploring but why? That was the question wasn’t it. Maybe he should find a place to live, would that be the right move. Making a home here? 

A hand waving in front of his face broke his thoughts, “You still there homie?” Sapnap stood in front of him with a look of concern on his face. He had stopped just in front of Dream leaning over slightly to make sure he was fine.

It brought a smile to his face, someone he barely knew was showing concern for him. It was an odd feeling he wasn't used to but one he quite liked if he was honest, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he waved his hand dismissively. 

Dream started to walk again but with more purpose, a startled Sapnap followed after a second and continued to fill the air with chatter. 

~~~

“Tell me more about yourself?” Sapnap had changed the topic yet again. Dream no longer minded though. No one had grown so much to him as this stranger- no he was definitely no longer a stranger.   

He found himself actually talking about himself, no lies or half truths. Dream hopped he wouldn’t regret this but something told him he wouldn’t. He started with some basics anyone could guess, then favorite colors and foods. The more he talked the more his companion leaned in his genuine interest clear as he eagerly nodded along and prompted questions. The more he talked the more Dream pervebarbly let down his hair and his hands began to join in his talking. His hands spoke almost as much as he did, it had been so long since he felt he could be this open. 

It was while he was talking about some ‘recent’ adventures that he split up, walking backwards to face Sapnap, hands moving to show the action he was talking about. Some fight in a dark cave, “my sword covered in the green fire chopped off the queen spider’s head and set the surroundings webs to flames lighting up the whole area! I could see all the bodies disintegrate as the one that had made them faded slowly,” his hands were high, his breath slightly ragged as he was moving so much when he realized he mentioned magic, but not any magic. His magic.

Oh gods oh no ohnonononono no no no not again he can’t have messed this up again, his thoughts were getting crowded as he was beginning to panic. One hand reached up to where his mouth would be but was blocked by his mask, he could feel his eyes growing wide. Not again, not when he had just made a friend. Dream was still walking backwards but couldn’t meet Sapnap’s eyes. A gasp made him jerk his head towards him. He was ready to defend himself with his other hand when chestnut eyes filled with excitement would have met his own. The mask still blocked the fear he held in his own eyes from being seen.

“Bro that’s so sick!” there was such passion in his companion’s eyes, like he had a fire of his own. 

Dream’s voice betrayed his utter shock as it mumbled out his disbelief. Sapnap didn’t seem to pick up on this distress and he grabbed the taller man’s hands and spun him around pure joy positively oozing out of his entire being. 

“You have fire too?!” it wasn’t said with an actuation, it was said in excitement. Dream could do nothing but blink behind his mask in confusion. Sapnap seemed to finally catch Dream’s lack of movement, “Are you okay buddy?”

////////////////////////

that’s all i have written so far for this work but i have more or less a lot of it planed out with most people to set up the over all au i have set up, maybe i bit off to much by trying to make one really long work but who knows

[missbugaboo]

Marimag Mayhem (2)

As a fourth year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Marinette was sure that life could no longer surprise her. And yet, even she could hardly believe her eyes when she first laid them on the blond boy she met, in the Requirement Room that she had not expected to find. The boy with cat eyes. The boy with cat ears. Chat Noir.

Marichat May, Hogwarts AU.

fanfiction.net / AO3

tagging @marichatmay, as requested ^^

Day 2: Bell

"Okay, but there is one thing I really can't understand, no matter how hard I try," Marinette's new acquaintance said nonchalantly, seated comfortably on the couch right next to the armchair she had picked for herself. "I mean, you're a Gryffindor, right? Gryffindor students are proud. Not in the same way the Slytherins are... but still. And yet here you are, openly making fun of your own House, mocking the one quality that others only boast about. Why?"

It'd been a good few minutes since Marinette had made up her mind about staying in the mystery room, and yet, these were the first words her companion had said to her since then. She didn't know whether it was his anxiety showing itself again - after all, the little displays from afore were enough to make her realise that his buoyant behaviour was really just a front meant to conceal the fears that ran inside him, even though she could hardly tell what those problems really were right now....

...Or if he was just busy forming the question he'd just asked to talk about anything else.

Well, she supposed a question like this demanded some thinking on his part.

"I don't know," she answered him, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. "It's an honest opinion. Do I really need a logical argument for the way I feel about things?"

"There must be some reason for it though, there always is," he disagreed. "Even if it's completely subjective. But also... It just doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense is that we've been chatting for at least ten minutes now, Cat-Boy, and you still haven't told me your name. Now that's weird."

The boy in front of her only grinned.

"Funny thing, since I don't remember hearing yours, Griffin-Girl," he parried easily. "Besides, you're changing the subject. Why are you against your own House?"

"I'm not against it. All I did was suggest that in most cases, the so-called Gryffindor Courage has more to do with thoughtlessness than bravery. It's not like it never works - sometimes that little bit of carelessness is what you need to take the first steps you wouldn't have taken otherwise. Still, as useful as it can be sometimes, it's hardly something to be particularly proud of. Not to mention, more often than not it only causes you more trouble."

"Does it really?"

Marinette nodded.

"Are you talking from experience? I just want to make sure, since you seem terribly confident in that belief."

"I've been in this school, in this House for more than three years now. All of my closest friends are in Gryffindor and trust me, some of them are like a textbook definition of it, both in terms of bravery and recklessness alike. And frankly, half the time I could burst with how proud I am of them; if only I didn't spend the other half on a verge of a heart attack, worrying for their safety as they set off to their next stunt. They are brave, I'm not saying that they're not. But much as I love them, they also can be a bunch of fools sometimes."

He didn't answer her immediately, and not even some moments later. Slightly surprised, Marinette glanced at him, half expecting to see him pondering over what she'd just said, or perhaps even catch him attending to something entirely different and therefore not at all focused on the explanation he himself had asked for.

Instead, she was met with a steady, imploring gaze, so intense that she suddenly wanted to curl up and hide behind her armchair instead of sitting comfortably on it.

He didn't even know what her name was and yet, she felt like another ten seconds of watching her like this would allow him to discover more about her than she'd ever told anyone.

It would have been scary if it hadn't been so incredibly kind.

He was worried about her.

"And why are you talking about them and not about you?" he asked before she could react in any way. "You are a Gryffindor, too, and yet not once have I heard you speak of yourself as a part of your House. How is that possible?"

"That's... That's not what I did at all!" she protested now, her cheeks flushing red all of the sudden. "I mean, okay, maybe it sounded like it. A little. But that's not the case here!"

"Isn't it?"

"No! I love my friends. And I'm more than happy that I've had the chance to get to know them, which wouldn't have happened if we'd been sorted into different Houses, and we are a team, so whatever you're trying to imply here -"

"I wasn't implying anything," he cut her off. "You on the other hand, have just implied a whole lot of things yourself."

Marinette looked at him, unable to make a sensible comment on her part. His eyes were still fixed on hers, his gaze just as meaningful as before, if not more so, now additionally filled with comprehension that hadn't been there earlier. She swallowed hard, realising she'd accidentally blurted out her most cherished secret - the most uncomfortable, unwelcome truth, one that she'd been trying to squash ever since her first day at Hogwarts twenty long months ago.

And she did that in front of someone she'd known for less than a quarter of an hour altogether.

How had he managed to provoke her to do that?

"You don't think you belong there, do you?" he heard him ask with the same warm sternness that she could've already seen in his look. "You don't think you should have been put in Gryffindor to begin with. Is that correct?"

"It's not that simple," she opposed weakly and pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin against her knees. "The people in our House, they really are like family to me. Alya, Nino, Alix... They are the best comrades I could have wished for. And it's not just them, it really goes for most of the students. So no, I wouldn't say I don't belong there... In fact, I'm grateful that the Sorting Hat had decided to put me in that place. I just never really understood why."

Her interlocutor's gaze softened a bit as he smiled fondly at her. "Not feeling enough of a moron yourself, huh?"

Marinette's blush only grew deeper.

"More like, I'm not the right type," she mumbled. "Of a moron, that is. And even then, there's much more to it than just my intelligence. I'm... I'm a klutz. I'm awkward and clumsy and whatever you might say about Gryffindor students, they're not that. I don't have that laid back attitude they usually show, or the confidence that makes them dive without thinking into the worst of messes because they simply can't imagine not getting themselves out of it. But first and foremost..."

She paused and looked away, unconsciously starting to worry at her lip. She closed her eyes, too, shut them tight in an display of obvious chagrin, before concluding:

"I just don't think I'm brave enough. Not in the way they expect me to be."

She hid her face in her knees, her embrace around her calves tightening even further. She didn't want to admit that; didn't want to give voice to the fears she'd been trying so hard to ignore.

So why did she?

"There are many kinds of courage, though," her companion told her then. "You look like a smart girl, you must realise that. I mean, that's basically what you've just said, so you do, so... You know."

"Actually, I'm not sure I do," she replied; her voice was quiet, however, there now was a faint hint of amusement in it. "But that's fine. It doesn't really matter."

"It clearly does to you!" he opposed her. "You wouldn't be sitting like this if it didn't."

Marinette growled.

"Oh, and now you're a character judge, too? Weren't you supposed to be like, bad with human relations or something?"

"I'm only telling what I see."

"Well, I bet those cat eyes are helping a lot."

He laughed then, a full, sonorous laughter that made it impossible for Marinette not to look up at him again. He covered his mouth with his hand immediately, undoubtedly trying to stifle it. He failed miserably, snorting and coughing awkwardly, while at the same time, his eyes remained so full of mirth that even a deaf person would have had no trouble guessing how he really felt.

Marinette regarded him for a moment, completely at a loss as to what she should do next - how she should respond to this sudden reaction of his.

Her words had been anything but cordial, and yet, he was laughing?

"I'm sorry, it's just... The way you said it..." he explained in between the chuckles. "I don't know, I probably shouldn't have laughed. Only... It's so good to finally have someone to banter with like this."

His hand was pressed at the nape of his neck again, as he rubbed it awkwardly, a sheepish expression once more reflecting on his face. Marinette eyes him for a moment, not sure how to respond - not like it was anything new, really - and instead chose to wait for him to add something on his part.

He must have noticed her confusion because he froze in place the next moment, raising both of his hands in a gesture that looked both defensive and apologetic, and said, "No! I mean, bantering probably isn't the best word for it, is it? After all, you don't really banter with someone you've just met, and surely not so early into the conversation, right? It's something you do with your friends, and only the close ones, because obviously, it's a delicate matter and it's foolish to assume you might even want to banter with someone like me. Someone you don't know at all! I mean, how crazy would that be? I don't even know your name, we couldn't be further from close."

He stopped talking then, as if ashamed of letting himself be carried away in this manner. His jaw clenched as he turned away, his very real cat ears flat against his head; the change in him so sudden that for a second there Marinette was sure that her mind was playing tricks on her.

Just how anxious was that boy?

He could successfully rival with me right now, she thought, concerned. And at my worst moments, too. Not to mention, even I don't shift so swiftly.

"Marinette," she said out loud, hoping the simple introduction would be enough to chase away some of the awkwardness; magic knew there was nothing else she could think of. "My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And I'm more than pleased to meet you."

Acting entirely on instinct, she reached out her hand towards him; hearing her words, he looked back at her again and then blinked, clearly taken aback but the gesture that accompanied them. His gaze went from her face to hand and back again, so many times that Marinette started to think that he might not take it after all, and almost withdrew it - but then he made his move, grasping her hand and squeezing it firmly, as if he'd been afraid that she might fade away if he hadn't.

She smiled warmly.

He really was a puzzle to her.

"So, since you know my name now, Chaton," she added when she realised that he was not going to say anything on his part. "Do you think we can be friends, banter and all?"

The smile he gave her in return was the most grateful expression she'd ever been gifted with.

Good Godric, he was practically glowing.

"Banter and all. Yes, please," he replied eagerly. "I mean, yes, I'd like that. Very, very much."

"Great, then it looks like we've got a deal," Marinette giggled. "No backing off now."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Their conversation was cut off abruptly by the sound of the bell, announcing the end of Marinette's break. She nearly jumped upon hearing it, letting go of her partner's hand and turning rapidly towards the entrance of the room, surprised.

Was it really time to go already?

"I... must have miscalculated how much time it took me to come here," she said timidly, glancing back at the boy by her side. "I really gotta go, or I'll be late to Transfiguration and I definitely don't want to get on Professor Mendeleyev's bad side again. I... guess I'll see you around?"

Before he could answer her, Marinette was back on her feet with both her books and wand held securely in her tight grip. She flashed him a smile and waved at him. Then she was off, running towards the exit (she sure hoped it was an exit as well) with the speed of a Quidditch champion in their prime.

"Wait, but I haven't told you-" her companion called after her, but it was too late. The door had opened and closed and she was no longer there, with nothing but his own memory to remind him of her.

...my name, he finished in his thoughts, dazed. Then he shook his head and took a deep breath, determined not to give in to the disappointment he felt at her sudden departure and, even though there was no one there to see it, he forced himself to smile.

It was the beginning, not the end.

One way or another, he would see her again.

Even if you don't come, even if you forget, I won't let you get rid of me that easily, he vowed. After all... we've got ourselves a deal, ma Belle.

[caitlinsfandomthoughts]

A film fan’s reaction to reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time.

I’ve been a big fan of the Peter Jackson films (extended versions - nerd that I am) since I was about 11 and I think I know all of the big changes made in the adaptation: Arwen, Faramir, Aragorn falling off a cliff. I did read the first book around the same age (in the first of many waves of my lotr obsession) but I only really remembered Saruman of ‘Many Colours’.

However I have always wanted to properly know the book version of the story so finally started listening to an amazing full audio book reading by Steven Red Fox Garnett which I highly recommend:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCwLvFU2onc7cPIEBee-_xMw

………………………………………………………………………………….

And here are my silly reactions and occasional analysis of the differences between book and film that I didn’t know about.  

The Fellowship of the Ring part three, one, two, four, five, six

Many Meetings:

Frodo thinks he’s better but Gandalf can see that Frodo’s arm is transparent, not fully in the mortal world? Is this permanent? A metaphor for his ultimate depression/ptsd, I know the wound itself serves as that. Gandalf lies and says Frodo looks well. My poor sweet baby innocent Frodo.

Frodo knew Sam was by his side most of time rather than checking out Rivendell like he said <3

No Sam! Don’t wait on your master! Embrace being treated as an equal! Thank god he didn’t do it.

Glorfindel is sitting next to Elrond and this is enough for me to ship them.

Frodo finally meets Bilbo again, it having been 17 YEARS! This is more emotionally charged for Frodo than in the film. Bilbo does his Nosferatu impression here! Almost the first thing he says to Frodo is Sooo you have the ring? Can I see it? Can I touch it? This was SAD! That it was so soon. Then there is quite a tone shift after that, Bilbo says sorry for this burden/everything like in the film but then they keep taking, and chat to Aragorn like it never happened.

Gloin!

Some elves are racist jerks to Bilbo (although his song did go on quite a lot).

The Council of Elrond:

Boromir! So far he is much like in the film. Doesn’t say ‘by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe’ but says words to that effect. Including something like ‘we get praise but no help’ which I thought was a pretty good critique, it made me think of performative activism. Aragorn kind of seems petty when he says well rangers protect the north, the north’s not safe either! Like yes but also Gondor is RIGHT NEXT to Mordor. You can see it when you look out from Minas Tirith. I think there’s probably more servants of Sauron there even though there are many elsewhere. It felt like a whataboutism. I think Boromir’s point still stands. Perhaps this is meant to be read as a flaw of Aragorn’s but I don’t think so.

Aragorn says again that the sword will be remade, and says that he will go to Minas Tirith. That’s pretty much all but saying he will become king. He seems so far to accept that fate and be less reluctant to do it than in the film. At this point in the film I felt Aragorn knew in the back of his mind that he would probably have to fulfil that destiny, but there was still a part of him fighting it, or hoping against it. He also had doubts, fears that he would fail like Isildor, fears to take up power. In the book Aragorn himself says the line ‘I am Isildor’s heir, not Isildor himself.’ In the film this was given to Arwen who tries to reassure him. While book Aragorn certainly has humility and isn’t proud of his royalness he seems more comfortable with his destiny, and I so far find that less interesting, like there may be less of an arc for him. But it is early days and a lot more may be revealed about him. I’m especially interested in his interactions with Boromir, which, I find is one of the more interesting aspects of the first film.

Bilbo wrote the Aragorn Poem! And says it’s not that good, but it’s my favourite one so far. I think we’re probably meant to have that reaction.

Radagast! It makes a bit more sense here as to why Gandalf would go see Saruman, despite already being suss about him, given that Radagast unwittingly sent him there. I’d like to think the moth in the film is a nod to Radagast.

Saruman of MANY COLOURS! This is almost the singular thing I remember from reading the first book as a kid. As awesome as it sounds I’m kinda glad they didn’t put it in the films since it would look like queer-coding a villain.

Saruman has some rhetoric about maintaining ‘order’ which is never a good sign. He also seems to think that he’ll be able to take power from Sauron after they join somehow which, my dude, is never gonna happen.

Gandalf has a line about how despair is only for those who know the future, and we do not, and honestly that helps me with climate grief.

Apart from Frodo and Sam, (and Merry and Pippin) Elrond picks the other companions.

Elrond is starting to see that Bilbo isn’t so unique among hobbits, that they may all have strength of character beyond what may initially seem to. This is nice, I like this theme.

[robiness]

Raven Branwen could teach us to trust love (theory, V7CH12 spoilers)

Yeah, that’s what I said.

In my theory about Qrow’s arc, I mentioned that the worst possibility is that Raven gets to Qrow, because obviously they’re hostile to each other and have different worldviews. He’s fragile and can be easily manipulated to returning to the Branwen ways. 

It was a Qrow theory, so I focused on him. All I said about Raven was that she’s clever and brutal, and she wants her family to concede that she’s right in her philosophy. 

I’ve seen a few ideas about Raven saving everything, but I dismissed them because of my own perception of her character. But after seeing them a couple more times today, I considered a new possibility. 

(this is a theory for a RWBY7 hopeful ending, if you don’t want to get your hopes up, i’ll understand)

Yes, Raven is clever, brutal, ruthless. I still firmly believe that she’ll do anything for what she considers worth fighting for. In my perspective, these are (1) protecting her tribe, and (2) making her family realize that she was right all along.

(2) is something she constantly keeps doing even in hostile situations. She tries and tries, and is extremely frustrated at the stupidity she sees. She feels betrayed by Qrow, too, since he used to subscribe to their ways, but she still tries.

She HAS expressed outright care before. Most obvious is the Yang vs Neo fight yes, but there’s another one I forgot and now made me consider her influence as a positive thing.

This conversation between her and Yang in Volume 5.

Most of V5, Raven is rigid in her beliefs. She’s very firm with trying to convince Yang she was right when they met in the tribe, and even in Haven Academy, she left without caring if Qrow or anyone died, but she still tried to get through to her brother.

Later, when Yang confronts her after the Maiden fight, her reaction is angry. She thinks, again, that Yang is getting it all wrong like everything else. Ozpin’s war is hopeless, and Raven is the only one not brainwashed into his ideals. This was probably exacerbated by the fact she just defeated Cinder, again proving that she’s on top. 

“It's not that simple. You don't know me, you don't know what I've been through, the choices I've had to make!”  

“I've stared death in the face over and over again! And every time I've spat in that face and survived because I'm strong enough to do what others won't!” 

“Who do you think you are lecturing me?! Standing there, shaking like a scared little girl?!” 

She feels superior, and righteous in her rage. 

But then Yang calls her bluff. Raven might think she was making the right decisions, but Yang saw very clearly that she was too weak to do anything else but kill and run.

Yang proved to her that she did know Raven, because she was right in thinking that Raven would bail yet again if Yang offered to take the Relic that was a magnet for danger. 

Then, Raven makes this expression for the first time:

She is guilty, ashamed, upset, and at the time, I thought that this was only because she was putting her daughter in danger.  

But if you think about it, she’s never completely cared about her family’s lives before, not if they interfere with her highest priorities. I’ll repeat: (1) protecting her tribe, and (2) making her family realize that she was right all along.

However, Yang just proved to her that... she wasn’t right. At least, not in the image she was trying to project - a righteous, fearless woman who was making difficult decisions. 

I... I'm sorry...

I can bet that she’s never said these words before. Not to Tai, not to Qrow, not to Summer. But now she says this to her daughter who just proved to be much braver than she is. Who wrecked her worldview. 

So what? She left anyway. Why would she come now? Why would she change?

I think the fact that she left is the answer. She made a quick, automatic decision to run away, despite her claims of righteousness and bravery. But she was crying and emotional as she did.

Once she was gone, she was gone. There was no mention of her in the next two volumes, other than a teased visit to Tai, and who knows what that was about? 

Also, a LOT of people had asked why tf did Yang never tell anybody about her mom being the Spring Maiden.

I don’t really know why Yang as a character made that decision. But maybe the narrative kept her out on purpose, to make viewers forget about her.

Because, you know, I never understood why Raven Branwen was the Spring Maiden, when all other potential Maidens had some sort of connection to the seasons they were assigned (Pyrrha, then Cinder to Fall, Winter/Penny to Winter). 

Raven was, if anything, the entire opposite of the concept of spring - rebirth, life, change for the better. 

I think she’s about to prove me wrong.

Volume 7: Qrow and Clover

Clover and Qrow had a healthy developing relationship that was cut off prematurely. This broke Qrow and stopped his recovery for seemingly no reason other than to hurt him, and us. 

Clover and Qrow had quick but utterly significant scenes that seemed to be wasted just like that. Why? 

I think it still stands that this was meant to really, really hurt. 

But. 

As said in my Qrow theory, and those of many others, only Raven can get to Qrow now in his fragile state, with their connection through her Semblance.

Clover and Qrow are in the tundra, out in the snow. If Raven gets there, how could she save them? By opening another portal to Yang, who is in Atlas, a city with the greatest technology and Pietro Polendina, either or both of which should be enough to save Clover. 

Ironwood survived half of his body getting so mangled that they had to replace it with metal. If Clover was left in the tundra, then yeah he has no chance. But if Raven gets them to Atlas, where all the resources are... 

Let’s talk about this color scheme. 

I, like many others, immediately recognized this as the bi flag colours. It was insulting, demeaning, and cruel for a volume that puts heavy emphasis on “trust love”.

But what if it was put there to indicate that we still should trust despite what just happened? It would still be a traumatizing creative decision, but it would make sense to a predominantly cishet main crew. And any other staff who may have considered that it may hurt would be distracted by the (potential) utter brilliance of it.

The setting was a dark, isolated tundra when Clover died. But the sun rose.

When is a sunrise significant in that kind of setting? That’s right, spring. Hope, love. 

Qrow and Clover’s connection was wonderful, but underdeveloped. We assumed the theme Trust Love applied to them, but it was twisted cruelly, making the audience feel like it was just for shock value.

But what if it’s not their love that should be trusted right now? It is in its early stages, which is why we were so angry at the loss of potential. So maybe it’s not the focus.

What if it’s the unexpected love of Raven (spring, hope, sunrise) coming to aid her brother?

Qrow’s recovery: Raven

I’ve extensively talked about the twins’ relationship from Qrow’s perspective. It’s fractured and opposing. That’s a given.

But imagine. Imagine if at this darkest hour, Qrow’s big sister, who he’s given up on, saves him and makes things better. 

Clover was good for Qrow, but he doesn’t have to be the only one that is. Raven being open to compromise AND saving Clover? That would be such relief for my poor bird.

A real partner, and estranged sister back in his life? That will skyrocket his recovery so much that I’m literally crying right now at the thought.

Supporting Literary Parallels: 

1.  The first part of this post brings up the Aesop’s Fable that Clover is based on. To summarize, the Fisherman is down on his luck, but something unexpected happens, he gets his fish that makes his days better.

2. Qrow is the scarecrow of the Wizard of Oz. This is why many of us are terrified of what’s going to happen next, because the other two companions of Dorothy, Leo (Lion) and Ironwood (Tin Man) have lost the gifts they seek. 

However, we have forgotten that the scarecrow is Qrow’s basis on a lesser degree. Even his position is lower - he’s not a Headmaster, he’s a simple Huntsman. He “serves” Oz, yes, but that part is nulled when his loyalty was betrayed by Ozpin’s secrets.

Even when he was helping Ozpin, he wasn’t a major player, he didn’t guard any relics, he was primarily a spy, which connects more to his forefront literary basis:

3. Hugin and Munin (sources: 1, 2)

Hugin (thought) is Raven. Munin (memory, mind) is Qrow. In Norse mythology, these are Odin’s two ravens that he sends out to spy for information around the worlds. 

Hugin and Munin Fly every day Over all the world; I worry for Hugin That he might not return, But I worry more for Munin.

Raven (thinks herself objective and sensible) definitely matches “might not return”, and Qrow (mental health poster boy held down by memories) is definitely someone who’s always on the brink of tragedy. 

But the thing about the original ravens is that they’re always together. Qrow and Raven have never worked together in-show. That’s the difference between the originals and our characters.

My theory is that they’ll come together, because Raven and Qrow have already shown signs of change from what their originals represent.

But it’s two ravens, no crows! At first, this bummed me out, I thought that this fact would be more supportive of my first tragic Qrow theory. But then...

Crows travel in groups, they’re more sociable (Qrow and his kids). Ravens often travel in pairs (her apparent closeness with Vernal). (bird facts source)

While Qrow would enjoy being with a lot of people, Raven would probably be more picky with her companions, and Vernal, her second, is now dead. 

Therefore, even if Qrow needs Raven at this very moment, Raven needs her brother, too. It’s not only Qrow who will benefit from the reunion.

The Branwen twins will both be better if they work together. In human minds, plans (Raven) and passion (Qrow) need to coincide for survival.

And if this theory comes through, there will be two ravens to satisfy Raven, and Qrow will always be himself, surrounded by family, at the same time. (hint hint side note crows mate for life the two would still have a lot of development to do)

Last thoughts:

This could be wrong. The Qrow tragedy might still happen. Something completely different could. Raven could be a total bitch the whole series.

IDK OKAY. bUT YEAH IM HOPING fuuuuck

Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t trust anything anymore. After all, so many people were truly hurt by last episode, it was still damaging. Turning this around won’t erase that fact. 

But... I really want my Qrow happy. He’s been the most relatable character for me, with the things he goes through, and I’d love it so much if he will come out stronger, with a large support system and some goddamn happiness. And I think... my version makes sense, too?

So maybe everything has a reason. Maybe this is setting up for something really great. We’re very hurt now, but... the sun is rising.

To prepare us for spring?

[hermitologist]

My 20 Favorite Records of 2019

Lists! Everyone loves them. Here’s another one.

These are the records I liked the most this year. That doesn’t mean they’re the *best*, that means I liked them. You might not. That’s fine! You might be livid that Porpoise Corpse’s neo-classical folk prog double LP isn’t on my list because it’s an easy top 5 record for you, but maybe electric mandolin solos, blast beats, and harpsichord runs aren’t my thing. That’s fine too! It’s infinitely cooler and far more productive to let people enjoy the art they enjoy rather than wasting precious minutes of your life trying to convince the entire internet to have the exact same taste in music.

That said ... 

This years list is chock full of the usual, if you’re familiar with my taste at all -- tons of super heavy bummer jams, a handful of Radiohead-adjacent mid-tempo rock of the indie or emo variety, some hearty post-rock, some tried-and-true vets doing the thing they do very well ... again, and a few outliers. The honorable mentions list gets considerably more eclectic if you’re looking for stuff that sounds less like a soundtrack to various stages of the apocalypse.

As always, I welcome your suggestions for records and podcasts I might’ve missed the boat on. There’s way too much good stuff out there to keep up with, so PLEASE help me out.

Also: When I am not being a lazy pile of crap, I try to haul my dadbod around town for a run a few days a week and will listen to/briefly review a record in the process. Almost every record on this list has been a part of one of those posts, so if you’re interested in such a thing, please check out my Instagram.

BONUS: I put together a playlist on Spotify of my favorite song from each of my top 20 records, and a separate one for the 51 other records I liked this year, so if you’re overwhelmed and don’t know where to start, just needle drop a little and see if anything grabs you. And if anyone’s feeling productive and has time to do an Apple Music playlist, I’ll link and credit you.

Top 20 Spotify Playlist

Top 20 Apple Music Playlist -- Thanks, Austin!

Other Faves Spotify Playlist

But before we get to the Top 20, a couple of records that deserve a nod ... 

Record I Listened To The Most In 2019 Whether I Wanted To Or Not

Angel Du$t - Pretty Buff

This is my four-year-old son’s favorite record, and while I’m trying to round out his musical palate by throwing on all sorts of different bands while we’re hanging out, he insists on either “no music” or “The Basketball Song” (which is “Big Ass Love”). I have no idea how or why his little amazingly weird brain equates the song with basketball (a sport he doesn’t really play or watch or think about ever, to my knowledge), but it does. He LOVES IT. I’ve got to admit, I didn't care for the song all that much when I first heard it, but it’s an earworm, and some 3000 plays later, I love it, and I love the record. Funny how that works out.

Record That Came out in 2009, But I Didn’t Discover Until 2019

Self-Evident - Endings

Endings was neck-and-neck with my favorite record of 2019 for spins this year. Coincidentally, the it was recommended by someone from the band who made my #1 record, and it has moments where it sounds a whole hell of a lot like my #1 record. Blows my mind that a band that was/is so incredibly in my wheelhouse sonically, that has released nine LPs over an 18 year career, and operates in circles incredibly close to a ton of bands I love and respect and nerd out about music with somehow managed to elude me for the better part of two decades. At any rate I’m incredibly stoked to have finally found them, absolutely love them, and honestly might’ve listened to this LP 20 times in a matter of a few days when I got my first taste. It’s that good. 

And now for the list ... 

20) Remote Viewing - It’s Better This Way

Super nasty, dark, sludgy, well-crafted noise rock out of London that fits somewhere in between KEN Mode and early-Kowloon Walled City sonically. You’d think it was pretty crazy to have a band be so locked in and fully formed as early as LP2, but then you find out they’re ex-members of Palehorse, Million Dead, and I Want You Dead and it all kinda makes sense. Unfortunately, the song on the playlist is from a previous LP (because the new one is inexplicably not on Spotify), but you can and should get the new record on Bandcamp.

19) From Indian Lakes - Dimly Lit

I’ve been a big fan of FIL for years, but have always been at a bit of a loss when it comes time to describe them. It’s hazy and dreamy, but not quite shoegazey ... it’s insanely infectious and pleasing to the ear, but not really poppy ... it’s forward-thinking and experimental, but not quite art-rock or groggy at all. It’s just excellent. Full stop. If you dig anything from Tycho, to Radiohead, to The Cure, to Slowdive you’ll enjoy this.

18) Stray From The Path - Internal Atomics

Furious, mathy, riff-heavy hardcore from Long Island that sounds like a reformed Rage Against The Machine had spent the past two decades doing steroids, mainlining Red Bull, and studying the finer points of Moshology. The breakdowns are massive, the drumming absolutely mental, and the vocals pissed as hell. At my advanced age, it’s rare that a record makes me want to pit and/or try to deadlift cars, but this one’s got that magic.

17) Glassing - Spotted Horse

Mostly spazzy, occasionally dreamy, black-metal sprinkled post-hardcore that fits in very well with bands like Portrayal Of Guilt and Respire in the rebirth of traditional screamo. It’s fits and starts of chaos and beauty, and it all sounds and feels like it could completely go off the rails at any time which is what made bands like Orchid and Majority Rule and Saetia so great back in the day. 

16) La Dispute - Panorama

It’s no secret that I’m a big La Dispute fan (Thrice has toured the US with them twice in the past decade), and I love all of their records, but I’m pretty sure I can say with full confidence that this is the best record they’ve ever made. Everything is firing at peak performance, and the way the record is arranged and sequenced makes it feel more like a film score than a collection of songs. It’s a complete work -- meant to be listened to as such, which is a daunting artistic task, but they pulled it off in grand fashion.

15) Russian Circles - Blood Year

This band has been in the upper echelon of post-rock bands for as long as I can remember, and Blood Year is another incredible addition to their already stellar discography. These guys are all absolute monsters at their given instruments, and one of the best live rock bands on the planet, so getting to hear them do their thing on a record that manages to actually capture that live energy and ambience really does the trick for me. 

14) Greet Death - New Hell

This one kinda came outta nowhere for me, as I (ashamedly) was not familiar with them prior to giving New Hell a spin. It blew me away. I’m a total sucker for bummer jams, and this record is full of top-quality sludgy, sad, shoegazey goodness. If you dig Cloakroom, O’ Brother, or Pianos Become The Teeth this is gonna be right up your alley.  

13) Sleep Token - Sundowning

Another record that came out of nowhere to knock me on my ass. I downloaded it before a transatlantic flight on a whim (after hearing about 30 seconds of the opening track), hoping that it would be a nice, mellow companion to ease my in-flight anxiety. And it was, but whoa was it so much more than that. It kinda sounds like a collab between Active Child and Deftones -- poppy, melancholic piano ballads, brought to crushing crescendos via super heavy drop-tuned sludge -- which sounds like a mess, but it works so well. It’s a killer record and probably would’ve landed higher on this year’s list if it hadn’t come out so late in the year.

12) Big Thief - UFOF

This one’s a bit of an outlier, and a damn good one at that. I came across UFOF via a friend’s recommendation before the hype train had left the station, and honestly didn’t know what to expect. Said recommendation simply said that it was good and infectious and probably a few other things that I can’t recall, but didn’t mention the folk thing (which is great because I probably would have passed). The friend was right. It’s good (maybe even great), incredibly infectious, and gave me a nice reprieve from the heavy stuff I tend to listen to on the regular.

11) Cave In - Final Transmission

I’m beyond thankful we got any new music from Cave In after Caleb passed. They owed us nothing, and had every right to walk away, but managed to rally to release a killer record that is heavy both sonically and conceptually, and still manages to give me chills despite being live demos recorded in a rehearsal room. There are few bands on the planet who’ve inspired me like Cave In have, and seeing them pull together to grieve and forge ahead to continue to build their legacy is even more inspiring. What a band.

10) Pedro The Lion - Phoenix

My favorite singer/songwriter of my generation decided to revive the project that made me a fan of his in the first place. That project put out a record for the first time in 15 years, and I had unreasonably high expectations for it. Phoenix delivered and then some. I remember sitting at my kitchen table, weeping into my cup of coffee the first time I heard Phoenix, the same way Control used to make it seem like the inside of the Thrice van was getting a little dusty during cross-country drives back in the early 00s. It blows my mind that David Bazan can be such a prolific artist, write such insanely powerful music, and seem incapable of writing a dud song. 

9) Coilguns - Watchwinders

This Swiss noise-rock band kicks unbelievable amounts of ass. Their Millenials LP made my favorites list last year, and when I heard they had a follow up coming out a little over a year later, my gut reaction was to worry they’d blow it with a new record that was either rushed and/or half-assed, or lose the plot and take a hard left turn and make something markedly un-Coilguns. They did neither. The made an absolute monster of an album, that was apparently written in the studio, and is full of live energy in rawness that is pretty tough to capture in a sterile atmosphere like a studio. Watchwinders dropped in late October, and if I’d had a bit more time with it, I could see it moving up to my Top 5. It’s that good. I find myself going back to it constantly.

8) Blessed - Salt

This record kinda defies description, but it reminds me of everything from Pile to Menomena to Interpol to La Dispute to Devo at times. As scatterbrained and incongruent as that might sound, I assure you it rules. It was in verrrry heavy rotation this year -- mostly for the utterly filthy drum groove on the final track. If you like your music catchy, but slathered in weird, this is definitely gonna do the thing for you. It’s an incredible record.

7) Herod - Sombre Dessein

I hadn’t heard of this band before they popped up on a Spotify playlist early this year, and when “Reckoning” hit, it absolutely flattened me. You know that nuclear apocalypse scene from Terminator 2? That’s what “Reckoning” did to me. It was undoubtedly my favorite ultra-heavy track of the year, and while it’s my favorite song on the record by a pretty large margin, the rest of Sombre Dessein kicks ass too. It’s 42 minutes of crushing heaviness that kinda sounds like a blend of Cult Of Luna, Meshuggah, and Gojira. Heavy. Pissed. Unrelenting. And Outstanding.

6) Pile - Green & Grey

Every time I try to describe Pile to someone I fail. On Wikipedia they’re described as “indie rock”, which ... sure, I suppose? There’s a little post-punk in there, a little post-rock, a little noise-rock, nods to classic rock (maybe?), a little of that southern magic that made Colour Revolt so great (but Pile’s from Boston so hmm ... ), some country even? Do you like weird guitars? Freakish musicians? Melancholic crooning? I dunno. It’s all over the place, but in the best ways possible. They’re a singular band, and so damn good. Green & Grey is stellar addition to a discography that is already full of incredible music ... even if the album cover gives makes me want to fold those blankets and put them away.

5) PUP - Morbid Stuff

Was this the year that PUP broke? Definitely seems like it, and rightfully so. Morbid Stuff is my favorite thing they’ve ever done, but I’ve absolutely loved everything they’ve ever put out, so that’s saying a lot. Per usual, it’s insanely infectious and anthemic without being traditionally poppy or relying on tropes to burrow into your skull and take up residence there. It’s uplifting musically, but kinda depressing lyrically, which does this weird push/pull thing in my brain that makes it impossible to stop listening to. The musicianship is fantastic, the guitar parts especially -- like the guitar line in “Scorpion Hill” wow. I really needed a record to fill the gaping void between the metal/sludge/noise and the ambient/downtempo electronica I listened to this year, and Morbid Stuff fit the bill perfectly.

4) Cult Of Luna - A Dawn To Fear

These guys belong on the Mount Rushmore of Post-Rock/Metal with Neurosis and Isis. Nobody has done it better than them over the past two decades, and A Dawn To Fear is arguably their best work to date. It, like any Cult Of Luna requires a great deal of patience, but man if they don’t make the wait worth it. They’re the masters of the slow build to an absolutely crushing climax, the dynamic shifts that leave you feeling like you got hit by a freight train, the nuanced instrumentation that tells a different story each time you listen to a certain section of a song. They’re absolute masters at their craft, and this record is them at their peak. 

3) Big|Brave - A Gaze Among Them

Another record that came out of nowhere to completely floor me. I hadn’t heard a single note from this band until a friend recommended I check out the opening track, “Muted Shifting Of Space”. I did ... and that plodding drum and bass pulse with dark, swirling, ethereal guitar swells/feedback and soaring vocals building into a huge release of sludgy, drop-tuned goodness checked off all the boxes for me. I was hooked. The atmosphere and dynamics Big|Brave have built their sound around give every song a cinematic feel -- if you close your eyes, can you see drone footage of landscapes too? . If you dig post-rock/metal that is experimental around the edges, moody, absurdly heavy, and has both feet firmly planted in sludge, this is a must-have record. 

2) Cloudkicker - Unending

If you’ve been following me on social media or reading these year-end lists for a while you’re probably pretty familiar with Cloudkicker by now because any time we get new music I can’t shut up about it and the record invariably ends up on this list. This instance is no different. Unending is the first LP we’ve gotten from Ben Sharp in four years, and it’s worth the wait and then some. He’s managed to pull from every era of CK and turn it into a masterpiece mash-up of styles without it ever feeling rehashed or uninspired. I’d go far as to say this tops Beacons and Fade for me, and comes awfully close to challenging Subsume for my favorite Cloudkicker record of all time and space. There’s soooo much progressive and djenty masturbatory metal garbage floating in the ether right now. Hearing the one of the kings do the damn thing properly is incredibly refreshing.

1) Town Portal - Of Violence

No surprise here. I’ve been crapping my pants about this band ever since my good friend Scott Evans shared their music with me a couple years ago. I’ve been unhealthily obsessed ever since. The magical progressive rock/metal these three guys are capable melts and massages my brain in a way few bands ever have. Of Violence is incredibly mathy without ever feeling awkward, it’s melodic without being conventional, it’s discordant without being abrasive, it’s heavy as shit without being overloaded with distortion, it’s progressive as hell without ever coming remotely close to devolving into a wankfest, and it’s damn near perfect in every way. Songwriting? Great. Tones? Phenomenal. Musicianship? Otherworldly. Execution? Flawless. Mix? Perfect. Replayability? (Not a word, but ... ) PUT THIS RECORD ON A GODDAMN LOOP AND NEVER TURN IT OFF. Can you tell I like it? You might too, so give it a listen. And if by chance you do not like it, please see a doctor. You’re broken.

OTHER STUFF I REALLY ENJOYED THIS YEAR

HEAVY JAMS

METZ - Automat

Buildings - Negative Sound

Helms Alee - Noctiluca

Minors - Abject Bodies

Periphery - Periphery 4: HAIL STAN

Employed To Serve - Eternal Forward Motion

Elizabeth Colour Wheel - Nocero

Defeater - S/T

Pelican - Nighttime Stories

Spotlights - Love And Decay

Great Falls - A Sense of Rest

Baroness - Gold & Grey

The End of the Ocean - -aire

Vous Autres - Champ du Sang

Brutus - Nest

Torche - Admission

Glose - The Second Best of Glose

Throes - In The Hands of an Angry God

Slipknot - We Are Not Your Kind

meth. - Mother of Red Light

SECT - Blood of the Beasts

Kublai Khan TX - Absolute

Seizures - Reverie of the Revolving Diamond

Dead Kiwis - Systematic Home Run

Norma Jean - All Hail

Refused - War Music

Chamber - Ripping / Pulling / Tearing

MIDRANGE JAMS

Jimmy Eat World - Surviving

Elbow - Giants of All Sizes

Raketkanon - RKTKN #3

Bad Religion - Age of Unreason

The Appleseed Cast - The Fleeting Light of Impermanence

DIIV - Deceiver

Idiot Pilot - Blue Blood

Microwave - Death Is A Warm Blanket

Low Dose - S/T

SWMRS - Berkeley’s On Fire

Self-Evident - Lost Inside The Machinery

B. Hamilton - Nothing and Nowhere

MELLOW JAMS

Trade Wind - Certain Freedoms

Square Peg Round Hole - Branches

Great Grandpa - Four of Arrows

Local Natives - Violet Street

Rhone - Leaving State

Shlohmo - The End 

Tycho - Weather

Bon Iver - i,i

Drowse - Light Mirror

Bonniesongs - Energetic Mind

Telefon Tel Aviv - Dreams Are Not Enough

GoGo Penguin - Ocean In A Drop

Bent Knee - You Know What They Mean

THE PODCAST QUEUE

The Deadcast (RIP) - sports, culture

Chapo Trap House - politics

The Rich Roll Podcast - health, wellness, endurance sports

Hang Up & Listen - sports

Effectively Wild - baseball

The Gist - current events

The Downbeat - drums, humor

To Live & Die In LA - true crime

FilmDrunk Frotcast - movies, culture, humor

The Modern Drummer Podcast with Mike & Mike - drums (duh)

The Trap Set - also drums

Song Exploder - songwriting

[swishandflickwit]

my weary heart has come to rest in yours (i found my way home) — 1/1

Summary: "I don't get it," Katara purses her lips, befuddlement clear in the furrow of her brows as she turns to him. "You'd think the Fire Nation would know such an important detail about their own prince."

The Gaang wonders why the Fire Nation doesn't seem to know much about Zuko, like maybe where his scar should be? It opens up a lot of questions that they want answered. Zuko, on the other hand, just wants to sleep.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 5.7k

Warnings:  unbeta’d, zuko-centric, post-ember island players, pre-sozin's comet, zuko gets a hug (as he deserves), non-canon compliant (more like canon adjacent lol), ember island

AN: working title: obligatory the gaang finds out about zuko's scar fic // alt title: a pocket of happiness for my children

title from: Ride Home by Ben&Ben

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

The atmosphere amongst the occupants of the beach house is sullen and cross following their night out in the theater. 

It isn’t lost on them that the edifice they have come to know as their solace belongs to the very monster man who brought upon their 'deaths'. The certainty that it had all been a fictionalized retelling was not enough to temper even the echo of the crowd’s rabid enthusiasm as they cheered the demise of the Avatar and his friends, nor erase the visceral image of the thespian Fire Lord standing before his adoring subjects—triumphant in his accomplishment of world domination. 

They step through the threshold of the tyrant’s once home. The air grows thicker in acerbity.

Zuko wants to snark at them, I told you they’d butcher it. If he had been the person he was even a month ago perhaps he would have, but the words wither in his throat. The scene of him engulfed in Azula’s flames, however fake or fantasized, sears across his mind on relentless repeat so that it is more selfish entreaty than consideration that has him abstaining from permeating the burdensome silence with his signature brand of pessimism—realism.

Dinner is an equally stilted affair, the only sound to be heard is the clob of chopsticks against wooden bowls and the crackling of the campfire solemnly harmonizing with the occasional sigh of dejection.

This, however, does not last too long.

He supposes he should have seen it coming. This is the boy who offered his friendship at the slightest show of goodness from him. The Avatar is as buoyant in his movements as his element. Though Zuko has come to learn when it comes to his disposition, it is more alacrity than air that has him flitting from one emotion to another, ensuring he never dallies in his worries for too long.

So when Aang bellows, "That's it!" as he discards his bowl with a careless flick, the remains of his uneaten congee spilling carelessly across the cobblestones of the courtyard, Zuko doesn't so much as blink at his latest antics.

He is more surprised at Sokka's indignant huff seeing as it is the first sound he's made in the past two hours (which is subsequently also the quietest he's ever witnessed the other boy to be in all the time he's known him) since they've arrived. 

"I would have eaten that," Sokka mutters irately.

(It is fitting however, that this should be the commentary to break his speechless strike.)

"I mean, what's the big deal? It was just a stupid play!” Aang exclaims emphatically, his voice cracking in his vehemence. “If anything, we should be laughing our butts off—that writer obviously didn't know what he was talking about!"

"Speak for yourself, Twinkletoes," Toph chuckles. "I happened to enjoy my portrayal. It was wrong, sure, but what did you expect from a patchwork of second-hand accounts combined with your regular sprinkling of Fire Nation propaganda? It was dumb, but that was the point. You all know the truth, don't you? Quit being such wet blankets about it already."

After having heard a similar iteration from Toph earlier, Zuko finds no offense from the jibe. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the rest of his companions, save Aang—though even his propensity for optimism appears ready to float away on the next gust of wind.

"At least you were in the play," Suki offers, good-naturedly, if not a bit feebly.

"I think I'd rather just not be in it altogether, if it means I'd have to be depicted like—" Katara shudders before grumbling, as if there truly are no words for that disaster of a parody, "...that."

Zuko wholeheartedly seconds her sentiments.

"Toph's right though!" Aang blusters on, and it all seems rather void but he admires the kid's pluck. "In fact, I think we should all take this opportunity to look back on our adventures—"

Zuko groans. Frankly, he doesn't want to think too much about what it said about him that the Avatar's evasion tactics had relied mostly on improvisation and sheer, dumb luck than calculated military strategy and cunning.

"Or maybe we should just not."

"But Zuko," Aang turns big, round, pleading eyes at him. "Aren't you at least a little curious about what really happened? Not even Toph's heard about half of what we were up to before she joined up with us!"

"You were idiots then, and you're only just a little bit now," Toph snarks. "What else is there to know?"

"Toph," warns Katara just as Sokka sputters, "Hey!"

"It might be good for morale," Suki suggests gently. "I know I could use a pick-me-up."

Zuko gets along with Suki—at least, as well as he is able to get along with anyone. Still, he can't help but shoot her a betrayed glance following her pronouncement. Zuko just wants to sleep, but he should have known better. The minute he starts wanting things is usually the moment they float out of reach.

Suki smiles back unrepentantly, so he sighs in resignation and straps himself down for a long night of reliving his failures (again) and listening to their tales.

"I am a pretty gifted storyteller," Sokka puffs his chest then starts stroking oddly at his face, particularly the area at the sides of his mouth.

Okay? he ponders with a large heaping of confusion.

"That's the spirit, Sokka!" Aang exclaims, but before Sokka can thank him much less get a word in, Aang launches into the story of how the Water Tribe siblings actually found him. Unsurprisingly, it involves less tears—"By which Sokka means no tears!"—and an infuriated Katara and that, he can believe.

Zuko doesn't anticipate being spoken to for the rest of the night. At best, he is a mere purveyor of their communal fire. At worst, an engaged and enthusiastic reaction to the boys' avid narration will be expected of him. And as socially inept as he may be, he has enough tact to refrain from volunteering his side of the events. Even with the amends he's made, he hardly thinks it would encourage rapport to rhapsodize about a time they had been on separate sides at all, no matter how early it had been in their acquaintance. Zuko would (very much) like to retire at some point in the evening without having to worry about suffocating in his sleep.

(He hasn't had that concern for two weeks now, it was practically a new record.)

So imagine his surprise when the focus shifts to him. Toph, much to his mortification, recounts his outburst at being told by a child decked out in derisory Avatar robes (that had to be illegal, right?) that the scar on his 'Prince Zuko costume' was on the wrong side.

"I don't get it," Katara purses her lips, befuddlement clear in the furrow of her brows as she turns to him. "You'd think the Fire Nation would know such an important detail about their own prince."

"Yeah, Sparky." Toph stomps over from the opposite side of their circle to plop down beside him with all the grace of a landslide. "I didn't even know you had a scar until tonight!" She pokes aimlessly at his right cheek. "What gives?"

He stares at her agog before realizing she has no way of deciphering his countenance. So, he responds by addressing Katara's comment instead.

"I don't see why they would," he shrugs. "I'm sure by the time they heard, if they heard about it at all, I had long been banished."

"I'm confused," Aang rubs his head contemplatively. "If you're banished, what's with all the wanted posters? I thought being banished meant you had to stay away, but then they also want to imprison you? You're their prince, it doesn't make sense!"

"Come to think of it," Suki muses, "Why were you banished in the first place?"

"Hold up," Sokka did that thing where he stroked the sides of his face again—seriously, what was up with that?—"I've always wondered, how come you were branded a traitor way before you even joined us? Reading your poster wasn't exactly at the top of our to-do list."

Katara interjects with, "And what were you doing so far out in the South Pole that day we found Aang, anyway?" while Toph reminds him, "Plus, that still doesn't explain why your people don't seem to know anything about you or your scar." 

A headache begins forming at his temples from the barrage of questions. He sighs in vexation before regarding Katara.

"Isn't it obvious? What did you think I was doing? I wasn't exactly sailing around for a vacation destination." Then lowly, somberly, at Toph, "And they haven't been my people," he rubs subconsciously at his marred flesh—mind flitting to that war room—always, always there—and to a whole division of loyal soldiers that in the end, he arrogantly assumed he could defend yet ultimately failed to protect. "Not for a long time."

There is silence in the wake of his disclosure, punctuated by the crackle of the tinder as it is disturbed by the gale gusting in from the beach, and an unnameable terseness that fills the air.

"Why—" he's not sure why he whispers, but it feels appropriate given their stricken expressions. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Suki ultimately is the one to brave breaking the taut stillness, staring at him with purpose.

"Zuko, when—who—" she stutters with what he speculates is an uncharacteristic timidity. That is until she gathers herself with a deep breath, the query crystallizing on her exhalation.

"How did you get your scar?"

It occurs to him, belatedly, that he may have said too much.

"I don't see how it matters," he retorts, hoping the curtness in his delivery puts an end to this inquisition.

But Zuko never did have much luck getting what he wanted.

(No, he broods with a bitterness he wishes he didn't harbor so much, Azula made sure of that.)

"We don't want to upset you—"

"So don't."

Undeterred, Katara finishes in tonalities as soothing as the morning tide, "But it helps to talk about things that might have hurt you."

Around him, the pressure builds. A deadly gas awaiting a fuse.

"Oh, 'it helps,' does it?" he snarls, rage thrumming like wildfire in his veins—igniting his body, and detonating through his next words. "And who exactly does it help, huh? You sure it's my best interests you have at heart? Or—I know! You wanna know my weaknesses, keep the big, bad fire bender on a leash!" He throws his head back, some facsimile of a laugh escaping his lips. "Unless, of course, you're just saying that to satisfy your insatiable need to mother everyone."

Boom.

"Please, I haven't had a mother in years," and he hates it, he hates how it is his voice now that breaks and his body wilts as the violent cloud of his fury dissipates—all the rancorous contention leaking out of him. "I don't need your ridicule or your pity. I've been fine on my own."

And this is the moment he loses everything, he is convinced. Because this is what Zuko does, and what he is best at. His fingers are but sieves from which good things slip. All of him is a razor blade destined to pierce any that would dare come close. He is downfall personified, he is a plague.

This is how it should be, he reasons, cut him now as they would a festering infection.

(As his father, his sister, his mother, would.)

For broken things beget broken things, and they deserve better than to have him bring ruin upon them all.

But then a hand—hands—ground him, keep him rooted, keep him still.

"Well then," Sokka avers, with his special brand of genial but no less poignant solemnity. "It's a good thing we aren't in the business of dishing out pity. Isn't that right, gang?" He clasps his right shoulder, the gesture teeming with meaning though Zuko is the last person to decode it.

"Ridicule, on the other hand…" Toph snickers. Katara sends her an affronted glare before realizing the futility of such an action. She sighs her discontent instead, before returning her attention to him.

"And you're not anymore," Katara says with an earnestness that confounds Zuko to discover is directed at him. "On your own, that is."

"I don't understand," and truly he doesn't. He knows it is not their way to spill blood (barring Katara's commimation during his early days in the Western Air Temple, which was more than fair), but this is the first he's lost his temper in front of them for no valid reason. His choleric speech had their bonfire flaring with every harsh and erratic breath he expelled, sure signs of his waning control. "Aren't you going to kick me out? At least put me in chains!"

Katara's hand joins Sokka's on his opposite side as she approaches him from behind. He has to crane his neck to ascertain her aghast mien. "For what? For being angry? For talking out of turn?"

(It always boils down to this, doesn't it? Agni, why couldn't he ever just keep his mouth shut for once in his miserable life?)

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, because he is and he doesn't know what the right thing to do or say is.

"I know," Katara smiles, but there is something desolate in the curl of her lips. "You always are," she sighs. "I'm sorry, too."

Her thumb brushes back and forth across the nape of his neck and he would have started at the unfamiliar touch if her apology hadn't already caught him off guard. In truth, this entire night has been an anomaly with how quickly they all have made his head spin in the last few minutes alone.

"You're sorry?" he gapes, genuine bafflement coloring his articulation. "Why?"

"For pushing you to talk about what I should have known was a sensitive topic." It's her turn to squeeze his shoulder. "I really am sorry."

"There's nothing to forgive," he stammers, for there honestly isn't. He's still trying to get over the fact he received an apology, let alone that anyone sought a dispension of forgiveness. From him.

"Katara's maternal instincts and overbearing need to talk about one's feelings can be annoying. Believe me, I know."

"Gee. Thanks, Toph," Katara deadpans.

"But she's right," Toph's roughened hands encircle his left forearm. Compared to the siblings, her grip is near painful, as if to dig in her point. "Bottling it up, burying your emotions… it'll only hurt you more."

"But it doesn't hurt," he insists, stubbornly ignoring the waver in his importunity as his palm spans the breadth of his ragged scar. "It doesn't."

"We're not talking about the hurt there," Katara grazes cool fingers from his back to his front, before placing it prostrate and precise. "We're talking about the one here."

Right atop his heart.

"The monks have a saying," Aang has since nestled on his knees in front of Zuko. Without him noticing, their entire circle has gotten closer so that he is at the center—warm bodies surrounding him from all sides, little planets orbiting the sun.

"Holding onto anger is a lot like holding onto hot coals that you mean to throw at someone else. In the end, you're the one who gets burned."

"What do you want from me?" he questions wearily though he knows the answer.

"Nothing," Katara assuages. "Nothing you aren't willing to give."

"And we know you're a fire bender, buddy, but don't you think a fire shared is a village warmed?" Sokka grins encouragingly before sobering. "Maybe you don't want to, but I think you may need this. You've got all this—this—pent-up frustration inside you. I can't believe we never noticed it before, it's practically oozing out of you! Like pus from a boil!"

Zuko grimaces. "Thanks, Sokka."

Unfazed, he goes on. "Don't tell me you've had someone to talk about this with. I can't imagine you and Azula sitting round a campfire having a heart-to-heart."

You'd be surprised, Zuko thinks, if that night of confessions at the beachside counted at all.

"There's still so much we don't know about you," Aang adds. "We just want to understand."

"But, why?" he blurts, frustration mounting again like a forest fire. He is desperate to fathom their persistence, to decipher the motives behind their inexplicably lambent eyes, their magnanimous looks and their delicate tones. 

"Because we're your friends, Zuko," Suki murmurs while everyone makes their approval known one way or another. "Sharing burdens is kinda what we do."

Oh, he thinks dumbly, Oh.

"It doesn't make for a pleasant bedtime story," he states with an almost believable clinical detachment, steadfastly ignoring the pounding of his heart at her proclamation of friendship. "And it's heavy. This is a load I wouldn't wish on anyone."

"All the better," Katara chirps, settling with her knees aside behind him, "that there's five of us then, right?"

Perhaps it is the security found amongst the shadows of the eventide that loosens his tongue. Perhaps it is that Zuko is just too exhausted, figuring that the fastest way to reach his bed is to simply not argue. It might even be the contentment that Aang and Sokka's adage brings him, the closest taste of home he's had since his separation from the person whom he now knows, without question, he loves most in this world. Or maybe it is simply time , here, on this island, the ghost of dual timbres wisened with age—and it can help you understand yourselves—ringing in his ears. And so beneath a collective scrutiny of ingrained amity and determined tolerance and encouragement and just… goodness.

He begins his tale.

He speaks until his already hoarse voice grows even hoarser, the words clumsy and stilted on his tongue, unused as he is to telling his story—along with the extensive range of sensations that come with it, and the illimitable memories it incites within him, some sentimental while others he would rather forget altogether. 

He speaks of a mother's love lending him both strength and weakness, of how it should have been enough yet still could never outweigh his longing for the love of a father who scorns him, of a sister he adored until she, too, eventually saw him as nothing more than a hindrance, then an enemy. He speaks of an uncle whose favor brought him places he knew he ought to be but secretly did not think he deserved, of advice dispensed wisely and discarded carelessly, of a compassion that flamed so bright within him a King saw it as too untamable to remain, and so he snuffed it out with a fiery hand to his face. He spoke of lonely years with nothing but sky and sea and the musings of an old man over tea as his only company, of a path he knew deep down had been aimless yet it was all he could hold on to because it was a reminder that he was still real.

"Three years," Suki mouths, devastation written so plainly upon her profile Zuko couldn't bear to look at her. "He had you chasing a ghost for three years."

"So… so what you said… about losing your honor?" Katara mutters wetly, and if that isn't evidence enough of her sorrow then surely, the unceasingly dampening spots between his shoulder blades are.

He winces at the flashback her inquest incites, shaking his head in internal, forlorn reproach. His shame galvanizes him enough to want to explicate his reasonings out loud, for if there is absolution to be found in his ramblings then all the more reason to try.

"For so long, I fooled myself into believing that finding the Avatar meant regaining my honor. It never occurred to me until recently that honor wasn't something that could be taken away from you. It's something you earn for yourself," he sighs despondently. "Some days though, it wasn't even about honor—I just wanted to go home. But more than anything, my father led me to believe that if I captured you then I would finally, finally have his approval—his love," he shakes his head before releasing a hollow chuckle. "What a stupid thought."

"No, no it wasn't stupid!" Toph exclaims. "It's a parent's job to love their kid. And even then it's not supposed to be conditional!"

"I can't believe he would—that he'd bur—" Aang cuts himself off with a jerk, as if the word, burn, is a most foul curse that would be invoked at the slightest whisp. Zuko doesn't dissuade him. There was a time when he felt the same way, too.

"His own son," Aang finishes dazedly, his face a river of tears, a torrent with no signs of abating.

"I'm sorry," Zuko tries again, a little alarmed now at the frequency of watery displays before him. "I didn't mean to make you sad. Oh," in his panic, he thumbs impetuously at the stray droplets coursing down the arch of Toph's cheeks. In this light, she looks exactly her age, so young and slight, yet so contrary to what he knows of the mighty and unflappable earth bender. A pang goes through his chest that he could ever be cause for her melancholy, for any of theirs. "Please don't cry."

"You first," Toph replies, inconceivably subdued and gentle as she reaches up to frame his face. Zuko holds his breath when he assumes she will palm at his scar, which she does. But there is no judgement there, only indubitable acceptance, and comfort, as she brushes roughly at the tears he didn't even know he's shed.

"Oh," he repeats, not for the first, and certainly not for the last, time tonight.

Suki sniffs. "He doesn’t deserve you."

Sokka abruptly declares in hard intonations, "I'm gonna kill him—" 

Before he can completely swear his intent, the water in the fountain behind them solidifies into menacingly pointy shards while the earth underneath them trembles dangerously.

"Get in line," Katara hisses darkly at the same time Toph grunts, "Not if I get to him first!"

Sokka's eyes are red-rimmed and gleaming. Still, he announces with a fair amount of acid in his inflection, "I know how you feel about this Aang, but you better hold me back when the time comes cause if I get my hands on that crazy, stupid, son-of-a—"

Zuko lurches forward to cover Aang's ears.

"Sokka!"

It seems the contact is all the incentive Aang needs to throw his arms around Zuko. The fire bender isn't expecting the extra ninety pounds and for all four, gangly limbs to wrap around him like a pentapus so he has no choice but to fall back to accommodate the extra weight, his head landing on Katara's lap as Aang does his utmost to actually meld himself onto his body. 

"Slothdog pile?" Toph asks unnecessarily and with a gargantuan amount of glee that the shift in mood gives him whiplash. "No way I'm not getting in on this!"

Toph burrows her head onto his hip, knocking Aang's leg aside as she commandeers Zuko's own left leg like a body pillow. It appears to be all the permission everyone else has been seeking as well, for like dominoes they begin falling into place around him. Katara tucks his head a little more securely on her thigh before leaning her upper body against the lip of the fountain at her back while Suki lists against Sokka who leans his head onto Zuko's right shoulder. 

"What—what's happening right now?" he doesn't want to appear too scandalized but he is at a loss for what to do with his limbs, outstretched as they are on either side of him. The Royal family didn't do touch, much less hug. The gesture became even more scarce when his mother… when she was gone, and though his uncle was a lot more free with his affections, it still hadn't warranted familiarity. His muscles contract at the overwhelming amount of contact.

"I wouldn't think too hard." Above him, there are traces of moisture on her visage but Katara chuckles, fond and ebullient now, much to his relief. "Just go with the flow."

"Says the water bender to the fire bender," he bites back weakly, which only fuels Katara's amusement.

Aang fastens his hold around the prince's torso, and he tenses even more.

"You know your dad's wrong, right, Zuko?"

"About what?" he quips sarcastically, but is surprised by the ardency in their antiphon.

"About everything," Aang counters fiercely. "Like, yeah, you chased us all over the world but you never aimed to kill!"

With his lineage it feels like a low bar but he nods his acknowledgement and his gratitude.

"You didn't save me from the pirates, but you kept them from… touching me," her tone is as algid as the glaciers of her homeland, but the rattle of Katara's bones is so prominent that he shakes along with her. "It could have gone a lot worse."

"I wouldn't do you that dishonor," he whispers brokenly, sick at the scenarios he can so acutely guess is conquering her imagination, it's own horrific play dancing along her features.

"I know," she reciprocates, just as gravely, "I know that now."

"You kept your promise. You could have come back, razed our village—"

"And mine," Suki joins Sokka.

"But you didn't."

He frowns. "Those days, my word was the only currency I had that was worth trading." 

He doesn't like how they make it—him—sound. Every decent deed he had fulfilled in pursuit of the Avatar was done so as a courtesy mostly to himself. If he was to regain his honor, he had to act with as much honor as his, admittedly dastardly-to-begin-with, mission could provide. Now, Zuko isn't exactly an authority—even on his good days—on altruism but he could at least recognize that in those moments, any clemency administered had been the right thing to do.

"Anyone would have done the same," he defends faintly, then immediately wishes he could take it back when Katara growls.

"No, Zuko," she clenches quivering fingers around the ubiquitous pendant adorning her neck. "No, they wouldn't."

"It's more than that, though," Aang asserts imploringly. "It's just you. It's so obvious, how did we ever not see it before now? It's who you are," he takes a deep breath, the wisdom of a thousand others before him laying siege in his every movement, every syllable. "And who you are is the most honorable guy we know."

He does a double-take.

"You… you really think that?" He shakes his head in frantic incredulity, blood roaring like a storm through his veins. "All of you?"

He looks at each of them in bewilderment—lingers especially on Aang, at the roundness of his cheeks that should be testament to his naiveté yet so contrary to the maturity shadowing his bearing—as if he can divine their rationale through sight alone. He doubts them, and it makes him feel older than sixteen, his cynicism a pallium shackled to his shoulders. But there is a chorus of devout agreeance, Aang's hope a living, tangible thing that he gives to Zuko freely. He fumbles. He doesn't trust the fervor with which it sets him aglow (metaphorically and physically, it would seem, as Sokka comments mildly, "Wow, you're like a heated blanket with how warm you are. Hey, why didn't we think of doing this before?"), but Zuko—even with his infinite skepticism—cannot find it in his fractured heart to reject it.

"Zuko?" Aang prompts, raising his head so he can catch his eye, gray and gold colliding in an affable display of security. "You believe us, don't you?"

"Yeah," Zuko reassures, albeit timorously. He takes a bracing, meditative breath before releasing it, sinking into the downy cosset of their affections as he turns his head to Katara's stomach, lowers his arms to clutch Suki and Sokka closer, bundles Aang on his chest with his heated breath, and secures Toph to his side with a hand to her back. Then, stronger, "Yeah, I guess I do."

When he decided to share his tumultuous past, he thought that he might shatter and they would rejoice at the gravity of his turmoil. But he should have known better than to assume his friends—and how marvelous a notion, to think that he of all people would have a group he is honored to name as such his own—will let him. He knows Suki had called themselves so earlier, but he doesn't quite believe it. Not until now.

"We won't let him touch you again."

It is said through a yawn as one by one, they nod off, until only Zuko and Katara are left to drift close to the edge of lethargy. She strokes tenderly at his hair, so reminiscent of his mother that he feels a familiar burning in his eyes and a lump at the back of his throat once more, all from the simple motion—or so he tells himself.

"Sleep, Zuko," she sweeps away the strands at his forehead before impressing upon it a tender kiss. "No one will hurt you. Not anymore, not ever."

Zuko can take care of himself. The way he's brought up, he's had to. Beyond that, they are at the very front lines of a war—any day, any second, could mean the last for them and they would have no way of knowing until it is upon them, so Katara's asseveration should not have brought him the relief it did. If anything, he should have denied it with the same dose of pessimism realism he approaches most everything in his life. 

But perhaps, just this once, he will allow himself the privilege of their refuge. He will allow himself to believe in the vehemency of their promise.

I just wanted to go home, he had said. And this is not a place he pictured himself ever being in, trivialized to a mere furnace, yet strangely he finds he does not mind it (not that he would ever divulge this forthright), not even a little bit. The struggle and strife of his history, of his present, are unchanged, but an effervescence envelops him in spite of the five bodies weighing him down.

Maybe even because of them.

He closes his eyes when Katara has another go at running her fingers through his hair. He can almost conjure the ghost of his mother's smile when she used to employ the same tactics to lull him to slumber. He thinks of his uncle, mistifying and genteel and terrifying and loving all at once, sitting vigil at his bedside when fever and delirium took him during those early days of recovery, and long after then, whether or not he admitted to his desire for him to stay. He compares this house and everything it represents—a relic to his family's happiness—to this strangely colorful and caring mismatch of a rugged group that someway, somehow, just manages to fit perfectly into his arms. He tightens his embrace, and it suddenly hits him.

He supposes home was something he could carry with him all along.

"Sleep," Katara hums.

And so he does.

-//////-

Later, much later, when the power from the comet has receded to the faintest of throbs, and his sister is sedated and heavily guarded while his father is in chains at the bottom of the most isolated prison in the Fire Nation, their fates to be decided in the coming weeks by a tribunal composed of the remaining leaders from all nations—when he retires to his room in lieu of that of the Fire Lord's (despite the mantle and all it entails, both the sordid and the noble, falling solely onto his shoulders), and he sports yet another scar, a burn, that he will bear just as proudly as the first and more fiercely than even his eminent title, for there was no higher honor than protecting a friend—when his uncle has resumed his seat, snoring soundly and deservedly on an armchair at the side of his vast four-poster, always at his side as if they had never parted for even one second, and he is sandwiched between his two most favorite twelve-year olds in the world, Toph as unmindful of his injury as one would expect her to be when she plants her sleep-dead body right atop his chest, and Aang entirely all too much, curled into a ball that hardly breaches his space, apart from his head as he dozes lightly on his shoulder—when Sokka and Suki are passed out at the foot of his bed, his leg a pillow for their weary heads and their bodies as tangled onto each other despite Sokka's own bandaged leg (like the kindred souls he knows them to be, like magnets helpless against each other's pull), and Katara has expelled the last of her curative waters on him, much to his insistence that he doesn't need it any longer, before she sinks into the only unoccupied space above him on his bed—when they lie there in the first quiet they've achieved since they all adjourned here, their heads touching and their breathing in sync—he opens his eyes.

"You did it, Zuko," Katara's voice is a susurrant trill tinged with exaltation and pride. "You're home."

As he does then, he does again now, and tightens his hold—a hand to steady Aang's lolling head, another at Toph's back to still her fitful body, his leg pushing to burrow the blanket further into Suki's side, and the fireplace flaring with his breath to heat the figures he cannot reach. The difference in this embrace, however, is in the absence of doubt and the lack of fear, replaced with all the affluence of his adoration—unhindered and abounding.

"Yeah."

It is his turn to press a kiss onto her forehead, lips moving tired but no less grateful and indulgent. 

Cradled in the warmth of everyone he loves and cares about, he is quite inclined to agree.

"I am home."

-//////-

AN: "Holding on to anger is like grasping on hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets hurt." —Buddha

i feel like you aren't part of the atla fandom and the zuko nation until you crank out one of these lmao. listen, listen, the beach gets cold at night so i just always picture these kids a pile of tired, sleeping limbs at the end of every day and all huddling into the only free source of heat, no fire required. let me live in this world.

come say hi to me!

[theorynexus]

The 30th One: In Which ROMANCE Is Discussed

That is an interesting effect that I have not heard of happening in real life~

This is definitely a conversation that I thought they’d have had before, but I guess those three just like repeating stuff, based on what’s been said before. I am not opposed to some useful exposition to the audience about things that we have missed for the sake of also demonstrating that Jade is constantly pushing for the development of their romance, which had been said but not shown, earlier~

And yet trolls have been talking about this with humans nearly as far back as their formal reveal (I don’t want to pinpoint the exact moment it began, considering all the skipping around from different temporal perspectives that was going around at the time), and humans in real life have been discussing troll romance+using it as a way to discuss romance in other series/franchises from nearly the point it was properly explained. Be a big boy, Karkat, and don’t treat these guys as if they don’t already know possibly far too much about the topic. (Not to mention the fact that I’m sure that you know that they know about it, you derp head!)

I do quite appreciate the idea of them being special enough to each other that it goes beyond the norms and/or labels of traditional romance in either culture, considering the lore relating to the Ancestor Trolls (particularly the Signless, and his own suppose matesprit). Karkat being Dave’s Karkat, and Dave being Karkat’s Dave sort of works toward that logic being fulfilled. On the other hand, I feel somewhat conflicted insofar as this could suggest that Dave still has a bit in the way of hangups concerning perceived “homosexual behavior,” which I thought that he had gotten over by this point. As such, this could be interpreted as character regression.   I, personally, think that it seems pretty natural: while a character might have epiphanies, sometimes it is hard to put what one mentally realizes at one point into practice, and therefor to so cement it in one’s mind and being. It’s also quite rational if one or both of them feared potentially hurting their relationship by pushing things too far.  Most importantly, though: they don’t have to push things into a more physical direction if they don’t have to. Relationships between loving and consenting individuals don’t necessarily have to be restricted/oriented to societal norms/expectations. If they are fine with bonding in other ways, then that is fine. Jade does not necessarily overstep by bringing up these sorts of questions, though, especially considering what she’s feeling, and how things are between them. It makes a great deal of sense for someone in her situation to question and see if things can be properly laid out/codified/disambiguated. 

I do like that Karkat brings that line of thought up. Also, I would just like to say: friendship does not necessarily need to stop at the borders of romance. Romantic partners, optimally, should have been friends to begin with, and that friendship should continue after the beginning of a relationship that extends into romantic territory. (On a related note: Before the scientific drives that humans began exhibiting in earnest around the mid 1800s took hold, friendships had a capacity to be much deeper than they often are today, as well, to the point that it was quite normal and even expected that a person would have a bond deeper than the one that would be shared with one’s sexual partner [read: husband/wife, in most circumstances, for having lovers outside of marriage was not anywhere near as accepted at the time, with the exception of kings/queens and perhaps the higher tiers of nobility-- because it pays to be powerful, I guess] with one or more of the dearest companions that one possessed. It is honestly sort of a shame that sexual drives and fulfilling them have become such a big part of modern culture. Honestly, that may detract from the formation of deeper and more fulfilling relationships.) Honestly, I really do understand Karkat’s frustration, here. He comes from a society where intimate relationships are not related to or restricted by gender/sex at all, so it remaining a bit confusing that the concept of “gay” keeps being brought up (even if it does not necessarily persist as something that is relevant on that planet; I am not certain: it’s left as ambiguous whether this is sortof a hang-up that Jade has, or if it continues to be used in society at large) is something to be expected.  I’m sure that part of the reason they are “Dave and Karkat” is as a sort of compromise. The two of them likely don’t want to have to deal with labeling what they are, in order to avoid the perceived weird interactions between human and troll notions of romance.

Oh, she was still wearing glasses. For some reason, “lenses” made me think of contact lenses. Must be a bit too early in the morning. 

Hey, you can have a whole lot of fun staying in. Regardless:  I guess I sortof understand what Jade means, there. She wanted to potentially experience what it might be like, even if she couldn’t get Karkat and Dave to make the dive with her. It makes it out like she was using the two chess people as stand-ins, which is rather cruel, honestly, but at the same time, I know that people who are desperate can potentially do things that otherwise might not seem too rational (such as pursuing a relationship outside of the one she really wants). It’s not too crazy, and I’m quite surprised that Karkat seems surprised by this. I guess maybe he convinced himself that that meant Jade had given up, for a while.

I do wonder if this is meant to suggest if Karkat is entirely uncomfortable with a polyamorous relationship (which could be a little weird to some extent, considering a troll being involved in one is honestly rather normal, though I guess it’s not necessarily super common, given the difficulties in balancing relationships that were associated with such an arrangement?), or if it’s just that he’s worried that Jade is a bit too flaky, and needs more experience being in a stable relationship before he’s comfortable “risking things” by including her. ... Oh, and Dave using flash step to dodge his wrist being grabbed was pretty hilarious.

I thought the expected limit was four. Hmm.  That said: accidentally, huh?  Heh. I wonder how much this is intended as continued flirtation on Jade’s part. I’m sure she understands the concepts of kismesisitude quite well enough to put that kind of effort/pressure into things (particularly under the lens that she seems to be interpreting the two of them as being flushed, rather than pale in relations, meaning that having a third person as a pitched partner could be considered optimal, assuming a set of three was all that was included, here).

A very valid question!   And also one that is very funny to see the reaction to.

***laughs hysterically***    (On a random note:  Dog hormones were previously mentioned as being a thing that she deals with.  This makes me question if she is in fact in heat right at the moment... which is a really weird thing to be bringing up in analysis of someone who at least used to be a human being, but, really, is made somewhat necessary here. I don’t even know how to begin properly guessing whether or not that’s the case, though, so I guess this is probably about where the inquiry must stop: wondering.)

This is an extremely strange and silly conversation. ***wonders if this is about to cause mention of the Sufferer, or if the obvious comparison and possible in-story inspiration for/with Jesus is going to be ignored***

***begins to laugh like Karkat, especially as a result of the Problem Sleuth reference***

[lou-bonfightme]

Catnapped 2: This Time, It’s Purrsonal || Part Six: If You Do a Bad Thing for a Good Reason, Is it Still Bad? || [Merou]

In which Merida and Toulouse infiltrate the Order Headquarters...[takes place: February 4, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- blood, gore, violence] 

MERIDA:  They arrived in London early in the morning, shifting back into their human forms in a railway park, dressing quickly in the same clothes they wore the day previous. It was icy, frost on the tracks and crunched on the ground under Merida’s boots. It bit at her fingers, and for the first half hour, Merida found this cold odd and her body’s reaction to it odd, so used to the fur and thick skin of the wolf’s body. This human vulnerability followed Merida as they started walking deeper into the city, when they arrived at the first tube station, when the tube took them underground and the forest was truly far away now, feelin’ like a dream of the wolf’s that ached in Merida, still. It didn’t like the jostle of the cars. The people. The smells-- so many smells, the city like a massive garbage heap to the wolf and to Merida too. 

But then, she’d always hated London. Comin’ here those few times a year always put a bad taste in her mouth. It wasn’t just how crowded and dirty everything was, ‘course. It had been the tight braids in Merida’s hair that gave her a bloody headache before she ever arrived in the headquarters. And the corsets she’d have to wear and the damn hoop skirt and the make-up smeared on her face like she was a circus clown. London meant all those things to Merida. It meant plastic, metal, chemical-- Merida dipped into a vat of it. 

This time would be quite different in multiple ways, rather obvious to mention. If she left with red on her lip this time, it’d not be from her mother’s lipstick. 

One of those differences was that Merida couldn’t get into the Order the same way as well. Usually, they ended up at one of the homes of the Order members who lived in London, where they’d wash, change, and then enter through a secret passageway to the underground. 

This time though, Merida kept an eye on the stops on the tube, and then grabbed Lou’s wrist when she saw the one marked in her Da’s journal.

“Here,” she instructed. They hopped off the tube and Merida looked around. Still early in the morning, there weren’t many people up still. Mostly drunks from last night and that would make this all much easier since it meant no questions. When she was certain no one was looking, she hopped down onto the tracks and she and Lou slipped into the gray shadows, like they were rats.

“Stay close!” 

She broke into a quick jog, nearly a run. Merida had been up for hours at this point, but it didn’t feel like it. Her heart was keeping pace. The beast in her was alert, letting Merida use her eyes to cut through the dark. Her ears rang with the silence as they listened for the tell-tale signs of approaching cars, and her nostrils flared when she smelled the rats skittering along beside them, but she kept her focus, muttering quietly to herself until…

“Here.” Merida stopped short, panting. She bent down, feeling around the stone of the wall. A few of the blocks loosened. Merida grinned and looked at Lou--forgetting, temporarily, that they weren’t friends, that this wasn’t one of Merida’s private escapades. She was no mischeivous Order girl anymore. The rules she was breaking now, she broke as an enemy. 

But for that first second, it didn’t feel like it at all. It felt like Merida was winnin’ again. I found it, Da. Got here all on me own. Think I’m worthy yet? 

Merida wiggled the stone out, one, then another, stacking them on top of each other until there was a narrow tunnel, big enough for them to enter if they kneeled down. They’d crawl through here and then it’d expand, and there’d be a ladder down.

Merida told all of this to Lou now. “Soon as we get down that ladder, there will be a guard. I’m hopin’ it’ll be just one, this entrance isn’t used for anythin’ anymore. I’ll disarm him, you make sure the tunnel is clear, aye?” 

TOULOUSE: They were wearing the same clothes they’d been wearing yesterday.

Never in Toulouse’s life.

(Alright, that wasn’t exactly true, considering when Lou’s depression laid down heavy on his shoulders and pushed him into the mattress, he often wore the same outfit for days at a time. However, this was in the privacy of his own home and was different.)

Never in Toulouse’s life.

Which, honestly, summed up the adventure down to the tunnel which they were now peering into. Never in Toulouse’s life had he gone on any sort of adventure. Certainly not of his own free will. Swynlake often attempted to force him to participate in adventures, but he never did much in those stupid dreams, except date ill-advised people. Which was less of an adventure and more of a very cruel prank of the town.

He had never in his life hopped onto a train track and gone down those long, dark tunnels. There was no thrill about it for him. He sneered as he stepped in a puddle of god-knows-what (not even his wolf could discern, the smells too overwhelming and all over the place.) This was breaking the law, something Lou tried not to do, as the son of a politician who made laws. Who had instilled in him the civic responsibility sense of being a decent human who followed the rules of society. He did not like the idea of Merida pulling rocks out of the wall and sent a glance towards the arched ceiling, half-worrying that the whole thing was going to collapse down on top of them now that part of its structure had been removed.

Lou did not smile at her as she grinned like a buffoon over her shoulder at him.

If anything, he looked like a wet cat. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was frowning deeply. Not so much at Merida herself but just—the everything of his current predicament.

“D’accord,” Lou responded to his instructions with a nod of his head. That was something he could do at least. He waited for Merida to begin making her way down the tunnel before sighing dramatically, dropping his arms from across his chest and carefully picking his way behind her. For a moment, he wished their telepathy extended into their human forms, so that he could say: I cannot believe you are making me crawl through a sewage pipe. Even though it was not a sewage pipe and was actually rather dry.

Instead, he stewed silently and was glad when there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. He watched as Merida disappeared down the ladder, then waited a moment before following her over. He peaked out into the mostly empty hallway to get his bearings and was that—the flickering of candlelight?

Were there actual torches lit?

Sacre bleu, this Order was legitimately insane.

MERIDA:  Merida ducked down and started their descent. 

Her heart was calm, her movements swift and graceful-- a grace that had little to do with the wolf and everything to do with the woman, who had to learn how to make herself invisible, because that was the way of this world. It was ironic that this invisibility helped Merida in ways the Order would never have endorsed-- helped her sneak place to place, helped her swipe her father’s journals, helped her find places to hide and practice. So even now, in this world, she belonged only to the parts that were made for the likes of her. The tunnels they would be taking proved that. They hugged the edges of the headquarters, squeezed in between the wide, elaborately decorated, generously lit hallways that Lou and Merida would probably (if all went well) never see. These were paths that were meant to be hidden. These were paths for servants. These were paths for the women. 

Merida felt nothing but a deep sense of satisfaction as she used those tunnels now, just as she had always used the Order’s ignorance. She dropped from the ladder with barely a sound and found not even a single guard here. She smirked. Of course not. Of course they would overestimate themselves. And underestimate her.

She would not do the same. As Lou went down one end of the hall, Merida tracked down the other, just enough to confirm that there were no guards. She turned around and jogged to meet him at the other end. Their eyes met. Lou looked bewildered, his nose scrunching. Perhaps at the smell. Perhaps at something else. 

She’d laugh at that expression if they had time. But the quicker they did this, the better.

Merida motioned with her hand and they rounded the corner. She hurried down the hall with a hand on her belt, where her dagger rested. Their footsteps shuffled, the only sound until--

Merida reached back and smacked her hand on Lou’s chest.

Footsteps. Heavy. Wearing boots, Merida figured. She looked back at Lou, held a finger to her lips, then held up a hand in a motion that meant, Stay. 

And then Merida darted around the corner.

SMASH! The clatter of metal rippled through the tunnels. A man yelped. His cry echoed too, but it was just one moment-- one moment and then it was silent again.

“C’mere, Bonfamille!” Merida called. 

When Lou rounded, Merida was wiggling a helmet off the guard’s face. She tossed it to Lou. Her smile stretched over her face-- wolfish, brightening the blue flame of her eyes. 

“How do ye feel about playin’ dress up?” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse was infinitely glad that there were no guards in the hallway. His stomach was tearing itself apart with nerves, though he did a very good job of ignoring them. He had quite a lot of practice at such things, having been presenting his art for criticism from very young. That foreboding feeling was a familiar companion, as a child he had felt it often; waiting for his father to come home, for the fighting to begin.

This was the same feeling—waiting for the fighting to begin.

When Merida grabbed his chest and pushed him back, Toulouse felt his heart beating in his entire body. It was a wild, loud thing. The wolf had a hold of it between his teeth. It felt like it was in Lou’s throat. What a pesky thing, that heart, his mortality. He wished the wolf would devour it. That heart of his made him a coward—made him afraid to die.

He flinched at the clamour of armor, the sound of fighting. It only took a second, but it felt like a lifetime. He didn’t move from his spot at the wall, wondering if it had been Merida, in the end who’d been bested by the guard. What would he do if that was the case? The wolf raised its head and Lou knew the answer: he would find Claude, even if he had to rip the throat out of every crazy bastard in this place.

Merida called his name and Lou gave a jerk before sucking in a breath and rounding the corner. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and scowled at her.

“Silver is not my colour. I am warm-toned,” he deadpanned—even though it was true. Toulouse never wore silver jewelry if he could help it. It washed him out. However, the helmet was not jewelry. And he also knew Merida wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, he took it from her delicately and scrunched his nose as he dressed.

“If you thought I was useless to you before, I certainly will be now,” he hissed at her once he finished, sighing harshly. The sound echoed through the helmet and rang in his sensitive wolf-ears. This was going to give him a headache. “What now?” 

MERIDA:  “Actually, you’re much more useful to me now, mate. Before you were a walking target. Least now if someone tries to stab ye, maybe they won’t poke all the way through.” Merida’s eyes glittered as she said this as if it were a joke. 

And maybe it was a joke, though she meant every word. A Toulouse with a breast plate might not die as fast as a Toulouse without one. 

She didn’t wait to see how her joke might land (she didn’t have to wait; she knew that this bloke had no sense of humour, having been inside his brain). Merida dragged the Order lackey around the corner instead, grabbing his dagger for good measure. She was back the next second, ushering Lou on. 

“Stand on the outside of me, aye? Try to look like ye belong here.” 

They twisted down the halls, moving fast. They were still mostly empty. It was almost too easy, thought Merida to herself, though she had a good idea as to where everyone was-- already feasting down in the main halls before the month’s baptisms. An Order full of drunk men with swords, a handful of who were probably shirking these very posts in order to nip the lamb and wet their fingers with wine. Still, twice Merida grabbed Lou and they hid again as a few Knights passed by. 

They were getting close now. It was about to get harder. Breaking in had always been the relatively easy part.

Merida paused when the nursery was just up one more hallway. The halls were brighter here, clean and tiled. You could hear the voices of the women not only in the nursery, but in the dressing rooms. Laughter. Singing. Merida could close her eyes and remember herself here, stuck in a chair as her mother tried to tame her wild curls into something presentable. She could remember feeling too big for her own skin. How she’d hated it--

But those songs. That reminded Merida of her mother too, and her chest burned with a yearning that no one ever truly outgrew. 

Merida just had to ignore it.

“Alright,” she hissed. “This...this is the hard part. Your cousin should be in the first room to the left. But as you can hear...not exactly alone. There will be other babies too.” She sighed and licked her bottom lip.

“You could play pretend and see how far you get. Tell them that Sorcha, perhaps, sent you to…” the lie trailed off and died in the air. Merida didn’t know how to finish it off. It’d be so obvious, wouldn’t it? What Knight would enter with his helmet down? Why would a Knight come to fetch a babe?

The alternative was Merida kicking the door down, grabbing the nearest lady, and hoping no one screamed.

Someone would scream. 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse tried not to let Merida’s morose humor get underneath his armor (quite literally, ha.) He was not so much worried about stabbing as he was the wolf trying to burst out of its new metal cage. It had been restless before, but now, Lou’s hands shook, and he could not tell if it was his own nerves or the wolf just below his skin.

Taking a breath, he did as he was told, because there was no reason to argue. Lou may not trust Merida, but he did acknowledge that she had more experience than him in these criminal matters.

It was silent, but never still. Lou’s eyes darted, looking at every door like it was the mouth of a trap. His ears strained, putting his new senses to as much use as possible, listening for approaching soldiers. (And, honestly, the whole thing was so disorientingly medieval, Lou felt like he had walked into some sort of renaissance faire. (His tantine had loved Renaissance faires, she had found them so creative and quaint. She’d taken him to one once when he was a boy and bought him a sword, which his mother had promptly taken away from him.)

It was with those new ears of his that he heard the women before Merida even stopped them and he felt sick to his stomach again. His gaze slid to hers, though he kept getting distracted every time there was an uproar of laughter or delighted squeals—which was fairly often. It reminded Lou, strangely, of the summer plays. The same kind of frenetic energy sizzled through the air, everyone in preparation.

Pretend…

Well, Lou figured the alternative was Merida doing something—Merida-ish, which would hurt their cause more that Lou attempting to pass as an Order member for long enough to get his hands on his nephew (though, maybe he should give Merida playing pretend more credit, considering she’d lied to Belle for months without detection.) The thought made the wolf whine in his chest.

“I’ll do my best,” Lou said, straightening his shoulders somewhat. “Wish me luck.”

With that, he didn’t waste another moment, the wolf urging him forward. He just wanted to set sights on Claude.

When he entered the room, he blinked a bit. It was much brighter than the hallway. It was immediately clear that he stuck out. All the women were lovely and perfumed, their hair shining beneath the lights. They giggled in corners, doing their make-up, holding babes. There were a few children in the corner, playing with dolls in pretty white dresses. It was clear that he did not belong. Even if he was not a wolf, or an outsider. There was not a man among the entire group. As soon as his presence was noticed, a silence settled. The flurry of activity ended.

Lou hardly noticed any of this—

He had his sights set on Claude, who was sitting on the lap of a woman he didn’t know. He swallowed once. The baby was so close, only a few meters away. Lou could cross the room in two strides and be at his cousin’s side. He kept rooted to the spot by sheer force of will. Even the wolf realizing they were surrounded and had to tread lightly.

“Oi, what are you doing down here?” one of the women, older than most of the rest if he had to guess, snapped at him.

Lou jerked slightly, though the ill-fitting armor gave him away. He reached up and removed his helmet. It was probably a poor move, but he was sweating. He was nervous. But, Lou had been trained for things like this. He was not a warrior, but he had manners.

“Pardon me, my ladies,” he said, roughing up his accent to disguise the French. It was not so hard to sound British, he sounded more British than he would like already on the day to day, having now lived in this country longer than he had ever lived in France. He had to fight to keep his accent, but now, he let it go. If it meant getting Claude back, he’d let it all go.

“I was sent by Lady de Chateaupers,” he continued after a moment, taking his time, “to gather young Claude. His grandmother would like to introduce him to a few other of the lords and ladies.” The lie was as smooth as it could be. He remembered what that vile woman had said: he’s my only grandchild. It felt in character for her to want to brag.

The two oldest women looked at each other. One put her hands on her hips, unconvinced.

“Why send you?” she scoffed.

Toulouse blinked, it was a good question. “I, uh—all the women are busy, of course., in preparation, including Lady de Chateaupers I volunteered. I have many siblings, he’ll be in good hands with me.”

Give him back, the wolf growled.

“Who are ye?” snapped the other matron.

Cannard. Lou had thought to escape without giving a name. “Uhm, Lou.”

“Not your name, boy—your family.” Her eyes narrowed.

The only families that Lou was aware of who were part of the order were the de Chateaupers and— “DunBroch, ma’am,” he said, attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice, surely Merida was getting a kick out of this. “Lou DunBroch.”

“I don’t recognize you,” the woman said bluntly.

“Well, you DunBrochs breed like there is no tomorrow, isn’t that right, Millie?” the woman with her hands on her hips looked over at a young woman.

Millie—the woman who just so happened to be holding Claude—stood up from where she was sitting and wandered a little closer.

Lou could feel his heart in his whole body.

“He does have the DunBroch hair…”

I most certainly do not, Lou wanted to sniff. Merida’s hair was a completely different shade of red than his own. Hers was richer, redder, deeper. His was copper, dark, and earthy.

Claude looked up at Lou, blinking his pretty blue eyes. He was close enough that he could smell him. That soft, sweet smell.

Family, keened the wolf in Lou’s chest.

Lou smiled and reached up to touch his air. “Aye,” he said—trying not to sound to Scottish, he knew he’d never get away with it, but perhaps he had picked up some colloquials growing up.

Millie moved a step closer, peering at him. “Who’s your da?”

Fuck.

A second passed. Then another.

Millie drew back.

Toulouse didn’t think then, the wolf took over in a flash. He reached forward and grabbed Claude by his chunky arm and ripped him out of Millie’s grip. A clamor started at once. The baby began to cry, making Lou’s heart squeeze—hoping he had not hurt him. Millie, to her credit, launched towards Lou, her fingers curled like claws. Lou tucked Claude to his chest with one hand and pushed Millie back with the other. His helmet clattered to the ground.

“Thief!” shouted one woman.

“Help!” cried another.

“Merida!” barked Lou as he started stumbling backwards out of the room.

The oldest woman, who had been hawk-eyed from the first moment, appeared next to him and tried to wrench Claude away again. A growl ripped from Lou’s chest, his eyes flashing, before he could think about it. The woman froze in her shock.

“Beast!” she cried as she recoiled.

“It’s the wolf!”

Someone screamed then, a proper, high-pitched wail, as if she was being pulled apart.

MERIDA: This was a bad idea.

But there were no good ideas here, were there? Sometimes, that’s just how it was. But sometimes, those bad ideas became the best stories. They became the legends that men told over and over as they sloshed their beer and laughed over each other. They became the songs that children learned. The songs that Merida carried with her in her heart, never to fade no matter how far she got from this world. It would still be the fabric she was sewn with. She clutched one dagger, tilted her head, her ears ringing with the voices of her sisters, her aunts, the women who had once raised her too. She hoped this bad idea would work a miracle worth a song. She did not want any of them hurt.

She was listening for something else too. She leaned around the wall, held her breath as the conversation meandered from woman to woman. She recognized each voice enough, but they were not the voice she was listening for. 

Elinor. Mum. Are you there? Mum, don’t be there. Please, don’t be there...

And then things started to fall apart, that bad idea a wobbling tower waiting for one last shove, innit? The adrenaline piqued inside her. The wolf was awake, but far away. Merida flexed her fingers over her dagger. 

Who’s your da?

Merida darted around the corner at this question and burst into the room by the time the woman had let out a cry. 

“MERIDA!” 

Merida’s eyes found her cousin’s face in the lamplight-- young, raven-haired Senga. Her bright blue eyes widened. First, there was a flicker of relief, relief triggered on instinct, because before Merida was a traitor, before she was a beast, she was one of them. Senga believed that Merida might save them all. 

She remembered that look in her Da’s face right before he picked up his knife.

Merida didn’t wait for the moment to pass. She followed the plan. Their very, very, very bad plan. She grabbed her own cousin, petal-pretty Senga, and yanked  her out of the room, knife tip pointed at Senga’s throat. She slammed the door shut and locked it (because yes-- these doors all have locks on the outside. To keep people in as much as to keep them out). 

Senga trembled, already sobbing. 

“You’ll be fine if ye just do exactly what we say,” Merida hissed. They stumbled, all of them, down the hall.  Merida’s ears rang with the sound of the men stampeding down the hall. They were going to collide in the south wing and there was no avoidin’ that.

“I don’t want to be a werewolf!” Senga sobbed. “I don’t want to die! Puh-puh-puh-lease--!” 

“Crivvens, no one’s turnin’ you! Shite, Lou, here they come, give her the damn baby!” 

And sure enough, they ran into the wing at the same time as the patrol of guards. 

Everyone stopped and stared at everyone else. 

Merida yanked Senga against her chest, that knife’s edge still at her throat. Wails from the baby filled the air, wails from Senga too. “If ye move a step more, I’ll cut her throat!” Merida threatened. 

A man flipped up his visor--”Merida.” 

Uncle Domnhall. Well. It’d be strange not to run into a couple of family members wouldn’t it? Merida’s jaw clicked but she didn’t loosen her grip. The rest of the armored men stood stupid-still. She could guess there were all Knights, the lot of them-- the true Princes takin’ the night off for the baptism. Though they could be suitin’ up now, heading their way. The longer Merida waited here, the more she risked runnin’ in with skilled Princes just like Uncle Dom. Could she take Uncle Dom? Maybe. Maybe because of the wolf’s strength and speed. But not even Merida was sure about that.  

Merida’s heels pressed back, sliding one, two, three steps. She dragged Senga with her. “I’ll leave her somewhere ye can find her.”

“Merida!” hissed Uncle Domhall again and he drew his sword. 

Merida flicked the knife tip over Senga’s chin. Senga shrieked and blood pearled, shiny as rubies. Merida’s nostrils flared. Inside, the wolf’s teeth bared. 

Uncle Domnhall’s eyes hardened and in that second, she saw that her threat had the opposite effect. He didn’t believe that she’ll do it-- slit her own cousin’s throat. She might be a monster to them all, but in that moment, Domnhall made a decision based on Merida’s humanity.

 He flipped down his visor.

“Fuck.” Merida shoved Senga into the wall and dodged left to avoid Domnhall’s lunge. Senga shrieked. 

An order ripped from Domnhall’s lips. “ATTACK.”

The knights surged. 

The thing about combat was, it was so fast. There was no thinking. Sometimes you make the right choice and sometimes you make the wrong one, and if you make the wrong one, then that’s the end for you-- no do-overs. Later, Merida wouldn’t remember if it was her years of training after all, if it was her desire to live, or if it was the wolf that directed her dance. But it only took a few seconds: 

Domnhall lunged again, swinging his sword. Merida feinted much faster than he was guessing and ducked under his arm as graceful as a ballerina. She thrust her dagger straight under his armpit, between the armor’s plates. Uncle Domnhall howled and Merida swung him into the wall. She grabbed him by the helmet and smashed him into the wall. One, two, three times. 

When her uncle crumbled to the ground, Merida couldn’t stop to think about whether or not she’d smashed his skull into little pieces. 

Instead, Merida picked up his sword and jumped into the fray. 

TOULOUSE: For Lou, time had two speeds and only two speeds: mind-spinning fast and aching slow. He had lived like a scale, attempting to balance between the two for so long he did not remember what it was like not to, for so long that he had not even realized that it was not way most experienced the world. It was exhausting, the constant push and pull. When his mind was working slow, it was like trying to walk through waist deep mud. Every step required more energy than he felt possible of giving. Every word dripped from people’s lips—his lips—like the slow drip of honey. When his world moved fast, Lou felt like he was flying. He always liked these fast-paced ups more than he liked the molasses downs.

Now, the world spun fast, but it wasn’t Lou’s brain making it happen. At least, Lou was quite sure it wasn’t. Usually, when Lou was spinning, spinning, spinning—it was more like soaring. Like rising fast through the sky. Sure, the earth was getting closer, but the trajectory was smooth. It only blipped when he was confronted by someone telling him to stop, telling him he had messed up, that things were wrong. Then, everything accordioned on itself, creating a confusion of thoughts and feelings. He was still soaring, but through clouds that had him turned around: up from down, right from left all looked the same.

That was what the bowels of this Order Headquarters felt like. All the walls looked the same. Every stone. Everything was wrong, unfamiliar. It did not fit into Lou’s brain. Their feet stumbled and tripped together down the corridors. Claude wailed and wailed and clung to the blunt edge of the armour Lou was still wearing. Lou wanted to wish that he was not wearing the armor, so that he could hold Claude close and the babe could feel his warmth and smell his skin and know that he was safe, with family.

Lou did not have time to even think to wish these things. Everything happened so quickly. As the fighting erupted, Lou felt his brain snap into place like a rubber band. As the swords flashed, Lou realized that he was holding a baby and that he needed to do something. Spinning on his heel, he shoved Claude at the woman whimpering on the floor.

“If you run, I will find you,” he threatened, a growl rumbling from his throat.

The woman whimpered and hugged Claude close like a baby doll.

The next moment, Lou turned back to face the soldiers. Two were already on top of him, since his back had been turned. One with a spear that he thrust towards Lou. The same way he’d felt it when practicing with Merida, Lou felt the wolf snatch control, turning Lou’s torso at just the last moment so that the tip of the spear glanced off of the breastplate. However, the impact almost knocked the wind out of Lou, causing him to stumble as the other man’s sword swung. He felt the breeze of it graze over his head.

In the chaos, he tried to remember what Merida had told him. However, he could only remember one thing: Claude. It was an instinct more than a thought, a gut-punch, a rod that straightened Lou’s back and kept him pinned in place.

Reaching as he stumbled, Lou grabbed the spear the one man was holding and with the help of the wolf, snapped it into two. He now had a hold of the sharp end, which he swung in an arch towards the men with a snarl like a cornered animal (which he was). One of the men tripped backwards, perhaps more afraid of the noise than the clumsy brandishing of the spear, but Lou pressed his advantage, stepping forward again, thrusting with the spear towards the soldier.

This left him open to the other man, whose sword slashed again through the air, catching Lou in the exposed arm.

It happened in a blink. It happened in the screeching groan of mangling metal as the wolf burst forth from the man and landed agile on its feet, growling low and harsh as it positioned itself in front of the woman and babe, its tail thrashing. This time, when the braver knight parried forward with its sword, the wolf lunged too, dodging the blade and snapping at the man’s wrist. With a shout, the man stumbled backwards and the wolf, unlike the man, didn’t hesitate to bound forward, grabbing the solider by the shin, its teeth wrapped around the thin metal there, which contorted itself and cut into the man’s skin, the scent of blood filling the wolf’s nose.

MERIDA:  They had to get out of here.

Merida’s brain and her body had separated. Her body was acting on a different channel than her mind. It was all instinct for her body, lunging into the thicket and cutting the back of the knees of one Knight, then smashing her body into another so they barreled together into the wall again. She flipped him over her shoulder and stomped her boot once into the bloke’s neck, making him gargle and wheeze. She caught the sword of another and used all the strength of the wolf to shove it off, so hard that the bloke’s weapon was tossed aside. She jumped and kicked him straight in the chest, then spun again and her swords collided with another again.

She did all this as if the fight had been choreographed and all she was doing was following those steps. One after the other, after the other. Slashing, dodging-- she was sword and body. 

But while she did these things, her mind spun, not instructions exactly, but-- things she couldn’t ignore.

That they had to go.

That Lou was a wolf now, and he could kill them all, her family-- 

They were still her family--

That these boys, they crumpled easily because they were young, younger than her. This was not the Order’s best soldiers. She caught the flashing, familiar green eyes of Lionel Simons, who was barely 18. Had he turned 18 when she was gone? Had he failed his first hunt? Lionel Simons might become a werewolf hunter one day and face her, a silver bullet in his rifle, but for now, he was a teenager, screaming, forced into this life the way that Merida had been forced into hers.

These truths made Merida smash and cut, but never kill. 

Merida didn’t believe that Lou, his wolf, would do the same. 

“NO!” She bellowed it without thinking when Lou’s teeth crushed a boy’s leg. It might have been from her body this cry came from, not her mind. 

A flash of her own attack passed through her memory though. The red-hot terror and the crunch of Akela’s teeth. It was the moment she’d died. It distracted her enough that Merida let Lionel Simons slash his sword, and she moved a hair too slow. The tip grazed her, cutting her shirt like butter and kissing her skin with brand new pain.

Merida’s body kicked in again and she swung Domnhall’s sword back at Lionel. Hard. They clashed, and Merida swung a second, third, fourth time, beating Lionel all the way back down the hall before he failed to block her. She crashed her sword into his shoulder plate, hard enough to bruise him and upset his balance. She raised her sword above her head and brought the hilt down onto Lionel’s helmet. He collapsed, whimpering, and let go of his sword--

He was a coward, exactly the kind of Knight she resented because she’d always been better.

He was also, still, just a boy.

“Leave!” she spat at him. “Run! All of you! Do you want to be turned? Do you want to die?” Merida swung her arm toward Lou’s wolf and Lionel, sobbing, scrambled and retreated.Several other boys followed him at once. 

Merida spun around and sprinted back to Senga, cowering there, covering the head of little Claude. 

“Give me the baby,” she demanded. She wrenched screaming Claude from Senga’s arm. “Run!” 

Senga crawled to her feet and tripped her way down the hall. 

She spun back to see Lou, and the boy he’d bitten. “We have to go,” she told the wolf.

TOULOUSE: The wolf’s instinct had grabbed a hold of Lou and thrust him into the very back of his own mind. It was almost as if the boy did not exist. There was just the wolf and its desire to protect its family.

The wolf’s ears could hear the sound of screaming, of crying, of Merida’s breath. The wolf’s nose smelt iron, iron, iron. It wanted to taste more of it, the pit in its belly yawning. Its head shook slightly, a growl still in its throat. It wanted to bite through all the mangled armor. It wanted to taste the iron of its enemies’ blood, not the iron of a steel plate.

The bloodlust distracted the wolf long enough for the boy’s partner to pick up the spear from where it lay discarded amongst the shredded metal the wolf had burst from. With a thrust, the spear pierced the wolf’s shoulder. The blood was forgotten in favor of the flash of blinding pain. Throwing its head back, the wolf howled.

For a second, in their conscious, the wolf and Lou tumbled about, disoriented as their shoulder throbbed. Lou’s heartbeat fast in his chest as blood dripped onto the floor. No longer just the boy’s but Lou’s as well. It was Lou who seized with fear, who remembered that sharp, blinding pain—though he had not felt such a thing in many years. Suddenly, he was twenty-one again, laying dying in a dark trailer.

The spear was yanked out of the flesh, causing another flash of pain. The wolf stumbled and half-collapsed as its leg gave out beneath it, the muscles torn. It regained its balance as it retreated, pursued by the other man, whose confidence grew with every stumbling step the wolf took. Once it stood sturdy again, it realized it was much too close to the woman who was holding the babe. Her scent, the babe’s scent wiping the smell of blood from its nostrils. Still snarling, the wolf lunged towards the man, snapping its jaws.

With a shout, the man’s cowardice fled and the man followed it down the hall. The wolf stood panting, its shoulder twitching in pain, blood dripping onto the floor. It took a moment to realize that most of the hall was now still. Most of the enemies gone. But not safe—not yet.

It was then Merida yanked Claude from the girl and his cry rend through the air. Swinging his head about, Lou growled harshly before he recognized Merida’s scent and blinked to see pack, not foe. The growl died in his throat and instead, the wolf looked down the hall towards where the woman was retreating, making sure no others were coming.  

At Merida’s command, the wolf’s ears flicked and he looked back at her. 

With a huff of breath, the creature padded towards the exit. It could smell the direction to go in. The dampness of the tunnel they’d crawled through on the way here. It looked back over its shoulder at Merida and let out a soft whine.

Let’s go then, that look communicated.

He waited until she was following and then he slipped down the corridor, the torchlight glinting off his golden fur and making the blood on his shoulder garishly bright against the ochre red of his fur.