#( sc ) to die surrounded by idiots

[r0ugesun]

I just found your blog but I was wondering if you could write something about Aemond being friends with Aegon’s wife, them forming a bond until eventually the wife gets fed up with Aegon’s mistreatment and goes to Aemond for “comfort” and eventually falls pregnant? Whether Aegon finds out can be left up to you. ☺️

Thank you so much for sending this request I hope I was able to write what you had in mind :>

(Also heavily inspired by Ivy by Taylor swift)

warning nsfw under the cut

Aegon wife! Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Prince Aemond had always been a man of few words, preferring to sharpen his mind with books and hone his battle prowess in the training yard, a stark contrast to his brother’s revelry and indulgences. Yet, he found himself drawn to you, Aegon's wife, you were beautiful as you were wise.

Initially, your bond was forged out of mutual respect and admiration. You were intellectual equals; you admired Aemond's discipline and resilience, while Aemond found solace in your gentle wisdom and kindness. You spent hours in the library, discussing histories and poetry, your conversations flowing easily despite the tension that often surrounded you in the Red Keep.

One afternoon in the library, you looked up from the book you shared and smiled at Aemond. "This is fascinating, truly. I can hardly put the book down," you said. "How did you come across this one?"

Aemond, sitting next to you, glanced up. "I spent a great deal of time here in my childhood. When my brother and nephews were in the dragon pit, I chose to study as much as I could," he replied. "It's been my refuge from everything else."

Your smile faltered slightly. "I understand… It's become mine as well."

Aemond furrowed his brows slightly. "What do you mean?"

You sighed and glanced down at the book. "It's Aegon... He spends more time in Flea Bottom than he does with me. He barely stays in my bed before he's off again..."

Aemond gently interrupted, "I understand. My brother overindulges, it's true. But he loves you, and I am grateful for your devotion as his wife."

You managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Aemond. That's very kind of you."

Aegon, meanwhile, remained oblivious to the blossoming feelings of more than just friendship between you and his brother. His nights were spent in ale houses and brothels, leaving you to endure his neglect and occasional drunken sex. It was during these lonely nights that you sought out Aemond, finding comfort in his unwavering support.

Your relationship, once innocent, slowly began to change. You found yourself confiding in Aemond about the pain and frustration you felt because of Aegon. One evening, after one of Aegon's drunken rages, you found yourself standing outside Aemond's chambers. You knocked hesitantly, and Aemond opened the door, his expression softening when he saw your tear-streaked face.

"Y/n," he said gently, stepping aside to let you in. "What’s happened?"

You took a shaky breath. "It's Aegon. He's been unbearable tonight. I couldn't stand it any longer, Aemond. I can’t do this anymore."

Aemond's jaw tightened. Idiot, he thought to himself. He led you to a chair. "Sit. I'll fetch you some wine."

As he handed you the goblet, your fingers brushed, and you felt a warmth spread through you, one you’d never felt with Aegon. "Thank you, Aemond. Your company has been… a great comfort for me."

Aemond sat beside you, his gaze intense. "And yours as well. You should not have to endure this. I'm sorry my brother hasn’t been behaving as gallantly as is expected of him……You deserve better." He said in a low voice, he held your chin gently and looked at you deeply, leaning in slightly.

You turned away, your fingers tracing the embroidery on your dress. "Aemond….he’s your brother. I am married to him…. I made vows."

Aemond sighed and dropped his hand. "I know... I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "But I cannot pretend I do not see you suffering. I see the way you put on a brave face and I die a little inside." He scooted closer to you. "Had it been me you married, I would’ve spent every day in your bed."

Your breath hitched, but you shook your head. "This cannot happen, Aemond. It would only bring more pain and scandal that wouldn’t be fair to you."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand. "I would endure any scandal, bear any pain, if it meant I could have you the way I want."

You hesitated, the weight of duty and desire fighting within you. "Aemond, please... we cannot."

He sighed dejectedly, he released your hand, withdrawing slightly. His gaze never left yours, he looked at you with a mixture of resignation and deep yearning.

For a moment, silence hung between you, heavy and charged. Then, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, then deepened as the floodgates of your suppressed emotions burst open.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, Aemond's eye searched yours. He pulled you on his lap, straddling him, and he kissed you hungrily once again.

He lifted your dress, letting it pool around his lap then seized your hips, guiding you to grind against his clothed cock.

“Aemond” you gasped softly

“Can you feel just how much I want you?” He moaned, his hot breath against your ear.

You bit your lip, looking into his eye “I want you just as much” you whispered back, the friction between you intensifying deliciously.

You felt him reach under your dress, he freed his cock from his breaches and moved your small clothes to the side so that your pussy was exposed “let me show you what you deserve”

You gasped as you felt him grip your hips and impaled you with his cock, every thrust igniting a fire within you.

He moaned deeply into your ear at the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock tightly. You leaned in, capturing his lips with yours, moaning desperately in each others mouths, you could feel yourself losing yourself in the fire he’s lit within you.

Your bond, once purely platonic, deepened into something more intimate. Comfort turned to desire, and that night you crossed a line that neither could return from. You tried to tell yourself it wouldn’t happen again but stolen stares across the dinner table turned to clandestine meetings, and those turned into nights spent in his bed.

The affair was passionate and consuming, driven by a need to find solace in each other.

One night, as you lay entangled in each other's arms, you whispered, "Aemond, what will we do If Aegon finds out? I fear head burn the entirety of the castle..."

Aemond tightened his hold on you. "No” he furrowed his brows “I would never let that happen” he promised. "I will protect you, no matter the cost."

As the days turned into months, You met in hidden corners of the castle, stolen moments filled with declarations of love and fervent kisses, Just like all lovers do in the dark. Each tryst only deepened your bond, binding you closer together.

It wasn't long before you discovered you were with child. The knowledge of the babe growing within you brought a mixture of fear and anxiety. You knew the consequences if Aegon were to discover the truth, yet you also felt a strange sense of peace, knowing that the child was conceived out of love and not duty.

One morning, as you stood by the balcony, Aemond approached you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "You look troubled," he observed.

You turned to him, your eyes filled with worry. "Aemond, I'm with child”

Aemonds face fell and he looked down “I’ll have to congratulate my brother” he said, lips pressed tightly.

“Aemond” you whispered desperately, he looked at you, he knew. You both knew.

Aemond swallowed thickly "I promised you that I would keep you safe…. And I will" he assured you.

As the months passed, and you welcomed the babe into the world, Aegon oblivious to the true nature of the affair, grew increasingly proud and affectionate towards his "son." He would often take the boy in his arms, cooing at his small features and the bond he believed they shared.

“My boy….You sleep so well because you know you are loved” he said just above a whisper, Aegon's newfound love for his child brought a bitter ache to your heart, knowing the truth that could shatter this fragile peace.

One evening, as Aegon was playing with his son in the nursery, he noticed something strange. The baby's eyes, a piercing shade of violet, were unmistakably Targaryen—but there was something more. Something that reminded him of someone else.

Aegon glanced at you, who was watching them. "He's got the dragon in him," Aegon said proudly. And then he narrowed his eyes. "But there's something more”

Your heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Aegon frowned, deep in thought. “The way he looks at me, it's almost like.….. like Aemond's gaze."

You tried to laugh it off. "Aemond? What are you talking about?"

Aegon kept his eyes on the babe, his expression growing more serious. "Yes. It's…. It’s his eyes, It's like Aemond watching us."

Your stomach dropped as you tried to keep your composure. "Aegon, it’s just the features that run in the family.

Aegon shook his head slowly, the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. "No, it's more than that. Everytime there is a gathering…. You and Aemond are always missing…. The two of you…. Always at the same time.”

You felt a cold sweat break out on your skin. "Aegon….."

Aegon turned to look at you, filled with a dawning realization. "This isn't just any targaryen features…..my boy is…. is Aemond's son, isn't he?" The intensity in his eyes made your heart freeze, like he could see into your soul.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you couldn't find the words to deny it. The truth hung heavy in the air, impossible to escape.

"Aemond," Aegon repeated, his voice rising in anger. "He's the father."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, the weight of the secret finally breaking you. "Yes” you gasped out.

Aegon's face twisted in fury. He stood up so abruptly that the chair he was sitting on crashed to the floor. “MY BROTHER, YOU SLEPT WITH MY BROTHER??” He screamed furiously.

You flinched, cowering in your chair "I'm sorry," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I never meant for this to happen."

"SORRY?" Aegon roared, sweeping a vase off a nearby table. It shattered against the wall, fragments scattering across the floor. "SORRY DOESNT FIX ANYTHING!"

His rage was palpable, the air thick with the betrayal. He grabbed a goblet and hurled it across the room, where it smashed against the wall. “YOU MADE A FOOL OF ME! YOU LIED TO ME!"

The noise drew Aemond, who burst into the room, his eye wide with concern, seeing Aegon's fury was something he hadn't anticipated. "Aegon?? What’s happening?? calm down," Aemond said, his voice steady but urgent.

Aegon rounded on his brother, his eyes blazing. "YOU!” Aegon grabbed at his clothes shaking him with anger.

Aemond trying to keep his composure. "Aegon, listen—"

"DONT TELL ME TO LISTEN, I WILL NOT HEAR YOUR FILTH" Aegon screamed, grabbing another object and smashing it against the wall. "YOU BETRAYED ME! MY BROTHER!"

"Aegon" Aemond said, his voice pained, realizing the meaning behind his brothers rampage. "I never wanted this to hurt you."

Aegon laughed bitterly. "Too late for that. You've both made me a fool."

You stepped forward, reaching out to Aegon. "Please, Aegon, we can find a way through this."

Aegon slapped your hand away, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. "My son…my boy…."

Aegon held his chest as though he’s been stabbed through the heart. “Get out both of you…”

You and Aemond looked at him for a moment

“GET OUT! AND GET OUT OF MY LIFE!”

You gathered the baby in your arms, tears streaming down your face. Aemond hesitated, but then followed you, his face ashen. The echo of Aegon's rage lingered, a reminder of the fragile bonds that had been shattered and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

[withblades]

                     let’s get the green and sometimes mean bean up and running. LIKE or REBLOG this post to get a very small STARTER. This will be mostly dialogue to get this up and running again. Mutuals and non mutuals can request a starter as I think my blog unfollowed everyone so i am looking for partners. If you are a MULTI you will need to comment the muse or i may not post anything.

[sebgender]

this is a diluc and kaeya angst fic! i would like to point out that their bond is 100% familial and platonic! (i Do Not support kae!uc whatsoever)

i posted this on wattpad and ao3 (@sebgender) and if you would like, you can follow me on twitter (@sebgender) as well!

i did not have anyone read this over so i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. i hope you enjoy!

—————————

gods.

kaeya has never had a strong belief in the gods. despite growing up in mondstadt, where they worshipped barbatos, he couldn't help but feel out of place. but who could he blame? born in khaenri'ah, a place without any deities who watched over the people, of course he would be skeptical of these so-called seven archons.

.................

it was the day aether and all the acquaintances he made while traveling teyvat would confront his sister and the rest of the abyss order. it had been gloomy since the morning, dark clouds looming in the sky.

aether had gone off to confront lumine personally, while the rest of them stayed back to fend off the mages and its subordinates. the knights of favonius were present as well. the acting grandmaster and captains leading groups out to fight, barbara and the other sisters on the side, healing and tending to the injured.

rain started to fall and things quickly became chaotic. the stream of enemies seemed never ending. more and more knights running out of energy and getting injured. kaeya's ears rang as he fought, becoming less and less aware of his surroundings. kneeling by one of the trees, a voice called out to him.

"big brother kaeya!! kaeyaaa!!!"

he whipped his head around to see klee sprinting towards him. even klee, the effervescent spark knight, seemed to lack her usual upbeat smile. her small legs carried her as fast as they could. his breath hitched. this was the first time he'd ever seen the girl so...shaken up? he couldn't tell if it was tears or rain that streamed down her face.

"klee? what's wrong? are you alright?"

she was crying. as she got closer, her sobs became more audible.

"we have to go!! he needs help!! he's hurt!"

she tugged at him, urging him to get up quickly. grabbing hold of his hands, she ran, pulling him back towards the direction she came from.

"klee, who's hurt? you have to tell me so i know"

she started crying harder, her grip on his hand tightening.

"aether's sister hurt him."

his eye widened before taking klee into his arms and taking off.

"klee, where is he?!"

"he's near the winery! master jean told me to go look for you."

"is jean with him?"

"master jean had to go get healed by barbara."

kaeya's patience was running thin. he was about to question her again but was cut off by a loud clap of thunder. running as fast as he could, he could make out three standing figures in front of the winery. there were knights scattered around. kaeya couldn't tell whether they were injured or dead. klee started to squirm in his arms as she tried to release herself.

klee let out a blood curdling scream and kaeya watched as the blonde figure sunk her blade straight through the shoulder of a read head.

"DON'T HURT HIM!!!!!"

klee sprinted towards them. aether limped, almost falling, and grabbed the girl and pushed her head into the crook of his neck. klee has been assigned to fend off hilichurls but now has witnessed diluc being injured. she should have never been put on the field today.

"KLEE YOU HAVE TO CALM DOWN!!" aether yelled.

"THAT LADY IS HURTING HIM!! MAMA SAID I HAVE TO PROTECT THE PEOPLE I LOVE. I HAVE TO HELP LIKE MAMA SAID!!"

klee was having a full on breakdown now; she sobbed and screamed while lashing around in aether's hold trying to get him to let go. diluc didn't as much as let out a wince before trying to raise his claymore again. it seemed that diluc had gotten to aether before kaeya and klee did. lumine was quick to pull out her sword, blood splattering on the ground. kaeya was stuck in his place.

move.

move!

WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING?! HELP HIM!!

his mind cleared as he saw klee rip from aether's grasp and run towards lumine.

"KLEE NO!!! LUMINE DON'T HURT HER!!!!" screamed aether.

kaeya sprinted after her and managed to grab her before she was in range of lumine's blade.

"klee, let big brother kaeya take care of this, okay? i need you to take aether to barbara. can you do that for me?"

she sniffled before nodding and running back towards the traveler. turning back towards lumine, his face dropped, not an ounce of emotion could be seen.

"kaeya. i'm surprised that you'd go to such lengths to protect the ones against you. have you forgotten who you are?"

"i could ask you the same. who do you think you are swinging your blade at a child?!"

"i wasn't going to hurt her. i was going to use the butt of my blade to knock her out at most. i still have morals."

"it sure doesn't seem like it. i told you that i no longer associate myself with the likes of you or khaenri'ah, for a mater of fact. i grew up here and i will protect it."

"kaeya, i thought we could work this out. we could have gotten revenge together. don't you want that? or would you rather stay stuck in a place, surrounded by the people who worship the same gods who never cared about you!?"

"if they didn't care about me, they wouldn't have saved me!! this is not a matter of my faith in the gods but me wanting to protect the place and people i love!"

"fine. then i'll just end you now."

lumine charged at him, kaeya quick to dodge. the two went at it for sometime, diluc long forgotten about by lumine. the pyro wielder kneeled, holding his wound as he watched the two fight. it was obvious that both were running out of stamina. at some point, kaeya's eyepatch has fallen off as well. his eyes were unfocused as he tried to play offense, but it wasn't enough.

time had suddenly slowed as kaeya watched her blade come closer and closer towards his heart. had he been quicker on his feet, maybe he could've helped more people. but of course, it no longer mattered. he was about to die. his eyes subconsciously closed, his body inviting the blade to end him — yet it never came.

seconds passed before he opened his eyes. diluc stood in front of him and as kaeya looked down, he saw the sword come out the other end.

"di...luc?"

as if on que, the man fell to his knees. his hands still firmly held the blade where he grabbed as lumine changed directions and stabbed him through his abdomen. the rain poured harder and lumine started making her retreat.

it was all making sense as he gripped his sword and started to charge towards the girl but a hand wrapped around his ankle, preventing him from going further.

"...it's not worth it. you'll get hurt."

"diluc, lay down, quick. we have to stop the bleeding. you'll be fine."

kaeya stumbled over his words as he layed diluc down on the wet grass. he took off his cape and pressed it against his wound.

"i'm sorry."

kaeya eyes snapped up to diluc's face.

"what are you apologizing for, you idiot...?just....shut up and save your breath. i don't know what nonsense you're spewing but now is not the time."

"there's no need for all the effort. i won't make it."

kaeya ignored the redhead and continued applying pressure to the wound while looking around for anyone who could possibly heal diluc. both his shoulder and abdomen were causing him to loose blood at a rapid pace. the grass he laid on was dyed a dark crimson.

diluc shook his head. it was futile, his efforts would be in vain. in around 5 to 10 minutes, he would die from blood loss. no words were exchanged, both men too scared to break the seemingly fragile silence.

"......why would you do that?"

diluc grunted in response rather than replying with words. kaeya gripped the fabric he held to diluc's abdomen even harder.

"...you fucking saved me. why?"

"because."

"because what?! what are doing protecting the same person who betrayed you, diluc?!"

"kaeya, i don't care about that anymore!! i haven't cared for years. i saved you because you are worthy of being saved!!"

silence again. it was deafening.

"you can't."

"huh?"

"you're not allowed to leave again. he said you have to stay with me, no matter what.."

at that moment, the red head laughed a genuine laugh. kaeya looked at him like he was crazy.

"you know, i never left in the first place. i've always been here. whether you wanted to take advantage of that, was up to you."

"don't give me that bullshit!! you left mondstadt for 3 years without your goddamned vision and we had no contact! i had no idea if you would even come back."

"but i did, didn't i?"

"it doesn't matter! you were surviving off the same delusion that killed your father! you could've been next!"

"our."

kaeya was dumbfounded. was diluc listening to a word he said? his answers were short, not making any sort of sense to blue haired man.

"he was our father, not just mine."

"is this really our biggest problem at hand?!"

"yes. you know how much he loved you. he cared for you as much as he cared for me. he is our father, it doesn't matter if you acknowledge it or not."

before kaeya could retort, diluc spoke again.

"he loved when you referred to him as your father. i remember the first day you showed up at the winery, looking confused as ever. he crouched down in front of me and asked me if i wanted a brother. he was willing to take you in from the very start."

kaeya had nothing to say as diluc's breathing became increasingly labored. yet, instead of taking it easy, he insisted on continuing his story.

"even when he saw you standing there, watching as he took his last breath, he didn't hate you. he never could. he told me to stay with you. selfishly, i left for three years but i came back....because i knew that's what he would have wanted."

"....why are you telling me this now?"

diluc's face had gone even more pale, sweat dripping down his face despite the cold rain. he wheezed and coughed as he spoke.

"to remind you that even though you're witnessing this exact scene again, you are not to blame. dad doesn't blame you, and neither do i."

"blame me for what? what scene? diluc, you're gonna make it. you aren't gonna die in the same place as crepus." kaeya laughed nervously.

surely it wasn't happening right? surely barbara would come running down here any second and heal diluc and they would go back to their daily bantering at the tavern. everything would go back to normal!

"no matter what you decide to do, please don't sell the winery."

"stop...stop! what are you saying right now?!"

kaeya became frantic once again, shouting out for help, only halting as he felt a hand fall on top of his own. kaeya's body temperature is always lower than others due to his cryo vision, but even with his pyro vision, diluc's hand felt colder than kaeya's.

"you have to keep going, alright?"

kaeya looked down at diluc, eyes filling with tears that he has not shed in quite a few years.

"kae......"

diluc's eyes conveyed everything single thing he could've possibly wanted to say in his last moments. so even with his limited words, he wanted to at least say something. so, with a smile and his last breath, he repeated the same words he told kaeya all those years ago.

"even if you don't think so, you were — and always will be — the best older brother i could have ever wished for."

as diluc's eyes closed, kaeya could hear the footsteps of knights behind him and his name being called out.

kaeya!

kaeya!

"KAEYA!!"

kaeya shook his head and rapidly blinked as he finally came back to reality.

"you were spacing out again and i still have some paperwork to do. i'm not trying to rush you but...."

"ah, so sorry jean. i...uh. i came to ask if i could change some of my info that is currently in the files?"

"oh? what would you like changed?"

kaeya's eyes dropped down to the now unlit pyro vision hanging next to his own.

"i think i want to change my last name... back to ragnvindr."

.................

but even with his little belief in the gods, kaeya found himself praying to them everyday — begging them to give him his little brother back. whispering apologies to the wind that he hoped barbatos would carry to diluc.

[under-the-blue-sun]

THE 882 FILES. - chapter two

story summary:  When their space pod unexpectedly loses power, Dan and Phil - two crew members from the International Space Station - suddenly find themselves revolving far above the strange atmosphere of an alien planet, and must now find a way to survive as they wait for help to arrive.

story word count: 4057

rating: teen & up audiences

warnings: profanity

song of the chapter: cherry bomb - the runaways

notes: yes yes i'm late i’m using the same excuse as last time i'm sorry !! look but i am gay and i can't count days so if you're mad.. homophobia.

link to ao3 (would highly recommend reading on ao3 due to formatting changes on tumblr!)

“Captain?”

 Captain P.J. Liguori huffed and trudged to the door. 

 “What do you want?” he demanded, swinging the door open aggressively.

 The person at the door clicked their tongue. “I believe it was you who sent me for your coffee, Peter Jones.”

 PJ rolled his eyes. “For the last time, stop guessing my name.”

 Chris smirked and walked in the office, tray in hand. He set down the cup of coffee with his milk and bags of sugar, trying to catch PJ’s eye. In all his years of working with PJ, he had never seen him this glum. Ordinarily, PJ would try to be positive about everything that approached him. Today, PJ was positive about nothing. He ignored Chris’ smiles and continued scrolling through his phone. Chris took a peek at his screen.

 “I thought you were quitting Twitter,” Chris said, pouring the sugar into the coffee.

 PJ sighed. “Can’t exactly be keeping off social media at a situation like this, can I?”

 “Here’s your coffee, Captain.” Chris said, pushing the cup forward. “How are you doing?”

 PJ glanced at the coffee. “Not well,” he said, stirring the coffee. “Also, can I have a long black instead?”

 “No. We haven’t got the time for worrying about coffees today. You have a lot to do today.” Chris said, secretly pleased that he had an excuse to not remake PJ’s coffee. 

 PJ nodded gloomily. “Alright. Read them off for me, then.”

 Chris pulled out his clipboard and cleared his throat. “Well, you have to announce the official numbers of the incident in 1 hour, followed by time with the press, questions from the audience, etcetera. Then, you have a meeting with the CEOs of all the companies on the ISS which I estimate would be around two hours. After that, we managed to book you an interview with the BBC tonight, so please wrap up so we don’t be late for that.”

 “Jesus Christ.”

 “Quite a lot to do.”

 “I can see that.” PJ said. “So I’m announcing the official numbers in an hour?”

 “Correct.” Chris replied.

 PJ hesitated. “So what are the official numbers?”

 “Overall, it’s 132 dead, 15 injured and 2 missing. For BPS, it’s 10 dead, 3 injured and 2 missing.”

 “Oh God, those are terrible numbers.” PJ said.

 “Here’s the list of names.” Chris said.

 PJ skimmed the list. “Macsen Crane, Victoria Guy, Loretta Hess, Daniel Howell, Kason Kumar, Ca-”

 PJ paused. “Captain Philip Lester.”

 “Peej? Are you okay?” Chris asked.

 “I’m fine. Kendall, is this the list of the dead?” PJ asked.

 “The dead and missing, Captain. Are you sure you’re fine?” Chris frowned, watching as PJ quickly wiped his cheek.

 “I’m sure.” PJ assured. “Who’s dead and who’s missing?”

 “I don’t know. I was just given this list of names.” Chris replied.

 “Kendall, go and ask for the specifics.”

 Chris nodded. “Yes, Captain.” he said, and scurried out of the office

 PJ closed his eyes. Please, God, do not let Phil Lester be dead.

SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - CONTROL ROOM

 Phil: We’re dead. Oh god, we’re dead.

 [Dan taps Phil on the shoulder, who finally opens his eyes and looks at Dan who’s smiling at him]

 Dan: Captain. We’re alive. We did it. We made it.

 Phil: Oh my god.

 [Phil pulls Dan in a tight embrace. He lets Dan go awkwardly]

 Phil: Sorry. It’s just-

 [Dan nods]

 Dan: It’s fine. 

 [Dan smiles slowly]

 Dan: We made it. We actually made it.

 Phil: And with 30 seconds to spare. We should have taken our time.

 [Dan and Phil both laugh, tears of happiness streaming down their cheeks]

LOCATION: ??

DATE: 25/06/2053

TIME: ??

DAYS IN SPACE: 1

 USER: Mr Daniel Howell

 My name is Dan Howell, pilot of the 882, assistant to Captain Philip Lester and flying to fuck-knows-where. I’m here because I barely survived the International Space Station’s first emergency situation after 53 years of safe work in space.

 It felt good surviving, at first. We had just made it, fire right at our tail. But when we looked back, half the ISS still burning, we felt sick. If we had barely managed to make it, we couldn’t imagine how many people didn’t.

 Fire in open space is weird as hell. On Earth and on the ISS, fire causes the surrounding atmosphere to thin and expand and flames rise with the pull of gravity at the base of the flame. The oxygen makes sure it burns until it runs out of fuel.

 In open space, the hot air from the flame still thins and expands, but as it’s without gravity, the shape of fire is more like a dome. Instead of flickering, the fire orb sort of just hovers there. The oxygen molecules drift into the fire, meaning the flame still manages to persist, but it’s slower and more sluggish because there’s not that much oxygen to deal with.

 It’s weird. Also kind of cool. Everyone loves the idea of fire in space, including me. My first experiment on the ISS was playing with fire in microgravity. Looking back, it was actually pretty dangerous. Jayden Hebert almost caught on fire, which was hilarious but also terrifying. Adrenaline was boiling in my stomach and we were all shaking with excitement.

 Now, my stomach hurts and I am shaking but for all the wrong reasons. The captain nor I have any idea about how many people did or didn’t make it out. There's a possibility that someone we know could be in there, slowly dying, and that scares the both of us. 

 If I seem upset, the captain is even more distressed. I didn’t have any friends on the ISS. I didn’t talk, or know anyone that well. But the captain is an all-round good kind of guy who was friends with everyone on the station. He hasn’t said it to me, but he feels guilty for surviving. 

 He shouldn’t feel guilty for long, though. We’ve realised that we’re going to die on the ship, and there’s not really much we can do about that.

 You see, these shuttles were created and packed by NASA, purely for emergency purposes. Outside of that, not really any use of them. The only thing mechanics have to do with them is make sure that they’re functional, and since there hasn’t been any emergencies on the ISS in the 54 years of running, they’ve kind of been slack for doing that as well.

 Shuttle 882 broke after Allen Stephenson got drunk and spilt his beer inside two years ago, and the mechanics got really mad at him and told him to fix his own problem. Of course, Allen’s an idiot and doesn’t know shit about repairing a fucking shuttle, and even if he did, he didn’t have the proper tools to repair anything, so there wasn’t much he could do. The mechanics knew that. Like I said, there hasn’t been an emergency in the ISS until yesterday. Fixing a random shuttle in Locker 5 was really none of anyone’s concern.

 However, this does pose as a problem for me and the captain now. Allen the Fuckface managed to spill his beer in a lot of places, but most importantly, the teleporter and communications area. Normally, protocol for an emergency is to use the shuttle to immediately teleport the ship to Earth. They made this super easy for us, making a button which only allowed you to teleport to our home planet. However, obviously, Allen managed to mess that up which means that we are 100% screwed. 

 In cases like this, normally, you would communicate with mission control, and they would send an unmanned ship to collect you from the coordinates you send over. However, Allen spilt his beer all over the coordinate tracker and, more importantly, the SOS messenger, meaning that we have no way to communicate with Earth or know where we are. 

 Yeah. Fuck Allen.

 SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - MAIN ROOM

 [Dan walks into the main room]

 Dan: Good news and bad news, Captain.

 [Phil looks up from the communications panel he is trying to fix]

 Phil: Let’s hear the good news first.

 Dan: Well, the good news is that NASA always prepares for an emergency by packing way too much food. I counted, and we have exactly 100 freeze-dried meals.

 Phil: That sounds good, but even if we both only have half a meal a day, that’s only going to last us for just over three months.

 Dan: That’s the bad news.

 [Phil chuckles sorrowfully]

 Phil: So, we’re fucked.

 Dan: Pretty much.

 [Phil sighs]

 Phil: Any good news, Howell?

 Dan: This shuttle is an older design from ‘32, so there’s a bedroom with a double bed.

 Phil: That’s good, but I feel like there’s a catch.

 Dan: That is the only bedroom, so, we either have to draw straws or we have to take turns sleeping on the bed.

 Phil: Right.

 [Silence hangs in the room]

 Dan: Well, you’re my superior officer, so you can take the bed. I can sleep on the couch. 

 [Phil stands up]

 Phil: Well, you said it was a double bed.

 [Dan nods slowly]

 Dan: Yes I did, Captain.

 Phil: Well, that’s it, then. We’re grown men. We can share the bed. 

 Dan: Right. Of course. No problem sharing a bed with my captain.

 Phil: Absolutely. And vice versa. No problem sharing a bed with my...uh...pilot.

 Dan: Definitely.

 [Silence awkwardly hangs in the room yet again]

 Phil: Any other problems we need to deal with either than...you know…SOS messenger and all?

 Dan: Yeah. Uh, no. No more problems. Not that sharing a bed is a problem.

 Phil: No, of course not. Uh…

 Dan: Yeah, I’ll just leave you to try and fix the messenger and teleporter while I plan out our meals.

 Phil: Yeah. Cool.

 [Phil crouches back down to stare intensely at the communications battle]

 [Dan leaves the main room]

LOCATION: ??

DATE: 25/06/2053

TIME: ??

DAYS IN SPACE: 1

 USER: Mr Daniel Howell

 So apparently, I am now sharing a bed with the captain.

SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - EATING ROOM

 Phil: So, is this half of the meal?

 Dan: Yep.

 [Dan and Phil prod their food]

 [Dan begins eating the food]

 Phil: Oh, fuck this.

 [Phil gets up and gets the full meal]

 Dan: Captain-

 Phil: I don’t care, alright? I would rather live for 100 days with a full meal rather than this half-ass shit. 

 [Phil sighs]

 Phil: I’m sorry for that. It’s just such a stupid situation.

 Dan: You’re right, it is. We barely survive from a fire and plunge ourselves into what? Starving and thirsting to death. It’s like the universe wants us dead.

 Phil: No. Don’t say that. The universe does not want us dead.

 [Phil grabs Dan’s hand]

 Phil: We are going to get out here. As your captain, I promise you that I will get us out of here. We will survive these hard days, and we will return to Earth. Understood?

 [Dan doesn’t reply]

 Dan: Not I, Captain. We.

 Phil: Sorry?

 Dan: You may be my superior, but it isn’t just your responsibility to get us out of here. This is on both of us, Captain. We can’t get out of here unless we work together. 

 [Phil smiles]

 Phil: Of course. Not I. We.

SC LOCATION: SPACE SHUTTLE 882 - LEISURE ROOM

 Phil: So? Any good movies?

 Dan: Not really. There’s the X-Men movies.

 Phil: Hugh Jackman or Jayden Benton?

 Dan: Jackman, of course. Why would they bring those Benton ripoffs on here?

 Phil: True. Anything else?

 Dan: The old Harry Potter movies. Some random rom-coms. War movies. Animated films. Space movies, unsurprisingly. I haven’t heard of most of them, and there’s a lot.

 Phil: Well, we have plenty of time. What should we watch tonight?

Aladdin (1992): 1 hour 31 minutes

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 Aladdin (1992) downloaded

[ryeimagines]

Touch - Derek imagine

For the anon who inspired the idea for this and which wouldn’t leave me alone until i finished it. Enjoy! Ps. The cookies are a little shoutout to one of my favourite authors who first came up with it and I have no accepted that as fact. Also, you cannot convince me Derek isn’t secretly a cuddle monster. 

Requested: Yes. Word count: 1838. 

It started off as an experiment after a random comment from Stiles, caught up in one of his usual rants about stuff random facts he stumbled upon during one of his deep dives into wikipedia. Pretty much like most everything that had happened to you, it was totally the energetic teenagers fault.

“Hey, did you know that hugs can actually reduce stress for weres?”He paused long enough to stuff some curly fries into his mouth.

“Really?” Scott questioned.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read online.” Lydia commented, not lifting her gaze from the book she was reading. And that right there was pretty much like a dare. And if there was one thing you could always count on, was that the sheriff’s son would never back down from one.

“Okay, so let’s try it out.”Stiles stood up, gesturing for Scott to get up on his feet and pulled him in right there in the school cafeteria. “Hey there buddy.”

“Well, did it work?” Stiles prodded as the duo pulled apart.

”How are you feeling Scott?” Isaac spoke up, eyes flicking between the pair.

“Good. Really good.”

“Holy crap, that actually worked.”

Shortly after that, you somehow became the unofficial pack plush toy, surrounded by cuddly monsters who craved your attention and touch. It was everything from a quick hug for Scott before his Chemistry test, to comforting Isaac after a nightmare. You didn’t know exactly when it happened, but somehow your room had turned into a hotel, wolves coming over for sleepovers. One time you ended up being pushed out of bed because there was too many people, after that you started putting mattresses on the floor instead so you could spread out and sleep in a pile. Another thing you never saw coming. Though you had to admit, it was nice how the bond grew stronger, as you got closer. Even Peter tried to get in on the action though you promptly shot him with Allison’s bow because hell no. The only one who didn’t partake was the younger Hale, not for lack of trying though. Stiles’ hugged Derek and got punched in the face, since that no one tried repeating it.

You could see right through that sulky facade and the furrowed eyebrows in annoyance. He was jealous, he wanted it just as much as the others but for some reason he was denying himself. It was with a pang you remembered that his last pack died years ago and no one had probably shown him any kind of affection since then. You had a bit of a breakdown after that one, resolving to fix this immediatly. You knew he would never ask for it, so you decided to do something about it because you couldn’t take it any longer. You waited for a while, biding your time to find a good moment before shutting that down realizing that was never gonna happen. So, instead, you struck one day after a particularly testy day fighting fae. Everyone was in a bad mood after that, so you did what you do best; cheering them up. You stuck around after the others had left the loft, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say, pouncing on him before he had a chance to react or move away. He promptly froze, though easing up after a little while of you refusing to let him go, you only squeezed harder. He was a werewolf, he could have pushed you off easily or picked you up and thrown you out the door but he didn’t. He just stood there, arms against his side, and let you cuddle him. Afterwards you left without a word, throwing him a soft smile over your shoulder as you left but that was that. He wasn’t much of a talker, and you didn’t want to force him into doing something he wasn’t ready for.

That was the catalyst, now adding the grumpy alpha to your list of strays showing up in your bedroom for some cuddles. Though with Derek it was different, you took things slower, not wanting to startle him and undo all the progress he’d been making. He would only ever come over when you were alone, he’d promptly left another time when Isaac and Scott showed up, and he would only stay for a little bit at first. You were used to your window being used more than your actual front door, so it didn’t surprise you anymore when someone showed up. At least Derek gave you a soft knock of warning before coming inside, most nights anyways. That first night he actually stayed over, he tumbled in, bloody and clothes torn with the most emotion you’d ever seen in those hazel eyes. You acted on instinct, pulling in into a firm hug, before cleaning him up and getting him some clothes and wrapping him up in blankets, laying down next to him, careful not to press against his wounds, but close enough for him to feel your body heat and picked up the book you were reading and gently ran your fingers through his dark hair with your free hand. His peaceful breathes helped calm your nerves and you fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. He was gone by the time you woke up, and avoiding you for a couple of days before you confronted him and told him he was an idiot and you were expecting him tomorrow night, no excuses.

If someone had told you a couple of months ago that you would be sharing a bed with Derek Hale, you’d have laughed in their face. You didn’t have much of a relationship at first, more like tentative allies than partners, but it had blossomed since you started spending time together without threat of imminent danger or saving each others lives. You would count him as a friend now, getting to know Derek the person and not Alpha Derek who’s angry and doesn’t know what he’s doing leading a pack of teenagers. You were talking a lot, about the pack and you tried helping him out the best you could, but also non-werewolf related things like books and movies. Or you’d just sit in silence, enjoying each other company reading or watching a show. You learned that Derek was not a microwave popcorn kind of person, they taste better in a pan, and he loves gingersnaps. Seriously, he ate a plate of them you’d made for a bake sale, managing to look guilty when you walked into the kitchen and caught him redhanded, crumbles on his shirt. 

He volunteered to help you make more. He’s now banned from the kitchen. 

Things were getting better though, in general, and with the pack. Since the others were able to smell Derek’s scent lingering on you, and after a serious talk, they started to include the sour wolf in things as well. Group hugs were now a mandatory thing after a successful day of kicking butts, or after a rough one. The pack had grown closer, and you could see the change in Derek as well, he seemed to be breathing a bit easier, more sure of himself and his place in the pack and as a leader. This wasn’t just a group of people forced together fighting, it was a pack. A family. The first time you saw him smile was after that group hug, it was half a smile but it was genuine, you could see it in his eyes. And it was beautiful, you wish you’d brought a camera so you could freeze that moment. Sadly it was promptly cut short by Chris Argent showing up.

The thing about being a human running with wolves, you were a weakness and therefore also the target of everyone trying to hurt the pack, or just general assholes who got their kick out of hurting kids. Frankly, with the amount of hospital visits since you moved here, you should have earned a free one by now. Mrs McCall was not amused by that suggestion, muttering about idiots as she finished changing the dressing on your arm. This time was a close call, and you would have a constant reminder everyday you looked in the mirror. The big bad of the week had almost succeeded in removing your heart. Thankfully Scott came bursting through the door and saved the day and you passed out, supposedly being carried by Derek all the way to the hospital. Yeah, there was a conversation that you did not want to have, but it couldn’t be put off any longer. You were officially discharged and sent home, ordered to rest and not doing any strenuous activities.

Which is why you were in your pajamas at 3pm, hair up in a messy bun having a Netflix marathon and stuffing your face full of snacks when something crashed on to the floor, startling you. Looking up, your eyes locked with familiar pools. If looks could kill, he’d glare a hole in your head. Oh boy. He looks pissed. You had seen him angry before, but not like this, not at you. You jumped up, subconsciously moving back towards the door like he was a wild animal. Though, to be honest in that moment he was.

“Derek-”

“What the hell where you thinking? Are you actually insane? Do you have some sort of death wish?”

“I was thinking that he needed to be stopped before someone else got hurt.”

“Someone did.” Which, fair point. Then suddenly, he was moving towards you rapidly and something inside you told you to run. Derek Hale is finally going to tear my throat out. Shit.

“I’m sorry I-” Something crashed into you, if it weren’t for the arms around your waist holding you upright you’d be on the floor right now. It took you a moment to process what was happening, then it hit you. Oh. Derek’s hugging me. He had never initiated one before. Now, he was clinging to you like you would float away if he let go and you realized he wasn’t angry, he was scared. Scared for you. Before you made the choice, your arms found their way around, returning the hug and you burrowed your face into his neck, his scent filling your nostrils. 

You weren’t sure of how long you stayed like that, but when he finally took a step back and fixed you with a stare, you missed his touch already. 

“Don’t ever do that again. You’re pack. They need you.” I need you. 

“I promise to try my hardest not to die. Okay? You won’t get rid of me that easily.” I’m not going anywhere. He scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Why did it have to be teenagers?” He sighed. 

“Oh hush you big teddy bear, you know you love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Okay, whatever you say sour wolf. So, are you staying?”

“Yes.”

[perfectackeracy]

Shingeki no Kyojin chapter 90 review (+ theories)

This is it. 

We’re finally concluding the arc beginning with Grisha’s flashback at chapter 71 and ending with the basement’s discovery and the amount of deal-breaking contents, leading us to the last phase of the manga, with this month’s chapter as being the ultimate wrap-up.

Lasting 5 volumes, it would be wise to write an arc review in a separate post, since it covered the unfinished business left from the first volumes: taking back that portion of the territory surrounded by titans, the mystery between Grisha Yeager and the contents of the basement and eventually the truth behind this world. Too bad I wasn’t around when the first chapters have been published because it would’ve been fun to pick every theory around and check which ones were actually closer to the facts; remember people trying to guess the Beast Titan’s identity? Eren using the coordinate to invoke the wall titans during the battle?

But anyway, the point of this post is more about commenting the chapter in an itself and guess what happens next, as always. 

I’ll start by a general commentary: I had... mitigated views about this chapter overall. Not because it felt like a huge letdown for my birthday (because let’s face it, nothing can top Edgetolt) but because it just shows it’s a rather quick wrap-up when we’re preparing the final phase.

I’ll use the MangaStream translation while waiting for the CR scans. It’s not top-quality but the translations are usually on-point (and they seldom mess up bubble order or in this month’s case... PAGE ORDER).

This chapter can be decomposed into 4 phases:

The truth about the titans

Flocke

The ceremony

The timeskip

The ocean and Eren’s resolve

I’ll detail my review under the cut:

The truth about the titans

Historia made her mind and decided to make the information held public... If anything, that underlines the fact the basement was a turning point for the story, despite the sudden influx of information. 

This is huge since it was the point where Eldia stepped out of their cycle of ignorance and progressively started to realize the true nature of this world. As Historia said: this is retribution.

Historia letting Eldia know - Ch. 90

Just wanting to point a funny thing here.

She really looks like her father here - Ch. 66

Since a huge war is coming, it would make even more sense. I still don’t believe in that unity spirit however. While it may be effective in times of war against a common enemy, it’s not in times of peace. 

And according to Roy and Peaure, it’s apparently too brutal to stir an episode of nationalism or more precisely, a feeling of general agreement that the world they lived on was limited to a single huge island, weren’t part of Humanity in general but as a race labeled as “the descendants of Ymir”, that they’ve been the monsters all along and they’ve been isolating themselves from each other, having the rest of the humanity as a common enemy. 

Peaure took note of three types of reactions:

People who accepted the truth as it is

People who think this is a huge joke

Conspiracy theorists who think there’s some Illuminati members in the military

The first category will be easy to rally. The second one needs some time to digest the information or need better evidence. The third one is... well...

While living with the truth seems to make things better and ready for advancement (it’s always better than a situation where people make their growth stagnate), they now realize they’re the target of the rest of humanity who isn’t ready to change their minds. There simply isn’t any room for peace.

And that’s why I’m not feeling particularly salty about the titans being nearly wiped out. Grisha’s logs were the last knee-slapper as their role as mighty oppressors. I’ve said it in a post concerning Bertolt and his role as the Colossal Titan: the same analogy can be applied when they started as being those freakish humanoid looking creatures hellbent to devour humans and forced them to retreat behind walls, decimating anybody who dared to venture in their territory. Then revelations happened:

Humans can turn into titans.

Pure titans actually don’t have a proper conscience and are either trapped in a nightmare or bent on one particular desire.

With titans being humans it means “Humanity” was killing humans all along.

Not every titan can revert back to a human. Only 9 of the whole population can.

The user of the Coordinate can use them as slaves to their bidding.

Titans as well as most humans inside the walls belong to the same people, meaning they were fighting a war against themselves all along.

Titans are only wandering on one island while the rest of the world is free from them.

The wandering titans are actually part of the oppressed minority from another country sentenced for several types of crimes, often unfairly. 

All of this implies the SC was executing already sentenced people of their own kind, essentially finishing Marley’s work.

This whole path depicts them as the mere rank of victims rather than predators. Now that they learned who the real enemy is, titans are all demoted from that position, which makes me not so regretful they were eliminated by the guillotine, not to mention the flashback made sense as to why they were all trapped between Wall Maria and Wall Rose.

Eren’s lifestyle is to hunt predators and he already fixed his next target. Notice how at the end of the chapter he referred to the crawling titan as a fellow instead of an enemy he once sworn to kill? I’ll come back to it later.

Flocke 

One of the nicest part of the chapter was getting a peek from Hitch, eventually giving Marlowe’s death closure. Jean was giving her the classical speech of how brave he was when he fought for the recapture of Wall Maria. It could’ve gone smoothly but the little problem remaining about his honors was...

...Flocke

Flocke was probably the most controversial character from the chapter. Never in the spoilers tag have I seen so much vitriol for a character who started to make himself relevant in the second-last arc. I’m going to make myself clear about him:

He’s absolutely right.

I’ve seen so many fans call him a piece of shit, him thinking too highly of himself (when he called himself a coward?) or him being too harsh but in the situation where the SC is and as a stock-filling recruit, why should he sugarcoat everything when his first operation was one where he had to brave a giant monkey throwing rocks?

He wasn’t lying when he stated those facts about Marlowe. Being honest is still better than putting on a brave face, which made Hitch go ultimate tsundere and cry while missing how much of a self-absorbed idiot Marlowe was.

“Even though Marlowe Freudenberg was only recently recruited to the Survey Corps as part of the emergency listing just like me, he was still able to help unite us all. The Survey Corps were driven into a corner and faced certain annihilation. The situation seemed hopeless. While everyone else was vulnerable and frightened, he alone kept encouraging and inspiring us.” - Ch. 81 (Pic)

“But in the end... I’m sure he regretted ever going to that place.” - Ch. 81 (Pic)

He wasn’t too happy of dropping the truth on Armin either. He wasn’t fond of Erwin but in no way he would deny him a chance to a second life when there’s a way of breaking through the crack that is despair.

Besides, it wasn’t just his opinion. Everybody else wondered why Erwin wasn’t chosen. Erwin was right in their grasp and he was denied the serum. That’s how it happened to an outsider who only read the reports. People think the SC became nuts, and Flocke nailed what the problem was. For people who dedicated their hearts about serving a cause, they let their feelings get the best of them. “Somebody who can’t sacrifice anything can’t change anything.” Flocke used the same logic Armin does and that’s why it resonated with him in that panel.

“Someone who can’t throw anything away... will never be able to change anything” - Ch. 27 (Text)

Armin thinks the “useful evil” is good, which is why it made sense for him and Flocke to bring Erwin back instead of letting emotions getting the best of them.

“The three of you let your feelings get the better of you, took the injection for your own means, and made an irrational choice. In short you just couldn’t let go of someone important to you, could you?” - Ch. 84 & 85 (Pics)

“Eren... You’re one of those people who believe deep inside they’re always right. that’s why you never give up, just like some unreasonable child.” - Ch. 84 (Pic)

“In that regard, Mikasa was the grown-up in the situation. Because when push came to shove did she give up” - Ch. 84 (Pic)

“You people... You didn’t oppose the senior staff, nor did you try to stop Eren and Mikasa. You just stood there and watched.” - Ch. 84 (Pic)

Well, in defense of Jean, Sasha and Connie: the three of them arrived late and Sasha had a shrapnel her arm, so... 

Flocke was mostly narrating what really happened on that roof, which in perspective makes the situation look like a complete dramatic joke, which eventually gives the SC a bad rep where its only members are just a bunch of teenagers who only care about themselves.

Notice the stares from the other officiers oriented in the same direction than Flocke’s. It’s pretty telling the future recruits should watch out for the SC.

On another note, Flocke calls himself a coward. While it’s true he cried about him not wanting to die and not being remembered, he was the only one advocating for Erwin to be brought back before Hange showed up, even standing in front of a Mikasa ready to slice him. He faced Zeke’s attack alongside Erwin and Marlowe, survived miraculously and lost every single one of his comrades in the process. He has the right to have a word in this whole mess.

Armin also nods, making the same disappointed face than the one from chapter 85:

I swear to god, it’s the exact same - Ch. 90 & 85

Armin’s opinion didn’t change since chapter 85: Erwin should’ve lived. Eren this time tried to rile him back in by bringing up the exact same tirade he brought up when he was talking about the outside world, completely cut by his own intentions, associated with a picture of Faye being eaten by the dogs: freedom.

The ceremony

I have no idea why it popped up in his mind but as he touched Historia’s hand and had that detailed flashback with Grisha and Frieda, maybe using trigger words serves as a means to make the memories of a certain person flow through your brain:

When Eren pronounced the word “freedom”, he immediately shifted on Kruger’s perspective, seeing Fay eaten by the dogs.

When Frieda and Grandpa Reiss heard demands about solving the titan problem, the memories of the First King flowed through.

That would explain why Eren began having visions of Grisha and Kruger’s memories: the logs probably contained a lot of trigger words invoking the memories of both men, hence why Eren got a better hold of the coordinate when he couldn’t before.

Thanks to those flashbacks he managed to discover the real key to trigger the coordinate and still hasn’t told anybody about this. Not fully believing to be able to stop the imminent treat, you have two pages dedicated to his self-doubt, him feeling down.

...That expression reverted to anger when he got the full input of Grisha’s memories and perspective. The flashback wasn’t over.

Frieda, as the First King, must have ushered words so powerful they were enough to amp up Eren’s morale to the max. They were also powerful enough to make Grisha lose it, steal the power and make sure nobody from the Reiss family would seize it again. The details apparently made Eren keep the power to himself, as he initially believed the Reiss line was the only one able to defeat the titans with a bit of conviction.

Eren believing Grisha did wrong - Ch. 65

Remember how Kruger and the other restorationists stated how cowardly the King was? That probably what made Grisha lose his marbles and steal the power.

The timeskip

This is where my biggest complaint came from and while it doesn’t represent a huge portion of the chapter (two to thee pages), it was the major detail I was unhappy with. While the way they got rid of titans was understandable, it would’ve been nice to get at least a couple of pictures of everybody’s situation inside the walls during these months. Maybe (and I’m saying maybe) it’ll be used as an opening for next chapter but in any case it feels inappropriate.

Isayama mostly detailed that under the scenes of the seasons in Trost. It at least indicates the Shiganshina battle happened in late autumn/early winter (if that’s any indication for character’s birthdays, because I definitely believe Reiner and Bertolt are born the same year, Annie’s born a year later, the rest is born two years after Reiner and Bertolt and Armin turned 16 between the Uprising and the Battle of Shiganshina arcs). I still find that more underwhelming than having a picture of a ceremony for the fallen, the rest of the titans being wiped out by the military, giving Rico a cameo, Hange falling asleep on their desk after too much paperwork, Levi staring at the window remembering Erwin, Jean/Sasha/Connie paying visit/homage to their families, Armin staring at Eren being concerned but he coordinate shenanigans... All of this could’ve sat nicely on a page, just like this one:

The situation in the walls - Ch. 82

It really feels like nothing important happened and they reached the coast as if it was just the day after, while it’s probably the biggest timeskip of the manga.

Speaking of the ocean...

The ocean and Eren’s resolve

Y’know what? My theory was that the ocean was permanently out of reach because of the tensions inside the walls or it would be saved for the very last chapter. Instead, it was shown in the last chapter of the current arc and the issue was quickly buckled up at the end by Eren’s interruption.

Discovering the ocean also contributed to the underwhelming feeling, but after Isayama posted an entry about it, I’m wondering if closing the matter on six pages and not the ending of the series was actually intentional? The goal of the story was never about reaching the ocean but it felt more like a whim from one character who turned out to be overwhelmed with a major sin at the price of one life that should’ve been selected instead. When Armin reaches the ocean, he isn’t staring at it with the same “dreamy” eyes Eren envied. It’s only after Mikasa stepped in the water he felt joy again.

And of course Eren doesn’t even remotely care. As expected. Instead, he’s focused solely on finding a way to reach Marley and destroy every citizen here. I think that shell Armin found symbolized the beginning of the parting Isayama wanted to illustrate. Armin was probably riddled by survivor’s guilt because of Levi’s choice. Eren told him in this chapter he had to see the ocean he himself already saw but it’s eventually revealed it mattered so little to him. The shell represents Armin’s discovery about things no living Eldian has ever seen before but Eren immediately turns away, preferring finding a future where he walks around and nobody can stop him. It looks like Armin’s actually holding the shell back, isn’t he?

Anyway, that seals my review and I suppose the final arc will be solved on Marley: there’s literally nothing else to do on Paradis and the catastrophe is bound to repeat again. Eren made his mind and follows into his father’s footsteps, knowing how to trigger the coordinate. Getting into Marley is either going to be through infiltration or complete invasion. Since the SC has few members, the former is easier to accomplish if they can hijack a boat.

It’s weird we haven’t heard signs of Reiner or Zeke during these months. They have to be up to something and they’re probably luring the SC into a trap, where Zeke expects Eren to come to Marley by himself. The two of them have to meet in order for chaos to go down, because Marley is ridiculously powerful compared to Eldia. 

For some reason I’m expecting Eren to not only touch Zeke but also eat him as well. There’s many points we need to solve about Marley as well. I’m paraphrasing this post here:

What pushed Zeke to join the Marley warriors?

How were the warriors trained?

Were they several promotions?

Is Zeke actually an exception to the rule (somehow answered with Ymir Fritz dying 13 years after but contradicted by Zeke being recruited at least in his late teens)?

If so how did he manage to have a word with the higher-ups? Was he a vet in a previous war? An experimental test?

Is Marley aware Zeke is the last Fritz?

How was the original promotion of the seven warriors?

How did they organize themselves in two parties, with Zeke being the titan outside and Reiner, Bertolt and Annie as the infiltrates?

How come Zeke only manifested himself after Annie’s crystalization?

How is Marley dealing with their enemies in the East?

What about that Titan Chemistry society?

How come Reiner’s last name figure on the Armored serum Eren swallowed?

Is the fact that Reiner and Zeke share the same birthdays nothing more than a joke?

Speaking of Reiner, how come he and Bertolt never mention their family? Orphans? Taken in at a young age?

How did they keep the seven shifters in control?

How did Kruger get his shifter power?

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[jonathanbelloblog]

Mountains Climbed Lions Tamed

The bad thing about starting out on your first great South African off-road driving and safari adventure is that you and your camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hat look unbelievably stupid clomping through the gleaming marble lobby of Cape Town’s prestigious Table Bay Hotel. Hmm. Those childhood “Tarzan” movies might not have been the best source of wardrobe tips.

Once outside, we blend in so much better. Lining the hotel’s circular drive are a row of rugged Land Rover LR3s, one in Zambezi silver and four in Tangiers orange (painted in the livery of the recent G4 global adventure challenge), each accompanied by official instructor/guides dressed in matching uniforms of blue long-sleeved shirts and gray trousers. Behind them is a coterie of Land Rover North America handlers, complete with camera crew ready to record the five-star safari ahead.  

This is why we’d traveled halfway around the world. Automobile Magazine had been invited to join a band of well-heeled American adventurers who’d ponied up $8995 each (not including airfare) for the privilege of being terrified into a state of adventure nirvana for the next six days and nights. They are dressed like me, with the exception of a Bottega Veneto handbag here and a pair of Gucci loafers and Prada sunglasses there.

No, you will not meet beer-swilling, skinny-dipping, Jeep Rubicon- type revelers on the Land Rover trail. Our fellow travelers are retired captains of industry and entrepreneurs in aircraft maintenance and real-estate development. But make no mistake: over the course of the next week, in between the gourmet meals and fine wines of the Western Cape, men and women alike will slip from luxurious 1000-thread-count cocoons to muscle their pricey SUVs over perilous mountain passes, to ford rivers presumably teeming with crocodiles, and to part the dense swamp- grass home of black mambas, puff adders, and spitting cobras. Then drink.

There are a few off-road paradises left in the world, and Land Rover knows where to find them, partly because its stalwart products have already blazed those trails and can still be found merrily rolling along where pack mules fear to tread. If you own a Land Rover, you have the keys to it all, and Land Rover culture encourages you to partake.   Dealerships (called Land Rover Centres) have little on-site mountain test courses to try before you buy. Afterward, you can attend one of three magnificent off-road driving schools—at the Quail Lodge in Carmel Valley, California; at the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina; or at Fairmont Le Chateau Montebello in Quebec. The next stop is a full-blown Land Rover Adventure.

South Africa, a country three times the size of Great Britain, is perfect for adventure. It splits the frigid Atlantic from the warm waters of the Indian Ocean at the Cape Point, and depending on which side you’re on, offers subtropical vegetation, rugged mountain ranges, semi-desert, rain forest, scrubby bushveld, and perfectly groomed vineyards.   Its cities are modern, the political climate is fairly stable given its tumultuous past, its little towns are quaint, and the well-marked road system of the Western Cape is in better shape than Michigan’s. All that, and wild elephants in the backyard, too.

  What could be more perfect? That would be our guides, the staff of Kwa-Zulu Natal Land Rover Experience, the world’s first franchised Land Rover off-road training group, led by the irrepressible Rob Timcke, a chain-smoking, Red Bull-slugging firecracker. Timcke is a born raconteur who nevertheless inspires utter confidence in his ability to bring everyone back alive.   Not just a talker, Timcke was raised in a hunting camp in the old Eastern Transvaal on the Mozambique border, where his first language was Zulu. He spent time in the Congo during the really bad years as a South African army intelligence officer and became a professional hunter until 1993, when Communist Party leader Chris Hani was murdered and trophy hunters stayed home. Next, he set up tourist dives to view tiger and great white sharks. Without the cage.  

Timcke then jumped into teaching people the fine art of off-road driving. “I was always a bush person,” he says, “never a sea person. After nine years of getting really seasick, I found some idiot of a bank manager to buy my operation.” His cohorts include his stunning Akrikaaner wife, Carina. (“I slept my way into a job,” she cracks. “Unfortunately, my previous job paid much more.”)   Her brother Pierre Versfeld and top fly-fishing guide Antony Diplock complete the group. Diplock is not a big talker, but then he lives alone on an island near Namibia and, at the age of eighteen, participated in the tribal coming-of-age circumcision ritual with his boyhood Zulu friends. He doesn’t need to talk much.

Handshakes and hellos out of the way, we climb behind right-hand-mounted steering wheels and head south in convoy. To acclimate us to driving on the wrong side of the road, Timcke has sent us down the coast road past the rugged Twelve Apostles mountain chain flanking our left and the beach towns of Camps Bay and Llandudno on our right.   We climb the Chapman’s Peak toll road clinging to seaside cliffs and rumble through the shrubby natural fynbos (“fine bush”) habitat of the Cape of Good Hope nature reserve splashed with the bright spikey blooms of protea.

South Africans are rightfully proud of this, the densest of the world’s six floral kingdoms, counting between 8500 and 9000 species packed in an L-shaped area centered around Cape Town, no more than sixty miles wide. The camera car just misses a turtle in front of us. “Ooh, a fynbos tortoise,” chuckles Timcke. “They’re quite rare.”

The plan for a brief mountainside sojourn in the dirt is scratched due to a hard, fast storm blowing in from the south. This brings fond memories to Timcke: “Carina and I ran a safari in Botswana. We were camping when massive, massive thunderstorms rolled in. You could see lightning for miles.   She was setting the table with white linen, and I noticed the ground was alive. Scorpions and spiders. ‘You take me home and you take me home now!’ she yelled. This other time we were scouting in Zambia, and I sent her out to check the depth of the river crossing. She was chest-deep and turned and yelled, ‘What if there are crocs?’ I told her, ‘Don’t splash.’ ” What a gal.

We carry on to the mountain-ringed Cape Winelands surrounding Paarl, Franschhoek, and Stellenbosch (founded by Dutch and Huguenot settlers in the late 1600s) for a world-class lunch at Bosman’s Restaurant at Grande Roche, Africa’s only Relais Gourmand.   We taste the superb wines of Grand Roche, Boschendal, and Spier. Instructors become chauffeurs. Back in Cape Town, a native choir welcomes us to dinner at the prime minister’s historic residence. It seems that there’ll be no end to the eating and drinking. And drinking.

Real off-roading comes early the next day, and it is very, very good. Our LR3 has a 300-hp V-8 that shifts through a six-speed manu-matic and a hill-descent control system that won’t let the vehicle roll downhill unchecked with your foot off the brake—which is most helpful when it gets dicey. Terrain response allows the perfect tractive selection with the spin of a knob. I select the rock icon to climb into the pines, spotting a mongoose and a few klipspringers, which look like tiny reindeer perched on clothespins.   It looks like Colorado, I think. Baboons run out. Colorado, but with baboons. A sentry male barks and moves toward us, menacing, while the rest of the troop flees. “I raised four baboons,” says Timcke. “They ran loose at our safari lodge. The males are domineering and see humans as other primates. There will be one alpha male and lots of beta males. My mom, they hung on her leg. My dad was the dominant male. At maturity, they challenge the troop. This one, he’d demonstrate his strength to the weaker part of the troop. That would be my sister. He eventually nipped her, drew blood, and I got out the revolver and shot him.” OK, then.

Once through the forest, we dive into a thicket of grass and find that the rain has made a lake of our trail. Knowing that an LR3 can push through water high enough to break over the hood, I press confidently along, completely forgetting I am on highway tires. No problem. We come out in the fynbos, a riotous blast of purple, pink, yellow, and blue spikes, flowers your florist would die for.

Back to Stellenbosch for an open-air Indonesian and Cape Malay buffet with delicacies such as springbok saut and gnu stew. (I made that last one up.) In the city center, there’s a great crafts market, but I’ve decided to not tell you about buying the Congolese mask from the Zairian merchant, whom I somehow bargained up from 280 to 300 rand, about fifty dollars. Rob is suffused with mirth as I climb in with my precious cargo. The guy was sweating. He pleaded. I felt sorry for him. Forget it.

Luggage stowed, we head for an overnight in the coastal town of Knysna. We of course go the longest, most difficult way. There is a dirt trail all the way from Cape Town to Knysna, but we don’t patch into it until we turn off just west of Mossel Bay on Route 327, pass ostrich farms that line the road on both sides, and head into the Centre Valley of the Western Cape, the arid red earth and rocklands of the Little Karoo.

In the distance, two wild ostriches haul tailfeathers across the bleak plain. “Damn quick little buggers,” says Rob. “Sixty kph [37 mph] at full speed.” The road turns to lane, the lane to trail, and soon we are climbing past a sign that reads, ‘Men remove dentures, ladies fasten your bras.’ It’s the oxwagon autobahn, the path of Dutch settlers between 1689 and 1869. If they could do it, so can we.

We see wild Boerperds—native horses—and the most colorful birds imaginable. When we can look. Because now we are creeping downhill. The rocks are loose and have sharp edges, it is scary steep, and in some places the holes are so deep that both rear wheels lift off the ground in a pirouette straight from hell, which gives me shallow breathing. As I crawl from that horror, I loosen my sweaty stranglehold on the wheel, letting it spin free in my hands.

“You mustn’t do that or the ruts in the road will dictate where your tires will be,” Rob corrects me. I forgot he was even there, focusing as I am on the sharp rocks that line the downward slope of this path. I feel six inches too close to everything—the steering wheel, the pedals, the brakes, God. “Take the brake off,” says Rob. Huh?   I have to unhook all ten toes from their death grip on the pedal. I don’t want to. But the LR3 slowly finishes the gradual descent without my feet. We are at Bonniedale, a 1650-hectare guest farm that was named one of the top 4×4 destinations in South Africa for two years.   It’s open to the public for anything from a day’s driving fun to camping and horse trekking. Nico Hesterman, a former conservation officer, and his wife, Danette, have lived in this wilderness for eighteen years and have a traditional outdoor barbecue, or braai, waiting in camp for us. A cold, Namibia-brewed Windhoek lager would have to wait ’til that evening.  

We were sorely ready for the rain forest town of Knysna and its ultraluxurious, ultrachic Pezula Resort. Again we arrive with the camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hats, tromping through someone’s hushed art gallery of a hotel lobby.   But this time, we throw ourselves on the nearest beer bottle, nearly weeping with relief for having made it thus far unscathed. Okay, maybe that really nice lady with the Bottega Veneto bag and Gucci loafers, who rode serenely down that same awful hill, confident in her young son’s ability at the wheel, sipped white wine.  

IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

Mountains Climbed Lions Tamed

The bad thing about starting out on your first great South African off-road driving and safari adventure is that you and your camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hat look unbelievably stupid clomping through the gleaming marble lobby of Cape Town’s prestigious Table Bay Hotel. Hmm. Those childhood “Tarzan” movies might not have been the best source of wardrobe tips.

Once outside, we blend in so much better. Lining the hotel’s circular drive are a row of rugged Land Rover LR3s, one in Zambezi silver and four in Tangiers orange (painted in the livery of the recent G4 global adventure challenge), each accompanied by official instructor/guides dressed in matching uniforms of blue long-sleeved shirts and gray trousers. Behind them is a coterie of Land Rover North America handlers, complete with camera crew ready to record the five-star safari ahead.  

This is why we’d traveled halfway around the world. Automobile Magazine had been invited to join a band of well-heeled American adventurers who’d ponied up $8995 each (not including airfare) for the privilege of being terrified into a state of adventure nirvana for the next six days and nights. They are dressed like me, with the exception of a Bottega Veneto handbag here and a pair of Gucci loafers and Prada sunglasses there.

No, you will not meet beer-swilling, skinny-dipping, Jeep Rubicon- type revelers on the Land Rover trail. Our fellow travelers are retired captains of industry and entrepreneurs in aircraft maintenance and real-estate development. But make no mistake: over the course of the next week, in between the gourmet meals and fine wines of the Western Cape, men and women alike will slip from luxurious 1000-thread-count cocoons to muscle their pricey SUVs over perilous mountain passes, to ford rivers presumably teeming with crocodiles, and to part the dense swamp- grass home of black mambas, puff adders, and spitting cobras. Then drink.

There are a few off-road paradises left in the world, and Land Rover knows where to find them, partly because its stalwart products have already blazed those trails and can still be found merrily rolling along where pack mules fear to tread. If you own a Land Rover, you have the keys to it all, and Land Rover culture encourages you to partake.   Dealerships (called Land Rover Centres) have little on-site mountain test courses to try before you buy. Afterward, you can attend one of three magnificent off-road driving schools—at the Quail Lodge in Carmel Valley, California; at the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina; or at Fairmont Le Chateau Montebello in Quebec. The next stop is a full-blown Land Rover Adventure.

South Africa, a country three times the size of Great Britain, is perfect for adventure. It splits the frigid Atlantic from the warm waters of the Indian Ocean at the Cape Point, and depending on which side you’re on, offers subtropical vegetation, rugged mountain ranges, semi-desert, rain forest, scrubby bushveld, and perfectly groomed vineyards.   Its cities are modern, the political climate is fairly stable given its tumultuous past, its little towns are quaint, and the well-marked road system of the Western Cape is in better shape than Michigan’s. All that, and wild elephants in the backyard, too.

  What could be more perfect? That would be our guides, the staff of Kwa-Zulu Natal Land Rover Experience, the world’s first franchised Land Rover off-road training group, led by the irrepressible Rob Timcke, a chain-smoking, Red Bull-slugging firecracker. Timcke is a born raconteur who nevertheless inspires utter confidence in his ability to bring everyone back alive.   Not just a talker, Timcke was raised in a hunting camp in the old Eastern Transvaal on the Mozambique border, where his first language was Zulu. He spent time in the Congo during the really bad years as a South African army intelligence officer and became a professional hunter until 1993, when Communist Party leader Chris Hani was murdered and trophy hunters stayed home. Next, he set up tourist dives to view tiger and great white sharks. Without the cage.  

Timcke then jumped into teaching people the fine art of off-road driving. “I was always a bush person,” he says, “never a sea person. After nine years of getting really seasick, I found some idiot of a bank manager to buy my operation.” His cohorts include his stunning Akrikaaner wife, Carina. (“I slept my way into a job,” she cracks. “Unfortunately, my previous job paid much more.”)   Her brother Pierre Versfeld and top fly-fishing guide Antony Diplock complete the group. Diplock is not a big talker, but then he lives alone on an island near Namibia and, at the age of eighteen, participated in the tribal coming-of-age circumcision ritual with his boyhood Zulu friends. He doesn’t need to talk much.

Handshakes and hellos out of the way, we climb behind right-hand-mounted steering wheels and head south in convoy. To acclimate us to driving on the wrong side of the road, Timcke has sent us down the coast road past the rugged Twelve Apostles mountain chain flanking our left and the beach towns of Camps Bay and Llandudno on our right.   We climb the Chapman’s Peak toll road clinging to seaside cliffs and rumble through the shrubby natural fynbos (“fine bush”) habitat of the Cape of Good Hope nature reserve splashed with the bright spikey blooms of protea.

South Africans are rightfully proud of this, the densest of the world’s six floral kingdoms, counting between 8500 and 9000 species packed in an L-shaped area centered around Cape Town, no more than sixty miles wide. The camera car just misses a turtle in front of us. “Ooh, a fynbos tortoise,” chuckles Timcke. “They’re quite rare.”

The plan for a brief mountainside sojourn in the dirt is scratched due to a hard, fast storm blowing in from the south. This brings fond memories to Timcke: “Carina and I ran a safari in Botswana. We were camping when massive, massive thunderstorms rolled in. You could see lightning for miles.   She was setting the table with white linen, and I noticed the ground was alive. Scorpions and spiders. ‘You take me home and you take me home now!’ she yelled. This other time we were scouting in Zambia, and I sent her out to check the depth of the river crossing. She was chest-deep and turned and yelled, ‘What if there are crocs?’ I told her, ‘Don’t splash.’ ” What a gal.

We carry on to the mountain-ringed Cape Winelands surrounding Paarl, Franschhoek, and Stellenbosch (founded by Dutch and Huguenot settlers in the late 1600s) for a world-class lunch at Bosman’s Restaurant at Grande Roche, Africa’s only Relais Gourmand.   We taste the superb wines of Grand Roche, Boschendal, and Spier. Instructors become chauffeurs. Back in Cape Town, a native choir welcomes us to dinner at the prime minister’s historic residence. It seems that there’ll be no end to the eating and drinking. And drinking.

Real off-roading comes early the next day, and it is very, very good. Our LR3 has a 300-hp V-8 that shifts through a six-speed manu-matic and a hill-descent control system that won’t let the vehicle roll downhill unchecked with your foot off the brake—which is most helpful when it gets dicey. Terrain response allows the perfect tractive selection with the spin of a knob. I select the rock icon to climb into the pines, spotting a mongoose and a few klipspringers, which look like tiny reindeer perched on clothespins.   It looks like Colorado, I think. Baboons run out. Colorado, but with baboons. A sentry male barks and moves toward us, menacing, while the rest of the troop flees. “I raised four baboons,” says Timcke. “They ran loose at our safari lodge. The males are domineering and see humans as other primates. There will be one alpha male and lots of beta males. My mom, they hung on her leg. My dad was the dominant male. At maturity, they challenge the troop. This one, he’d demonstrate his strength to the weaker part of the troop. That would be my sister. He eventually nipped her, drew blood, and I got out the revolver and shot him.” OK, then.

Once through the forest, we dive into a thicket of grass and find that the rain has made a lake of our trail. Knowing that an LR3 can push through water high enough to break over the hood, I press confidently along, completely forgetting I am on highway tires. No problem. We come out in the fynbos, a riotous blast of purple, pink, yellow, and blue spikes, flowers your florist would die for.

Back to Stellenbosch for an open-air Indonesian and Cape Malay buffet with delicacies such as springbok saut and gnu stew. (I made that last one up.) In the city center, there’s a great crafts market, but I’ve decided to not tell you about buying the Congolese mask from the Zairian merchant, whom I somehow bargained up from 280 to 300 rand, about fifty dollars. Rob is suffused with mirth as I climb in with my precious cargo. The guy was sweating. He pleaded. I felt sorry for him. Forget it.

Luggage stowed, we head for an overnight in the coastal town of Knysna. We of course go the longest, most difficult way. There is a dirt trail all the way from Cape Town to Knysna, but we don’t patch into it until we turn off just west of Mossel Bay on Route 327, pass ostrich farms that line the road on both sides, and head into the Centre Valley of the Western Cape, the arid red earth and rocklands of the Little Karoo.

In the distance, two wild ostriches haul tailfeathers across the bleak plain. “Damn quick little buggers,” says Rob. “Sixty kph [37 mph] at full speed.” The road turns to lane, the lane to trail, and soon we are climbing past a sign that reads, ‘Men remove dentures, ladies fasten your bras.’ It’s the oxwagon autobahn, the path of Dutch settlers between 1689 and 1869. If they could do it, so can we.

We see wild Boerperds—native horses—and the most colorful birds imaginable. When we can look. Because now we are creeping downhill. The rocks are loose and have sharp edges, it is scary steep, and in some places the holes are so deep that both rear wheels lift off the ground in a pirouette straight from hell, which gives me shallow breathing. As I crawl from that horror, I loosen my sweaty stranglehold on the wheel, letting it spin free in my hands.

“You mustn’t do that or the ruts in the road will dictate where your tires will be,” Rob corrects me. I forgot he was even there, focusing as I am on the sharp rocks that line the downward slope of this path. I feel six inches too close to everything—the steering wheel, the pedals, the brakes, God. “Take the brake off,” says Rob. Huh?   I have to unhook all ten toes from their death grip on the pedal. I don’t want to. But the LR3 slowly finishes the gradual descent without my feet. We are at Bonniedale, a 1650-hectare guest farm that was named one of the top 4×4 destinations in South Africa for two years.   It’s open to the public for anything from a day’s driving fun to camping and horse trekking. Nico Hesterman, a former conservation officer, and his wife, Danette, have lived in this wilderness for eighteen years and have a traditional outdoor barbecue, or braai, waiting in camp for us. A cold, Namibia-brewed Windhoek lager would have to wait ’til that evening.  

We were sorely ready for the rain forest town of Knysna and its ultraluxurious, ultrachic Pezula Resort. Again we arrive with the camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hats, tromping through someone’s hushed art gallery of a hotel lobby.   But this time, we throw ourselves on the nearest beer bottle, nearly weeping with relief for having made it thus far unscathed. Okay, maybe that really nice lady with the Bottega Veneto bag and Gucci loafers, who rode serenely down that same awful hill, confident in her young son’s ability at the wheel, sipped white wine.  

IFTTT

[eddiejpoplar]

Mountains Climbed Lions Tamed

The bad thing about starting out on your first great South African off-road driving and safari adventure is that you and your camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hat look unbelievably stupid clomping through the gleaming marble lobby of Cape Town’s prestigious Table Bay Hotel. Hmm. Those childhood “Tarzan” movies might not have been the best source of wardrobe tips.

Once outside, we blend in so much better. Lining the hotel’s circular drive are a row of rugged Land Rover LR3s, one in Zambezi silver and four in Tangiers orange (painted in the livery of the recent G4 global adventure challenge), each accompanied by official instructor/guides dressed in matching uniforms of blue long-sleeved shirts and gray trousers. Behind them is a coterie of Land Rover North America handlers, complete with camera crew ready to record the five-star safari ahead.  

This is why we’d traveled halfway around the world. Automobile Magazine had been invited to join a band of well-heeled American adventurers who’d ponied up $8995 each (not including airfare) for the privilege of being terrified into a state of adventure nirvana for the next six days and nights. They are dressed like me, with the exception of a Bottega Veneto handbag here and a pair of Gucci loafers and Prada sunglasses there.

No, you will not meet beer-swilling, skinny-dipping, Jeep Rubicon- type revelers on the Land Rover trail. Our fellow travelers are retired captains of industry and entrepreneurs in aircraft maintenance and real-estate development. But make no mistake: over the course of the next week, in between the gourmet meals and fine wines of the Western Cape, men and women alike will slip from luxurious 1000-thread-count cocoons to muscle their pricey SUVs over perilous mountain passes, to ford rivers presumably teeming with crocodiles, and to part the dense swamp- grass home of black mambas, puff adders, and spitting cobras. Then drink.

There are a few off-road paradises left in the world, and Land Rover knows where to find them, partly because its stalwart products have already blazed those trails and can still be found merrily rolling along where pack mules fear to tread. If you own a Land Rover, you have the keys to it all, and Land Rover culture encourages you to partake.   Dealerships (called Land Rover Centres) have little on-site mountain test courses to try before you buy. Afterward, you can attend one of three magnificent off-road driving schools—at the Quail Lodge in Carmel Valley, California; at the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina; or at Fairmont Le Chateau Montebello in Quebec. The next stop is a full-blown Land Rover Adventure.

South Africa, a country three times the size of Great Britain, is perfect for adventure. It splits the frigid Atlantic from the warm waters of the Indian Ocean at the Cape Point, and depending on which side you’re on, offers subtropical vegetation, rugged mountain ranges, semi-desert, rain forest, scrubby bushveld, and perfectly groomed vineyards.   Its cities are modern, the political climate is fairly stable given its tumultuous past, its little towns are quaint, and the well-marked road system of the Western Cape is in better shape than Michigan’s. All that, and wild elephants in the backyard, too.

  What could be more perfect? That would be our guides, the staff of Kwa-Zulu Natal Land Rover Experience, the world’s first franchised Land Rover off-road training group, led by the irrepressible Rob Timcke, a chain-smoking, Red Bull-slugging firecracker. Timcke is a born raconteur who nevertheless inspires utter confidence in his ability to bring everyone back alive.   Not just a talker, Timcke was raised in a hunting camp in the old Eastern Transvaal on the Mozambique border, where his first language was Zulu. He spent time in the Congo during the really bad years as a South African army intelligence officer and became a professional hunter until 1993, when Communist Party leader Chris Hani was murdered and trophy hunters stayed home. Next, he set up tourist dives to view tiger and great white sharks. Without the cage.  

Timcke then jumped into teaching people the fine art of off-road driving. “I was always a bush person,” he says, “never a sea person. After nine years of getting really seasick, I found some idiot of a bank manager to buy my operation.” His cohorts include his stunning Akrikaaner wife, Carina. (“I slept my way into a job,” she cracks. “Unfortunately, my previous job paid much more.”)   Her brother Pierre Versfeld and top fly-fishing guide Antony Diplock complete the group. Diplock is not a big talker, but then he lives alone on an island near Namibia and, at the age of eighteen, participated in the tribal coming-of-age circumcision ritual with his boyhood Zulu friends. He doesn’t need to talk much.

Handshakes and hellos out of the way, we climb behind right-hand-mounted steering wheels and head south in convoy. To acclimate us to driving on the wrong side of the road, Timcke has sent us down the coast road past the rugged Twelve Apostles mountain chain flanking our left and the beach towns of Camps Bay and Llandudno on our right.   We climb the Chapman’s Peak toll road clinging to seaside cliffs and rumble through the shrubby natural fynbos (“fine bush”) habitat of the Cape of Good Hope nature reserve splashed with the bright spikey blooms of protea.

South Africans are rightfully proud of this, the densest of the world’s six floral kingdoms, counting between 8500 and 9000 species packed in an L-shaped area centered around Cape Town, no more than sixty miles wide. The camera car just misses a turtle in front of us. “Ooh, a fynbos tortoise,” chuckles Timcke. “They’re quite rare.”

The plan for a brief mountainside sojourn in the dirt is scratched due to a hard, fast storm blowing in from the south. This brings fond memories to Timcke: “Carina and I ran a safari in Botswana. We were camping when massive, massive thunderstorms rolled in. You could see lightning for miles.   She was setting the table with white linen, and I noticed the ground was alive. Scorpions and spiders. ‘You take me home and you take me home now!’ she yelled. This other time we were scouting in Zambia, and I sent her out to check the depth of the river crossing. She was chest-deep and turned and yelled, ‘What if there are crocs?’ I told her, ‘Don’t splash.’ ” What a gal.

We carry on to the mountain-ringed Cape Winelands surrounding Paarl, Franschhoek, and Stellenbosch (founded by Dutch and Huguenot settlers in the late 1600s) for a world-class lunch at Bosman’s Restaurant at Grande Roche, Africa’s only Relais Gourmand.   We taste the superb wines of Grand Roche, Boschendal, and Spier. Instructors become chauffeurs. Back in Cape Town, a native choir welcomes us to dinner at the prime minister’s historic residence. It seems that there’ll be no end to the eating and drinking. And drinking.

Real off-roading comes early the next day, and it is very, very good. Our LR3 has a 300-hp V-8 that shifts through a six-speed manu-matic and a hill-descent control system that won’t let the vehicle roll downhill unchecked with your foot off the brake—which is most helpful when it gets dicey. Terrain response allows the perfect tractive selection with the spin of a knob. I select the rock icon to climb into the pines, spotting a mongoose and a few klipspringers, which look like tiny reindeer perched on clothespins.   It looks like Colorado, I think. Baboons run out. Colorado, but with baboons. A sentry male barks and moves toward us, menacing, while the rest of the troop flees. “I raised four baboons,” says Timcke. “They ran loose at our safari lodge. The males are domineering and see humans as other primates. There will be one alpha male and lots of beta males. My mom, they hung on her leg. My dad was the dominant male. At maturity, they challenge the troop. This one, he’d demonstrate his strength to the weaker part of the troop. That would be my sister. He eventually nipped her, drew blood, and I got out the revolver and shot him.” OK, then.

Once through the forest, we dive into a thicket of grass and find that the rain has made a lake of our trail. Knowing that an LR3 can push through water high enough to break over the hood, I press confidently along, completely forgetting I am on highway tires. No problem. We come out in the fynbos, a riotous blast of purple, pink, yellow, and blue spikes, flowers your florist would die for.

Back to Stellenbosch for an open-air Indonesian and Cape Malay buffet with delicacies such as springbok saut and gnu stew. (I made that last one up.) In the city center, there’s a great crafts market, but I’ve decided to not tell you about buying the Congolese mask from the Zairian merchant, whom I somehow bargained up from 280 to 300 rand, about fifty dollars. Rob is suffused with mirth as I climb in with my precious cargo. The guy was sweating. He pleaded. I felt sorry for him. Forget it.

Luggage stowed, we head for an overnight in the coastal town of Knysna. We of course go the longest, most difficult way. There is a dirt trail all the way from Cape Town to Knysna, but we don’t patch into it until we turn off just west of Mossel Bay on Route 327, pass ostrich farms that line the road on both sides, and head into the Centre Valley of the Western Cape, the arid red earth and rocklands of the Little Karoo.

In the distance, two wild ostriches haul tailfeathers across the bleak plain. “Damn quick little buggers,” says Rob. “Sixty kph [37 mph] at full speed.” The road turns to lane, the lane to trail, and soon we are climbing past a sign that reads, ‘Men remove dentures, ladies fasten your bras.’ It’s the oxwagon autobahn, the path of Dutch settlers between 1689 and 1869. If they could do it, so can we.

We see wild Boerperds—native horses—and the most colorful birds imaginable. When we can look. Because now we are creeping downhill. The rocks are loose and have sharp edges, it is scary steep, and in some places the holes are so deep that both rear wheels lift off the ground in a pirouette straight from hell, which gives me shallow breathing. As I crawl from that horror, I loosen my sweaty stranglehold on the wheel, letting it spin free in my hands.

“You mustn’t do that or the ruts in the road will dictate where your tires will be,” Rob corrects me. I forgot he was even there, focusing as I am on the sharp rocks that line the downward slope of this path. I feel six inches too close to everything—the steering wheel, the pedals, the brakes, God. “Take the brake off,” says Rob. Huh?   I have to unhook all ten toes from their death grip on the pedal. I don’t want to. But the LR3 slowly finishes the gradual descent without my feet. We are at Bonniedale, a 1650-hectare guest farm that was named one of the top 4×4 destinations in South Africa for two years.   It’s open to the public for anything from a day’s driving fun to camping and horse trekking. Nico Hesterman, a former conservation officer, and his wife, Danette, have lived in this wilderness for eighteen years and have a traditional outdoor barbecue, or braai, waiting in camp for us. A cold, Namibia-brewed Windhoek lager would have to wait ’til that evening.  

We were sorely ready for the rain forest town of Knysna and its ultraluxurious, ultrachic Pezula Resort. Again we arrive with the camouflage pants, lug-soled hiking boots, and zebra-trimmed bush hats, tromping through someone’s hushed art gallery of a hotel lobby.   But this time, we throw ourselves on the nearest beer bottle, nearly weeping with relief for having made it thus far unscathed. Okay, maybe that really nice lady with the Bottega Veneto bag and Gucci loafers, who rode serenely down that same awful hill, confident in her young son’s ability at the wheel, sipped white wine.  

IFTTT