#ive spent almost every day out at sea for 2 years and only now do i make this realisation

[yamada-ryo]

I've only just realised that the shipgirls from kancolle / azur lane / any other gacha/waifu shipgirl game probably stink of salty sea water. Like those dojins where the commander decides to lay pipe or whatever with their kanmusu that just returned from spending a whole day out at sea and thinking "hmm yes" and not "this smells like of ol' blackbeard".

[probably-haven]

Hello!! After seeing what you wrote about xiaoven fics I went to see what things you usually write and omg, your archon Venti headcanons????? I am absolutely in love. So if it isn't annoying, could you talk about xiaoven or Venti or Xiao or whatever ship or character you like? I don't care what you are going to say, I just want to know more about your thoughts ^^

I- is this... bestie, this is essentially a free ramble pass- kerujsgheskdfug. Trust me when I say that in no way is this, and in no way will it ever be annoying in the slightest- i literally- lets just say rambling off thoughts is kind of my specialty, especially when provided a topic to branch off of because otherwise I'm just- really indecisive about it so- iujskdh yeah- 100% definitely down to talk about Venti, Xiao, and/or Xiaoven XD. Also, yes- it may have been awhile since i last posted one(cuz again, indecisive about which direction to take part 5), but the Archon War Era Venti headcanons are still without a doubt my favorite posts I've made. It's just such an interesting topic with such endless potential that so few people actually think about or consider or even realize is there, so i always just get really psyched whenever i see someone interact with them lol.

.... this ended up being a bit of a mess: warning in advance

Anyway! onto the actual content!

- You see the thing about Xiaoven is that there's a lot of different ways that it could end up working out, and just personally my favorite way of portraying Xiaoven in my mind is as an unlabeled relationship because if anyone in genshin would give off that vibe its these two. And a number of other reasons.

- Firstly, I heavily headcanon Venti as being an aroace polyplatonic or perhaps heavily demiromantic. However, regardless of this I just don't think that Venti is really the kind of person to worry about how he should label his feelings, thinking it's silly to try to put them in one box or the other, especially with feelings and emotions being as fluid as they are in general. Plus it fits his whole God of Freedom vibe. I just- dont think he's the biggest fan of labels or social categorization in general.

- And secondly on the hand of Xiao... his defense mechanisms are very much ingrained in his personality. It's probably hard enough for him to not go into fight or flight(the answer is fight) at the slightest affection at first, at the slightest feeling of vulnerability. Even further down the line, with his fierce dedication to Liyue, I cant help but get the vibe that the moment he recognized that he was falling for Venti he would begin avoiding him, not only to avoid distraction from his duty, but to avoid corrupting him or losing him in general like he has with like basically every other person he gets close with(even believing that the cycle had repeated once more when he first heard of Morax's death)... now imagine Venti tryna slap a label on their relationship and tell me Xiao would have a positive reaction.

- The thing with Xiaoven.... honestly, i feel like theres more ways that it can go wrong than it can go right, but if they do manage to make their relationship work out, it's just simply beautiful in all terms of the word.

- Lets talk about killing. - During the Archon War, both were forced to kill a large number of people and gods alike- Venti out of a need to remain alive to protect Mondstadt, it's freedom, and the nameless bard's legacy by extent- and Xiao out of servitude to the god that was once his master

..... actually- break here- ive talked a lot about Venti on this blog but I havent actually spoken about Xiao all that much- so i should probably do that a bit first... do note though that my characterization of Xiao is pretty flexible actually- this is just- the possible characterization of him that i tend to favor as being the most- uh- "realistically complex"

-

Theres a line I saw this one time in a certain story: "He is a trained weapon. That's what he is, was, and always will be. You cannot change that so stop trying." And i just- think its a really interesting concept- that applies pretty well to Xiao now that i actually think about it. - the concept behind it is this: After spending more than a vast majority of his life killing or otherwise in battle, it's become a part of who he is, a normalcy that after centuries and centuries would be near impossible to get rid of or reverse, and even if it was possible, with his karmic debt constantly eating away at him its unlikely he has enough time left for that to happen. - it sounds like a cruel thing to say about him- but in context it's actually pretty layered and i think about it a lot. It's not as much a "he's a killer lol, that his whole personality" its more of a "The centuries of trauma he experienced have conditioned him into a constantly alert and battle ready mindset while also shaping his dehumanizing inferior-in-worth-but-superior-in-capability view of himself that would have likely been necessary to get through those time, and at this point he's been under that conditioning for long enough that it's essentially ingrained itself in his personality."

- the main idea is- it's a part of who he is, that needs to be accepted as who he is because its not something that he can just up and change. It's not all he is of course but his constant battle mode, as though always waiting to be ambushed or to be granted a new target to eradicate.

a couple character story quotes:

-"His past of service under the evil god had rid Xiao of his innocence and gentleness. All that remained within him was the means to kill and the weight of his sins. The only way he could be of service to mortals was in combat." -"Xiao does not feel any hatred. Having lived for over two thousand years, no single karmic debt constitutes anything more than a fleeting memory. No grudge can last a thousand years; nor is any debt so great that it cannot be paid off in this time. Xiao has spent many long years alone. But his battles have never been in vain." -"where did Xiao have to return to? He was merely leaving the battlefield." -"since Xiao wages a constant war against dark forces powerful enough to devour Liyue in its entirety, any bystanders who witness him in the heat of battle are likely to end up as collateral damage." -"The war he fights can never be won, and will never come to an end." -"Because ultimately, the one with whom Xiao wrestles is himself."

i feel like at some point this very nearly did consume his whole personality, almost turning him into nothing more than a being of slaughter under Morax's control, devoid of any "humanity" at all, consumed and corrupted by his karmic debt like his fellow yakshas before him. - until he experienced a moment of clarity- a song in the wind, the peaceful melody of a dihua flute. - and pulled back from the border of something he wouldnt have been able to return from, there a was a shift in his mind- a concept grown unfamiliar enough with time that it took him a great time to identify what it was; a curiosity. Something that there was no place for on the battlefield, something that by all means should have been completely useless to Xiao, and yet he held onto that curiosity, slowly regaining over time, a sense of who he was and who he could choose to be with each song that the wind chose to carry towards him every once in a blue moon.

and eventually that curiousity turned to longing. Longing "for a day to come when he will wear the mask and dance — not to conquer demons, but to the tune of that flute amid a sea of flowers"

...... uh- heh- if you couldn’t tell already i have a tendency to make my characterizations/analyses of characters more serious that i probably should. 

to summarize: Xiao is constantly toeing the line between his ingrained nature and his humanity- almost as though still trying to decide how much of that humanity he deserves to have, how much he is allowed to have, and how much is safe to have.

^looking back after writing this, i think the best way to explain it is that this is the view that i keep in mind/the lense that i tend to most enjoy looking through and refering back to while examining and/or analyzing his character, actions, story, lines, and overall personality.

idk- i kinda got off track but i just think its a really interesting interpretation to think about because it has some really interesting implications ig- it’s not the full extent of how i view him of course, but i kinda got ahead of myself and its long enough as is so ill just elaborate as i go- Lol i actually have in progress playlists for both him and venti and just- vibes- i could ramble about the playlists alone for hours explaining everything... It’s probably a problem- uh- ill keep going now lol.

anyways! stepping off the angst path for a brief break! Brought to you by their lines in the snow: both waiting for it to get thick enough, Venti for the purpose of a snowball fight and Xiao for the purpose of a tasty and nutritious breakfast.

but its actually something of note that Xiao doesnt actually need to eat so anything he does eat is usually out of obligation or enjoyment- so like.... snow.... like i dont blame him, but of all things- an adeptus who refuses to eat basically anything but almond tofu looks at the freezing-cold-floor-water that yeeted itself from above and decided at some point- damn- that seems more edible than basically ever single actually edible thing ever.... im gonna eat it- like- im glad if eating snow makes him happy but- at the same time...

He probably convinces Venti to eat snow too though and Venti wouldnt even resist I mean he’s wind and has probably consumed worse things in his time so- 2 anemo cryptids with glowing tattoos sitting in Dragonspine monching snow in the dead of night is an amusing thought to me.

- kay, now back to more serious-toned thoughts

One of the things about the ship that i really like is the different contradicting parallels between them:

A lot of how i view Xiao’s character is someone formed largely by the things he cant control and who was forced to accept that accepted that and learned to thrive in it as much as he can.  Venti on the other hand is surrounded by things he cant control and is ever adapting to control as much as he can while embracing whatever he cant as being part of the unpredictability of the world, seeing beauty in it. 

both of them have lost people and do what they do to honor their memory: Xiao continues to do what the Yakshas once did And Venti chooses to do what his friend couldn’t

Xiao’s power coming from himself  and Venti’s from others And both seem to appear to use their power for their own gain while truly helping others behind the scenes

both have killed a lot of people during the archon war Xiao views it as another necessary event out of his control and Venti would likely view it as a tragedy he chose to enact himself

and this is where we meet out balance

Xiao- contrary to how i think a lot of people view him as thinking of himself as a monster- seems canonically to have accepted this as part of his duty, as long as those he killed are not mortals. I dont think he enjoys it no- but someone has to do it and he’s just accepted that its a part of his duty Venti on the other hand-

See the beauty of the ship- as someone with an angst-centric mind- is this- these are two of the most traumatized mfers in the game 

Xiao is by far the one who needs the most help and who can serve to benefit most from the ship- but he is nowhere near self aware enough to recognize that there’s anything wrong or unhealthy about his mindset in the slightest-

whereas you have the contrast with Venti who sorted through most of his trauma with the nameless bard alone during the archon war and while the result appears more healthy- is still really not- but he’s not self aware of that either because i mean- who’s going to tell him? nobody even knows. 

however- venti is aware enough to notice flaws in Xiao’s mindset and “Venti” enough to want to help them through it-

Xiao- while not aware enough to recognize the flaws in Venti’s mindset, can recognize where it contrasts with his own, and is blunt enough to point it out- and then it’s out there to be mulled over- 

they’re so similar and yet so different and a feel just conversing between the two of them, being in each others precense, just being exposed to two mindsets that are so very different could do both of them a whole lot of good.

GEEE THAT BIT OF RAMBLING HAD LITTLE TO NO DIRECTION AT ALL- LET ME-- LET ME MAKE THIS START MAKING SENSE- WITH... DYNAMICS OR SOMETHING

I don’t think Xiao needs to sleep really- and i dont think that sleeping would do anything except make him uneasy at first- he’d probably just get nightmares after all he’s been through- but with Venti he would soon learn that it doesn’t have to be that way, lulled into the first peaceful sleep he’s had in... as long as he can remember.

anywho back to not making sense cuz im fickle and i think most questions about ships are best displayed through character interactions so like- a possible exchange thats cliche but cliches exist for a reason

Xiao: Why do you try so hard to help me, it isn’t easy. I know that much Venti, with the most adoring expression: Because you’re worth it, obviously Xiao: But surely there are others more deserving of- Venti: No Xiao, everyone is just as deserving as the next person, you included Xiao: Then why me above others? Venti: ehe, cuz ur my warrior of course [O//////O oh shit, hes right] Xiao: My contract is with Morax alone [gay panic but in broody yaksha]

it’s kinda difficult cuz neither of them really address their feelings.  I mean Venti does but he does it very indirectly and its rare that he ever does it with like- genuine directness- even spilling his backstory was in the form of a song- and told in the third person- so a lot of their interactions would often have some deeper meaning, especially with Venti being the bard he is. 

I come up with a lot of- errant thoughts about Xiaoven- but this is making me realize that a true analysis of their ship is rather difficult because it just encompasses so many dynamics so its hard to settle on just one and not go rambling about who knows what bouncing from one end of the ship to the other-  Because you truly can and thats the beauty of it

within one moment you can be having a heartfelt conversation about the archon war the impact of lost friends and times past, and the next moment Venti is trying to forcefeed Xiao an apple while Xiao screams about disrespecting the adepti and its just- so lovely

so while they have picnics with nothing but apples, dandelion wine, and almond tofu they can sit down and talk about the dreams Xiao once devoured, and the dandelion wine and apple cider that the first Ragnvindir invented from the plants that never could have grown in Old Mond. The foods that tasted of familiarity, or of the grilled ticker fish Pervases always used to eat, foods that tasted of friends and frankly family that had since passed, glaze lilies and cecilias and qingxin flowers scattered in the surroundings and woven into Xiao’s neat braids and Venti’s now messy ones, rebraided by the steady and inexperienced hands of one unused to gentle action. 

and then of course Venti steals Xiao’s tofu once the mood becomes too grim and replaces it with a bottle of wine that Xiao refers to as “vile poison,” a remark that fatally wounds Venti as he collapses on the floor, proclaiming how he can only be healed by a Yaksha’s kiss. Xiao ignores this of course and simply takes back his tofu with a slight smile on his face, but as Venti persists he soundlessly places a kiss on his own palm before intertwining their fingers and pulling him back up from where he was dramatically sprawled on the floor, grumbling about how such action was “unbecoming of an archon.” A sign of affection only Xiao would ever know about. But Venti is literally wind and I hc his senses work differently anyways so he definitely knows- plus Xiao’s face is red as the blood of his enemies and the way he is pointedly not looking at Venti at all really speaks volumes anyways. 

 -Venti playing epic battle music whenever Xiao goes into fights in what looks like a ridiculously extra performance to anyone else but is actually doing wonders to keep Xiao’s karma at bay

-Venti preaches the practice of “kissing wounds better” and Xiao is unfamiliar with this medical treatment but views it as unnecessary regardless because adepti have accelerated healing, doesn’t mean he’s going to stop him though. 

-Messages whispered on the wind

-Venti’s 1000 year sleep- an accident, not a fun time for the yaksha, and not a fun time for Venti once he woke up. Venti is actually more afraid of restful sleep than Xiao is, hence the sleeping in trees thing, but when Xiao is there, he can sleep restfully with faith that Xiao wont let another millennia slip through his fingertips. 

- Xiao tends to make excuses when doing things that aren’t necessary to his duty, like in his birthday voice line “Have this, it’s a butterfly i made from leaves... Okay. Take it. It’s an adepti amulet -- it staves off evil” because at the current point in his progress it helps him to feel like he’s allowed to do these things. Not wanting to put him off from progress, Venti never comments on his excuse but never fails to whisper a quick reminder of how proud he is of how far Xiao had come.

- Xiao’s karma saddens Venti greatly- not only because of how it effects Xiao but also because its a reminder that as much as Venti tries to honor the memory of those he’s killed, there will always be those who resent him for it, and when he took the option of living away from them, he truly can’t blame them. - And when he gets too wrapped up in thoughts, whether around this topic or similar ones or otherwise, eventually, he’ll hear the sound of a flute on the wind. It’s not divine by any means, but as his own wind connects him to the source, he gets the sentiment all the same. “What impact does one individual’s remaining wrath have on the present. You have done much to help the living in the present” the unspoken idea that Xiao has included himself in that statement, because now, with Venti’s help he’s beginning to learn just how to experience living for himself. 

- Venti’s form and Xiao’s mask are off limit topics though because if either mentions it the other will counter with the opposite and the mood will turn immediately bitter at the idea that both know that what they’re doing is destructive but neither are willing to change

- Venti who has different tells for negative feelings than most people because as much as he likes to pretend it is- this form isnt his, and Xiao who is able to identify those

- many fanfics and headcanons have Venti recognizing when Xiao is uncomfortable and getting him out of those situations. I see that and I love it but i raise you: - Venti taking Xiao to Mondstadt, careful that he doesn’t get to the point that he’s uncomfortable. And nothing goes wrong exactly, but Xiao notices the the way Venti’s cape is blowing in the wind, the way he’s holding his weight, barely on his feet so much as floating on the wind, connected with the ground only for the sake of appearance, all the while he looks just as happy go lucky as ever. And without a word, he grabs his hand and teleports them both out of Mondstadt.  - turns out it was just a slight thing that reminded him of the archon war (cuz i will die on the hill of him having more tragic backstory than just Decarabian), and he of course gives a sincere if not flustered thanks to Xiao, because he’s really not used to people noticing. 

- Venti trying to vent sneakily through fictional stories and Xiao is just like “Didn’t that basically happen to you” and Venti is just like “<_< shit”

- Venti once said affectionally that he wished he had met Xiao sooner and Xiao immediately and seriously shot it down by saying “If you had, I would have been forced to kill you” and both of them now stay up at night wondering who would have won that fight, not sure which result would have hurt more. (because honestly I have no idea who would win in that fight and that terrifies me- I like to think it would have been one of those legends that end with “and the fight persists to this day” or something along those lines)

- “How long have you been together?” “Adepti have no need for-” “1000+ years T^T how dare you deny our love” “O///O our...? ...useless”

- its disney- let me explain- i have this- i have this headcanon inspired by watching too many animatics- - so venti has a human form that isnt his- which he would have had to get used to moving in- and he’s a bard- - uh- anyway- as a third degree black belt in mixed martial arts, i can speak as an authority on this(not really an authority since i havent gone since quarantine but lets pretend). We have a thing referred to as the big three(most things do), and those things are martial arts, gymnastics, and dance. The idea is that they reflect really well off of each other and the best in any one category are good in all three. Timing, balance, form, discipline, technique, hand-eye coordination, grace, ease of motion, they all play a part- anyway-

- Venti taking Xiao’s prowess in martial arts and acrobatics and teaching him how to dance, and as someone who’s extremely skilled in the first two, the third comes easy to him, almost naturally. And it’s delicate and beautiful and lovely and it isn’t hurting anyone. And Venti points all these things out and more and despite how much Xiao insists that he feels ridiculous he truly does enjoy it and it goes a long way towards helping him form more healthy views of himself and his worth.  - Verr Goldett walked in on him once and made a joke about performing at the inn. unfortunately Venti was there and agreed on Xiao’s behalf before he could protest and- and it wasn’t as bad as Xiao thought it would be... he still wouldn’t do it again though without reason, but with good enough reasoning he could probably be convinced. 

- anyways point is he likes dancing to Venti’s songs and i just think that’s really cute - just picture the idea that all the animatics you see actually have the potential to be canon- ugh

- venti tries holding something out of Xiao’s reach since he’s taller and Xiao just fucking teleports 

- both need their space but when they dont, all they have to do is speak the other’s name and they’ll be there.

- and because i just had to.... love languages

- lets start with Xiao- i don’t think he’d view acts of service or quailty time as a love language tbh, and he blunt but really bad with words so affirmation is out, leaving gift giving and physical touch. However, he seems to view most material things as meaningless so- - Xiao who’s love language is in his fleeting touches, something he’s only recently grown comfortable with because of Venti, and now is giving back, which he knows he doesn’t have to do, but that he want’s to, though he’ll still continue to make excuses for each one. “you were shivering” “The inn is high up, you could have fallen..... I said what I said, you’d question an adeptus?”

- and as easy as it is to say words of affirmation for Venti- he does that for everyone- i want to say his is actually acts of service - its the acts of service that let him see just how much Xiao has progressed afterall, from teaching him to dance, to playing another song on the flute, to supplying him with the almond tofu he seems to enjoy so much. Every little thing he does helps Xiao to grow and he couldn’t be happier about that. 

-

- of course most of my headcanons for the ship do take place latter into the relationship because- y’know the less serious unhealthy vibes allow for greater range of thought, but i do still love to think about the serious implications so i kinda hopped back and forth. So sorry about how messy it is btw, i kinda- got carried away- it kinda got some kind of structure near the end tho so- maybe it’s okay. anyway- back to... lol something, we’ll see where thought forests lead. 

[aegor-bamfsteel]

How long does it take to travel to King’s Landing from Dragonstone?

I wanted to focus a meta on a seemingly minor detail that, if you look into the likely circumstances surrounding it, reveals an important piece of characterization of Da3ron II that I don’t think has been discussed. AWOIAF says, regarding Da3ron’s reaction to his father’s death: “[he] departed Dragonstone within the fortnight after learning of his father's demise and was swiftly crowned by the High Septon in the Red Keep.”

If Aegon IV had died, and then Da3ron had arrived from Dragonstone and been crowned within 2 weeks (equal to a fortnight) of this death, that would’ve been understandable. However, the “and” signifies that Da3ron was crowned after the fortnight; it took within a fortnight of being told of Aegon’s death (not Aegon’s death proper, just when he heard the news) for Da3ron to pack his things and travel from Dragonstone to King’s Landing. The implication is that the journey from Dragonstone to KL takes nearly two weeks by sea. I was so puzzled at the idea that the Targaryen’s home castle was so far away from their capital (that they chose to build in that location partially because it was that close to Dragonstone) I checked the Errata of The World of Ice and Fire to see if it was a misprint in the way Myriah Martell’s name was; it was not. Da3ron took nearly two weeks after hearing of his father’s death to arrive at King’s Landing, and was “swiftly crowned” only after. Which leads me to ask, how many miles by sea does it take to travel from Dragonstone to King’s Landing?

According to a map of Westeros and assuming that it is to scale, someone worked out the distance as 420 miles/675km by sea; it is 100 miles/160km from Dragonstone to Sharp Point on the mainland, and then 320 miles/515km of traveling west along the coast to King’s Landing. It is not mentioned what type of ship Da3ron took (galley, longship, carrick, caravel, etc; all of which travel at different speeds based on how they’re built, with longships being the fastest and galleys the slowest), how experienced its crew was (although since Dragonstone is known for its navy, you’d think they would be experienced), or if the winds were favorable, so I’m going to estimate the slow, average, and fast speed of arrival from Dragonstone to KL based on the sources:

If Westeros is anything like our world and the equator is located south of Dorne, then the prevailing winds would blow from east to west (easterlies) south of the Neck and from west to east (westerlies) north of the Neck. Dragonstone and King’s Landing are located south of the Neck, so the prevailing winds would be trade winds/easterlies; in other words, Da3ron would’ve had the wind on his side leaving Dragonstone, which would’ve increased his speed by as much as 1 knot/1.15mi. Travelling at less than 4mph/3.5knots per hour generally meant a sailing ship was travelling with unfavorable winds, so we can assume Da3ron never reached below that speed.

Ideal Conditions:

Under ideal conditions (favorable winds, a skilled crew) a sailing ship could average around 6knots/6.9mph over a trip (pre-modern vessels could “sprint” up to 12 knots, but this wasn’t sustainable). This translates to 168 miles per day, assuming sailing in the day and night (which Da3ron would’ve had to do at least on the first part of his journey to Sharp Point, as he’s sailing the open ocean). 420mi/168mi/d= 2.5 days, or 60 hours at maximum speed

Assuming Da3ron took a caravel, the maximum speed of which is 9mph or 150 miles per day, it would’ve taken 420mi/150mi/d= 2.8 days, or 68 hours at maximum speed

I doubt Da3ron took a galley, considering it is a slow ship most often used for war, but non-ironborn nobility in Westeros do seem to have more of them to their name (Cersei, Stannis, Alyn Velaryon use them as flagships) than other ships, so I’ll put these numbers in to show that even at the slowest built ship Da3ron should’ve made better time. They are on average about 3/4 as fast as caravels, so at maximum might reach 6.75mph, 112mi/d, so 3.7 days or about 90 hours at maximum speed

Average conditions:

The average sailing ship could go around 5knots/5.75mph; this translates into 73 hours or 3 days 1 hour on average

Average speed for a caravel is 4.5mph or 90-100mi/day. The lower range indicates this trip would take 112 hours, or 4 days 16 hours; the upper range is 101 hours, or 4 days 7 hours on average

Average speed for a galley is about 3knots/3.45mph; this translates to about 122 hours, or about 5 days on average

Slow conditions (slowest possible with still-prevailing winds):

As explained before, going less than 3.5knots/4mph via sailing ship meant generally unfavorable winds. Assuming the absolute slowest, the ship could expect to make the trip in 105 hours or 4 days 9 hours

Using the ratio that a galley is about 3/4 the speed of a caravel, its slow speed might be 3mph, which translates into 140 hours or 5 days 20 hours

In conclusion, assuming that Da3ron did not stop at any harbors along the way and traveled at a consistent pace, he should have arrived in King’s Landing within one week, not two, of learning of Aegon’s death. Even at the slowest pace, taking the slowest method of water transport, the trip does not equal 6 full days of travel. 

It’s possible that, like Corlys Velaryon at the 101 Great Council, he brought the full Dragonstone fleet to King’s Landing to support his claim to the throne if he feared it was in danger (which makes sense in that he took so long to arrive, but was “swiftly crowned” after), but that would’ve lengthened the trip to 6 days at most (since a navy can only travel as fast as its slowest ship, the galley), and certainly not to nearly two weeks, since time is clearly of the essence in thwarting a potential coup. The idea that it took so long to prepare such a navy after hearing of Aegon’s death seems like a stretch considering the old king’s slow physical decline (see below)

A more benign argument is that after he reached Sharp Point, he did stop during the night, but assuming a night is 8 hours, that means even if he stopped every night along the journey (a ridiculously inefficient plan that practically defeats traveling by water, but to stretch out the time let’s pretend he might’ve done it) would’ve made the trip 76 hours or 3 days 4 hours at the fastest, and 172 hours or 7 days 4 hours at the slowest. Again, even at the slowest pace, with the slowest method of transportation, and now with long stops, it still would’ve taken barely more than half the time Yandel noted Da3ron actually spent to depart Dragonstone and arrive in King’s Landing. And how many days did he really need to pack his things and leave? I doubt nearly a week was really necessary...

Of course, that Da3ron might’ve taken a slower ship and stopped every night from reaching Sharp Point on ignores why he’s journeying to King’s Landing in the first place: his father just died and he is going to be crowned king, unmistakably the most important event of his life. As the crown prince, he has access to the fastest ships and most experienced crew. This is no time to stop to rest and leave the realm without a king (especially if you believe that others are plotting to take the throne, as Da3ron’s actions after arriving regarding Daemon Blackfyre and his father’s Small Council indicate). There is no technical reason why a journey that should’ve taken 3-4 days instead took nearly 2 weeks. The only possible reason for such a massive delay is a character-based one: that Da3ron did not wish to arrive in the capital so soon. Waiting that long almost undoubtedly meant he was not there for the funeral (given Aegon’s condition at death, it makes me think he was buried shortly after; in addition, the news of the death would’ve had to have reached Da3ron before he could depart, which would’ve taken 1-1.5 days by raven), which would’ve been the best opportunity to show filial piety, or at least pay respects to the old king from the perspective of a successor. Da3ron wore his father’s crown allegedly to prove his legitimacy, but the gesture seems rather empty after taking so long to come to the capital that he missed the funeral, and the coronation itself was the only event described as “swift.” It makes it seem as if he did not care for his father, purposely avoiding the capital until all mourning was done and then claiming his crown. This might have been the case given they were estranged the last years of Aegon’s life, but no matter his personal feelings, it would’ve been politically wiser if he were to come to King’s Landing as fast as he could, especially given the doubts of his legitimacy and his paranoia over claimants to the throne. The very tense succession of Viserys I to Aegon II officially took place on a single day; understandably such a short passage of time wasn’t possible in Da3ron’s case, but potential problems in a succession makes Targaryens act faster, not slower.

What makes matters worse is that Aegon’s death was obviously not sudden in the manner of Viserys II’s. TWOIAF’s description of his demise includes, “he was grossly fat, barely able to walk, and some wondered how his last mistress—Serenei of Lys, the mother of Shiera Seastar—could ever have withstood his embraces.” Serenei was Aegon’s mistress for at least a year, and undoubtedly a man who was barely able to walk does not have long to live. Toward the immediate end “his limbs [were] rotting and crawling with fleshworms”; there was even debate over this condition: “the maesters claimed they had never seen its like, whilst septons declared it a judgment of the gods” in addition to palliative care “Aegon was given milk of the poppy to dull his pain, but elsewise little could be done for him.” It seems like the final stage of Aegon’s illness could’ve taken weeks or even months, if there was time to discuss its cause and for worms to start eating his rotting limbs, or for final treatment and a damning decree to be issued. The health of the king is obviously politically important, especially to his heir, so I think it’s unlikely Da3ron wouldn’t have known about this final illness. Certainly by the time Aegon was unable to rise from his sickbed, Da3ron should’ve been able to tell the end was near; he very well could’ve reached King’s Landing before Aegon’s death, let alone before his funeral. That could have altered the course of Westerosi history if he arrived in time to contest the will that decreed all of Aegon’s illegitimate children be legitimized. 

It’s important to note that it’s never explained why Da3ron was unable to undo Aegon’s deathbed decree. The Greens were able to successfully contest Viserys I’s will that Rhaenyra succeed him and instead crown Aegon II, once they got the majority of the Small Council on their side. In real life, Henry of Blois was able to release his brother Stephen and the rest of the barons from the vows they swore to uphold Empress Matilda’s ascension to the English throne, on the grounds that her father king Henry was wrong to make them swear the oath because it would threaten the stability of the kingdom (in addition to bribing the royal steward into alleging that the old king had changed his mind about the succession and nominated Stephen instead, which at least worked for William the Conqueror regarding Edward the Confessor’s will). It would’ve been even easier for Da3ron to contest the will because Aegon was in horrific pain due to ill health and given milk of the poppy, a drug that is known to “fill one’s head with clouds”; Da3ron could’ve said that Aegon was not in his right mind when he made the will and that any deathbed decrees should be discarded. If only he had come early enough to King’s Landing to plead his case before Aegon’s death, or failing that, to try to force a reversal through the High Septon or the royal steward shortly after, things might’ve gone better for him later in his reign.

To conclude what is a much longer meta than I expected, Yandel claimed that Da3ron arrived in King’s Landing from Dragonstone within 2 weeks of hearing of his father’s death. Through estimating the speed of certain ships and the distance between the two castles, we can determine it should have taken at most 6 days and in all probability more like 3-4 days if he conducted himself with any sense of urgency. But instead, he chose to arrive so far after Aegon’s death that he probably missed his funeral, which, coupled with the haste with which he was crowned, shows a lack of respect for a deceased father that goes against the teachings of the Faith of the Seven, the moral authority of Westeros (and probably fed rumors of his illegitimacy). Even worse, the nature of Aegon’s illness was so slow that Da3ron could’ve made it to King’s Landing in time to change or contest his will if he had bothered, thus getting rid of his potential rival’s legitimization. I can only infer that Da3ron’s actions were not motivated by political necessity (and in fact could’ve hurt him politically and socially), but by hatred for his estranged father. I don’t blame Da3ron for loathing a man who abused his mother and tried to start an unprovoked war with his wife’s family. However, I don’t think the characterization of him putting political necessities above personal feelings can hold water, at least where his own are concerned (the feelings of others under his guardianship, such as those of Aerys I, and perhaps those of Princess Daenerys and Daemon Blackfyre, might be different matters). Nor do I believe that he should get a pass for making politically unwise decisions due to personal grudges when Aegor Rivers, who also had long-term vulnerabilities (disgrace at 2 weeks of age, the execution of half of his family at 6 years, invited into a court that hated his family...and that’s before the Blackfyres start getting cruelly murdered) is reduced to a one-dimensional villain for behaving similarly.

[llogllady99]

Au revoir

CHARACTERS |  Levi, Erwin, Hange, Mike, Nanaba, Petra, Kuchel

RELATIONSHIPS | Erwin x Levi, Mike x Nanaba, Petra x Hange

GENRE | Reincarnation, Smut, Romance

IV | Alternate Universe- Reincarnation. Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Romance, Smut, Angst and fluff and smut, French Levi, Student Levi, Writer Erwin, Light angst, Alternate Universe - Coffee shops.

Summary | “Puis-je vous aider ?” That voice, the familiar voice. It rang through his head and brought back memories of the man he had tried to find for so long. He lifted his gaze and was met with the sight of no one other than Levi freaking Ackerman, cleaning a cup, completely oblivious to him.“

Levi.” 

Erwin and Levi meet again in the modern world.Series

-

Levi will never admit to anyone that he thoroughly enjoyed reading romance novels. Yes, they were a bit too cheesy for his liking and maybe some of the passage were kind of forced, but the way they made his stomach drop and heart flutter was enough to keep him buying one novel after another. His first novel of such kind was: Madame Bovary, a book which he stole when his mother was away at work. At the green age of 12 Levi hid in the house’s library, right behind the couch and began absorbing the words hungrily, gaping and gasping in shock whenever Emma’s affair with Rodolphe or Leon would appear in the book. He didn’t necessarily enjoy the story as it was quite bland compared to the romcoms he and his mother would watch on Sundays, but was instead mesmerised by the rose scented perfume that lingered among the pages, a phenomenon which he didn’t encounter in other books because, as his mother told him later, Madame Bovary had been a vessel for Kuchel to deliver her love letters to the post office back when she was younger.

Coincidently, Levi was now holding the same book, enjoying it with a little more fervour and fascination as he himself, in his twenty-one years of life, had experienced some form or pretence of love at some point with maybe two or three of his lovers. Wetting his finger he turned the page and finished what was left of the chapter he was currently reading. He let the book down and stared out the window of the train he was embarked on in other to return to his childhood home: Marseille, France.

Levi remembered his past life. This life had treated him extremely kindly, almost as if the universe was apologising for the hell it put him through the last one. He was born and raised in the countryside, his childhood being characterised by stealing from vineyards, scraped knees, and dirty faces, a fun and ideal childhood. His mother, although having gone through a divorce when he was small, was now well and alive, indulging herself with a quality lifestyle and relaxing hobbies; his home forever full of jamon, quality wine, fresh sea food, and oil paintings in easels  adjourning his hilltop village house’s balcony crowded with red boungainvillea. He had met Hange and Petra in the same village at the sea on a hot summer’s day, introducing himself brusquely, startling the girls, who lacked even an inch of recognition for him in their eyes. Levi quickly realised that not everyone remembered their past life and as such he should keep quiet. Nonetheless, the three quickly became inseparable, their bond not destroyed but only slightly deterred when him and Hange left for university, leaving Petra back home alone. Levi had left to study architecture at the university of Sorbonne and Hange to England to study Medicine at the Imperial College of London, surprising both herself and her friends when she had only applied at the university on a whim not even half expecting to get accepted, but she was the smartest person he knew and if anyone deserved it then it would undoubtedly be her.

Apart from them, Levi had not encountered anyone else from his past life, and by anyone else he only meant Erwin, his blonde, tall, and handsome commander. It was a disappointment that after so much time he still hadn’t managed to meet him, one which left him with an enormous hole in his stomach that would only get bigger every time he allowed himself to think about his past lover. He eventually lost hope and stopped looking for him all together. He had not told Hange and Petra about him however, instead choosing to keep his existence and unsuccessful search all to himself. After all, it is simply expression that gives reality to things. Never mind the fact that he would sound batshit crazy, but if he would have opened his mouth and openly voice the fact that he had not found him yet, then there would have been chances of not meeting him at all. He was still clinging to a thin thread of hope that Erwin will keep his promise of them reuniting again eventually.

At once, the train pulled in Marseille’s train station with a deafening horn, its locomotive letting out clouds of white vapour that swirled fast up in the azure sky, and announced its passengers that they have reached their destination. Levi stepped on the platform, and dragging his black suitcase behind him, he inhaled the fresh country air as a warm feeling came over him. He had arrived home.

-

On the other side of the globe, free lance writer Erwin Smith was packing his suitcase hurriedly, throwing clothes chaotically in his suitcase. He was terribly late for his flight.

Summer always turned unbearably hot in Miami, the dry heat and the omnipresent smell of sweat managing to deeply irritate Erwin. That had been his initial plan for the summer: change shirt after shirt as he walked the road from his apartment, a small 2 bedroom space that lacked air conditioners and that would turn into a literal oven during the hotter months of the year, and his publisher. Therefore, when Mike and Nanaba invited him to celebrate together their anniversary in Marseille, France, he didn’t hesitate to agree, he actually did with so much desperation that he worried even himself. He had quickly called his publisher making up some shitty excuse to extend his deadline, spattering something about how the sweet mediterranean breeze will to wonders to his inspiration. He lied, and quite horribly so, he had finished the chapter he was due but hadn’t edited it yet, a chore which he assigned himself for when he would return. Quickly closing his suitcase and praying that he didn’t leave everything behind, he ran out the apartment and waved his arm frantically in the direction of a cab that happened to be passing by.

Erwin also happened remembered his past life, something he cursed and treasured at the same time. He treasured the memory of Levi but cursed whenever he would wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat screaming as he felt the phantom pain from when he lost him arm, something that had somehow followed him into this life also. Just like Levi, Erwin also learned that not everyone remembered their past life. His first such experience had been when he woke up screaming when he was small due to a very unpleasant memory, one filled with titans, blood and the death of his comrades. His father had come to comfort him but dismissed everything as just a nightmare that sprouted from Erwin’s wild imagination. At the age of 16 he started writing everything he remembered before being reincarnated and then at the age of 24 after graduating from university he published a book retelling his story. Society, just like his father, quickly dismissed it under the false and shallow pretension of fiction. Erwin didn’t mind, and at an interview when he was asked what had inspired him to write such a masterpiece, he simple answered: “It’s as if I’ve lived this life before”. In retrospect, a bold statement, but one that had triggered incredulous looks and nervous laughs. It didn’t matter, as long as he was the one that knew the truth.

At the airport, he was met with a very angry Nanaba, that proceeded to punch him in the shoulder as soon as she spotted him coming through the automatic sliding doors, dressed with cargo short pants, white t-shirt and one of those hawaiian shirts, espadrilles not missing from completing his outfit. He apologised and shook Mike’s hand, that came up from Nanaba, trying to calm his petite lover from ending Erwin’s life then and there. His friends, like everyone else he had become acquainted with in this life, did not remember their past lives. They had met in college when he tried to hit on Nanaba and earned himself a punch from Mike, who apologised shortly after and bought him a drink.

“You are well aware we’re going to France, right?” Mike eyed his outfit, and scrunched his nose in something close but not quite to disgust.

“The eccentric writer facade ain’t holding up anymore, you seriously need to change outfits.” Nanaba also joined in.

“I was up writing, thence the messy outfit. I do actually have fancy clothes packed.” Erwin retorted, trying to save himself from their scrutinising gazes.

“Good, because I want to enjoy some of those pretentious wines they’re so famous from at one of those expensive terraces that overlook the sea without wanting to crawl under the table from being seen with a hobo like you. Now come on, plane’s not waiting for anyone.” Nanaba flipped him off, her way of reprimanding him.

“Au revoir America, bien venue France!” Erwin exclaimed, mixing french with english.

“How much did it take to learn those?” Mike asked, amused.

“Only 3 thorough Duolingo lessons, of course.”

-

Levi pushed the door of the little vintage cafe open and was immediately met with the sight of Hange engaging in quite a heated make-out session with Petra. His arrival at home yesterday was met with nothing more than pure joy, as he was bombarded by his mother’s kisses as soon as he walked into the house. They spent a quiet evening on the balcony, enjoying some tea and simply talking the evening away. It felt good to return, he missed the salted air, the chilly breeze, the pink flowers and green bushes, and the exquisite view of the mediterranean sea. Later, when the mosquitoes had started to annoy them, Levi and Kuchel retired back inside the living room, where he was urged by her to play her favourite piece on the piano that had dust on it from never being used anymore. Upon the arrival of the next day, Levi headed to Petra’s cafe, a small vintage shop, which she had opened up quite recently after successfully raising the funds necessary. It was right in the middle of the hill, its glass windows giving a clear view of the stony road and orange coloured walls and roads of the city.

“You guys should get a room, it’s gross.” He said, not one bit of disgust lacing his words. He truly was happy to see his friends again.

“Levi!!!!!” Hange squealed and broke away from Petra, practically jumping over the counter before she threw herself in his arms, hugging him tightly. Petra’s behaviour was hardly any different, surging on the other two and tumbling all three of them down to the floor. They stayed like that for a few minutes until the first customer of the day arrived with an awkward cough to get their attention. For the rest of the day, they chatted quietly, each with a cup of special Petra coffee in their hands, reminiscing about old childhood memories and the things they did while they were apart. Hange had successfully landed an internship at a renowned research company back in London and Petra bought her first place, somewhere they would surely go after she closed the cafe.

“So how’s it going for you Levi? You seeing anyone?” Hange interrupted a peaceful silence then took another sip of her coffee, eyeing him curiously.

“Well, no not really. I guess I’m still waiting for the right person.” Levi replied, his mind drifting off involuntarily to Erwin.

“That’s a pity, tell him Petra!”

“I guess so.” The strawberry blonde sighed, scrubbing the counter. She looked troubled, stressed if Levi knew any better.

“Everything all right?” He asked, hoping she would tell him what was bothering her.

“Theoretically yes, the cafe’s been growing in popularity and the number of costumers has increased exponentially and it has become harder and harder for me to keep up. It’s afternoon and I’m already exhausted.”

“Hire someone to help you.” He offered.

“I would have, I even put up a sign a while ago asking for help, but it’s summer and you know how it is. Everyone would rather bathe than work.” Petra leaned on the counter, huffing exhausted.

“You know, Hange and I could help you if you’d like, until the summer’s end and till you find someone.” Levi scooted over closer to Petra and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Sure! There is nothing we’d rather do, Pet.” Hange joined in, assuring her girlfriend.

“You guys, thank you.” Petra smiled brightly, exhaling in relief.

-

Their first day in Marseille had been spent at the beach until they were all fried. Well, Erwin had managed to get a nice tan, save for the red slight burns on his shoulders, those didn’t count. Nanaba had made sure to use sunscreen, but with her pale skin tone, she had turned into a lobster by mid afternoon. Deciding that it was enough sun for today, the three settled on exploring the city, in particular the ports, where smell of fresh caught fish would imbue their noses, the hill village, the sights recommended on the internet, like the colourful Noailles Market, Musée des Civilisatons de l’Europe et de la Méditerranée, and following a maniacal Nanaba that sprinted through every shop in La Panier.

As six o’clock came by, hunger made its presence known in their stomachs, they started searching for a restaurant. With an immense amount of luck and without too much time spent looking, the three had found themselves in Restaurant Peron, escorted to a four persons table right next to the clear glass that provided them with an extraordinary view of the sea, admiring the calm relentless waves and snow white moon that reflected itself on the clear water. When the waiter came, Erwin ordered, putting on his best french accent.

“Un Ricard, s’il vous plait.” He managed to make a fool out of himself, sounding exactly like an ignorant American. Un Ricard was an alcoholic beverage made with aniseed and spice that turns an enticing shade of yellow once water is added, a local must try. Nanaba ordered herself an Aperol sprits and Mike a whiskey on the rocks. The waiter bowed and went to get their drinks. While they waited the three engaged in casual conversation, their voices accompanied by the low murmur of the sea and other people’s conversation.

“I believe this has been quite a successful weekend, don’t you think, honey?” Nanaba asked Mike, leaning her face on her hands.

“Indeed. Happy 5th Anniversary, Nanaba!” Mike kissed her cheek tenderly. Erwin watched the display with nothing more than pure envy. It wasn’t fair that they had found each other despite not knowing their past life, it was utterly infuriating and it made Erwin seethe with anger and frustration, both emotions directed more at himself because he had not found him yet, Levi, his lover, his everything.

“Excuse me, monsieur. I brought the drinks.” The waiter interrupted them, making Erwin forever grateful as he was not sure how much more he could bare. He bowed and retrated, leaving them to enjoy their drinks. The Ricard Pastis Erwin had ordered had a creamy texture and yellow colour, bringing the glass to his lips, he tasted it, immediately scrunching up his nose from how strong it was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it, god knows his college years hard served for so much, so many nights spent drowning vodka and absinth bottles, he just hadn’t expected it to be so strong, he thought it would be like Nanaba’s Aperol, slightly bitter and sweet. Mike was sipping slowly on his whiskey and asked:

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

“How about we stick to just visiting the town, my skin can’t take any more sun.” Nanaba proposed, hinting to her burnt shoulders that were covered with a very nice white blouse. Mike and Erwin both agreed.

-

Levi fumbled with the speakers’ wire trying to get them to connect with his phone. It was his first shift today together with Petra, Hange will come later tonight to take his place, something completely unnecessary as he would stay anyway. It was his turn to choose the playlist and he resorted to a simple jazz playlist that would blend in nicely in the background acting as white noise. Once that was settled, he wrapped around himself the black apron with the shop’s logo on it and went up to the counter, patiently waiting for the first costumer.

-

Their second day in Marseille was spent indulging in even more sightseeing. Nanaba woke them up at the crack of dawn, excited and completely oblivious to Mike’s and Erwin’s sower moods, dragging them with her to their first destination: Basilique Notre-Dame de la Garde. Located in a breathtaking hilltop, this spectacular church is the most important landmark in Marseilles. The site was used in ancient times as an observation point, and during the Middle Ages, was the location of a pilgrimage chapel. Erwin enjoyed the renaissance architecture, admiring the big hemispherical dome with a big golden cross on top of it, the golden statuette of what he reckoned was Virgin Mary, the symmetrical high arches, and smaller, little angel statues. It was truly a sight to behold. Their next destination was also a historical landmark: Abbaye Saint-Victor, a house of worship once belonged to an abbey founded in the 5th century. The abbey's basilica is one of the oldest buildings in Marseilles that is still intact, with foundations dating back to Early Christian and Carolingian times. With its crenellated walls and towers, the foreboding exterior has the feel of a medieval fortress. Inside, the basilica reveals a simple and somber design, which gives it a special aura. The crypt houses sarcophagi of the 4th and 5th centuries, as well as the 11th-century tombstone of Abbot Isarnus. It fascinated Erwin immensely, so much so that he filled his gallery with the amount of selfies and normal pictures he took.

He lied when he said he would find his inspiration here, but he was not so sure that it was true. The city’s architecture and overall way of being, from the local’s lifestyle, to its history and vibe, Erwin was sure to use all of this while working on his new book. Wether he would add a spin off in the book, or make references and parallels to everything he saw here.

It was now mid-afternoon and Erwin was exhausted, the sun constantly warming his head had not done a great job of comforting him in the slightest. They were now in Le Panier again, Nanaba having decided that she did not see all of it the day before and that it was absolutely mandatory they go again. Not wanting to be a burden, although he would have much rather gone to his room, Erwin agreed and set on following closely the two before him who were very much engrossed in their own little world. The old town, like any other part of Marseille they had visited, was also magnificent, with its romanesque architecture, houses that were colourful and joined together, and paved streets. It also housed a lot of shade, making him able to cool down and gather up whatever strength he had left.

The thirst he had tried to ignore for the better part of the day had become unbearable, his throat dry like a desert. As such, Erwin made it his mission to find some place from where he could purchase a water bottle. They passed by jewellery stores and artisan themed shops, displaying their handmade products, like dresses with weird designs from cottons, crystals, wooden scultpures, etc. Finally, in a corner, they had found a small cafe: Haricots vapeur de Petra. Quite a long name for a cafe but who was he to judge. He asked Nanaba and Mike if they wanted to join him but they quickly refused, instead choosing to go ahead. Erwin announced them that they will be seeing each other at the hotel before dinner. That way he could spare a few hours relaxing at the small tables placed outside the cafe, enjoying whatever drinks they were serving. He pushed the front door open and was immediately assaulted by the scent of fresh brewed coffee. The cafe was very nice, inside was quite chilly as there was the air conditioner blowing. Its walls were made of brick, from them hanging several plants, portraits, and drawings of people having coffee and the like. It had small circular tables with purple plush chairs that contrasted perfect to the black counter that housed pastries of all kinds: croissants (of course), pains au chocolate, cinnamon rolls, and macarons of all kinds of colours. It was just like an ordinary American cafe.

“Puis-je vous aider ?” That voice, the familiar voice. It rang through his head and brought back memories of the man he had tried to find for so long. He lifted his gaze and was met with the sight of no one other than Levi freaking Ackerman, cleaning a cup, completely oblivious to him.

“Levi."

-

“Levi.”

That voice. It couldn’t be could it? Levi refused to look up, he was imagining things, it was because of the song, the song he played the man a life time ago. We’ll meet again was playing through the cafe’s speakers, it was only natural he would be thinking back to when he visited Erwin’s grave one last time. With his hands now shaking he continued to clean the glass even more frantically, wiping away inexistent water, droplets he imagined were still there.

“Levi, is that you?” Once would be considered a coincidence, but twice? Finally, the raven haired boy looked up, only to have his breath stuck in his throat. Right in front of him was Erwin freaking Smith, the man he loves even to this day, the time spent together and the promises still so fresh in his mind. Erwin had kept his promise, he found Levi.

“Erwin.” Levi croaked, overwhelmed by emotions. He ran around the counter, stopping for a moment in front of his lover to look at him again. Erwin was exactly the same, except for an almost unnoticeable tan, his hair was now sitting comfortably on his forehead, instead of being styled back with gel. Levi jumped into his arms, wrapping his legs around the other's waist so tight, afraid to let go as he might disappear, proving only to be a figment of his imagination. He buried his face into Erwin's neck, inhaling the scent of cologne, sweat, and sunscreen. His lover snaked his hands around his waist and held him tightly, in the same desperate manner. Pulling away, Levi looked into his eyes again, relieved to see the same warm sapphire blue orbs staring right back at him. They were whole again, together again. Unable to hide his excitement anymore, the raven brought their lips together in a kiss, one in which they poured all of their emotions, the longing, love, and relief they had for one another were all present.

“Tu m’as trouvé!” Levi pulled back, out of breath.

“English please.” Erwin chuckled, running a hand through his hair, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his year before putting him down. Levi looked at him in confusion. If Erwin didn’t know french then that meant…

“We should perhaps talk. Wait here for a moment please.” He told him, pulling his hand away from where it was intertwined with the other’s. Taking a step back, he began untying his apron, then turned on his feet to head to the back where Petra was, baking pastries probably.

“Petra, can you cover for me? Something came up. Hange should be here soon, I hope you don’t mind.” At the sound of his voice, Petra turned around just as she was leaning down to grab the tray with freshly baked pastries from the oven. She searched his face, noticing the look of bewilderment, and made to grab his arm in comfort. Levi pulled away.

“I’ll tell you later, but please let me go!” Levi all but begged, making Petra shake her head with wide eyes as she still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Call me if anything happens.” She demanded. Levi thanked her then bolted out back to the front of the cafe where Erwin was waiting awkwardly in the door, never actually having left the spot. As soon as the blonde spotted him, he offered the other the usual warm smile.

“Why don’t you speak french, Erwin.” Levi asked him and gestured for the other to follow him out the cafe. Once outside they started walking on the direction of Levi’s house, unbeknownst yet to Erwin.

“I’m actually a tourist.” Erwin murmured, understanding finally the graveness of their situation.

“Where are you from then?” Levi croaked, his disappointment taking the best of him.

“USA, came here on vacation with some friends.”

“Américain.” Levi spat, his frustration finally showing. “How are we going to make it work Erwin?”

“I don’t know Levi, I believe that’s a problem for another time. I’m here for another week, let’s enjoy ourselves shall we?” Erwin took his hand and kissed it in an assuring manner, smiling again.

“Okay.”

And enjoy themselves they did. Making sure that Kuchel was out, Levi brought Erwin to his house, taking him through every room while he talked about his childhood, his vocabulary limited because his english wasn’t very good. Fortunately, Erwin was patient and didn’t push him, instead helped him by filling in the gaps with google translate or by using his own words when he understood the direction the story was headed in. At some point, they stumbled upon the piano and the blonde urged him to play it, Levi complying not only by second nature, thinking involuntarily to their time on their battlefield, but also by desire, pouring his heart and soul into each and every key he pressed, eliciting sounds that would later formed the master piece named Canon in D major. Erwin listened intently, absorbing every sound Levi produced, his gaze focused solely and completely on him. His lover playing the piano was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. The onyx black hair hung loosely in the air as Levi played, his brows furrowing in concentration, and shoulders tensing when he lifted each hand over the keyboard.

As the song came to an end, unable to hold himself back anymore, Erwin scooped Levi up in his arms and brought him to the couch, the other straddling his waist. It was all too much, the smell of Levi, the feel of Levi, the smooth alabaster skin, silky hair, minty breath, and citrus smelling musk. Levi, Levi, Levi. Erwin brought their lips together in a heated kiss, introducing his tongue shortly after, probing the entrance then entering fully. For a while, that was all they did. They kissed like teenagers, running their hands through each other’s bodies, remapping and rediscovering them. Slowly, Levi became more demanding and started to undo Erwin’s shirt, pulling it down his shoulders and caressed his hand over his chest, playing with the curly strands of blond hair that lined it, although scarce. He then kissed his neck and clavicle. All the while, Erwin had been undressing Levi, his fingers now at his entrance, working slowly but steadily their way in. In his arms, the raven writhed, low moans filling the room.

Done with the stretching, Erwin positioned himself at the other’s entrance, entering him slowly as to not hurt him. Once he was fully seated, he waited for Levi’s signal to move, a slow nod in the pit of his neck shortly after. Their rhythm was slow at first, an occasion to feel each other out, but as their moans got louder in volume, the pace, inevitably increased, turning the love making session into something more rushed and more carnal. They had all week ahead of them, they had plenty of time for slow and passionate love later. After a few more minutes each of them reached their climax, Levi first by tensing all of the sudden, his mouth open in a silent scream, then Erwin shortly after with a low groan. The smaller of the two slumped his forehead against the other’s chest and tried to recover, his panting waning.

“I love you.” Erwin brought his lover’s head up and looked him straight in the eye. Levi replied with a lop-sided me too before retaking his position in the crook of his neck, where he shortly passed out, the physical and emotional effort from the day finally taking their toll on his petite frame.

For the rest of the week, Levi showed Erwin the rest of Marseille, taking him sailing with Petra and Hange, snorkelling in the turquoise water, dining in other less famous restaurants that harboured a magnificent view nonetheless, and hiking. Levi also got to meet Nanaba and Mike, a meeting that was awkward at first but then turned casual as the chemistry they had in their past life never had quite gone away. It was now their last day, and they both chose to organise a brunch on a boat Erwin offered to rent. It had started out great, the interactions between the rest of the group going smoothly, but as night inched closer, Levi grew significantly more and more upset. The reason, revealed to him that night when they were alone, tucked in bed together, was none other than Erwin’s departure. It was time to say goodbye, their short week of heaven brought to an end by force of circumstance, a tragic end to an equally beautiful story. A soulmate who was not meant to be, at least not in this lifetime. They could try a long distance relationship, but that was inconvenient for both of them, they would soon fall apart, each having to take care of their lives. Levi had to work towards a degree and Erwin towards finishing a new book.

“Don’t go.” Levi suddenly croaked, turning towards him and taking his hands, kissing each of their knuckles. “I don’t want you leaving me again.”

Erwin turned his head away in thought. He was a writer, he could basically work from anywhere. In Paris he was sure to find a good publisher, working while also living with Levi in his apartment. If he put in a little effort he might manage it. But what about Nanaba and Mike? Would they understand? Would they still maintain their bond? Is he willing to give everything up for Levi? Erwin furrowed his brows, concentrating and thinking even more. Of course, he would go to the end of the earth for Levi, would rip his heart out of his chest and give it to him. Therefore, he voiced the only obvious answer for his lover’s request:

“I’ll stay.”

-

At the airport the next day Erwin hugged Levi and kissed him on the cheek, bidding his goodbye to his lover. After accepting to stay, they both decided that it would be best for Erwin to return to the states to get his affairs into order and when he would be finished he would return back to France and start his new life with Levi. So, with a waving hand, Erwin fell into step with Nanaba and Mike, who were waiting in line to board the plane. Levi smiled his way and said:

“Au revoir, Erwin Smith.”

[amy-issen]

ok so here it is!! i spent the last week solely making and listening to this playlist like i was POSSESED because this ship is lovely and deserved a nice playlist!  if anyone wants to know why i picked each song, i’m going to ramble about it extensively in the read more, so check that out if you want! hope you enjoy it! also thanks again to @birbwell​ for letting me use her art for the cover!

i divided this playlist in a few sections so let’s start with the first one (section one: first meeting/pining) i. in the rain - joe hisaishi i wanted to start with a short instrumental track to set the mood, and i looooove howl’s moving castle score, so i had to pick this one! the fact that it has rain in the title also helps to reference how their relationship began! ii. with every breath i take - frank sinatra “every breath that I take is a prayer that i’ll make you mine” my sister is a big sinatra/jazz fan (and also a yakuza fan) so she helped me with picking a few of the songs here! this one is very romantic, elegant and beautiful and i thought it fit the mood (and it’s what i think tachibana listens to in his free time lmao).

iii. gold rush - taylor swift “what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? with your hair falling into place like dominoes my mind turns your life into folklore i can't dare to dream about you anymore” this one is my FAVORITE song on this playlist, and one of the first i picked because this song just fits them like a glove. it’s basically pining 101, and i love that what taylor said this song is about “daydreaming about someone then snapping out of it.” i feel like the first part could be from tachibana’s perspective and the second one from kiryu’s (also giving a bit of a glimpse into the future, with the mention of a coastal town they’ll never find together) iv. first love/late spring - mitski “so please, hurry, leave me, i can't breathe please don't say you love me mune ga hachikire-sōde (my heart seems like it’s going to burst)” this one was another song i picked very early on because i love mitski, and i needed to include her here. i just wanted something to symbolize the trust that tachibana and kiryu have to share to work together, and the feelings that emerge from it, if that makes any sense. i don’t think this has a specific perspective, because i feel like this could work from both kiryu’s and tachibana’s (mostly kiryu though) v. real estate - adam melchor “every time I wonder how i'd carry on without you i'm runnin' out of real estate tryna make all the right moves i don't wanna hesitate i would bet the house on you “ do you UNDERSTAND how satisfying it was to find a song named real estate for them?? come ooon. ok that’s not all of my reasoning for it but it’s like. most of it, lmao another song i felt was about trust and feelings. (also a bit of a glimpse into the future, because i’m sad) vi. i get a kick out of you - ella fitzgerald “i get no kick from champagne mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all so tell me why should it be true that i get a kick out of you?” another one my sister recommended. i originally was gonna go with sinatra’s version of this, but i love this one and it just wouldn’t leave my brain. again, one from mostly tachibana’s perspective, get this man to sing this on karaoke night right now. vii. like real people do - hozier  “i will not ask you where you came from i would not ask and neither would you honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips we could just kiss like real people do” this is one of my all time favorites from hozier and, again, it just fit perfectly. tachibana and kiryu have both lived some very... troubled lives so far, and while they’re depending on this trust they have in eachother, none of them really care to know about what they’ve done or who they are. this is mostly from kiryu’s perspective, specially with this metaphor of being rescued/dug up from the earth with the whole being found in the rain and saved by tachibana and his poor driving skills. viii. delicate - taylor swift “this ain't for the best my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me... we can't make any promises now, can we, babe? but you can make me a drink” y’all are going to have to forgive me for picking TWO taylor swift songs but COME OOOON this is another one that i picked early on because i could draw so many parallels between the lyrics and things that they both said in that car scene on chapter 9 (mostly tachibana though) and i kept harassing my sister with screenshots to prove my point and i’m gonna do it again

ANYWAYS i’ve made my case, and now we enter the second section of the playlist at last ( section 2: actual romantic/fluffy songs because this is a ship playlist) i. good old-fashioned lover boy - queen “dining at the ritz we'll meet at nine (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 o'clock) precisely i will pay the bill, you taste the wine driving back in style in my saloon will do quite nicely just take me back to yours that will be fine” is this a bit of a cliché? yes. did i want to include it because it’s very cute and i’d like to imagine kiryu and tachibana having a nice date night with no people trying to kill them all the time? also yes. i love this song.

ii. stay with me/mayonaka no door - miki matsuraba “you in your gray jacket with that oh-so-familiar coffee stain just as you always are the two of us reflect in the window display stay with me knocking on midnight's door i beg you not to go home tonight” (translated lyrics) is anyone not obsessed with this song lately? this is the only song here i’m blaming tiktok for making me listen to it lol. in any way, this song is deceptive because it sounds really happy but is actually quite melancholic. i thought it fit their relationship well, and it seemed like a good addition to the playlist with it’s 80′s city pop vibes.

iii. on melancholy hill - gorillaz (covered by matt forbes) “just looking out on the day of another dream where you can't get what you want, but you can get me so let's set out to sea, love 'cause you are my medicine when you're close to me" this is a gorillaz song but i went with this cover because it fit the feeling of the playlist a little better. another song that i just love very deeply and i thought fit the sentiment of kiryu being like “hey i know we have Big problems and you’re very sad in the moment but i’m here for you” iv. (i love you) for sentimental reasons - nat king cole "i think of you every morning dream of you every night darling, i'm never lonely whenever you are in sight" surprisingly, not one that my sister recommended, but one i found for myself while looking for quiet  romantic songs. i feel like this is tachibana's reply to kiryu being there for him and helping him. plus, idk i just wanted to imagine them slow dancing to this. v. positions - ariana grande (covered by travis atreo) "perfect, perfect you're too good to be true but I get tired of runnin', fuck it now, i’m runnin' with you" i picked this cover because i felt like using ariana's one would be a little goofy for this section lmao, but i really like this song and how it's about commitment and doing everything to make a relationship work. i just wanted to throw some sexy vibes before this playlist delved into depressing stuff. also if you telling me tachibana wouldn't absolute body a tiktok set to this song you're lying to yourself. (section 3: oh no this is getting sad) i. forever - labrinth "i'll live forever" i love everything labrinth makes, the euphoria soundtrack lives in my mind rent free and this is my favorite one. this barely has any lyrics so, again, mostly a track i picked for its intrumentals and feeling overall. mostly preparing you for the sad stuff ahead. ii. hong kong - gorillaz "you swallow me i'm a pill on your tongue here on the nineteenth floor the neon lights make me calm" this is my favorite gorillaz song, by FAR, and i think it's introspective vibe really fits tachibana's character. not really a song about relationship but i really wanted to include it because it's just such a GORGEOUS song. iii. fragments - severon another instrumental track! this one i stole from a playlist my sister made for a fic i wrote last year. again. sad vibes. iv. sign of the times - harry styles (covered by LANY) "remember everything will be alright we can meet again somewhere somewhere far away from here" i loved the synth-y vibe this cover had, while still keeping this song's sad "our lives are dangerous and i'm about to die" vibes. i mostly wanted to evoke the vibe from the scene where tachibana agrees to go with lao gui after kiryu gets shot. just really sad all around. v. so close - jon mclaughlin "we're so close to reaching that famous happy end almost believing this one's not pretend let's go on dreaming though we know we are so close, so close, and still so far" me? picking a song from disney's enchanted??? for a playlist??? it's more likely than you think. idk this song just gives me that vibe of being so close to being happy and together, almost reminiscing and wondering what could have been. but it just... won't happen. vi. as the world caves in - matt maltese "yes, it's you i welcome death with as the world, as the world caves in" oops, yes, i had to go there. just couldn't resist including this song, and i feel like it's really self-explanatory. vii. places we won't walk - bruno major "neon lights shine bold and bright buildings grow to dizzy heights people come alive at night in places we won't walk" again, i feel like this song speaks for itself. a bit of a meditation on kiryu's perspective on things that could have happened, things they would have done, that kiryu will just have to do alone from now on. viii. carry me out - mitski "i drive when it rains at night, when it rains, i drive and the headlight spirits they lead me down the styx so black it shines and carry me out carry me out"

possibly the saddest and the most powerful song in this playlist, because i just had to put a mitski song again. the image of kiryu carrying tachibana's body is just constantly in my mind when i listen to this, but i could also see this song being from the perspective of tachibana's spirit. ix. arms tonite - mother mother "i died in your arms tonight i slipped through into the afterlife it was nice" lmao this felt a bit like a cruel joke to include, but i didn't want this playlist to end TOO depressingly. it's a nod to tachibana dying in kiryu's arms, sure, but also it's romantic and possibly a little hopeful (tachibana lives au!!! orpheus and eurydice au!!! fuck it, idk!!)  xi. everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears "there's a room where the light won't find you holding hands while the walls come tumbling down when they do, i'll be right behind you so glad we've almost made it so sad they had to fade it everybody wants to rule the world" not a recommendation from my sister, but it is her favorite song, and she was happy that i included it. another 80's bop with sad lyrics! i feel like this is a lovely summary of their story together and it feels like a nice little bow to wrap up the playlist.  i hope you enjoyed my long ass explanations! i might add songs later (or make an entire second playlist altogether for the fic i'm writing rn, but let's not get ahead of ourselves)

[crimeronan]

ik youre not a therapist and i dont want like therapy or anything but im 17 and ive known i was bipolar for 3 years now and i dont know how im supposed to live the rest of my life like this. im so fucking tired. how do you stay alive

you sent this a couple days ago & i’m posting at a weird time so i’m not sure if you’ll see it but.  

i’ve been looking at this message trying to decide how to respond

because i don’t know your situation, your symptoms, how you’re feeling, whether you’ve had positive or negative experiences with medication, psychiatrists, therapists, hospitals, all that related shit

the bipolar life advice i give to people is vastly different depending on the individual. it’s not a one size fits all thing.  and there’s never even a guarantee that my advice will be the right choice

so since i don’t know about your situation or experiences or what you want, i’m not gonna tell you what to do.  i’m gonna focus on the “how do you stay alive” question and try to pen down some personal feelings. and if they help then great, and if they don’t then... this is the most honest i can be

(you can always ask another question to get a better answer. my inbox is a coin slot and i am a vending machine of varied-degrees-of-helpfulness replies offered at varied-inconvenient-too-long-intervals)

-

how do i stay alive

it’s a 2-parter, actually.  i pondered how to condense my thoughts/feelings, and it came down to these two things

1. love 2. spite

-

1. love

the spite is easier to write about than the love.  love is hard to reach when i feel like shit.

spite is where i go when i want to die.  love is where i go when i want to want to live.

maybe i don’t want to be alive.  but maybe i wish i did.  spite doesn’t help me much there.  spite keeps me afloat, but it doesn’t make the floating pleasurable.  there’s more to life than outlasting everything that ever hurt me.  i need a reason to continue when there’s no enemy to fight

so. love

i almost wrote about the spite alone because that’s rawer, realer, more visceral.  that’s the shit that CONNECTS when everything feels hopeless.  but it would be a lie of omission.  spite is only one of the major food groups, you’ll waste away from malnutrition if you eat it for every meal. or at least, i will.

“so you’ve got a bunch of people you love,” you say, “and you stick around for them.  cry on them.  support each other.  like each other.  fine.”  you’ve heard this story before

nah.

i mean - yes.  i have people i love.  i live with two partners, i’ve got a third girlfriend, i’ve got a long-distance platonic life partner.  i have a support net, i have a family i’ve forged, i have confidence that i’m not alone.  i have, in a bare-bones checklist sort of way, fulfilled my physiological human need for connection

but i could live without every single one of them.  i’m not dependent upon any of them for my survival.  i’m not dependent upon them for love, given or received.  (this isn’t a callous cruelty, it won’t hurt them if/when they read this.  i’ve told them all this, they know.  they’re glad of it.)

so.  what the fuck does “love” mean, then?

the short explanation is that it’s my love of life, of things in the world.  it’s all the little connections i’ve made.  every time i love something, a hook tethers to the universe.  hook enough tethers, and i no longer feel the need to float away.  no dissolution of self today, sir

the rest of this section is some of the things i love. partially it’s to show how i connect to little things and ascribe magic to the mundane.  partially it’s because i like thinking about things i love, i like typing them out, and i like that i could keep going for thousands and thousands of words.

i am laying in bed at 7:30 AM with the lights off and the shades drawn.  blue  light comes through the slats because it’s the better time of year, the one where i finally get vitamin D, the one where the birds chirp at 4AM, the one where the sky isn’t impenetrably black til 10PM.

there’s a weighted blanket tucked around my legs.  my partner rafi bought it for us to share because it’s soothing and heavy and comforting and helps with my physical pain.  right now it’s soft on my skin and if i get too emotional as i write, i can pull it over me like a cloak until i’m settled.

the apartment’s walls are blank because we’ve spent eight months intending to put art up and keep forgetting.  but there’s a newly-unearthed dining area in the kitchen because i finally shifted around the unpacked boxes that were dominating the space.  it’s new and it surprises me every time i walk out there.  it’s open and inviting and bright and it’s a sign that we’re making this place home.

we’ll put a cheap IKEA table by the window and we’ll probably never eat family dinners there - why would we sit in hard chairs and make stiff conversation when we could all cuddle on the couch - but my partner dev will create a place to do their art and the surface will be constantly littered with drying watercolor experiments.

we’ll hang our art one of these days, too, when our collective adhd offers a miraculous combo of remembering + having time + having motivation + having inspiration.  rafi has the most art because they’ve been collecting it for years.  i have to start smaller.  i’m not used to keeping physical objects.  dev has a few pieces thrifted or bought at local artist events or painted themselves

so we’ll put art up in the living room, my single “you are magic” flower print alongside a naked monster lady that dev fell in love with when we browsed art at a yuletide event months ago, alongside rafi’s monster girls and comic characters and book characters and literature art and quotes and abstract pieces and whatever else they have hiding in boxes.

my head protests that naked monster ladies do not belong in the living room, although the picture isn’t overtly sexual.  but then i remember that they do, actually, because it’s our space and we can do whatever we want with it as long as the lease isn’t broken.  there isn’t anyone in the local social circles who’d be perturbed by the decor, as far as i know.  i don’t have to hide anything from my parents because i live 3600 miles from them, and even though i miss my mom, the distance is good for me

there are two exquisite chairs on the porch.  they fold and recline from thrones to nearly-horizontal beds.  there are pillows and cupholders and trays and specific spaces for both a book and a phone.  i can sit there while the morning sun rises and read or play word games or browse tumblr, cup of coffee beside me, trees shielding my eyes from stabby sunbeams

there are remnants of the last tenant’s garden in one corner of the yard.  we’ve done fuckall for yardwork but plants struggle through anyway.  some seem to have sprouted by accident.  mushroom clusters populate the edges of the fence.  the apartment squirrel (there are probably several, but i like to think it’s a single energetic creature) runs back and forth along the fence & i always lose my train of thought & then laugh my ASS off at the “SQUIRREL! XD” adhd moment.  birds kick up leaf litter and play on the ground looking for insects to eat, they wiggle their tail feathers and flap their wings and sometimes they disappear and then return with friends

a little more than eleven months ago, i packed all of dev’s and my shit into a uhaul and drove and drove and drove to get to this city i’d never been in before to live with a partner i’d never cohabitated with.  we were homeless for more than a month, we weathered some financial disasters, we met some great people and some shitty ones

on the drive i fell in love with the sky.  i didn’t know how big it can get - actually, that’s a lie.  i’d FORGOTTEN how big it can get.  i’ve loved the sky thirty miles out to sea, no land in sight in any direction, just blue water and blue space above.  i’ve loved the vastness and the yawning beneath me and the knowledge that everything is BIGGER than i can fathom.  the depth of the sea doesn’t frighten me, it’s home. i don’t want to die, but if i had to, the ocean makes a soothing grave

in north dakota i discovered that i’ve been partially blind my whole life, which is a different tale that showed me i’ll never stop learning myself.  in montana we struggled up thousands of feet of mountains with the car huffing and puffing at the trailer’s weight, and when we finally coasted downward, it felt like sudden freefall.  we ended up in the pitch darkness of night on sheer winding interstates with midnight construction projects forcing detours.  the mountains felt hungry, they had teeth.  mountain cliffs are much scarier to me than the ocean depths

i bought a red bull and poured a little out the driver’s side door as an offering to hermes, because i’m not particularly religious but i’ll take help where i can get it.  slammed that back in a few gulps and shook to bright-eyed alertness and ended up behind a slow-driving red pickup truck that guided us over about a hundred miles of mountain terrain

i thought, that’s just some construction worker driving between sites.  the roads are empty at this time of night, but it’s an interstate.  of course we’d end up behind someone.  this isn’t divine intervention.  this isn’t the benevolence of a god

i thought, but it can be a little magic.  if i want it to be.  

and it was.  it stays with me.

god help me but i’ve been writing this stream of consciousness for more than 30 minutes and i’ve said nothing.  i haven’t talked about the city, the parks, the people, the conversations, the books, the tv shows, the movies, the communities, the library, the animals, writing, reading, singing, acting, swimming, analyzing, creating, supporting, building.  and i can keep going.  i can come up with hundreds and hundreds of things i love and i can write paragraphs about all of them

so i’ll stop here.  you get the picture.  love is the life i’ve made for myself, the surroundings i’ve built, the quiet moments i can capture, the inspiration i pin, the magic i commit to memory.

i had to work so damn hard for every single bit of this.

i’ll be fucking damned if i let it go because my brain tried to trick me into thinking death is better.

-

2. spite

there are people who want me to die.

i don’t mean that i have a giant entourage of personalized enemies who curse my name and plan my individual demise.  although there have been plenty of people who have not liked me much.  probably some of them would enjoy my death.  i don’t give a shit about that

there are people who want me dead because i am a dot on a grid they dislike.  a faceless anonymous enemy who meets too many bad criteria with numbers and percentages and shrinking majorities and shifting public opinion

because i’m gay.  because i’m bipolar.  because i’m autistic.  because i’m a dropout.  because i grew up poor.  because my spine curves and my shoulders ache.  because i squandered my potential, because i didn’t have enough potential, because i didn’t love god enough, because i love the wrong gods, because i don’t worship, because i worship wrong, because i didn’t seek a husband, because i never wanted one, because i talk too much, because i can’t be controlled, because i chose to leave the fold when i realized it was suffocating me, because i’m ugly, because i’m gorgeous, because my body belongs to me

pick your poison.

this bothered me growing up, a lot. i knew i did not deserve to die. but if enough people tell you that you should, a little part of you will wonder if they’re right.  that little part might become bigger the closer they get and the louder they shout and the longer they wear you down

we know the rough shape of this story, i don’t need to tell it.  mine was messy and not triumphant and i survived more by chance than premeditation.

i’m older now.  by and large i’m still young as shit - i’m 24 - but GOD i am LEAGUES away from 15, 16, 17. i know who i am. i know what i want. i know how to get it. and when i don’t know that, i find out. i tell the truth.  i ask for what i want.  i use my time how i want.  i do what i want.

there are days that i can’t access the “love” side of the equation.  no finding poetry in birdsong or sugared coffee for me, thank you, i feel like shit and the world is awful and everything is too big and fast and cruel and everything wants me to die and it wants everything i love to die, too.  everyone i love.  it’s all garbage. the good doesn’t touch me

trauma is difficult to describe.  the difficulty is compounded by the fact that my trauma is influenced by my various neurodivergences, bipolar included.  i never know if i’m feeling what other people do.  i don’t know if i’m voicing unpalatable feelings others are afraid to express - or if i’m just othering myself, admitting i’m not as human as everyone else.

there is something malevolent and monstrous inside me.  i don’t touch it all the time.  but i don’t pretend it isn’t there.  it sits in my chest and molders or radiates or oozes.  it presses at my throat.  it curdles in my stomach.  it hurts what it touches, whether that’s me or someone i love or someone i hate.  it sets things aflame with no regard for the precious or the fragile.  it tears down walls and razes shelters and begs for apocalyptic rain.

i can give this thing names, clinical descriptors.  i know what it is on a diagnostic chart, in a ponderous article, in an academic debate, in a fiction novel, in a war movie, in a memoir.  there are a thousand ways to describe this thing.  the descriptors aren’t important.  what is important is this - i have learned that most people do not walk side-by-side with a tornado-hurricane-hellfire-weaponized-open-nuclear-reactor.  this is not a “normal” expression of human emotion, this is not me trying to ascribe power to “bad bipolar feelings.”  this thing lives in me and i know why it’s there and it is not designed to be held/silenced/muzzled/controlled by my body.

it does not help to pretend this thing does not exist.  it does not help to try to reason it away or ignore it or tell it to stop.  it wants what it wants, it does what it does.  possibly if i was better at therapy or stubbornness then i wouldn’t resign myself to that

but it is fucking EXHAUSTING to try to fight something that’s part of me.  to try to reshape it, rename it, pare it down, make it consumable for the masses.  it’s a war i have never won and it’s a war that i will lose if i keep fighting it.  i cannot fight with myself.  i cannot beat my monster into submission.  if we’re gonna battle like that, head to head, me trying to cut it down, me trying to be the hero, it rearing back like a fire-breathing dragon,

then it’s stronger.  it’s always stronger.

so i surrender.

but that’s not where i stop.

can’t fight it.  can’t kill it.  can’t muzzle it.  can’t reshape it, can’t disarm it, can’t contain it.  

alright.  

so what now.

if the surrender was a full giving-up, this is where i’d passively accept that i’m doomed to hurt and destroy everything precious to me.  can’t fix it.  will lose everything, will never experience or deserve happiness, will make the world worse simply by existing.

that sure does sound like impending-doom rhetoric.  hop skip and a jump from some dire-ass conclusions.  

so fuck that, i say. 

here’s a better question.

if it has to get out, then what happens if i control where it goes?

here’s the thing.

the monster doesn’t care what it kills or destroys or hurts.  

“have a conscience, care about things, remember love, stop yourself, don’t do this don’t do this don’t do this.” 

 losing battle.  lost war.

 it’s not the monster’s fault.  the monster doesn’t have complex motivations or hates or fears.  it exists to protect me through scorched earth.  a remnant of a chemical imbalance, maladaptive coping mechanism, bipolar crazy, traumatized injury.  it doesn’t know that its job is obsolete.

i can’t change the monster.

but my mind is a separate thing.  my mind knows what matters, what my priorities are, what i find precious, what i want to protect.  my mind remembers all the things the monster doesn’t.  

my mind has learned things the monster can’t.

when i fight it head-on, the malevolence is stronger than me.  but as i am, walking with it, sitting in my bed writing this while examining the void and the consciousness, describing it, quantifying it,

that’s when i’m stronger.

and with my mind as the stronger force, i can decide where the monster goes.  what it touches.  what it destroys.  what it burns.  where the ashes land.

i do not want to be a destructive person.  i want to be someone who builds, repairs, changes.  i want to make the world better for kids like me.  i want to stop pouring more gasoline onto a fire that’s been burning since long before i was born.  i want to believe - i do believe - that positive change is better than negative.  i do my best to plant good things and enact that positive change instead of becoming a beacon of wrath.

but there are a lot of kids surrounded by people who want them to die, and not all of them have a protective monster.

so it’s good.

when i’m depressed, my mind loses its battles.  my cognizance slips.  i forget why i care.  i forget what i want.  i forget how happiness feels, how to find pleasure in quiet moments.  

i don’t get depressed as often as i used to since my meds are adjusted correctly now.  but it still happens.  it will keep happening for the rest of my life.

my mind weakens and curls up and stops fighting, and the monster is always there.

it’s a very powerful thing when it wants to be.

it wants to survive.

the thing is, it knows there are people that want me/us/whatever dead.  it’s been fighting them forever.  die like they want?  my mind says, sure, what does it matter.

the monster says, nah.  our work isn’t done.  and fuck them, anyway.

so we get up.

-

so that’s how i stay alive.

i typed this for 90 minutes and after editing i’d spent two hours on this post.  i don’t know if anyone will read it all.  i don’t know if it’ll mean anything.  i don’t know if these thoughts even make sense, much less if i’ve conveyed the feelings i have.

i love being alive.  and when i don’t, i love being a monster.  it’s good.  all of it is good.  i’ve reconciled my uglier pieces.  it’s not one or the other, love or spite.  it’s symbiosis.  i need both, i love both.

no guarantees that this is helpful, but based purely on my own life experience, these are my tips for survival:

you’ll have to find your own roots.  i can’t give them to you.  

but it’s possible to dig them in and spread them far enough that one uprooted peg doesn’t shift your whole equilibrium.  

and when you’re tired, rest, and let yourself be tired, and find the reason why you’re staying in the world. 

 i’m positive there’s at least one.

figure out why you’re losing your battles and then change the game.

if you can’t win one setup, don’t try to beat the system.  adjust your strategy.

you’ll be surprised by what you can love when you stop fighting the disparate pieces of you, and instead figure out how to use them.

[spartanguard]

(love will see us through these) Dark Days [CSRT; 6/7]

Summary: A century ago, the United Realms of Pomem had been a land of peace, prosperity, and magic. Until war tore the land apart, leaving behind cruel leaders and even crueler laws regarding the use of magic. And each year, the youth of each realm are subjected to a fight to the death, both for entertainment and to weed out anyone capable of wielding magic. In the 99th Magic Games, past victors Emma Nolan and Killian Jones find themselves serving as mentors, while Alice Gothel and Robyn West end up representing their realm. Everyone has secrets; everyone has something to lose. Who will win? Who will die? Just don’t forget: all magic comes with a price.

rated M | 7.8k words | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | AO3

A/N: We survived the games! and there’s only one chapter left after this—ahh! Thanks as always to @captainswanbigbang​ for hosting this event and the best beta ever @optomisticgirl​. Chapter title comes from “Kingdom Come” by The Civil Wars.

Important note: So, this is the chapter where things happen (in the past) with Killian and Eloise. While it's completely consensual, it's still not the greatest of situations (they're both victims, in this scenario). So if you don't want to read that, then I advise you to skip over the flashback at the end.

part 6: Don't you fret my dear; it'll all be over soon / I'll be waiting here for you 

Alice felt like she was going to be sick. But at the same time, she didn’t feel much—like all her senses were muted somehow; like she was covered in a see-through blanket. Absentmindedly, she scratched, yet again, at the new bracelet on her arm.

“Stop it,” her mother scolded, swatting her hand away. “You’ll get used to it,” she added, a bit softer.

Alice glanced over at her mum, who was now toying with her own cuff. From the outside, it was beautiful: made of beads woven together in shades of orange that matched Eloise’s hair and, at least at the moment, matched the floral pattern that covered her flowy gown. When Alice was little, she would stare at it in awe, thinking it was merely a beautiful accessory. Now, she knew better.

And god, she understood her mother that much more. Alice’s was equally gorgeous—a sea of blues that mimicked the color of her (and her papa’s) eyes, and nearly blended into the stunning turquoise ball gown she was wearing. She now knew that those beads were made of silicon, and the wires and metal holding it together were all part of the circuitry used to block the release of magic. But it felt like her body was rejecting it, and rightly so; it was literally suppressing a part of her that had been there her whole life. So while her mother’s attention was diverted, she snuck another scratch in.

She nearly jumped when a hand closed over hers. “Easy there,” Robyn whispered, giving her a soft smile. “I’ve got ya.” She squeezed her hand over Alice’s, and even though it didn’t do much to relieve the itch that felt like it was burrowing into her soul, it was soothing nonetheless. 

“Thanks,” she said, returning the tiny grin. Even though the games had ended a few days ago, it felt like they’d barely spent any time together. They’d curled together on the hovercraft, but the trip from the Arena back to Olympus was depressingly short, and they’d been split apart almost immediately and taken to recover separately.

She’d no sooner been hurried into a hospital room than a crude cuff had been slapped on her wrist, immediately stifling her magic. Cruelly, her mother had been the one to fit her with the current, permanent model a day later, while she was still hooked up to all sorts of IV drips that were supposed to heal all her injuries and make up for malnourishment.

Eloise hadn’t said a word when she put it on her, and didn’t linger to talk with her about it. No words were really needed, but Alice couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother had put a pillow over her face at the same time.

(Her papa visited too, later that night when no one else was around; he’d held her as she cried into his shoulder, just like when she was a little girl and her first rabbit died. But this was so much worse than a pet, and she’d been the one to do the killing here and...god, she still couldn’t think about it much.)

That feeling of muted senses hadn’t yet abated, or even thinned, so she’d taken to studying things even harder, focusing on every detail; right now, she was staring at Robyn’s dress, noting the bit of tulle poking out from under the bold red taffeta at the hem, the tiny red gemstones that dotted the full skirt, and the almost fire-like pattern they made over the strapless bodice. Alice’s dress was made in the same pattern, but the colors were a complete contrast. She had to give the dressmakers credit for that bit of coordination. She didn’t know how many times she’d traced over the seams and stones of hers, just trying to make sure she could still feel; amazingly, she hadn’t messed anything up yet.

“Are you girls ready?” Eloise asked, standing by the door of the small room they stood in. They could hear a bit of the hubbub coming from the other side—from the Victor’s Gala. (Because it wasn’t enough that they had been interviewed again on live television after winning; no, they had to be paraded around for the sponsors and other past victors, too. At least the interviews hadn’t had an audience this time.)

Alice wasn’t sure she was ready to talk again, having only barely made it through the interview without stumbling over her sentences. Robyn, blessedly, picked up on that. “Yeah, we are,” she answered for both of them.

“Then go ahead. You’re on.”

Eloise opened the door just in time for them to hear Sidney Glass announce their names from the room beyond. Once again, the large room on the first floor of Tribute Castle had been transformed, now into a glittering ballroom. 

Robyn squeezed her hand and led them out, which was good, because she probably would have ran the other direction without her there. Hopefully no one noticed her delayed reaction, but she quickly plastered on her show grin and waved as Sidney guided them to the dance floor. 

It was an antiquated tradition that the Victor opened the gala with a first dance, usually with the Gamemaker, but since there were two winners, the mortification was theirs to share alone. 

“Let the dance begin!” he announced, and an orchestra started to play somewhere. For a moment, she and Robyn just stared at each other, giggling. But the rhythm was familiar, thankfully, so she guided Robyn’s free hand to her shoulder, placed hers on Robyn’s waist, and whispered “Follow me.”

There were only a couple missteps as they glided around the floor; Robyn was a quick study, and the more they moved, the more the nervous butterflies became a different kind of flutter in her stomach. 

Robyn must have picked up on it, because she slid her hand from Alice’s shoulder to her waist and wrapped it around her back, tugging her closer. “Doing okay?” she whispered in her ear.”

“Yeah,” she murmured back. “It’s just awkward, is all—everyone watching us.”

“I know; it feels like a wedding,” she said, giggling a bit.

Alice didn’t entirely hate that idea, if she was being honest, and blushed a bit at the idea; her mum would scold her for being too young or something but she was still Killian Jones’s daughter, too; she’d inherited his entire sappy side. 

Robyn was blushing a bit, too; it matched the red jewels that dotted her skin. “Just how did you learn to dance like this?” she asked, seeming to want to change the subject.

“My papa taught me,” she replied. Countless hours they had spent dancing in her bedroom at his house; sometimes it was silly, sometimes serious, and it was one of her fondest memories from growing up.

“Think he’ll teach me?” 

“Oh, definitely!” Hopefully, she’d be able to properly introduce them to each other at some point here—not just the hurried thing that had happened in their quarters…gosh, was that really only two weeks ago? It felt like a lifetime had passed in between. 

Blessedly, the music came to an end and the audience applauded. They both sighed in relief, but then—were they supposed to bow or something? They glanced around for a bit, smiling awkwardly, until Eloise ushered them off the floor. 

“God, that was embarrassing,” Robyn blurted once they were off to the side. Alice was thinking the same, but knew better than to complain like that around her mum.

Eloise, though, didn’t shoot daggers as expected; weirdly, she smirked. “Be glad it wasn’t the Gamemaker. I had to dance with one who was close to retirement and could barely stand upright anymore. He may have worn a diaper.”

Both girls cringed. 

“Anyways, now that that’s over, I want to introduce you to some people. Come on.”

‘Some people’ apparently meant half the past victors present. Not all of them were mentors; some just came for the party, and likely didn’t remember much of the introduction. Nearly all were recognizable, though, given that she’d grown up seeing their faces on the television. Some were especially so, like Regina Mills from Phrygia—famous for literally tearing out the hearts of her opponents (and who now wore a purple beaded cuff, the style of which was becoming more and more familiar)—and Emma Nolan from Misthaven, who had probably given Alice the idea of using the trees to her advantage; that was part of how she’d won. 

But it didn’t escape Alice’s notice how Emma’s eyes kept flicking to her cuff, with some odd mix of pity and concern; she didn’t want either of those, thanks, but it did make her wonder if those two things were fated to follow her forever now.

When they finally made the rounds toward the Victors from Atlantica, Alice felt like she could almost relax; her papa was looking exceedingly dapper in an all-black suit with a flattering cut, shirt open like he liked, in stark contrast to Aunt Ariel’s frilly pink gown. But his rigid posture as they approached sent a clear message: they couldn’t act familiar here; not yet. So she drew herself up a little bit more as Eloise made the proper, if entirely unnecessary, introductions.

They exchanged the same pleasantries everyone else had, albeit slightly strained; it was taking every nerve in Alice’s body not to drag them both into giant hugs and shove Robyn at them. That’d have to wait.

“I wonder,” her papa started after conversation had lulled, “You appear to be a fantastic dancer, Miss Gothel. Might I seek your hand for a turn about the floor?” He extended his hand to complete the offer.

She glanced at her mother for approval; she had no idea how this might look, if it was normal or not. It probably wasn’t, but nothing about her and Robyn was anyway, so when Eloise nodded her assent, she probably grabbed Killian’s hand a bit too roughly. He just chuckled, though, and led her to the floor.

As desperate as she was to get wrapped up in her father’s embrace, he kept a polite distance, even if the steps were ones they’d done a thousand times. “I owe you a better dance when we’re home,” he murmured. “Without so many eyes on us.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she answered. But now that she’d won—now that the danger of Olympus making her a target was over—she’d been wondering… “What if...what if we did tell people? Like, everyone?”

Her papa gave her a sad smile. “I wish we could, Starfish—so much. But if it came out that there’d been an inter-realm dalliance like this...I don’t know what it would do. And your mother has already dealt with her fair share of trouble.” He didn’t say ‘over you,’ but it wasn’t needed; Alice knew that much of her mum’s family died right around the time she was born and no one suspected it was a coincidence.

“I just hate this,” she complained. “I thought winning made life less complicated.”

He chuckled a bit, in the way that she’d figured out meant he was amused by her innocence; normally, she enjoyed making him laugh, but it rang hollow right now. “Darling, my greatest wish for you was that you never had to face this. But know that I’ll always be there for you—that hasn’t changed.”

She sighed. “I know. I love you, papa.”

He gave a half-smile that somehow always meant more than a full one with him. “I love you too, Starfish.”

The song ended much too soon and it would probably draw the wrong kind of attention if they lingered, so he gentlemanly escorted her back to where her mother and Robyn had continued to talk with Ariel—who surreptitiously gave Alice a thumbs up of approval that made her smirk. 

“Have you guys seen the buffet yet?” she asked, then acted shocked when they hadn’t. Really, she just knew that Alice was always hungry and likely assumed she was starved right now—and she was right. “Seriously, Eloise; feed these girls!” she gushed, winking; Alice was going to have to thank her for the reprieve later. 

They said their goodbyes—lingering a bit in her polite handshake with Papa—and finally got to enjoy the delicacies of Olympus. 

Her papa was right: life was going to be more complicated from here on out. But between him, Robyn, her mother, and the other people around her, Alice knew she’d acclimate eventually. 

Also—she discovered the best marmalade she’d ever had on the buffet. That might make it all worth it. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian didn’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. The Gala was usually his favorite part of the Games—if he had to have one—but when all he wanted to do was be with his daughter, far from here, having her here but being required to keep his distance was agony. 

Maybe if Milah was still here, it wouldn’t be so bad, but she wasn’t, was she?

At least the bar was, so after the Sherwood group departed, he excused himself from Ariel’s side to get a drink. 

While he was ordering, Jefferson arrived next to him. “That was quite a show at the end, there, Hatter,” Killian said. “Pulled right on my heartstrings.”

“Well, you know, anything for a great story,” the gamemaker replied. “I don’t know if everyone is pleased with the outcome, but it will definitely be remembered.”

“Who doesn’t love a happy ending? I certainly did.”

“Well, of course you would.”

Killian and Jefferson exchanged a long look at his comment. Did he know? Despite the comment, his expression was unreadable; it was probably best if Killian didn’t linger on it, then. 

“Now comes the hard part: topping yourself next year,” he plowed on with a plastered-on smile. “Care to share your secrets?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jefferson laughed, albeit nervously. “But let me remind you that it is a Quarter Quell, and it will be the most memorable yet.”

Killian swallowed, thinking of the last Quell and who was in it, before smirking back. “Can’t wait.” Jefferson smiled in reply, but it almost seemed pained; it certainly wasn’t genuine, which was unusual to see in someone from Olympus—the games were typically a source of sadistic joy. “What, not looking forward to it? You’ve got the most coveted job in all the realms.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I just don’t know how much longer I can do it.” Astonishing; Killian never considered a gamemaker might have a conscience. Jefferson continued, “With any luck, I won’t have to.”

“Retiring already?” He was hardly older than Killian—much too young to call it quits, especially considering his, ah, wizened predecessor. 

“Something like that. I won’t go down without a fight, though.”

The gamemaker then excused himself, leaving Killian slightly confused; something was going on. But he didn’t feel like thinking about it tonight, so instead he started on his drink and began searching for some company again.  

He found Ariel in the crowd, talking with Emma and Graham on the other side of the room and felt his expression darken, brows furrowing. Emma’s betrayal still stung, though the intensity had dulled, especially in comparison to other blows he’d been dealt.

She hadn’t been wrong—he probably would have done something similar, had he been allied with any other team. But he felt too much of a connection with her—and, frankly, respected Graham too much—to have done so this year.

He was just angry and shocked at the initial betrayal, but now that Alice was (relatively) safe and sound, he was a bit calmer about the whole thing. It was still a shit scenario, but not as terrible as he’d originally made it out to be.

And Emma’s friendship—or whatever it was they had—was not something he wanted to lose. Perhaps it was best they found a way to bury the hatchet, even if that was a terrible idiom to use.   

He shotgunned the rest of his drink, leaving the glass on a random table and letting the liquid confidence give strength to his cocky front.

“Not trying to steal my partner, I hope?” Killian said as he strolled up, grinning at Graham, before turning his attention to Emma. “Though I’d be open to a trade if you are,” he added, winking.

Emma rolled her eyes and gripped Graham’s arm tighter. If she was trying to avoid him, she’d have to try harder.

“They were just telling me about their son, Henry,” Ariel said with a sweet smile. “He sounds so sweet. Do you have any pictures of him?”

“Yes!” Emma said, reaching for her clutch, and pulling from it a photo of a boy with brown eyes and a mess of dark hair. Killian could see Emma in the boy’s features, but none of Graham. As if he needed any more confirmation there.

“He’s so handsome!” Ariel gushed. “How old is he?”

“Um, eleven,” Emma replied, somewhat nervously, the smile running away from her face. Eleven. The boy could be reaped next year. Killian said a silent prayer, hoping that wasn’t the plan for next year that Jefferson was talking about. But wouldn’t that be a story: the grandson and son of victors finding himself in the games? No wonder Emma had kept her distance from Olympus.

Sensing a need to lighten the mood, Killian addressed Graham. “You didn’t answer my question: would you like to trade partners? It only has to be for the evening.” Emma just averted her eyes.

“Sure, why not?” Graham answered, not giving Emma a chance to say otherwise. “Shall we?” He offered Ariel his arm and they went off to talk to Archie, an older victor from Arendelle.

Killian faced Emma. Despite his usual swagger, he found himself somewhat nervous. Not quite knowing what else to do, and not wanting to get into what was likely to be a heated conversation out in the open, he asked, “Care to dance?”

“Dance? Really?” She finally made eye contact with him, an amused look of disbelief spread across her features. “Didn’t you already do that tonight?”

“There’s no such thing as dancing too much,” he tossed back; he wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she’d noticed his waltz with Alice. 

Emma snickered. “Okay, but I need another drink first.”

 “I won’t argue that. Lead the way.”

At the bar, they ordered two shots of rum. “To the end of the games,” he offered as a toast.

“If only that were true,” Emma replied with a sad smile as she clinked her glass with his and downed the shot. “I sometimes feel as though I haven’t stopped playing.”

That seemed to be the theme of the night. “They certainly have a way of following us, don’t they?”

He watched Emma’s face change as her thoughts drifted elsewhere, and his own would have done the same had he not been momentarily mesmerized by her beauty. Something about the light in the ballroom, paired with that familiar look in her eyes (not to mention the figure she cut in her red cocktail dress) caught him completely off guard. Goodness, it was like he was a teenage boy again. 

He took a breath (apparently, he’d forgotten to) and reached out with his hand for Emma’s, squeezing gently in case she tried to pull back (she did), and smiled. “Come on, you promised me a dance.”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian gently dragged Emma to the floor, if it was possible to be gently dragged. A few couples were out there—older victors who were mainly in town because it was something to do, bored with the monotony of life in their respective Victor’s Villages. Emma could hardly blame them; the only reason she hadn’t been bored stiff by now was that she was too preoccupied with Henry, as her parents were earlier with her. 

Few victors had children, though. Why would you want to risk your child going through that torture? Henry was turning twelve in a few months; the next several years would be torture at Reaping time, and his genealogy wasn’t as lucky as Olympus would think.

Looking at Killian, she was stunned he’d made it through without losing his sanity completely. At least he had a happy ending, even if few people knew it. 

Part of her wanted to ask him about—well, about all of it: how Alice came into being, how they managed to hide it while clearly having a relationship (if they’d even really had one; it was hard to tell based on their stilted interactions now), how he hadn’t lost his mind during every prior reaping—but now wasn’t the time. 

It was probably a good time to apologize, though. Even if, knowing him, it would be a prime opportunity to knock down all her defenses, as he tended to do. However, the rum had calmed her flight instinct, so for now, she was just going to dance.

Out on the floor, Killian placed his left arm around Emma’s waist—she could feel the cool of his hook at the small of her back—and lifted her right hand in his. He began to move in time to the music being played by a small ensemble at one end of the floor. “So you actually know how to do...whatever this is?” Emma asked incredulously. 

“It’s called a waltz,” he replied confidently. “There’s only one rule,” he said, leaning in with an almost whisper, “pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” 

Emma rolled her eyes, but those stupid butterflies deep down took flight again. Really? She hadn’t felt like that since she was a kid.  

“Follow along, love, and you’ll be fine.”

It took some time, and she did stumble once (Killian caught her in his sure arms, responding cheekily “It’s about bloody time,” which made her groan) but she soon found herself keeping pace with Killian.

Falling into a steady pattern, Killian began making small talk. “You know, most men take your silence as off-putting,” he said, then leaned in. “But I love a challenge.” She had to laugh, both at how sure of himself he was, and at what he was trying to do.

“I think you know by now that doesn’t work on me.”

“Couldn’t hurt to try.”

Either he’d had enough rum that he didn’t care, or he’d already moved past the events of the past week. So it was probably time for her to do the same. “Killian, I’m sorry for how things ended. It wasn’t—”

“It’s done,” he cut her off. “No sense dwelling on it.”

“I know, but I still wanted to apologize, and thank you for all your help.” She hoped her smile sold it (to both him and her).

“It was my pleasure, lass. This was definitely one of the more memorable games in my career, thanks in part to you.”

She arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “I think I had less to do with it than you’re giving me credit for.”

He swallowed. “Aye, that’s fair,” he confirmed, and she didn’t miss his glance across the ballroom toward Alice. “But you definitely added some excitement, in multiple ways.”

Were it not for the rum in her veins, she probably would have had some sort of nervous reaction that would have burst a few lightbulbs; she still couldn’t believe she’d lost it around him—twice—and here of all places. Out of habit, she took a few deep breaths, but there was incredibly nothing to calm. To her surprise, though, Killian ran the brace of his hook up and down her back a couple times in a comforting gesture.

“Don’t worry, love—if I can trust you, you can trust me.” The gentle look in his eyes told her that was true; hell, she already knew it, but in general, it was so much easier to not believe it. (Because then it didn’t hurt as much when it proved to be a lie.)

Killian, though...she wondered if she might be okay. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.” And then he spun her out, startling her into giggles, before pulling her back in. He laughed as she gripped his biceps to regain her balance. “I can see I’m finally winning you over, Nolan,” he said with a smirk.

“You wish,” she teased back, but gods—he wasn’t far. She really hoped that no one noticed how close they were, with her supposed husband still in the room. The Olympus gossip rags could be vicious, even if they were barely seen outside the realm.

He seemed to realize the same thing and sobered a bit, but she could still see the playful twinkle in those baby blues. “It’s a shame you’re taken,” he mused, albeit sarcastically. “We’d make such a gorgeous couple.”

“Do I need to remind you that the tricks you used on the rich old ladies don’t work on me? I know your game now.”

“Perhaps that’s true, but I do have a reputation to uphold.” His cocky demeanor slipped a bit there—as if he didn’t even believe himself, or didn’t care to.

“Was that what Eloise was?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he answered, almost whispering. “That was...a lone encounter.”

“It only takes once,” she replied, knowingly. “So you didn’t love her?”

“Not her.”

They were still dancing, though the complicated steps had eased to a shuffle. She glanced up and looked long and hard at his face, and the furrowed expression it was wearing—a familiar look of pain on his face she’d seen in the mirror far too many times. “What was her name?”

He hesitated a moment, glancing down, before softly replying, “Milah.” Emma vaguely remembered her; a beautiful victor from Atlantica, who had died suddenly a while ago—not long after Killian’s win, if memory served right. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“And you?” he asked. 

Should have known Killian would be reading her, too. “Neal,” Emma said, the name foreign on her lips. As much as he occupied her thoughts, she hadn’t said his name aloud in years. “He died in the games.”

“Is he Henry’s father?”

Emma considered a non-answer, but frankly, they were past that at this point. “Yeah,” she murmured. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Mercifully, the music ended after a few moments, and Emma broke apart from Killian, as if the weight of their conversation was driving a wedge between them. “I-I should go back to Graham.” She stared at his chest, still afraid to look up; at least she could blame it on his always-exposed chest hair.

“Allow me to escort you,” Killian said, offering his left arm and a smile that did little to hide how he was equally affected. Emma took a deep breath, took his arm, and smiled, putting back up the emotional walls she could so easily hide behind. Even though Graham was her best friend, she’d barely let him get through them; so how had Killian broken through so quickly, and so repeatedly?

Ariel and Graham were still chatting with Archie when Emma and Killian found them. “Greetings, Arch!” Killian nearly shouted as they approached, reaching out to shake Archie’s hand. 

The man from Arendelle gingerly took it and lightly shook. “Hello, Killian, Emma,” nodding at each in turn. It was hard to imagine this timid man ever winning the games, but he had somehow pulled it off—being from Arendelle, he would have been exposed to any number of technologies that proved useful in Neverland. He did his best to pass on his knowledge to the tributes he mentored, but had only had limited success; mainly with Belle French, who won a handful of years ago and was likely even more technologically savvy than Archie. She had somehow managed to electrocute a number of tributes during her games, due to some handy wire and a well-timed thunderstorm.

They'd never actually talked—there hadn’t been occasion to—but Emma had always admired Belle from afar. In addition to being highly intelligent, she also seemed incredibly sweet. “Where is Belle? I had hoped to see her tonight,” Emma asked.

“Oh, she c-couldn’t make it,” Archie answered, nervous even for him. “President Gold invited her to join him tonight, to watch the Victors’ interview.” 

Emma was still on Killian’s arm, and felt his whole body go rigid at the mention of the president. His face must have darkened, too, because Ariel asked, “Killian? Are you alright?” He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but quickly snapped out of it. 

“Of course, love; I’m fine. Just worn down from the week. But I promised this fine lady that I would escort her back to her beau.”

Emma knew she should unwrap herself from Killian’s arm, but given what had just passed between them, she was more than a little concerned. He was nearly as agitated as he’d been during the Games.

“Actually,” she said, faking a yawn, “I think I might turn in, but you can stay down here if you want,” she told Graham. He was clearly enjoying the company—and she couldn’t shake the desire to soothe Killian, or at least get him out of the public eye.

“You sure?” Graham asked—but she could read his second meaning: was she sure about trying to help Killian?

“Yeah,” she said confidently, then turned to the man on her arm. “Weren’t you heading back, too?”

He blinked at her dramatically, but then figured out what she was suggesting. “Aye; I still need to pack, I’m afraid. I promise to see your lady back safely,” he assured Graham.

“You better,” Graham threw back, smiling encouragingly. She knew what that look meant—it was the kind he always gave her when he wanted her to try something new. But she was going to ignore that.

They bid Archie farewell, who promptly and absentmindedly wandered off. Ariel pulled Emma into an embrace that Emma didn’t hesitate to return—regardless of whatever was going on between her and Killian, Emma had definitely found a new friend in Ariel. “Take care, Emma! I’ll miss you!” the other woman squealed.

“I’ll miss you, too!” She wasn’t used to such outpouring of emotion, but there didn’t seem to be any other option when it came to Ariel; it was a stark contrast to the polite but friendly handshake exchanged between Killian and Graham.

She told Graham she’d see him later, trying to be a bit less casual than she usually was, and led the way as she and Killian left the room. He relaxed immediately in the hallway, but she’d learned her lesson when it came to discussing major revelations there, and continued to guide him to the elevator.

It was already there, so they didn’t have to wait to step on board. As soon as the door closed, she turned to face him, noting the brooding grimace on his face. “What happened?”

He clenched his jaw. “Now, or then?”

“Either.”

“Milah...also spent a lot of time with Gold,” he slowly explained. “She was his favorite.”

“Oh,” she breathed. The president was not known for playing well with others...or for sharing his toys. “Is that how she…?”

“Yeah.”

It was Emma's turn to say “I’m sorry.”

Killian nodded, all the while staring at the floor. “I’d hate to see another woman face that fate.”

“I get it.”

The elevator dinged, indicating they’d arrived on her floor. Wordlessly, they exited, and found their way to the Misthaven quarter’s entrance.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” Killian said. 

“You can only put on a brave face for so long,” Emma shrugged. She’d definitely been in that position. “And you’ve had to do that enough lately.”

He scoffed. “Yeah.”

A slightly awkward silence settled over them then. “Well, I should—” she started, gesturing at the door.

“Yes, yeah, you should—early train,” Killian stammered back, finally looking her in the eyes. He offered his right hand to her, continuing, “I...I enjoyed working with you this week. Until next year?”

She glanced at his hand, but it seemed so informal. And there was just enough rum still left in her veins, and just enough of her emotional energy had been spent tonight that she didn’t have any more left to spend thinking about things like propriety or denial.

She stepped forward, into his space, and grabbed the lapels on his jacket. Then she pressed herself forward and found his lips with hers.

He stilled for a moment, but then his hand found its way to her waist and he leaned into it, firm and insistent but gentle and soft. He tilted his head to deepen it, and for a few brief, shared moments, they were the only people in Pomem. Maybe it was just because it had been so long, but she couldn’t remember being kissed like this—reverently and carefully.

The kiss broke apart naturally, but they stayed close, foreheads touching. “That was…” he breathed, his voice wrecked.

“A one-time thing,” she answered, regrettably knowing that it would have to be. 

He nodded against her, then stepped back and took a deep breath, seeming to regain his composure. “Until next year, then. Safe travels, Emma.”

“You too, Killian,” she said with a soft smile that he thankfully returned.

As much as she wanted to watch him walk away, she instead slipped inside their quarters, swiftly shutting the door behind her. But she leaned back against it, breathing heavily.

Had she really just done that? Had she just actually kissed Killian Jones? A man she’d see, at best, once a year?

Yeah, he understood her more than anyone she’d ever known, and yeah, he was charming and smart and strong. And he’d somehow gotten under her skin and slipped behind all her walls.

Well, like she said—one-time thing. She was just getting him out of her system. She’d have the year ahead to cool off, and then they could continue on as friends. Right?

Right.

She sighed, scrubbed a hand down her face, and glanced around at the too-empty suite.

God, she hated the games.

It was definitely time to go home.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Seventeen years ago

The pain medications in Olympus were something else. Killian felt mostly clear-headed and in control, with just the slightest unnatural euphoria. But he’d made it through the post-Games interview just fine, he thought, so perhaps they weren’t overly strong.

Until he found himself vomiting in a broom closet outside the Victory celebration. His mental state was back on the ground—but the pain at the end of his arm had returned full-force, fire burning in a hand that wasn’t there. (And, irrationally, he was worried about staining the expensive suit he wore.)

“The drugs wore off?” a female voice asked from outside the threshold.

“Aye,” he panted. “Can you get my mentor?”

He heard the woman’s footsteps as she walked away, then a pair returned. “Milah; thank y—ouu,” he started to say as he emerged from the closet, but it wasn’t Milah walking towards him. It was Eloise Gothel, who’d won the Games a couple years ago. Like most Victors-turned-mentors, she was dressed in the style of Olympus, her red hair in a complicated updo and a flowing green gown that somehow managed to hug all her curves. He averted his gaze, though, when he realized his eyes were wandering.

“Here,” she said, holding out her hand to reveal two small, white pills. “They’re not as strong, but better than nothing.”

“Thanks,” he answered, and she tipped them into his palm. He quickly popped them, and washed them down with the glass of water she’d also brought. The effect was nearly immediate as the throbbing dulled and he could breathe again. And then took a few more sips to wash the taste of vomit from his mouth. Just one room over were all kinds of delicacies, and here he was, unable to stomach any of it. How cruel.

“I suppose I should head back in,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward in the presence of a Victor (well, another one—he still had to remind himself that he was one now, too). Especially one like Eloise, who had won in such a cutthroat manner—literally by cutting throats, after immobilizing people with her magic and making use of the poisonous plants in the arena. The thick bracelet on her wrist was likely the only thing holding her powers back now. (It was all a stark contrast to the beautiful visage in front of him; he was having a hard time tamping down his attraction.) “Were you sent out here to find me?”

“I was,” she stated matter-of-factly; the expression on her face was hard to read—possibly intrigued, or possibly annoyed. (Or both.) “But not to return you to the party. Would you like to come with me?”

“Where?”

“Someplace special.” There was genuine amusement in her blue eyes, but he wasn’t sure how sincere her half smile was. Still, he had no reason to turn her down.

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Follow me.”

She led him down the hallway and around a couple corners to what looked like an office of some sort; he wondered if it belonged to the Gamemaker. Eloise pressed her finger against the keypad and the door slid open. He didn’t know why he hesitated to follow her in, though, until she turned around and beckoned.

Inside was nothing like he’d expected. Much of the Tribute Castle was clean and cold, sharp lines and sterile surfaces. But this room was the exact opposite: dark, warm colors covered everything, and all the furniture was the plushest he’d ever seen. An especially comfortable-looking bed was off to one side and the soft lighting made the space feel even more welcoming. 

“What is this?” he asked on a breath.

“Somewhere to relax,” she replied, falling against a cushion so stuffed he couldn’t tell if it was actually a sofa or merely a giant pillow. “Join me, won’t you?”

It certainly looked enticing—as did the company—so he complied, letting himself collapse next to her. The cushion somehow managed to both support and embrace his body, although he winced a bit at the way his blunted wrist hit it; he was still getting used to that. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.

“Aye, I’m fine,” he lied, wanting to impress the slightly older woman. The strap on her dress had slipped a bit, revealing the curve of her bosom. He may have just survived a battle to the death, but he was still technically a young, hormonal man.

“Perhaps you’d like a distraction?” she breathed, shifting closer.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Good.” And then she surged forward, claiming his lips with hers.

A blushing virgin, Killian was not, but that was certainly one of the more enjoyable nights in his memory. He learned a thing or two about how to pleasure both a woman and himself. 

They were laying in the afterglow, sharing slightly awkward smiles and giggles. For the first time since his name had been plucked, he’d finally been able to forget where he was and what was going on around him; if he was reading the slightly starry expression on Eloise’s face correctly, she felt the same. 

It was at that perfect moment of bliss, of course, that he was jarred by the sound of a cough coming from the shadows.

He jolted away from Eloise in shock; she seemed equally surprised, but less confused.

“Oh, don’t stop on my part,” the person called out, and it was easy to tell who the voice belonged to.

“Welcome, Mister Jones,” President Gold said, rising to his feet. “And let me extend my congratulations again.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Killian answered, but he was utterly confused (both mentally and physically).

“I see you’re getting along well with Miss Gothel.”

“Yeah…” he said, but when he looked to Eloise for guidance, he could no longer read her expression.

“You know, you’re quite the handsome young man,” Gold continued, hobbling forward with his cane. “I’m sure you’ve attracted many admirers over the last few weeks.”

What on earth was the President getting at? And why the bloody hell was he here? Had he...had he watched?

“An attractive young man like you...people would pay a high price to fall into your good graces.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t follow,” Killian finally had to say, trying to sit up while also keep his modesty somewhat intact, tugging the covers over his lap. 

“Eloise, you didn’t tell him?”

“Not yet, sir; I figured it would be best coming from you.” There was just enough defiance in her tone that Killian could tell whatever was going on wasn’t entirely by choice.

“I suppose you’re right,” the President sighed. “Well, Mister Jones, you see, I have many friends who I like to repay for their loyalty and support. And I have access to the rarest, most desired commodity around.”

“What, Victors?”

“Exactly. Particularly the ones, such as yourself and Miss Gothel, who are exceedingly appealing to the eye. And, well, I like to give the very best.”

Killian blinked, stunned. The President couldn’t be insinuating what he thought he was—could he? 

“A night with a Victor covers a lot of ground, both politically and financially. You’re a smart lad; that shouldn’t come as a surprise, should it?”

It didn’t, but that didn’t mean he was any less repulsed. “So you whore out Victors to your benefactors?”

“See, I knew you’d figure it out.”

Eloise, for her part, was looking both sheepish and a bit frightened during their exchange. God, what had she been put through?

“I won’t do it,” Killian said defiantly.

Gold just cackled in reply—a terrifying sound that sent shivers up his spine.

“You have to,” Eloise murmured. “If you don’t, he’ll—he’ll hurt the people you love.” If Killian’s memory served correct, Eloise had a mother and sisters back home; was that how Gold got power over her?

“Then I’m afraid the President’s information is incorrect; I don’t have anyone,” Killian spat out.

“Oh, I have plenty of other ways of making you hurt. It would be a shame if Atlantica’s grain supplies stopped coming in, wouldn’t it? Or if an infestation of dreamshade found its way to, say, Mr. Nemo’s yard?”

That stopped Killian cold; any lingering heat from the previous activities dissipated in an instant. “No,” he breathed. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think you’ll find, Mister Jones, that there’s very little I’m not willing to do.” Gold followed with a sneering, reptilian grin. 

This couldn’t be happening. Victory was supposed to be freedom—freedom from the looming threat of the games and all the shadows they’d cast on his life. Not this...slavery. 

But he’d been in enough fights in his life, even before the Arena, to know when he was outmatched. Gold’s sneer and Eloise’s resigned expression told him enough. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Gold snorted. “Glad you came around; not like you had much choice. Although,” he started, tapped his fingers on his cane in thought. “That does remind me. I’ve considered expanding this venture to the sponsorship side of things, if you were interested.”

No, he wasn’t, but Killian couldn’t help but be curious. “What would that mean?”

“Sponsorship during the games also brings in quite a bit of revenue. But I’ve always wondered just how much more it could take if there were certain other...perks attached. Would you like to help me test my theory?”

Killian swallowed. “Would I be able to choose the sponsors?”

“To some extent, yes. The ones who can afford it.”

It was the best opportunity Killian was going to have in this. He would be little more than a prostitute, but if he could have any level of choice, he’d be an idiot not to take it. “Alright,” he said, an unconfident agreement. 

“It seems we have a deal, then,” Gold replied, almost squealing, then offered Killian his hand, which was gingerly taken. “I’ll give you the full details at the next games. Eloise,” he continued, sharply, “you have another appointment in a half hour. Don’t be late.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows once more, letting the most awkward of silences fall onto the two left. 

Killian didn’t know how long they sat there, not moving. At some point, he shivered; whether it was from the sweat cooling on his body or in reaction to the exchange with Gold was up for debate. But that seemed to jolt Eloise, who finally started to move again; Killian slowly joined her. 

They faced away from each other as they moved about the room, gathering and putting on their clothes from the random places they’d landed. It was almost easy to act like the other person wasn’t there—until it came time for a Killian to button his shirt. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, attempting to do it with his remaining hand—and not having much luck. 

“I’ve got it,” Eloise said quietly, and finished pulling up the side zipper on her dress before coming over. 

He watched her fingers carefully do up the closures, afraid to make eye contact. He didn’t know what he’d find in her gaze—apology? Remorse? Or worse: nothing? Did it matter? She was a victim in all this, too. 

But she spoke up before he could ask. “I’m sorry for luring you here under false pretenses.” That was putting it lightly; he knew she was only doing what she’d been commanded, though. Still, he didn’t respond. “But I just want you to know that you’re the first person I’ve actually wanted to sleep with.” 

With that, she did up the last button on his shirt, placed a quick kiss on his cheek, and turned to leave. 

He waited for the click of the door closing before he moved again, hoping the brief moment of time would be enough to get his racing thoughts in order. That had been the most confusing, exhilarating, horrifying encounter of his...well, he couldn’t say life, or even week, but definitely that day—and hopefully the last such moment in his life. 

He felt used, but by Gold, not Eloise. And he would probably have to get accustomed to that feeling. 

He took one more deep breath before putting on his jacket, only wincing slightly when it brushed his bare stump, and left the room; something told him it would be occupied again soon. Hopefully, he looked presentable; all he wanted to do was go back to the plush bed in Atlantica’s quarters, but he knew he’d be expected back in the gala. They’d probably wondered where he’d gone. 

The sad, knowing smile on Milah’s face when he snuck back into the room told him, though: she knew exactly where he’d been, and why. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

thanks, as always!!! tagging:  @kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubblesandwich​ @killian-whump​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​

[deliciouschickenjuice]

The Challenging Depths Of Man

I

I am, you may say, a "fish pervert".

As a scuba diver I am not unique in this regard. In fact, it is a poorly-kept secret that the vast majority of scuba divers are fish perverts. I mean, what other possible reason could we have for risking the kinds of death most men only dream of in the kind of steaming nightmares that come when the nights are humid and inescapable? What do you think we occupy our minds with in the diving bell eternities while we keep the bends at arm's length if not the undulating, shivering forms of fins and flippers?

No, we are humble fish fanciers and we do not care for, nor about, your judgement. You should not be surprised that we shirk society's expectations when we look death in its suboceanic rod-rich retinas every day of our damned lives. Within the first week of training a fellow diver, a fine boy from my own hometown by the name of Felix Trunkopolis, was crushed by a dropped anchor which had been customised to look like a gigantic pair of buttocks in tight-fitting lycra. Such tragedies are commonplace. His diving partner, Chudwick, having not warned him of the obvious danger (distracted as he was by a particularly alluring Pterois Lunulata), inherited the entirety of Felix's considerable debt and the burden of the nine monstrous Trunkopolis children. Chudwick accepted this burden magnanimously. Any of us would have accepted it likewise, because Diving Law states that it must be so.

We all know of the danger, and of the cost of inattention. Diver Law exists to keep us together, and to keep us alive, and is simple: if your diving partner perishes, you inherit their life's responsibilities. It is simple, clear, and extremely legally binding.

It is thus that we divers are bonded as brother and sister. Bonded in responsibility, in fraternity, and in fish pervertery. It is thus that we remain strong.

I, Phil Glanschirp, am a scuba diver. Or at least I was before James Cameron ruined my life.

II

Depending on who you ask in the diving community, James Cameron was either a missed opportunity, a charlatan, or an aberration. He was a missed opportunity because, despite his interest in oceanography and the power that he wields culturally, he did not include a single shot in Titanic of caviar being massaged out of a beluga sturgeonfish's asshole. He was a charlatan because, like so many other rich men with expensive hobbies, he expected to swoop in and solve all of our problems despite an almost total lack of experience. He was an aberration because he did not once express a desire to fuck a fish.

There are technical and logistical factors underpinning the incident, of course, but it is my sincere belief that James Cameron was turned into compressed bonechum at the bottom of the ocean that day because he did not develop the deep bonds shared by the diving community. The rest of us have spent person-years together drinking in semi-abandoned dive bars (pun unavoidable) where the marine air rusts the emptying beer kegs hungrily. We have been bored, together, alone, in steel bedrooms with a view of the infinite waterline, passing well-thumbed copies of Fishy Rendezvous Monthly amongst ourselves samizdatically despite the fact such material is not just allowed but encouraged. As we pull our hands to our chest ready to slip backwards from the deck into Andaman, deep green waters, we hold Diver Law to our hearts, each of us an oath-bound Hippocrates.

I must admit that, on a cosmological level, much of the blame for the misfortune I now find myself in must fall upon my own shoulders. My excellence in the field led me to deeper and more dangerous dives, which usually means being led deeper into the cold and lightless parts of the ocean. Those who dive past a certain depth -- the depth at which life loses its form and changes to vague, sexless creatures like urchins or sea cucumbers, also known as the "Pillusker Attraction Depth", i.e. the depth at which 1940s diver Proust Pillusker stopped feeling horny -- are viewed with utter suspicion.

Yet I allowed myself to lured by the usual siren songs of fame, money, and recognition when I joined the team of the Deepsea Challenger 2. Although the Deepsea Challenger mission had already reached the bottom of the Mariana Trench, James wanted to do another go-around as an excuse to delay his fifth divorce. And I was to be his wingman, travelling in a second ship to look out for any art deco bullshit that may have once belonged on the Titanic. He beckoned, and I came, and we dove toward the centre of the Earth.

And so it was that, on 7:42pm on the 21st of March, 2020, my submersible's video feed showed a crack appear along the glass of James' submersible all at once, as if smited. In that moment I knew there was nothing that could be done. Not even a second later the submersible was crushed, altered to an impossible miniature form as if it were a can of tomatoes under the heel of an industrial press, a jet of James sent firing out of a breach and into the water like a silly string of vicsera.

In that moment I knew there was nothing that could be done.

By Diver Law, I was bonded to James Cameron's earthly responsibilities.

I would have to write and direct the next four Avatar sequels.

III

I should be fine with being out of my depth. Christ. And yet I find myself floundering (stop -- you don't have time to be horny), this responsibility tied to me like lead weights around my ankles. I'm not any kind of director, let alone one who should be responsible for a multi-billion-dollar franchise. The lawyers have found no way around it and no way out. There must be four Avatar sequels, the money must be spent, and I must be the one to make it happen. But I cannot possibly do the thing that is asked of me. I cannot do what I need to do.

IV

Am I not a creative being? Do I not ache and burst with the same pain and failure and urges as Melville, or Hemingway, or del Toro? I am large, I contain multitudes! Creation should not be rationed to only those qualified! Have I not something to say about this most human condition? The more I think of this burden of mine, the more it swells from itch to pleasure. I feel like my pipes will burst if I do not turn this tap, and fill to the brim these Avatars with myself!

I must do what I need to do. I will prove I am not just the man who had to make Avatar 2, 3, and 4 because I am legally bound to, and along the way if some of myself makes its way into the movies, would that be so bad? It is time for me to show the world who Phil Glanschirp really is.

V

[vaguelygeiszlerian]

1 to 40 please OwO

rhhgjtghenrhg avery is that you (im chucking these under a readmore, i just did some so im not doing them again, there WILL be context so prepare to read)

your favorite song everyone who knows me even a little bit knows my favorite song is take on me by aha! https://open.spotify.com/track/2WfaOiMkCvy7F5fcp2zZ8L?si=Y-PQBNsYSFe30n4l-XILsw

the first song you remember loving the very first? well if i can’t do take on me again, you get... hm. well there’s two, so i’ll give you the not embarrassing one. bohemian like you, dandy warhols, a song 2 year old [redacted] went wailing round the house singing. https://open.spotify.com/track/0yEhNqCwEfy8LHUmnZoHpP?si=UDGKtdX-Qwiy2mUP88Xlbg

a song that reminds you of summer done!

a song you haven’t heard in years behind blue eyes, limp bizkit, before you say anything, and i know you will, this song is a depression song and i stand by my love for it  https://open.spotify.com/track/1MTQHCpraD4S8g5PAFKzoj?si=vD8m_yjlRoq3bRd1hvQU1A

a song you can relate to right now? well, i’m mostly plucking songs from my ‘real ass bops’ playlist, if you want the one that reflects today’s jordan, you’re in for a grim treat! despicable by grandson https://open.spotify.com/track/5IPT4Noqvo7bsfbWUOHcG4?si=Cp4O-5WdS0-ZqfxxWVR01A

a song that reminds you of your favorite book ooh, i think i have a good one for this, my favorite book of all time is the taking by dean koontz, ask me why sometime, it’s a good read! it’s the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine), r.e.m https://open.spotify.com/track/2oSpQ7QtIKTNFfA08Cy0ku?si=nfVjPGY7QaGH26uAz-88_A

a song that makes you want to dance right now? two trucks, lemon demon, don’t ask https://open.spotify.com/track/1s5A0u1dnAeVNur5nPkCpD?si=HLZERdMDQnqBxGnj31Lx3g

the best song from your favorite album heart’s a mess, from gotye’s ‘like drawing blood’, his second studio album, which is my absolute fave of all three proper ones he did, even if his first had some really amazing tracks, and making mirrors had some good ones, there’s nothing like learnalilgivinanlovin, or a distinctive sound, or, as i said, heart’s a mess! https://open.spotify.com/track/4tFkgfdi8b3aNcKNthPqIF?si=nDJafKn8QYmEgdqmlN4y4A

a song that makes you want to cry all songs make me wanna cry, but first that comes to mind is black friday (from the black friday musical soundtrack), because as an older sibling with a younger sister that the world doesn’t understand (that i don’t understand sometimes) the little aside about hannah makes me cry every single time https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAZgYL0p2zk

a song that makes you feel young the distance, cake, it’s a song i listened to pretty much from my formative years til about... well, yesterday actually! never ceases to make me feel like im a good 15 years younger haha https://open.spotify.com/track/0fsz7tJ7UKXT9hliLfO7aE?si=caOsrX_fT4u9qARZKWSqfQ

a song that means a lot to you la vie en rose, edith piaf. i was (still am) a romantic sucker, and used to make all sorts of idealistic romantic playlists growing up, and i never knew the french (and i still dont (youre welcome em <3)) but the way she sang always made my heart tremble. and then bioshock infinite burial at sea came out, and i listened to that version of la vie en rose a million times, cried at a good half of them. anyway i love this song. https://open.spotify.com/track/3lAun9V0YdTlCSIEXPvfsY?si=zSRwBZ0AQnuyGGkjh2XmZw

the last song you listened to i’m in love with an e-girl, wilbur soot, the chorus of this song FUCKS my friends, honestly the whole song (and internet has ruined me, the sort of sequel) fucks https://open.spotify.com/track/44wBlg3Y1KSAEmaze5BXe7?si=u9mapV8STz6sqR3jg4XMiw

the last song you heard on the radio we don’t really do the radio in the car, and i dont recognise the songs on there these days anyway

the last cd/album you bought the black friday album actually! support starkid 

a song to listen to on rainy days done!

a chill song no surprises, radiohead https://open.spotify.com/track/1bSpwPhAxZwlR2enJJsv7U?si=oVXsE5JiTxulLkevqL4hjA

an upbeat song push up, freestylers, ok so maybe we do listen to the radio sometimes, and i heard a snippet of this like two months ago and immediately added it to my playlist https://open.spotify.com/track/2PJq8Fr5i2S0OkcmFsTC1P?si=3K7q37zNRuCQIduRdApjWQ

a song that gets stuck in your head nobody by mitski, everyone knows that one though https://open.spotify.com/track/6bTn1ovliI0OkjUNkiMBJq?si=Vc-DUCl-RpyhRc6lcbpKgg

your favorite song from a movie somewhere only we know, keane, from my favorite scene in ‘he’s just not that into you’ which is one of my fave romcoms, ok you probably didnt need all that context, dont laugh https://open.spotify.com/track/0ll8uFnc0nANY35E0Lfxvg?si=Lov6MdiOTNGrxCiX6UdDZg

your favorite song from a musical inevitable, the guy who didn’t like musicals. i know the choreo, i know every part almost down to the pitch now, i spent hours practicing the kickline with my sister. jon matteson if you have a spare moment please teach me how to kick your legs that high https://open.spotify.com/track/2lQkaEvJa69QCzk3x6HgaA?si=QMRBYXPwRruOSU4_xBPdMA

a song that reminds you of the moon night, the altogether, no real reason here, its just got a lonesome ethereality to it https://open.spotify.com/track/3MKF7HCn6uD03jWcUB8k1R?si=gm8JKR1jQbS6Dh59WUuEwA

a song by your favorite artist/band i really can’t pick between radiohead and newton faulkner, so you get the best of both, 15 step and teardrop https://open.spotify.com/track/6dsq7Nt5mIFzvm5kIYNORy?si=9dEYby1PRKm8zozrCTGcjA https://open.spotify.com/track/7JpgJ7b5sjvo3fUfPcRlq1?si=pVfzoWtuTdO5OsbDgUnabQ

a song from the year you were born closing time, semisonic, one of the fucking best songs ever https://open.spotify.com/track/4EnkwZd0UJAuHpNMMemQaA?si=ASYNfnThR_m9kqFrloI9nw

the number one song on your birthday my heart will go on, celine dion, i guess titanic had just come out that year, but in my country, on my birthday, this was the number one, god help us https://open.spotify.com/track/33LC84JgLvK2KuW43MfaNq?si=HswubDCkQJ-x7-LM06PQUQ

your favorite love song i do adore, mindy gledhill, cliche at this point, i know, but my sister introduced it to me, played it on her ukelele, and i love her, more than i love most things, and it makes me smile even on a day where ive not done very much smiling at all https://open.spotify.com/track/6JNEDSev5Tp5VQR04SEBfV?si=BxnrZafFT3m4QkXNUN5GcA

your favorite christmas song baby it’s cold outside, lydia liza and josiah lemanski, it’s the funniest fucking song https://open.spotify.com/track/3xvFTqHmlMqKjHgczCGn2C?si=lgDMvUQZR-2lPXHINo2POQ

one song that starts with each letter of your name j: JT by jon bellion (https://open.spotify.com/track/1eftOUoeMO1JkSQQmS6jXF?si=h4yYMpXnTAiZPxJJUPv0DA) o: one more shot, spies are forever ost (https://open.spotify.com/track/0EgLq4ORQ6TMPN6rjWp3d6?si=mC3eDbJJRyCGN4fNAcbdlA) r: red signal, the mechanisms (https://open.spotify.com/track/2TWDxsjHx2rqtH197URbE8?si=XB8D-1N-SkKgmlTZOFbcfQ) d: dont judge me, janelle monae (https://open.spotify.com/track/6UQDIIEPzeduwXlZE86SOF?si=1bONXfj-SQiq79ibrXjC-A) a: as your father i expressly forbid it, lemon demon (https://open.spotify.com/track/29L9B2aDs2NhrQGbs8pf9M?si=CvVTbLtNTgGeL3iemrLVHg) n: night drive, gotye (https://open.spotify.com/track/3fuRfxHpC56uNFMOaOlMCm?si=PDAbEsi_SjK-EYDmTvjT6A)

two songs with the same/similar titles that you like i don’t care (fall out boy) / idfc (blackbear) https://open.spotify.com/track/13mM4hWNMH5KwMcwl81tXS?si=YOqg8tVXRQKXB3ANmDFjHQ https://open.spotify.com/track/6y6jbcPG4Yn3Du4moXaenr?si=CzyYs4b5QQ23azTqgv0iXw

a cover that you like better than the original song done!

a song with really good lyrics kick it up a notch, starship  https://open.spotify.com/track/1r223IXiRxObMBNh3mcyWR?si=-RX3obwISfS_jk3JjzvaJg

a song with an amazing beat couple’s retreat, jon bellion https://open.spotify.com/track/7pMS0byKI7V1Mpl0SlWEDq?si=Xytu_HBrStq_zjKdia2oig

a song that you associate with the color yellow boys, lizzo https://open.spotify.com/track/1ITsmuChPVC05ogvorAyVu?si=hkoCz7ouQsyLKn8Q7KO92g

your favorite song with an action in the title (jump, dance, etc.) bite back, all american rejects https://open.spotify.com/track/4zJv4aXOIAepvhApOFoQeQ?si=qRtthyDlQvKGRErmkI8lDg

your favorite acoustic song heart is full, jon bellion https://open.spotify.com/track/6DvsjPkNcB4QoezDPtxsAB?si=vD18h70qSFG5xtrjpuy4XA

a song that motivates you take me home, country roads, john denver https://open.spotify.com/track/39q7xibBdRboeMKUbZEB6g?si=STNgdvZSQNSfqX9pENggSg

your favorite song you’ve heard live camisado, panic at the disco https://open.spotify.com/track/1LF5HQ32hztQWzADGH8ys4?si=VDjKcAo9TX-JA0kF6csqQA

a song that reminds you of your best friend ok so this one needs context (and an attached apology), when i think of best friends as a concept i think of tianna, and when i think of tianna, i think of sitting at the junior campus, huddled around my phone, tittering like twits over this stupid fucking song. (but honestly avery this applies to you too, you’re my best friend that isn’t emmy, i love you) enormous penis, da vinci’s notebook https://open.spotify.com/track/7dUCFnaGSWLH6SdDP08NLP?si=dH00DTxqTR2y3mAIEia9Lw

your favorite song from childhood radio/video, system of a down, the song my sister used to babble incomprehensibly loudly to whenever we played it in the car, the one i grew so used to i can literally hear it in my head as i type https://open.spotify.com/track/41pOIT2t1rvr2Trg1HQChZ?si=-Kyg8JSET2uDq0XGMICsMg

a song you always sing along to can’t sleep love, pentatonix, my sister and i’s favorite song to duet together, even if we haven’t quite worked out the proper parts for a two person acapella cover haha https://open.spotify.com/track/1klGbW5a9qTBFUjFfddbmU?si=Lm0FMpz5TVKddr82vUyf2w

your favorite song in a language different from your native one since i’m determined not to reuse songs, you get papaoutai, stromae (sorry about all the french, they bop babe) https://open.spotify.com/track/09TcIuH1ZO7i4vicWKoaN2?si=YTuHkj1DTgicqo7ZnqYJ0Q

[andyhre]

Chapters 2-4

Chapter 2: Bored

Bohemond of Otranto was bored.  Bored of Otranto itself, of Norman Italy and the success of his late father's schemes for piecing together a duchy out of the petty principalities and exarchates in the toe and heel of Italy, much like his Uncle Roger had also done in Sicily, but mostly he was bored with the day-to-day business of being the disinherited son of a great man.  His younger half-brother had cheated him out of inheriting the Duchy of his famous father, Robert de Hauteville, whom everyone had called Guiscard -- "the wily one" in the French of his family's native Normandy.  If he were to rise to greatness, it would be through conquest of his own kingdom, much as Normans had been doing in the Mediterranean for the last 50 years.  But while Bohemond was stronger that Duke Robert Guiscard, he lacked the cunning that had taken Roger and Robert from younger sons of a nothing nobleman to the Count of Sicily and the Duke of Apulia and Calabria in the course of their lifetimes.  The problem for Bohemond was how to top their success, and it was a problem he could not solve.

 If only Bohemond had been born a generation earlier. His father and uncle had been destined for obscurity, the sixth and twelfth sons of a second marriage of a minor noble. But almost all of the Hauteville brothers had followed their centuries-old Viking roots, and taken to raiding, traveling to Italy to make their names and scrabble titles and lands to rule. Guiscard had been the most successful, but his even his much younger brother Roger had gotten the prosperous island of Sicily as a virtual kingdom.  If Bohemond had been born of that generation, then he could have used his ambition and strength to find himself a principality of some sort.  Instead, all of the petty princelings had been gobbled up by his elders and he was left to serve his younger brother, also called Roger, who’d usurped his rightful place in his father’s legacy.

 The Roman Empire had still controlled bits and pieces of southern Italy when the Hauteville clan arrived before Bohemond had been born.  With his father, he’d crossed the Adriatic and attempted to march on the Roman capital in Constantinople.  It always puzzled Bohemond why the Romans spoke Greek and why they did not rule the dusty, priest-ridden city of Rome to the north of his father's duchy, ruled by the Pope.  But that did not deter him from his efforts to conquer it.  He was made to conquer.  But to rule?  He'd not yet had the chance and things did not look good.  He'd led armies for his father in campaigns against the Empire, but they had all failed, and Bohemond, while noble in his efforts to make the best of a botched adventure, had come away with nothing.  When his father decided he wanted a new wife, he’d taken advantage of the fact that Bohemond’s mother was his too-close cousin, and thus Bohemond became a sort-of bastard, losing his patrimony to the children of his father’s second wife.

 So his chance at inheritance was gone.  And also gone were the days of a quick assault of a decrepit Roman fortress in Calabria or Apulia -- if he wanted his own County or Duchy, he would need to gather troops and try again to carve something out of the body of the Empire in the Balkans or the Peloponnesus.  And the Emperor of the Romans, Alexis Comnenus, knew the Hauteville family from their earlier attempts, and was wary.   So it was nothing doing there, at least not for now.

 So Bohemond was just bored.

 He'd even been given a boring name.  Not Bohemond, that was his middle name, one he'd chosen to emphasize to focus on a life of adventure.   His real name was Mark.  Who ever heard of King Mark?  No one would respect Duke Mark.  Mark, at best, was a petty knight with a tiny hamlet, Sir Mark of the Cattle-Crossing. Bohemond was a name destined for greatness, but was Bohemond going to find a way to fulfill his destiny?

And so he was stuck in Otranto, staring out at the Ionian Sea, frustrated and bored.  And then a ship came in, bearing the sign of a red cross on a field of white.  It was a new flag, unfamiliar to Bohemond, so he headed down to the docks, hopeful that this would add a little excitement to his otherwise dull, dull life.  What he found changed the world.

Chapter 3: Fat but Unhappy

Raymond of Saint Gilles should have been happy. Here he was, with a young and docile new wife, ruling over his warm, fertile lands of Toulouse and Narbonne. Just two autumns ago, his Uncle William had died and the inheritance had added much of the rich lands Provence to his growing principality spanning much of the Languedoc north of the Pyrenees. For a normal prince of his stature, life was good.

 But Raymond was not normal.  Yes, he had the girth emblematic of his rank, and had fathered children on all three of his wives, but inwardly he longed to make a great religious undertaking, and do Something Really Big for God.  His peers among Europe’s ruling nobility paid passing service to God in their words, and perhaps in their giving to the church.  But Raymond knew most of them were insincere, or at best motivated by fear of eternal damnation.  He, on the other hand, loved God, and as lord over so many souls himself, Raymond longed to do some great deed to prove his devotion to the only Lord he had ever known.  He’d taken a pilgrimage before.  He’d fought the infidel in Spain.  But he’d never found the one great deed worthy of his devotion to Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

 So he was unhappy, despite his wealth, power, and tremendous good fortune.

 Elvira was already pregnant with another child, and indisposed this morning.  Rather than wait for her to emerge from her chambers, Raymond decided to go hawking. With the barest of retinues, he ventured forth from Toulouse and headed north into the countryside.  Coming up the main road from Cahors, he spied riders – one clearly with the Papal crest flying behind him – and when they reached him, he was excited to see he’d been summoned to Clermont, a church city far to the north, to meet with the Pope himself and with Adhemar, the powerful Bishop of Le Puy.  Perhaps this was his moment, his chance to do something truly great for the Lord.  Had the Church chosen him to bring Spain fully back into Christendom?  He longed to find out what his Holiness had planned for him.

 He sent a page back to tell Elvira to pack and meet him start packing, and to meet him in Clermont, several days ride to the north. She would be days in planning, what with her pregnancy and the general difficulty that came with a young Duchess eager to establish herself as worthy of her new titles.  Rather than wait for her, he and the rest of his train went directly north, eager to learn what St. Peter’s successor had in store.

 As they rode off, something strange occurred to Raymond. Suddenly he was happy.

   Chapter 4: The Disinherited Duke It wasn't just.  His uncle Godfrey had chosen him as to be his heir, probably because they shared a name.  And as heir to the title of Duke of Lorraine, that was supposed to make him, well, the Duke of Lorraine, the rich lowlands that stretched from Cologne to the mouth of the Rhine.  He wasn't an oldest son, that was his brother Eustace who had inherited their father's title of Duke of *Upper* Lorraine, but Uncle Godfrey, that old hunchback who couldn't father a child for all the gold in Christendom, had named Godfrey his heir.  And when he died, the King of Germany hd pushed Godfrey aside.  It wasn't just! As he did on most days, Godfrey stewed on this for several hours, ranting about how Henry IV, whom everyone knew would eventually be crowned Holy Roman Emperor , had basically just taken Godfrey's inheritance and given it to Henry's own son Conrad.  Now Godfrey was hardly any better off than his twerp of a little brother, Baldwin.  Henry had left Godfrey nothing but scraps -- the towns of Bouillon and Antwerp, little pinpricks on the map his family had controlled for eons, dating back almost to when Charlemagne had divided the empire and created Lorraine as the middle Kingdom between what was now France and Germany.   Bldwin would snicker now and then, which Godfrey knew was just to get him started again, but sometimes he couldn't help it.  It simply was not just.

In the first few years, Godfrey figured he'd keep pressing Henry for a fairer split of the lands and in the meantime he'd just carve out a bigger kingdom by fighting for it, but when he looked at the family map, he realized King Henry had chosen shrewdly.  In every direction, his lands were surrounded, either by his own brother's patrimony, or by Conrad's, and if he fought against the son of his liege, there would be no chance of any further redress from that quarter.  Godfrey was stuck.

But Godfrey was the direct heir of Charlemagne himself (well, through  female line anyway), and he was not one to let a setback like this last too long.  Sure, he had been moping about Bouillon for over a decade, but now it was time to act.  Well, soon anyway.  Baldwin pointed out he'd been saying that it was time to act for almost a decade since the first decade had passed, and that Godfrey was getting old and maybe even a little hunched himself, just like the Uncle who'd given him such a worthless paper title of Duke of Lower Lorraine.  Godfrey and Baldwin had probably spent too much time together and things were getting a bit tense.

 For some reason, as the morning drifted into afternoon, Bouillon was suddenly abuzz. This was particularly unusual because Bouillon was pretty much never abuzz.  Godfrey dragged himself away from his full afternoon of self-pity and went to see what was going on.  Baldwin tagged along of course; Baldwin was like his  annoying shadow sometimes, almost an ever present reminder that despite his inheritance, Godfrey was also just a lesser son of a great house.

When they reach the courtyard, Godfrey got the news -- Pope Urban in Clermont, far to the south, had called for a great pilgrimage in force to liberate Jerusalem from the Saracens. On everyone's lips was a new word -- Crusade -- a taking of the cross as a sign of commitment to this great pilgrimage.   And Pope Urban particularly wanted the nobility who could afford to leave their lands in the hands of the others, or better still who did not have lands to leave behind, to lead this Crusade. Godfrey had land, yes, but Bouillon and Antwerp had never been much to speak off and it wasn't going to hold him back now.  Then he chuckled -- he'd give it to Baldwin and let him stew by himself while Godfrey set off for Jerusalem and a new chance for greatness, one that King Henry could not take from him this time.

[thorbruceweek-blog]

Alphabet Magnets (Two Boyfriends for the Price of One)

Day 2: Height Difference

5 times Thor loves their height difference and one time Thor REALLY loves their height difference.

There wasn’t much to it in the beginning, really. Thor just started noticing these little moments that wouldn’t have any deeper meaning for anyone else, but of course, Thor was able to connect the dots quickly. Everything was always quick for him when it came to Bruce.

i

The first time Thor noticed it, they were at Peter’s graduation ceremony. (Tony had decided to reserve a whole row of seats for the Avengers, reasoning that it would be fun to stick it to all the assholes who spent four years terrorizing his protege. He refused to admit - though everyone knew - that he was really just doing whatever he could to make Peter smile brighter than the sun as he walked up on stage.) They were sitting next to each other, silently enjoying one another’s presence as students walked up to receive their diplomas. The L’s had just started, and everyone smiled when Peter’s friend Ned was called up and Peter cheered enthusiastically.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a man who was at least six-foot-four ran into the seating area in a panic and settled into the chair directly in front of Bruce.

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?” Bruce muttered under his breath.

Of course, Thor heard him and was immediately concerned. “What’s wrong,” he asked, turning his full attention to Bruce, honestly and truly expecting the worst possible situation.

“It’s nothing, hun, I’m fine. I just can’t see now that this giant is sitting right in front of me. Even as a grown man, I still have this problem…”

Thor’s face brightened immediately and he gave Bruce a small smile. “Is that it? Come on, you can have my seat.” With this, Thor simply stood up and motioned for Bruce to move over to the newly vacated chair. Once he caught on - bless his heart; the poor guy was still figuring out how to respond to the many genuine acts of service he received from Thor - Bruce slid over, all the while staring directly at Thor’s magnanimous smile. Thor sat back down next to Bruce, looping a comforting arm around his shoulder in the process. “Better now?”

Without even turning his head away from Thor’s face to reassess his field of vision, Bruce just nodded. “Yeah, uh. Thanks.”

Tony interjected a sarcastic “Why don’t you just sit on his lap?” which made Bruce blush, and that was that.

ii

Thor found Bruce in his office one night, clearly exhausted and obviously stumped beyond measure. He frowned a little (because his boyfriend should never be in that state), walked over to Bruce, and greeted him by brushing his hands along his shoulders, kneading into the muscles near his neck. Bruce honest-to-god moaned, like something out of a porno, which went directly to Thor’s dick, and he scrambled for something to think about to stop the rush of blood to his groin - evil sea monsters? an old lady in a robe? Korg?

Thankfully, Bruce interrupted Thor’s destructive imagination by complaining, “This data is just impossible to understand. I’ve run every kind of analysis I can think of, and it still doesn’t make any sense.” He groaned, crossing his arms on his desk and dropping his head onto them. “I know there has to be a pattern to it, but I just don’t understand what that could be.”

Thor reached to run his fingers through Bruce’s unruly hair; brushed back a lock that was hanging over his face. “May I suggest you take a break for the night?” he asked, knowing there was a 98 percent chance Bruce would decline.

Bruce groaned painfully - a sound that broke Thor’s heart a little - and responded, “No, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep without figuring it out, anyway.”

“Hmm,” Thor deliberated for a moment. “How about a hug?”

“A what?”

“A hug! You always tell me I give spectacular hugs.”

Bruce spun around in his chair at that, looking into Thor’s eyes to see if he was messing around. He clearly found the answer he needed, and shrugged with a sheepish look on his face. “I guess it couldn’t hurt?”

“Perfect,” Thor responded, as he promptly grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and hauled him up to his feet, crushing him into Thor’s own chest.

Bruce stood still for a few seconds, apparently overwhelmed at how fast Thor had managed to do that, before he resigned himself to reaching his arms up around Thor’s neck and resting his forehead against his chest. Thor moved his arms to Bruce’s torso, pulling his beloved even tighter against his body. Their position allowed for Bruce’s head to be directly under Thor’s chin, and the very much taller man revelled in the feeling of Bruce’s nose pushed against Thor’s shirt, his breath coming out in slow, hot bursts, his curls tickling Thor’s jaw.

When Bruce yawned loudly and openly, Thor held back a cheer before wordlessly tugging a grumbling scientist to bed.

iii

The third time it happened, Thor knew he had a problem.

It was a thursday morning. He was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper - an activity for which he had developed a liking simply because it made him feel like a real human - when Bruce trudged in from their bedroom, burnt out from the previous day’s mission and still not quite reacclimated to his human body. He beelined straight for the Keurig once he cleared the hall, a movement which had Thor smiling and setting the paper down in favor of greeting Bruce for the day.

He came up behind Bruce where he’d rested against the counter - simply placing his gigantic hands on Bruce’s shoulders and letting out a “Good morning, my beloved,” his go-to greeting as of the last few weeks.

Bruce whined and then reluctantly gave Thor a “Good morning” in return. Thor just chuckled at his crabby genius and gave him a kiss on the head before turning to return to his seat.

He made it almost all the way before he heard Bruce - very angrily, and to no one in particular - ask, “Where is my mug?”

Thor frowned and his eyebrow probably crinkled as he responded, “Well, the last time I saw it, Strange was putting the dishes away - not so much manually, but through magic. It actually looked quite magnificent, like something out of that movie we watched the other night… What was it…”

“Beauty and the Beast?” Bruce helpfully supplied, though he was still clearly annoyed.

“Yes, exactly! Anyway, I believe Stark asked him to put one of them on the highest shelf, and I have no clue why, but-” Thor trailed off once he saw Bruce’s face and realized he understood exactly why Tony might make such a request - like, just perhaps, to piss off one Doctor Bruce Banner. “Oh.”

The veins on Bruce’s neck started to turn green as he looked up to the top shelf of the mug cabinet and, sure enough, saw his mug sitting there, right on the edge.

Thor mentally freaked out for only a moment before he rushed back over to crowd Bruce against the counter - oh boy - and reach around him, grabbing the mug and setting it on the counter in front of him in one fluid motion. When he again put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders and could feel the pulse thrumming beneath the skin, he realized how much of an impact this height thing might have had upon both of them. And, yeah, when he peeked around to look at Bruce’s face, he realized it was definitely very red rather than green.

iv

The fourth time was simple but nonetheless overwhelming, and it definitely added to Thor’s feeling of well-and-truly-fucked-ness.

They were lying on the couch late at night, and Thor couldn’t actually tell whether or not Bruce was asleep, but they were both breathing evenly, and Thor’s hand was running along Bruce’s back, and they were both very much at peace.

He felt Bruce stir, accommodating for the movement while guiding Bruce’s head, and successfully managed to rest his chin directly on top of the matted curls that created a halo atop Bruce’s angelic face. Thor once again revelled in this sensation, loving how Bruce completely came apart within his grasp, the way only he was able to hold Bruce like this; to love him and protect him.

He had no clue how much time went by as he simply wrapped himself around Bruce and enjoyed their proximity, but it was long enough for him to fall into a deep sleep, never once letting go of the man he loved so much.

In the morning, they were both greeted by a printed photo of them stuck to the refrigerator with three colored alphabet magnets that spelled gay.

v

Thor had decided to stop pretending his problem wasn’t really a problem. He had accepted it. It felt truly freeing to admit to himself that he had quite a strong fixation, and he decided not to let himself feel shameful over it - because it was nothing to be ashamed about! It was a perfectly normal, healthy obsession with the difference between his height and Bruce’s! Not that weird! Everyone has gotten a little light-headed and a little too turned on when they noticed their partner’s lesser stature at some point or another! It’s simply human nature! And Thor definitely knew enough about human behavior to know this!

So, yeah. He had decided the time of hiding was over. The next time he saw Bruce, he was going to confront this issue rather than concealing it, and that would give him the opportunity to overcome it. He was sure of this.

That’s how he found himself ambushing Bruce as he turned a corner, pushing him up against a bare wall - certainly confronting the Height Difference Thing.

“Oh my god, Thor, what are you doing?” Bruce whisper-shouted, a behavior that often presented itself when Thor was being inappropriate.

“I’ve noticed the difference in our heights many times recently, and I have come to understand that I enjoy it… Quite a lot.”

That left Bruce nearly speechless; he went bright red immediately and simply said, “Oh.”

“Furthermore,” Thor continued, trying his best to sound Reasonable and Smart, “I believe that you may also enjoy it.” At this, he started mouthing along down Bruce’s neck, inciting a whimper from the smaller man. “I think this is worth exploring, don’t you?”

Bruce was almost completely unable to respond to this, but somehow, he was able to squeak out a “Yeah.”

They were against that wall for quite a while. And then in the bedroom. And then the shower.

vi

The other time it happened, Thor was not expecting it at all. It was a completely different feeling. It truly blindsided him, and at the same time, it was the best moment of them all.

They had just finished taking down (read: completely obliterating) a clandestine Hydra base, and just as they were double checking the rubble to make sure nothing of use had remained, Thor felt himself lifted off the ground, completely swept off of his feet and tossed into the air like a hacky sack. Before he could properly register what it was that did this to him, he landed in the largest, greenest, most comfortable arms he had ever seen.

He looked up and saw Hulk smirking down at him, and just like that, he had developed a whole new Height Difference Thing.

Also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539616

[smallblanketfort]

reasons not to

i asked followers and friends to tell me why they’re alive. why they stayed. this is what happened.

the world is beautiful, like, breathtakingly, stunningly, dashingly, spectacularly, exasperatingly beautiful. every wall dirty with paint and ornate with mud and graffiti, all the moldy trees and infuriating insects, all the contorted perfect faces around the world, the decaying and the rising, whatever dichotomy that comes to life and anything that grows according to the plan is beautiful. and it breaks my heart that i will never see all the beauty in the world, but at least i gotta try.

I’m staying alive because I am not ready to be forgotten. This universe has existed for 14 billion years and will continue to exist for at least 14 billion more. In this grand scale, I get an average of 70 years, if I’m lucky. I will not be forgotten. I will do everything it takes to make a difference, to create, to grow and to cherish. I will not be forgotten.

tbh, the main reason i keep myself clean and alive is that i know my family wouldn't be able to take it if i didn't. everyone in my family either has psychological issues or strong tendencies to develop them, and the reason we all keep going, i believe, is because we know we have to be there for each other, otherwise everyone will fall. and i know it's kinda sad and maybe a little unhealthy sometimes but it's how we've worked for the longest time, and hey, we're still here, right?

I’ve stayed alive for my gay ambitions. I wanna kiss a girl! While sober! I’ve had 2 kisses while drunk but I don’t remember one and it sucks. I wanna be confident enough to kiss a girl without anything helping. Also one of those girls was straight and kissing me for attention from her gross boyfriend, I’d like to avoid that situation again lol. But yeah, gayness. Fuckin wild my dude. Gotta shoot my shot and get some lip-lock ya feel?

i reached out for help a while ago to a teacher and if it weren’t for him i might not have made it. he’s said so many things and tells me that i matter, i’m worth it, i deserve to be happy, and he wished he had a daughter like me. it makes me cry knowing that he puts effort into making sure i’m okay, and that’s what keeps me going. i want to make sure his efforts don’t go to waste.

I'm still alive for going out with friends on nights like this. Hearing the birds wake up. Seeing neon lights and stars. That even when I feel so lonely, so alone, I can at least see my friends have fun and lose myself in the music.

I want to be clean because then at least i know i can do it. I've only stayed clean for a few months and then relapsed. If i can make it to a year, then at least i know i can do another and then another and then another and maybe even not deal with it at all anymore. I just want to beat this for good.

my mom’s battled depression her whole life, and last fall i broke down sobbing and started telling her about how mine had been festering in secret for so long. and she started telling me about all the pain she never thought would bridge the mother-daughter divide and how she wanted to breathe in the shadows like smoke to keep them from burning my skin. sometimes at night we crawl into each others beds and carry the weight together when our arms have started giving out. i stay alive for her.

The thing that kept me here most was knowing that my life is not really my own. No one is purely self- contained. To end my own life would be to alter dozens. So, to counter my own feeling of worthlessness, I invested my time in things that I knew had a net positive impact on the world. The more objectively positive meaning that I gave to my life made it harder to argue that I should kill myself. What would my parents do? What would my also suicidal younger brother do? We're probably a package deal in this regard. Same with some students I lead a mental health group with. I had set an example to them, and I can't fail that hard without risking their well being.

Simply, my boyfriend. It started with him physically hiding anything I could use to hurt myself. Over time, with his support, I learned some self worth and improved so much. Now those things don't have to be hidden. Even now that he's gone for a year and a half and our contact is limited to a 20 minutes phone call a day and letters, I find I'm still stable enough to stay alive and clean. He taught me how to be safe even without him and that's worth everything.

I stuck around because for some reason, something was telling me to check things out until I'm 30. When I was a kid, I imagined myself getting older all the time. When I wanted to die, I couldn't see anything past the age I was in, 19. I was both so scared and so sad for my innocence, but apparently, it never left me. Because, even though I couldn't /see/ myself beyond 19, my body made me feel like I could. Did that make sense? I'm 24 now. So far I'm glad I stuck around.

Don't want to sound conceited, but there was a kid at church who just loved me. She was like my tail. Although, I think I learned from her more than she learned from me. We both spent the whole day in church because of various activities I was involved in and because her parents were in the choir for all the services. We were always together when there was nothing for me to do-- she talked a lot. I loved hearing what she had to say. That's why I didn't. I looked forward to her growth every week

I'm alive because of the Oscar's. A few years ago a theater was showing all the nominated movies, and my mom and I went to see Manchester by the Sea. It's a sad movie, about an accident that killed some kids, but it affected my mom a lot more than me. I remember walking back to the car and her talking about how she probably wouldn't be able to go on if one of her kids died. I still can't imagine a future, but so far I'm here and tthinking about that conversation in that parking structure.

i stayed alive because i couldn’t choose which sunrise would be my last.

My family, friends, and God keep me here. If it weren't for them, I might have committed suicide or at least harmed myself because I was so overwhelmed with the world and hated myself for how far I went into sin. I might be in prison because I was heading down a path that could have lead to illegal things. God has always pulled me back in and my family has always been there to talk to. A couple of friends have helped a lot too. I also hate inflicting pain on myself and others, so that has kept me here as well .I am still coming out of certain sins and I am still recovering, but I have hope now in Christ and hope for a better future. I still get overwhelmed and perplexed by this world, but I have support and I know that God is working in my life which will allow me to help others hopefully.

i’m alive because of the little things. seeing your plants flower, the dew in the morning, low hanging clouds in the mountains, the smell of warm dirt after it rains, the tingling feeling of your fingers warming up after going numb.

A fear of hurting my mum, sisters and best friend is the biggest factor in me staying. There have been so many times that I've thought - known - they'd be better off without me, but I know they won't see it like that, and will just be hurt. Personal vanity and the hope I can accomplish the projects I've dreamed of finishing also keeps me going.

On most days, staying clean is the hope that I can be used by the Lord in the lives of people who have been through the same thing—that one day I can look at someone and say, “I made it through… you can too.” On the nights I almost relapse, I think of the girls I’m discipling and the witness I have for Christ and wrestle with the effects of one hasty decision—and five years down the drain. The staying alive thing is a little more complicated sometimes. For the most part, it’s because I’ve personally seen the impact of suicide—both in my family and friendships. However, sometimes that’s not good enough. And, as pathetic as it seems, there are times when my cat is the only reason I’m still here. Phteven has super high anxiety, is afraid of most everyone (myself excluded), and is, generally, pretty high maintenance because of all his fears. No one in their right mind would take care of him if I were gone. So, on the darkest nights of my life, I’ve honestly stayed because I think my cat would end up at a shelter, and he would 100% have a heart attack because of the anxiety (which written out sounds really silly, but there ya go.) In general, however, it’s the knowledge of the impact it would have—regardless of how well I perceived to be loved or cared for.

For me the hope of tomorrow, there is always a new day. Ive always been an optimist and even in my darkest moments, hope keeps me grounded. Romans 8:18, Psalm 51:10 & Hebrews 6:19 have been verses that have helped me through to the point i have an anchor tattoo with Steadfast across it.

While some of these may sound dumb, they’ve kept me going all these years: all the books I’ll be able to read some day. all the movies/tv shows/music I’ll get to watch/listen to. All the laughs with my crazy friends. All the laughs with my crazy family. The possibility of road trips and vacations. The possibility of writing a book of my own. Falling in love. Being best friends with my sister. Loving my niece to pieces. Smelling the air after it’s just rained, and/or after the grass has been cut. Seeing the first snowfall every year. Seeing the corn and beans sprouting every spring. Sitting on a porch when I’m old. Having grandchildren to tell all your crazy stories to. And laughing. So much laughing. 😌

my reason to stay alive is my friends. they needed me to keep going, to keep pushing through every dark night. I know just how devastating it would be if one of my plans actually did work. since my dad passed away, every day was getting harder and harder to get through, until eventually i just didn't want to even live for the new morning. it's only been a few months now since the suicidal thoughts and the urge to self harm has left, but I think what got me through the worst of it was the unrelenting support of my friends. they were there for me through every breakdown, every panic attack and every dark thought. I genuinely don't think I'd be here today without their support- their kindness is what kept me going. I've worked hard for three years now on my mental health, I've been going to counselling and seeking support from other people. I've taken self care with open arms and its made such a difference. reaching out for help was so hard but it was so so worth it. I've reached my 18th birthday, a milestone I never thought i could ever achieve- yet here I am proving every horrible thought my brain spews up wrong. I'm so thankful I never gave up, because each day now - while sometimes still a struggle, shows me how the world has a little light bearing through even when things seem to be going shit. my lovely friends, my art and music is what wakes me up every morning and motivates me to sleep at night. life does get better.

In the past it was always my sister and brother. I always kept going and stayed here just so one day I could find them and we could be together. Be a family. I loved them since the moment I met them. Though my sister was only three and didn't speak English at the time only French. Of course I only knew English. My brother was to be born very soon. I was instantly in love. To know that I had them. They were my world. They held me together. Even though for the next 13 years we would not see each other for unfair reasons. Now 22 years later what keeps me here has changed only slightly. My sister and my father are what keep me here. For a very different reason now though. Four years ago my little brother, the one I was just speaking of, was murdered. Along with his girlfriend and her sister. I keep going because right now I can't let my dad suffer the loss of two children. I can't let the sweetest sister in the world lose two siblings. I can't let them down. I have to stay strong. I have to keep going. It's exhausting most days, and it gets harder as time goes on. So I fight back more to keep going because I love them and I know they love me.

I guess for me -- the reason I stayed is because I almost didn't stay, and it was the total grace of God that I'm here. At the time I thought I would have stayed for my family, or my friends, or my future -- but I totally could not see any of that other than the continuous hurt I thought I was inflicting on them. I had a really bad fall semester at my university that led me to eventually take a much needed and helpful medical leave my spring semester;; but the first time that I really almost did it I was breaking down on the top floor of a parking garage at my university, begging that God would actually see me and wanting prayer but not knowing where to go and not wanting to "burden" anyone I knew. As this was happening, this guy walks to the top of the garage and sees me - comes over to where I was sitting, asks if I'm okay and gives me a hug, and asks if he could pray for me (and my university is not even religious at *all*). He literally slept in a booth across from me and stayed with me all night as I finished my homework, and he walked with me to class the next day. In the midst of everything that I was a bit of hope. Towards the very end of the semester, I had seriously made the decision I was going to do it and went about with all what I thought were my parting arrangements -- the next morning when I was going to leave he sends me a text and shows up at my dorm, telling me he was praying for me and wanted to stay with me that day until I left to go back home to Pittsburgh where I'd be for my medical leave. Both of those times I actually didn't see a reason to stay -- but God did. And it took some time for that to really sink in... that God wants me to stay. That he wouldn't let me go. And that has been a massive reason why I stay now. In addition to that, through this healing season I have relearned the beauty of family and friendship, and how much love there actually is surrounding me -- and now, I look around and I appreciate it that much more because it was almsot never there. Knowing that God never gave up and there *actually was* soooooo much love and life on the other side of this that I was convinced I would never see gives me so much hope to keep holding on and to not listen to the lies that there is no good for me or my future. I don't want to live my life out of guilt or fear of what will happen to me or my friends/family after I'm gone -- but I guess that is a part of it, seeing many friends die from preventable causes and the damage it does puts things into perspective. But I'd say my main reason for staying is knowing that life really is worth it and precious when I can't see it, because I know what it's like to make it out the other side and understand how tightly God holds onto us when we don't want to even hold on anymore.

I stayed alive because I didn't know there was another option. I was young. I stayed alive because I didn't want my sister to have to live as someone with that kind of hole in her life. I stayed alive because there was always some upcoming performance and my company is too small for understudies or alternates. I stayed alive because there was always someone not quite as steady who relied on me to do so. Only now, finally, I can stay alive because I want to.

Reasons I stay alive: the love of the people close to me, and the knowledge that with age we get better. Anxieties lessen and dissipate, confidence grows, skills develop and things generally become clearer.

Ive been thinking about this post quite a lot, Haha. Mostly, it’s because I don’t want to give up. I want to prove to myself and my loved ones that I’m so much stronger than I think I am and I’d like to show the bullies of my past that I’m stronger than they think. Also, my family and friends and boyfriend keep me here. There’s so much see in the future, and I sometimes just... hold on to that. I lost touch with one of my best friends for years and I’m just too glad to have her back in my life since last year and I know (haha this sounds selfish I guess, but she told me haha) that she’s so glad about it as well. There’s so many things I want to achieve and things to see. I mean - about three weeks ago, said best friend and I met our childhood hero and I just kept thinking “man, I’m so glad I stayed”.

it’s on my blog too x and twitter

[breakingmllc]

Nope Still Not Having Kid My Dachshund Is Allergic S T Shirt

Happy 84th birthday to my main idol my grandma mj my grandma is the strongest person I know I saw her be the provider of her family and run her own clothing store my whole life she s battled cancer and beat it twice and she always gives me the realest best advice she s probably the only person on this planet that I still remember their home number by heart lol my grandma has a Hot I don’t have kids my cat is allergic shirt sweater finsta so everyone leave nice comments wishing her a happy birthday. Gj guys but be careful vitality just gave insight about how to shutdown your top and mid lane although they didn’t execute it properly their strategy is just too good to counter your playstyle and other teams will take advantage from it. So this is going to be a bit long but bear with me I had what I believe to be a pointless and incredibly frustrating experience with the assistant manager jamie at your auburn hills great lakes crossing location today I have been coming here for three years I frequent your orlando san marcos and new jersey locations as well at least once a year when we stop we usually spend 5 to 10 thousand dollars on your products the system is simple I go in park in a corner and bring bins to my corner sort them bag them move them to the front register and repeat today I brought a personal duffel bag as it holds about 8 to 12 of your bags worth of stuff I get told that i’m not allowed to use it because it’s policy not a big deal at all I say okay i’ll do that for the rest rather than rebag all of this i’ll just go up in line and pay for it and it can sit behind the counter seems pretty reasonable to me nope I got obstructed suggested that I might be stealing something and not allowed to pass stating if I don’t want to follow the system I can leave he then takes my entire duffel dumps it onto the floor and then rebags it into victoria secret bags then moves it to the front counter so it can be rang in I thought this was a little odd but hey he was doing all the work rebagging it so whatever i’m like dude i’m going to be spending about 8k today all I want to do is come in spend some money get out without any drama what’s the problem whoevers in charge should be thrilled with a sale like this we’re spending 8k keep in mind that I told him that I would do what he wanted and it wasnt’ a big deal and the response was to the effect of stop being lippy and just listen I told him what do you want from me I just agreed with you and said I would use your bags i’m not being lippy at all I know this because I said okay dude not a problem i’ll use your bags his response was maybe if you get to buy it i’m like what are you suggesting that an 8 000 order is something you guys don’t want he’s like yeah if you buy it i’m like dude we are spending 8k today why would I bag up a bunch of stuff and spend 2 3 hours picking our your fabulous product to not buy it anyway so I had 4 credit cards one card had 2 000 one had 3500 one had 2000 and one had 1000 because I am buying for multiple people I had 4 different cards all in my name I wanted one receipt for each card not a big deal to me right wrong again he cited some policy and said if the order is more than 750 items that they aren’t allowed to ring in under 750 items on any one receipt id like to point out that that amount is higher than your employees said they could take as a cash payment I asked him to please show me that I would understand better if I could just read it he was willing to do so he brought out the policy book and to my surprise what it actually said was words to the afffect of cash payments cannot be split up or over 750 items I forget the second half my immediate reply was so what’s the big deal im using credit not cash he snatched the policy book away from me at that point and said you know what you can just listen to me or I don’t have to let you buy anything it’s up to my discretion I then called your orlando outlet and your new jersey outlet and talked to the store managers and cited your policy I was given I asked them to confirm if that was accurate and both said if it was a policy it was news to them I then asked if they would let me buy my order using 4 cards and 4 receipts the woman at orlando said oh my gosh yes we do that every single day I asked if I went to her store if I would have any trouble with this in the future and was told no then she said you can always come down here if you’re in the area and i’ll be happy to take your order after that phone call I tried again here’s the video of that attempt I said listen I have 4 credit cards your register girl said you told her she can’t ring up an order under 750 items that’s 3500 if it’s 5 items not all of my cards have that much I have done multiple receipts every time I came here heck I can even supply them to show it he tells me that because I am order so many items that I can’t have less tan 750 items per receipt so I point around to everyone else and ask what about everyone else you aren’t forcing them to spend a minimum of 750 items what about the final charge i’ll have 750 items for two tickets but the leftover isn’t going to be 750 items you’re not going to let me buy them he shrugged his shoulders to say no at this point I haven’t yelled ive been a bit snarky and sarcastic because I know he’s just giving me a hard time two people ring in our order almost every time I am up there and we were there 3 times in the last 6 months spent a bunch each time so at 730 8pm or so we are done shopping assuming that two people could ring us up ended up being a fantasy he forced one employee only to ring us up later on he comes up when its now close to 9pm and says hey you mind if we ring you up on both registers I chuckle and say no I don’t but you do you don’t want to be breaking that 750 rule do you he glared at me and then sent the employee away and walked off after blinking a few times I laugh because after telling me over and over he couldn’t do it he just got caught trying to do what should have been done to begin with a short while later after 9 I find out that everyone is standing uip front except for the one girl and another associate because none of the rest of them are allowed to help her ring us up the only two people left in the store with about 700 more items to be rang in if that’s not enough since it was a holidy all of these employees are apparently being paid overtime to stand around and wait at a bit after 10 all but two girls leave and one girl is waiting to count cash while the other girl sits and keeps ringing stuff in we apologize profusely we expected two employees to ring us up like always and timed our visit to be out around 9 if this had happened instead of having one literally stand there and watch her for 1 hour and 47 minutes after close we would have all been out on time and no overtime or extra hours spent so finally at 10 47 pm our orders are done we thank the lovely girl lauren and jasmine who got stuck staying 2 hours past close because a manager made up some random policy and had to double down when I pointed out he really needed to follow that 750 rule when he was going to toss another girl on the register if this is policy fine it doesn’t seem to be no manager at your other outlets knew what he was talking about the orlando one insisted that the only restrictions are on cash payments and verified I was paying cash or credit it’s a pretty humiliating experience to get hassled trying to buy panties and bras by someone who’s on some type of power trip the only thing I said sideways to him was that I flat out didn’t believe his policy and that credit absolutely is not the same as cash I didnt call him any names scream at him or did anything to disrupt the store beyond what you see in the videos if this is not policy i’d like an apology from that manager in person or over the phone admitting he was mistaken I would hope that the next time I go there I am not hassled but if not I guess there’s always orlando or new jersey who seem to be quite friendly I also want to give recognition to jasmine and lauren lauren is the poor soul who got stuck ringing everything in alone because of the manager’s silly rule and not allowing anyone to help because it would be in violation of the 750 item rule jasmine was the cash counter who had to wait until we were out of the store to count cash even more interesting is that I had a former employee with me helping me buy and she said she never heard of this policy either but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t added since she left she was just as confused because the manager spent over 30 minutes trying to explain and defend this when that time certainly would have been more efficiently spent doing productive things instead of hassling someone who literally sits in a corner and speaks to no one while sorting through your products one bin at a time id love a call back about this or to find out what exactly is going on ive never been hassled like this before and it was a little frustrating and very trying to keep my cool joe rossetti alexandria gunn

Source: Nope Still Not Having Kid My Dachshund Is Allergic S T Shirt

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[fallish]

home (the hardest place to stay, to leave)

on ao3 | part 1 | part 2

A/N: this is part 1 of a kind of kh3 fix-it. ill be going over things that did and didnt happen as the story progresses and i hope y’all like it. this is the first thing ive written in a long time so feel free to tell me what you think

summary: The story starts where Sora decides to start telling it.

Brunch is about what Sora expected it to be. He eats like he’s still living his life on the run and laughs when Kairi makes a disgusted noise and Riku just wrinkles his nose. They share stories of their week and Kairi talks about getting the sea salt gang to the islands again.

“C’mon. You’re taking a nap, at least,” Riku says when they get back to his house, “I don’t know how long you slept, but I fell asleep around one, so I know it wasn’t long enough.”

Sora, like always, doesn’t listen. “I’ll lie in bed, and like, watch you play something, but I don’t know about going to sleep,” he says, climbing into Riku’s bed.

Riku sits on the floor next to him and loads an old movie that Sora knows they’ve both seen a thousand times. “C’mon. I know you won’t stay awake long for this. Besides,” his tone softens as he summons his keyblade, “You had watch last night. I’ll keep watch now.” He leans his head back to rest on the bed.

“You don’t have to-” he hesitates.

“Sora,” Riku reaches a flailing hand back to rest it on his face, “if your eyes aren’t closed in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna come up there and close them for you.” And Sora has no choice but to laugh quietly and close them. He reaches up and holds Riku’s hand in his, making him turn around.

“Thanks Riku.”

***

He wakes up with his breathe caught in his throat and the shimmers of his keyblade materializing in his hand. Distantly he can hear Riku’s voice calling his name, but it doesn’t really register until he is already standing. Muffled, but still audible, he hears 'Sora, stop', and he’s back in Riku’s room and Riku is clutching his wrist.

“You were going to hurt yourself. I didn’t know you could do that in your sleep,” Riku stares at him, vaguely gesturing to the key in his hand. “How did you do that?”

It takes Sora a solid minute to process being awake. It takes him another to try to figure out what Riku was even talking about. When he finally does, he vanishes the blade. “I don’t know, it’s just some kind of bad dream.”

At Riku’s head shooting up, suddenly tense, he adds, “Not the dangerous kind, don’t worry too much.” His friend still looks like he wants to say something but Sora continues, “ I’m just not sleeping well, it’s fine. Its just an adjustment period. To being back. Really,” He stretches and yawns, “So, what now?”

Riku doesn't press, just like Sora knew he wouldn't, and they move on.

***

This time, its Kairi who finds him, all curled up in her giant beanbag couch. She wakes up slowly, noting the cold draft coming from her open window, then sitting up all at once. The window wasn’t open when she fell asleep. Blearily rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with the heels of her hands, she looks around her room only to see Sora, asleep, sitting almost upright, with his hand loosely wrapped around the handle of his keyblade, which rests against his right leg.

“Sora,” she calls out. As much as she wanted to start the morning calmly, there is clearly no hope at this point. Though it’s barely touching six and the sun is just about half risen, there’s no chance she’s going back to sleep now. Her heart is still recovering from the shock of cold air from her still open window, and the bozo who caused this isn’t even budging. She rolls her eyes. “Sora!”

To nobody’s surprise, he jolts up, simultaneously losing his balance on the beanbag and attempting to tighten his grip on the keyblade in his hand, hissing as his grip shifts just so that the blade nicks his leg in the struggle. In the moment of processing the pain, he seems to realize where he is.

“Hello, good morning, nice to see you,” Kairi dryly starts, “all good ways of starting a conversation. However, I’m going to have to ask what you’re doing here to start off. Maybe you can even tell me why you have your keyblade out,” She’s not going to laugh at the comical noise he makes as stretches. She knows how bad that stupid beanbag is on your back. She’s slept in it too many times not to know.

He looks warily towards the foot of her bed. “I couldn’t sleep,” he pauses, “again.”

“Sora, look at me,” she’s just frustrated now, “this is the third day in a row you haven’t slept at home. Maybe we should talk about this?”

Coming home has clearly been the hardest on him. Kairi had spent most of her time on the islands while he and Riku were out adventuring and training. She’d missed months on the islands compared to their years gone, and she was starting to see the effects of those missions more noticeably now. While Riku had been more complacent in assimilating to school and island life, he had put a distance between himself and the other island kids their age. If he talked, he talked to her and Sora. Sora actively tries to fit in the way he did before he ever left, but he acts so different. She wonders what the island kids make of the way they act now.

Its so strange to compare Riku and Sora to the kids they used to be, its almost awkward to see the way the island kids freeze when Sora forgets himself. He’s still so energetic and hyper, but sometimes, his magic dances near his fingertips or his feet cling to surfaces they shouldn’t be able to. He always tries to cover the way his smile wavers, but Kairi never misses it. She wants to interfere, but she doesn’t want to drive away the other kids, who had never even left the islands, who didn't know any better. Instead, she giggles when he lets himself slip up a little more in front of her and Riku, when they sneak away, alone on the play island.

Even with trying to keep his energy happy and positive, the bags under his eyes are telling.

“I’m sleepwalking! It’s fine,” he sounds desperate, “I keep ending up with you and Riku so its not like I’m in any danger. You guys are safe.” And maybe he’s starting to look a little more miserable as every day passes. She’s, like, 90% sure that he has been consciously walking here or to Riku’s place on the nights he can’t sleep, but she doesn’t want to call him out on it yet. She sighs.

“Does your aunt know where you are? At least?” The guilty look on his face says everything. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’m going to lay in bed for at least ten more minutes, and after that, we are going to go back to your place. We should see if we can do something about your room, make it more comfortable for you. It might help. If nothing else, we should tell your aunt you’re not dead.” She tries to take a deep, calming breathe, pinching the bridge of her nose and flops back into a horizontal position.

It’s too early for coherent thought.

***

By the time Kairi is up and ready to leave the house, its mid-morning. Sora glances at the clock and confirms its late enough that the house would probably be empty when they got there. His aunt leaves for work at eight thirty, and it was already nine when they left.

A knock on the front door confirms that nobody is home, but it also confirms that no one can let them in. “Keys?” Kairi sounds like she doesn’t have much faith that Sora actually thought to bring keys. Well, she’s right, but Sora doesn’t want her to sound any more disappointed than she already is, so he holds up a finger.

Rounding the house, he sees that the window is cracked open with a small stone jammed into the bottom left corner. “Over here! We can get in through the window,” he’s pushing up the window further up, glancing up, to see Kairi standing with her arms crossed, raising an eyebrow. “Or, I can go through the window and open the front door for you.” he amends.

Clearing the small ledge of his window, he hears her mutter, “Correct,” and it makes him laugh. Some things never change. When they were little and still needed permission to go to the play island, she never was willing to jump out from her window. He and Riku would always try to convince her that they would catch her, but she always snuck out through the front door, while they waited with baited breathe, wondering if she would get caught this time.

Wincing at the mess in his room, he makes his way out to the front door. He unlocks it and takes a small breathe before opening it. Kairi always entered other people’s houses like she owned the place, especially his and Riku’s houses, and this time is no different. Sora lets her voice wash over him as she walk in and goes directly to the kitchen. She starts talking about the color theory of his room and the halls leading there, all while pulling out a pan from under the stove and starting a burner with the light hung on the wall.

He listens to her while he starts putting the dishes from the dishwasher away. The sound of her voice is washing away the awkward conversation from dinner the night before that stained the kitchen, and it helps him breathe. She cracks and egg into the pan and the crackle overtakes her voice briefly. For a second, he feels like he really might be home.

Setting down a plate, he sees some papers on the kitchen table that weren’t there the night before. It’s a brochure for helping kids with PTSD, and the air immediately leaves his lungs. The calm feeling from just a moment prior seems like it must have happened ages ago. There is a post-it on the back that reads ‘give him space’ in all caps.

“Kairi, we need to go,” he swallows. He had been so careful, smiling and laughing, acting like he used to be before he left. He was fine. He barely remembers the blur of the war. He doesn’t even think about it all that often. But this brochure, this thing, in his hand proved that maybe he wasn’t as convincing as he thought he was.

He wonders if she heard him wake up, quietly but anxiously, pulling cold metal into his hand and clutching it to his chest before sneaking out the window. Maybe she had noticed the way that he was never home when she left the house for work.

Maybe she wondered whether or not he was running away again.

The king had given them the go ahead to return to the islands and spoke to each of their families when they returned. She probably knew about everything that happened that kept him away. But, then again, maybe she didn’t. Distantly, he heard Kairi talking about how she already had some ideas for paint, but he couldn’t focus on her voice anymore.

“No, I meant we need to get off the islands. I think I’m going stir crazy,” He sounded a little rough even to his own ears, so he clears his throat. “Besides, it might be nice to go see the others.” That sounded a little better, but from the way Kairi was narrowing her eyes said he wasn’t completely off her radar just yet.

“I have been meaning to go see Merlin at some point,” she says slowly, keeping her eyes locked on the frying egg she now has in front of her, “to work on my magic a little.” Motioning for a plate, she still keeps her eyes on the stove. She transfers the egg to the plate, and turns around, finally making eye contact. “Y’know, if you need an excuse.”

And he hates that she knows him so well, and loves her all in the same instant. His face must show something of the way he’s feeling because her face softens.

“Sora, why are you avoiding your aunt? You seemed to be happy about coming home when we left the tower,” she asks. He tries to come up with something that makes sense, but all he can think about is the fact that he never though coming home would be so hard.

The truth is he only spent the better part of a month with his aunt before leaving to follow Riku. He doesn’t know her the way his mom did. He remembers all the times the three of them went to the house he now lives in and the way his mother laughed with a teacup in her hand. He remembers telling her all about the adventure he had in the garden. His aunt’s face blurs in the memory.

He thinks about the kids he used to race and spar with. They all seemed so uncomfortable around him now, even if they tried to cover it up, but it was obvious the way their eyes skipped him in school and the way they didn’t ask him and Riku to join them when they hung out.

“I love the islands. I just…” he’s not great at articulating himself, and he has always hated the way he sounds trying to explain himself, “this place isn’t as easy to be as it used to be. I’ve been to so many worlds, and nobody there compares me to a version of me they thought they knew. I didn’t mean to, but somewhere along the way, I changed! I couldn’t help it. You told me not to, I remember that, but I went and did it anyway, and now everyone can’t seem to wrap their heads around it. Around me. I’ve spent so long being just me. I didn’t think about what it would be like to be here.”

He tried so hard not to let on that he’d noticed the way everyone here treated him and Riku, and Kairi too, when she went places with them, but it was too easy to let it flood out once he started.

He sighs and rubs his face with the hand not holding the pamphlet. “Maybe I’m just a people person who doesn’t have many people right now.”

Kairi finishes her food and puts her plate in the sink. “I’ll send out some texts. Mickey can bring Donald and Goofy to Radiant Gardens. Riku can have the gummi ship up and running before the end of the week, probably faster if I tell him to hurry. Leon will give us a place to stay, and I’m pretty sure I can tell your aunt for you,” she’s so nonchalant and casual with her tone, already typing the plan into her phone. She leans forward so her elbows rest on the counter, “Until then, we can get some of the others here faster than we can go there.”

She’s still clicking away at texts when Sora finds the words to respond. “Thank you for doing this. I know I should be happier to be home. And also for offering to tell her.” He smiles weakly, “It was nice to think about, but I think I should talk to her.”

The tapping stops. “I’m proud of you. I know you spent a lot of time, just not thinking about all this, but I’m glad you want to talk to her. From what I know, she really is trying to make adjusting as easy as possible,” she says. Glancing at her phone, she adds, “The twilight town gang will be here tomorrow. Let’s see if we can get some stuff together for them.”

Maybe a beach day would be nice.

[inthebivy]

Fear & Trembling in the Winds

Late July, 2016

I’d been scared all day, since Tommy and I started up the Wolf’s Head at dawn. My friend Zach had warned me that three groups of his friends climbed it and all said “Horrifying, terrible, don’t do it!” I already knew I didn’t like being on top of vertical cliffs, where there’s no escape. But here I was anyway. Here, halfway through the “Piton Pitch,” the most notorious 50 feet of the route. It was easy for a while, a ledge traverse with a crack nicely protected by old pitons, so plenty of places for my hands and feet - then I rounded a corner and suddenly the ledge and crack petered out into nothing, into a sea of holdless slab. 15 feet away I saw the end, a huge sandy ledge you could sleep on. But in between was nothing - just one old piton hammered into the middle of it, what seemed like a very far way away. 

I started out towards that piton, and found nothing good to hold, or stand on. Shit. I retreated. There was another way, going up a hard-looking crack, also with a piton in it. Maybe I should go that way? I pulled out the “beta,” information on which way to go where, and confirmed that indeed, I should just head out the slab. Damn it.

I looked out, and down. The exposure was relentless. “Exposure” meaning cliffs falling away below you for hundreds and hundreds of feet. Still no good holds. But a storm was threatening, and there was no going back, or down, so I cast off into the void, the sea of nothing. 

Wolf’s Head ridge looking steep from Pingora

How I got into this pickle 

A couple months ago I wrote about my mountain mentor and great friend Ben. I wrote about how he took me up climbs that scared me so much I couldn’t move. And now I was back in what I knew was Ben’s favorite kind of climbing - ridge traverses - like Evolution, or Palisades, or Forbidden. This is a climb Ben would have loved.  It’s a climb Ben would have taken me up, dragged me up, me paralyzed with fear, “gripped,” rattled, lost it, but still there.

Today I want to talk about that fear more.

Most climbers I know don’t have the same fear of heights that I do. Sure, everyone says they’re scared of heights. Even Will Gadd. But Ben would hop up on a tiny summit pinnacle. Greg does that too, and Ryan - “climbers” do that. They’re comfortable in thin air, like mountain goats. It’s not like that for me. Get me even 5 feet off the ground and I cling tight, I stay seated, I don’t want to stand up, I feel the vertigo, the “what if,” “what if I fall?” I like to hold on tight. I’ve bailed off beginner routes because I was scared - a 5.6 in Lander last spring, a 5.8 (with bolts!) just last week. So … why do I climb? I used to say “I’m retiring” after every climb. But then I go again. I’m probably the worst climber who’s been climbing for 10 years, because my fear resets my skills to 0 every season.

I’ve felt fear for a long time. Growing up, I was afraid of the dark. I would jump from my bed to the safety of the hallway to avoid being nabbed by the monsters under the bed, or on the floor. I wasn’t scared of heights, I don’t think - I spent much of my waking hours climbing trees in the yard, looking down at our roof. But as time went on, I gained that fear. The Fear, I called it. The paralyzing fear.

I’ve tried to work with the fear a few times. It’s a knot in the pit of your stomach. It’s a tight chest, or neck. It causes me to leave, to run away. In DC, in 2005, I tried “exposure therapy” to fear - I’d stay in dark rooms, or shut the door in the bathroom (with monsters hiding in the mirror). I re-read “Dune” and found the Litany:

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

I read Buddhist philosophy and practice about detaching from the illusions we think are our true self.

But I lost my nerve and stopped facing fears. When I hiked half the Appalachian Trail in 2008, I was scared of being alone, and never sat through to see what was on the other side of it. I clung to other people. And I grew ever more scared of heights.

Fear and the Diamond

Three mountains stand out as the peaks of my fear, all 2010 trips with Ben: downclimbing a 4th class slab onto the Little Bear - Blanca traverse (Ben had to talk me down); getting totally paralyzed, unable to move, on the East Ridge of Forbidden Peak (Ben had to break out the rope and throw me one end); and what has become the Ultimate Fear, the ultima thule of terror: getting three pitches up the Diamond on Longs Peak (also with Ben) and completely losing it; we bailed and he noted the cause as “Skye altitude sick” - a generous diagnosis. I may have been altitude sick, as I went from sea level to 13,500’ in a day. More to the point, I was completely psychologically shattered.

Little Bear to Blanca. Intense fear, and eventually came to terms with it.

Ben rapping down to the start of the Diamond, after my first rain-bivy, also at 13,500′. Note his smile.

Here’s me, petrified, on the side of Longs Peak just before we bailed. Note the terror in my eyes.

  Into the Winds

The Winds have been on my list for 2 years, and were high on the list for this fall. I planned to go in September, after the legendary mosquitos died down, but an old ranger friend from Philmont, Tommy, hit me up on Facebook a month ago.

Hey Skye! Nice looking pictures, you defintitely have the beta for Wyoming. Im looking for a climbing last weekend of july to climb Pingora or something in the Cirque. Ive got a rope and half a rack. Seeing if youre interested

I was interested. I hadn’t seen Tommy in a decade, and I remembered him as a bit of a wildman, so I made sure we were on the same page about risk:

Me: Also as a general caveat, I am pretty darn cautious / conservative when it comes to risk, and have lost the "summit fever" I used to have... my priorities are 1. come back alive 2. come back friends 3. get to a summit. You down with that philosophy? Tommy: Absolutely, Ive definitely learned to swallow my pride when it comes to summits. No more of a humbling feeling than when mother nature decides whether or not you send. Here are my priorities, 1. get on the route. 2. get off the route safely 3. enjoy the climb 4. summit.

So it was on. A month went by, I got my gear together, and I headed south after work, through the Cliff Creek fire zone (props to the wildland firefighters out there!), met Tommy in the morning, and hiked in to Cirque Lake. 

Hiking in, Pingora at right and Wolfs Head atop a cloud.

We climbed Pingora Peak’s South Buttress, the chillest sweetest sunniest rock, huge ledges and nice climbing and straightforward rappelling. 

We looked at Wolf’s Head from the top and were both fully intimidated. We camped at the lake again, shooting star photos. Tommy dreaming of Wolf’s Head. We woke, and we headed up. 

Wolf’s Head

I was scared from the first step onto the rock, up grassy ledges to the start of the route on the “Sidewalk.” Tommy was fine.

We got near the Sidewalk, and I felt inside: I should climb this. This is what Ben taught me to do - and I’m ready. I can do this. I told Tommy I was up for it, and he protested not.

I headed up the Sidewalk, 2 feet wide, unprotected, cliffs on both sides - and I wasn’t really there, mentally. I was moving tentatively, clinging. Halfway out I thought maybe I could get a piece of gear in, so I pulled out the “nuts” - metal chocks that fit in cracks to hold a fall - and, something I’ve never done before, I dropped half of them off the side of the mountain. Now I was trembling for real. This was a problem - a major portion of our safety gear, gone, and me shaking in the middle of an unprotected skinny slab.

Looking back down the Sidewalk

The nuts had landed on ledges below us, so I retreated back down the Sidewalk, downclimbed the ledges, retrieved the nuts, and got back up to the Sidewalk. Take 2. I breathed deep - this time, just go for it. And I just went for it. Feet, rubber soles smearing on sticky granite. Hands, holding the two edges, corners, solid holds. And I just moved. No funny business trying to put a nut in halfway - I just went. I crossed the Sidewalk, got to a solid spot, I put in solid gear, and I whooped with joy. I had done it. And my head was in the game. But The Fear was still there, underneath - fear of what was to come.

We climbed 4 pitches to get to the towers. The Towers. Four towers, each with its own “crux” or hard move. The “hard moves” were only 5.6 - easy, by any good climber’s standard - but still bone-chilling to do above hundreds of feet of thin air, when you have an almost-debilitating fear of heights like I do.

This whole time, I had The Fear. It was ever-present. And in turn, I worked on being present with the fear. On seeing the fear as something separate from me - so that I wasn’t consumed by the fear, but could hold it at arms-length, thank it for keeping me safe, and still not be paralyzed or ruled by it. “Ah, fear - that’s a feeling.” And keep moving.

Getting to the base of the first tower move was a scary and awkward down-crawl on loose rock without good protection, and we both got rattled. “Good gear, good rope, keep moving” became my mantra. I saw a rappel station and thought “maybe we should bail…” - better yet, maybe we should get the Canadians behind us with double 70 meter ropes to bail, and slide down their ropes back to our camp. But they weren’t bailing, and we kept moving.

Tommy did the boulder hug move in style, then got into a very tight awkward chimney and stopped, inside the slot, before the piton ledge. The Piton Pitch. He was around a corner and kept shouting back about how awkward it was. “Awkward is fine” I shouted back, “just make it safe.” He did. I followed, and popped out on the ledge. Tommy was not stoked, which is unusual with him, but he was hanging in there.

The ledge looked great, and I saw two pitons in the crack in the corner. Pitons are old-school climbing gear, metal hammered into cracks too small to take other gear. Solid. All’s well. I walked out, around the bend - and the ledge petered away into nothingness. There was another piton, out in the middle of a sea of slab. Slab meaning no cracks, nothing to really hold on to, grab, stick a hand or foot in securely. Just little holds. This is fine when you have bolts the whole way, and a short walk back to the car. But here, although safe, it still was terrifying.

I saw another route, a vertical crack, with a piton in it. It looked harder, and it wasn’t clear if it “went” all the way to the ledge. I looked back at the horizontal route. The ledge was only 15 feet away, huge, and inviting. I just had to get there across an infinity of slab, and one piton.

Tommy entering the Piton Pitch

I checked the beta again. Yep, definitely have to go out that slab. And so I went. Good handholds, one at a diagonal but it worked. Decent footholds. I headed down and right to the piton. I clipped it with a sling. And I headed out, into space, towards the ledge. There was another crack. I reached it. I let out a whoop and holler. I was home free. I placed a cam in the crack and headed to the ledge. I built an anchor, and told Tommy I was off belay. I was safe! I had made it through the hardest part! And I hadn’t really even looked down, down the hundreds and hundreds of feet to the ground.

This is just how climbers climb. It’s not anything special. But for me, with my fear of heights, it was downright magical. It was a breakthrough. The Fear was gone.

Waiting for Tommy to take down his anchor, I thought about Ben. I thought about Ben like I had thought about him on the Grand last summer, “my first big mountain alpine lead.” I thought he would have loved it, and I thought Ben I miss you fuck I miss you. I missed him, and I cried, and my eyes stung from the sweat and fear and sunscreen. Then I had Tommy on belay, and he was climbing.

Tommy followed to the ledge, unhappy on the slab too. Then he headed up around Tower 3… and right then, the sky opened up and the rock was instantly soaked with rain. Tommy continued, aiming for a cave at the base of Tower 4. He climbed quickly, then I followed. This was a hand crack traverse, over infinite space again, on a rope, and wow: heady.

Tower 4, the final crux. I wanted to hand it off to Tommy but instead just went for it. Did it. Climbed it, had fun with it! I stuck my foot in the crack, along with my 2 hands, in order to be solid to place a big cam in the crack. Now this is fun! The Fear was gone. I was just climbing.

We got through tower 4, then climbed 2 more pitches of easy, fun rock, and I ended up on the summit. The summit!

The clouds had vanished when Tommy was halfway through Tower 3, by the way, and stayed away for the rest of the day.

We headed down 6 rappels and a bunch of ledge-walking, some exposed, some mellow. I had a new rappel system down, taught me by my roommate Mike, for extra efficiency and safety. I felt efficient and safe on the rappels. I felt safe in the mountains.

We got back to camp, swam, ate, shared food with the Canadians who were right behind us all day, drank a beer and stayed up late taking star photos.

From camp, at night under stars and Milky Way, surrounded by mountains, and in the morning, sunrise advancing over the granite peaks, I bowed to the four directions:

Thank you, mountains Thank you, family Thank you, friends Thank you, Ben (and all who’ve gone before)

Life, death, what is this existence anyway??

This life, and the fact that it’s going to end for each of us, is a crazy thing to me. It doesn’t fit in with the day-to-day in our society, or the stories we tell, or what we take for meaning. Save money, buy a house, get promotions, buy a bigger house, buy a bigger TV, a bigger truck. All of that falls away during climbing.

Up on Wolf’s Head, a thousand feet off the deck, dark clouds all around and rain coming down, no escape other than keep going all the way over, for hours, with fear and trembling - that truth, that mortal truth, is very present. And the focus and presence, the “lead head” or “lead mind” that I have to get into in order to climb - that place of sheer utter presence, because you have to, of separating from The Fear, of sitting with it, not running away from it, for hours, on top of a 2 or 10 foot wide ridge, counting on your partner to stay with it too, to save your life by building a safe anchor and catching you if you fall - that specific mental focused place - that’s why I go climbing.

I headed up Wolf’s Head for Ben, because I knew he would have loved it, and would have taken me up it. I fought fear for hours, and found the presence and place that lies beyond fear. And by staying through it, I found something deeper, not for Ben or for anyone else, but for me.

Thanks to Tommy for being a great, fun, and safe partner (not in that order). Thanks to “the Canadians” - Rob & Jill - who were right behind us all day with a double-70m rope, giving me some extra security if we’d had to bail. And big props to Max and Ryan for free-soloing pretty much that whole route, in about an hour, early in the morning before we even got to the Sidewalk.

Postscript, June 2017

This is the Diamond. Two months before Wolf’s Head, I climbed a peak across the valley from the Diamond with Philmont friend Chris Sawyer. I’ve spent much of the year since re-learning the physics, mechanics, and safety systems of climbing. I bought a new harness, new rope, better shoes. And this year (almost a year since Wolf’s Head) I’ve climbed 50 pitches of “sport” climbing and am back in the game. I’m climbing as hard as I was at my peak in 2012, and getting better. This story about the Diamond may not be over yet...

[skylers-labyrinth]

Our birth story.

Almost 10 months ago the most incredible thing happened to my family. Skyler came earth side & we all got to meet the little girl who would steal our hearts the minute she opened her eyes.

I’ve never given a full run down on Skyler’s birth story & thought I might do it now. Nearing the one year mark, no better time to tell the story of how she came in to the world.

April 22nd 2016, 7 days overdue, I was booked in to be induced at Kempsey Hospital. Due to doctors being on call/not available I didn’t have to wait the full 10 days that they usually let you go over.

Brandon & I spent the night before talking about what we were scared of, how nervous we were, what she would look like, how excited we were to finally meet her. I don’t think I slept more than 2 hours that night.

8:00am on the 22nd we arrived at the hospital, two bundles of nerves ready to take the biggest leap of their lives. We met our midwife, Rosie. The white haired, bright eyed angel of Kempsey Maternity unit.

8:30am a male doctor who’s name I can’t remember arrived alongside the lovely Rosie. When they arrived he explained what the plan of action was. Prostin Gel at 8:30 Wait 6 hours If nothing has happened, another round of Prostin Gel at 2:30 Wait until the following morning If nothing has happened, break my waters & put me on an IV drip to kickstart labour.

So at 8:30 the doctor administered the first lot of Prostin gel. Uncomfortable, unpleasant, but bearable. And then Brandon & I bunkered down for the wait, crappy tv on some random channel. Every now & then he’d ask if something was happening but it was all a big nope. We fell asleep for a few hours & woke up just as one of the other midwives popped her head in to check on me. It was around 12:30pm by then but still nothing was happening.

1pm. They brought me lunch. I didn’t eat it. Nerves or whatever else it was, I just couldn’t stomach the idea of food. But I had started feeling something similar to minor period cramping & that was a hopeful sign.

Then 2:30pm rolled around & the pains hadn’t progressed at all. And 2:30 brought with it another visit from the doctor & Rosie. Second lot of Prostin was administered & the wait began again.

I can safely say the hours we waited were the longest of my life. I just wanted something to happen, some magical switch to flick & for it to finally be happening.

At 5:30 they brought my dinner in. I forced myself to eat because as far as I could tell, labour wasn’t progressing past slight cramps & I was going to be here for the long haul.

At five minutes to 6 I basically forced Brandon to go in to town & get dinner. He hadn’t eaten since we got there that morning & there was absolutely zero action going with me besides the odd cramp.

So at 6pm on the dot he walked out of the hospital to be greeted by my Dad, Mum & Ama who thought they would come in & relieve him for a while so he could go grab some dinner (great minds & all that). The only problem being, Brandon leaving the birthing room acted as a kind of firing button & the minute he closed the door behind him I was hit with an actual contraction. There’s not really any way to explain what a contraction feels like, you can try to relate it to something akin to period pain but there is no comparison. It’s like your entire body is seizing up & then tearing itself open each contraction. It sounds horrifying & it is in those moments, but the only thing I can assure expectant mums of is that you will not remember it for the pain. You will remember there was pain, but you won’t recall the exact magnitude it was.

So Brandon left the hospital, telling my parents & grandmother that I was fine & there wasn’t much happening. But when they walked in to the birthing room expecting a cool, calm & collected Rhiannon, instead I was laying on my side in the foetal position riding out the first of what would be many many waves to bring our girl earth side.

And that’s where it started. That was the kicker. And from there it just went.

The were nurses, doctors, midwives, there was Rosie & a sweet student-midwife named Tahley. There was Brandon returning with his KFC in hand & panicking when he realised what was happening. There was my parents, my dad asking if Brandon & I wanted them to leave, so worried about us having “our moment” that he didn’t realised how much of a help the three of them were just being there. My mum doing all she could to walk with me through labour & keeping a constant eye on Brandon. There was my Ama, just bringing her beautiful aura into the room & calming everything.

There was a shower at one point, me on my knees & Brandon running his hand over my hair while the hot water worked magic to relieve each contraction.

There were 2 checks I can remember. Talks of dilation. 3cm, 3.5cm. Not much progression. There was fear.

There was a heartbeat though, Skyler’s heartbeat. Hummingbird fast & strong as ever. There were machines, beeping, printing out each wave of her heartbeat.

There were attempts to get me on pain relief. I remember Rosie giving me the mouthpiece for the gas & I also remember vomiting over the edge of the bed after not even one inhale. I think it was around then that I remembered Brandon walking in with his dinner but I couldn’t recall seeing him eat & in the middle of a contraction I looked at him & asked if he’d eaten it. He said yes, & I returned my focus on riding out each contraction.

Now, for any expectant mums reading this, I have a few friends preparing to welcome a bub in to the world, what I’m about to say is maybe not what I’m supposed to tell you. So if you’d rather stay with the idea of beautiful, magical, meditation-style birth imagery then turn away now. Just skip to the next paragraph, no one will blame you… Still with me? Ok. Here it is, the thing you’re not supposed to tell pregnant women; birth is not beautiful in the picturesque way it can sometimes be made out to be, birth is not picturesque or perfect. The fact women do it? That is incredible beyond words. The fact we survive it? Even more so & it does border on the magical. But birth is sweat, tears, screaming, birth is guttural, animalistic sounds. Birth is losing yourself to bring another life in to the world & in that process, you become someone else. Birth is not “beauty”, birth is utter truth & complete reality. It is terrifying, painful, burning, stretching, hot, transcendent reality. The beauty, well, that comes after.

There were talks about my dilation not progressing. About how it might be best to put an IV in my hand “just in case” I might need a c-section. There was more fear. What if I couldn’t do it? What if my body didn’t give me the chance to do it? What if? What if? What if?

All of this in a little over an hour. 7:30pm. I was standing again, I think I went from laying to standing over 100 times during labour. I was standing & it was only minutes after Rosie had checked my cervix & given the “roughly 3 & a half centimetres” call. Just as my body had been doing for over an hour, it tensed & released. But different this time, immense pressure & an absolute need to push. Whether I had decided or the universe just felt it was time, I was going to push.

I was on my knees again. Beside the bed with a mirror & two midwives between my legs. There were mentions of trying to check my cervix again but the contractions were so close together I could hardly lay still for more than 20 seconds at a time & the idea of anyone touching me at that exact moment was horrifying to me.

So instead I pushed. I told Rosie I wanted to push & she encouraged me. My dad was concerned for me. The idea that maybe I hadn’t dilated past 3 & a half centimetres & that pushing would cause a problem. I could see he was concerned. But as always my Ama was there, diffusing & calming.

Then I was on the bed, Brandon was on my left. He’d been near me at all times, I don’t think I remember him being more than a metre away for the entirety. It’s been talked about more as of late how sometimes dads/partners get forgotten about in the moment that is birth. But from my perspective, I never once wanted to forget about my partner. I wanted his hand, I wanted his presence. And it was there. He never faltered. He was steadfast. An anchor in a sea of fear & lost-ness that I was sailing on.

It was 7:50pm, I was pushing, Rosie broke my waters at about 7:40, I had been pushing for 15 minutes at most. Skyler was coming, this little girl we had all waited what seemed a life time to meet. But when Rosie told me she could see Skyler, I froze. I looked at my dad, who had taken over for my mum on my right, holding my hand, & I simply said “I can’t do this”, but my wonderful dad, he looked me dead in the eyes & told me I could. So I kept going, I found a place in my head where I could escape to & I just went with it. Every wave, every push, every moment. I just went with it.

But one push, at 8:13pm on Friday the 22nd of April & suddenly there was Skyler, she was wrapped in her little amniotic bag & the midwives gently cut her out before they handed her to me. She was wide eyed, she was sweet & pink & crying. She was her dad, from the minute we saw her she was him, with my mouth & the bluest crystal eyes she inherited from her great-pa who we all wished in that moment could have been there.

Brandon cut her cord. There were tears & laughter. There were embraces & thank you’s. There were stitches, over 40. Something I can safely say was a worse experience than the birth itself.

But that beauty I mentioned before? There it was, finally. There was Skyler. Our Skyler. Our impossible girl. A 7lbs 2oz, blonde haired, blue eyed, soft little girl. She was present from the moment she came earth side. Inquisitive, awake, alert & ever present. She was given her Daddy’s last name & she was also given the task of mending our family from such a huge loss the year before.

And now here we are. 10 months later. Planning her first birthday. Nurturing this sweet, smiling, joyful soul. Basking in the light that she brings. The warmth that she provides. The love she so willingly shares.

So that’s our story. Skyler’s story. How she entered our world & the wonder she brought with her. That’s the beginning.