#weight down with SO MUCH FUCKING BAGGAGE... lord

[pit-and-the-pen]

I'll Crawl Home to Her- Chapter 2

Sorry this update took a little longer, I had some personal stuff going on and my work schedule was pretty packed this week.

Also, this is a fix-it fic. It'll be following the events of the whole series so buckle in y'all. Also also, I shit on Tamlin a lot in these next chapters but it has a purpose I promise!

Chapter warnings: Warnings: Mention of abuse/ trauma, one comment about weight in terms of said said abuse , minor blood

WC: 9.6K

Read the previous parts here

[prologue] [chapter 1]

Next Part [here]

“Rhys is the most handsome High Lord.” I read line after line of similar words. I rolled my eyes at my brother's antics. 

“He’s sure laying it on thick.” I say as I sat down next to Feyre. She looks up from her writing and gives me a guarded laugh. 

“At least I’m entertaining.” She huffs out. 

“I can help you too, if you want. Give you a break from him.” She raises her eyebrow at me, studying me with a look that made me want to sink in on myself. 

“Why?” She asks sharply  

I willed my temper down. “Because despite what Tamlin might tell you, we’re not evil,” I spit out at her, she doesn’t flinch even slightly at the venom in my voice. “And you’re going to be here once a month for the foreseeable future. I’d like us to at least tolerate each other. Plus, it would piss off my brother.” Her eyes shone with mischief.

“You should have started with that.” And that was that. I pushed Rhys’ papers to the side and picked out a few books that had been my favorite. The plots are interesting enough to make up for the basic words used. Feyre caught on fairly easily. She could recognize almost all of the basic words but struggled to read them out loud. Not fully understanding how the sounds mashed together. We sat and read, and then when that got to be too much for her we just started talking. It was nothing deep, not really gossip either. Just casual words thrown back and forth until she asks out of the blue. “What’s the deal with Tamlin and Rhys?” I froze into stillness only fae possessed. Sensing my discomfort she backtracked. “You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her voice held a little edge of fear. I forced my shoulders to relax. 

“No, you have every right to ask. It’s…complicated. You’re walking into centuries old distrust and unfortunately, are caught in the middle.” It wasn’t fair to her to be caught in all of this old shit. That was our baggage and I could see it was affecting her but she pressed on.

“But why do they hate each other so much?”

“I’m not the best person to ask.” She narrowed her eyes at my non-answer. I sighed. “We’ve both done some terrible things to each other's courts, the wounds run deep and that’s all I’ll tell you.”

“Why?” She would not let up. 

“Because you love Tamlin. And I don’t want you to think I’m trying to ruin whatever picture you have of him.” That really seemed to pique her curiosity. 

“You had a different experience with him?” It felt like she had punched me in the stomach. No. That’s the problem, I had the exact same experience with him and I ended up just as broken as I can see you’re becoming. 

“That’s not a story for today.” I tried to keep the shake out of my voice and maybe it was that, or the fear I know I couldn’t keep off of my face that made her drop the subject with a small, “okay”. 

It was lunch time before we decided to take a break.  “Do you want to eat here or go out with the others?” 

“Rhys will just pull me out if I don’t.” 

“My brother can fuck off. What do you want to do?” I saw a ghost of a smile twitch across her face. So we ate in the library. I left only long enough to stack up two plates full of food. Rhys took in the amount of food I was grabbing, 

“Hungry today?” I only stuck my tongue out at him and walked back out of the room. 

Rhys joined us a little after lunch. If he was surprised to still see me in here, he didn’t let it show. I didn’t leave until Feyre told me she was okay with me doing so. 

It was probably overkill to be so protective of her, Rhys was the last person who would ever try to hurt her or anything like that but she was still uneasy around him. She hid it well with the sheer disdain she showed him but I could tell from the rigidness of her shoulders and that slight edge in her voice. But there was also something else there that I couldn’t put my finger on. 

Feyre had stayed in the library long after their meeting. I found her hunched over another book, finger slowly tracing over the words. She hardly looked up as I placed another plate of food in front of her and went to walk out of the room. She didn’t call after me and I was okay with that. Scared she might start another round of questions. 

I didn’t see much of her after that. So I traveled back and forth between Velaris. Spending half my time at the manor and the other half actually doing my job as researcher. I really didn’t have to work but it gave me something to fill up my days. Before Amarantha I spent most of my time helping Cassian manage the Illyrians, from the background of course. Being the High Lords sister did not save me from their views on females. So I only showed up when necessary, Azriel and Cassian always following behind me. They learned fast enough to keep their tongues in check if they wanted to keep them in their mouths. 

Currently I was looking at old maps of Prythian. Combining through records for landscapes and t river patterns. Where the boundaries have shifted over time. And then came the daunting task of trying to pick out recountings of the old war. Figuring out who does best with what court. Prepping for the outcome we were all dreading, another war with Hybern. 

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to get from these books.” Cassian said, absently flipping through the large leather bound book I had just placed to the side. 

“Anything. Weakness, strengths, strategies, gods, anything.” I said leaning back. I knew I had to take a break, when I closed my eyes I could still see the words swirling in the blackness behind my eyelids. I took a deep breath and went to look at the giant map I had covered my desk with. Pins and markers to recount every movement during the last war. 

“Do you really think that it’s going to help?” I know he wasn’t trying to be rude. His voice was soft when he asked and my shoulders sunk in slightly. 

“I don’t know. But if it does…” He nodded in understanding. Azriel knocked lightly on the door, making both Cas and I jump. He had learned to knock now after he had to dodge out of the way of the book I had launched at him last week. I still haven't reaccustomed myself to how quiet his footsteps could be. A skill I had once prided myself on, I had even been able to pick up on those silent footsteps and find him before he wanted to be seen. 

“Just wanted to remind you two to eat.” He looked at the books strewn across the table, taking note of the one Cassian was still flipping through, playing with truly. “I know how you can get when you’re focused. Time for food.” He smiled at the shy look I gave him from being called out. Many times he had to drag me out of my office when I really got into something. His smile made me think he was remembering those times too. 

“If we go, will you two stop making eyes at each other?” Cassian spoke up, making me break away from Azriel’s stare. 

“We were not.” I responded, trying to tame the blush in my cheeks. Get it together. I told myself as I forced myself to turn to Cas. His eye roll was the only answer I got. Azriel had already started walking down the hall and I slapped Cassian on the arm.

“You’re so annoying sometimes Cas.”

“And you love me for it.” He gave me a loud, wet peck on the cheek and gave a full head-thrown-back laugh when I made a big show of wiping it off. 

I didn't return to the other house that night. Opting to stay with my friends. One of whom, Cassian, had gone into the wine cellar and returned with his arms almost full of the expensive bottles. I just laughed as he shot me a wink. I blew him a kiss back as I settled down on the couch besides Mor. 

We didn’t bother getting glasses, passing the bottles around while we talked about absolutely nothing, acting like we had during our teenage years. It was later in the night before Rhys appeared in the living room. He took one look at all of us and rolled his eyes before he swiped the bottle out of my hand and brought it to his lips. 

Mor and I were fully supporting each other's weight on the couch, I couldn’t tell who was leaning against who more but our giggles started to get louder and more frequent. She whispered to me so quietly I had to strain to hear her. “Stop staring at him.” And we fell into another fit of giggles.

She was right though, everytime Azriel talked I could feel how my eyes stayed locked on him. Reminding myself to breathe when he pulled the bottle to his lips. I pushed off of Mor and went to stand up, wobbling slightly as my feet touched the ground. Azriel made a move like he was going to catch me if I took a face first dive on the carpet but when I steadied myself, he moved back. It happened so fast I wonder if I imagined it.

“I think it’s bedtime.” I said, mouth feeling mushy as the words came out. Mor laughed again and I turned to face her and gave her a rude gesture. I offered that same hand to pull her up to her feet and she pouted before taking it. Everyone seemed to get the hint that it was late so all of us in our various drunken states started the climb up the stairs to our rooms. Good nights thrown through the hallways, Cassian all but screaming it to make sure Mor and I heard him. The sound made us flinch before laughing again as I closed the door to my room. 

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Before I knew it Feyre’s week was officially up. She had demanded to be brought back home and I fought down the biting comments I wanted to make as Rhys agreed. I stepped besides the pair and she looked over to me for a brief second before pretending that neither of us existed. 

“You don’t have to come with me. Rhys spoke into my mind and replied with a shake of my head. I could do this for Feyre. Despite every part of my body screaming at me for bringing her back to the Spring court, if she could be brave then so could I. He sighed at my stubbornness but knew that there was no changing my mind. 

We weren’t going far. Simply dropping her at the border of spring and summer and making sure she got into the manor. I could manage that. Yet as we were getting ready to winnow in, I felt my hands go clammy. I remember me saying I’ll never go back there willingly.

The smell was the first thing that hit me. The overwhelming floral scent. I could smell the roses from the outside of the manor this far away, their sheer number coating the air with a smell that threatened to suffocate me on the spot. 

“Goodbye, Feyre.” She had already started walking before he finished speaking, not sparing so much as a glance back to us. So we stood and watched her retreating figure until those wooden doors closed behind her. That was that. 

We didn’t return to Hewn city, instead winnowing outside the townhome. 

Rhys didn’t stay to greet our friends. Instead, he all but ran up the stairs to either go to his study or his room. Everyone gave me a tentative look before I shrugged and sprawled out on the couch besides Azriel. 

He didn’t try to pull away from me. Instead, he lifted his hands from their spot on his lap. His way of telling me I could place my legs up so I didn’t have to sit awkwardly to avoid his wings. I did and I ignored how happy that little gesture made me. Over the last few weeks he seemed to be able to handle being around me again.

Cassian started rapid firing questions at me. What is she like? She threw what at Rhys? Anything for scraps of what their brother's mate was actually like. Sure they had gotten the story of her trials but this was different, getting to know who she actually was. Cassian seemed pleased to know she was still just as head strong. “Maybe someone will finally humble him a little.” He chuckled 

 Rhys spoke up as he entered the room. “Who’s humbling who?” He picked at an invisible piece of lint on his shoulder. The only sign of how upset sending Feyre back had made him. 

Cassian didn’t answer but instead asked “Did she really throw a shoe at you?” He laughed when Rhys shot me a dirty look. Answering the question for him. “I want to meet her.” Cassian said and I swore he was almost pouting. 

Rhys sighed, “And have you scare her off.” Cassian looked hurt so Rhys added, “Let her get more adjusted to me before we add all of this into the mix. Besides, she cannot see Velaris. Not when…” not when she came back to Tamlin. Not when she could still spill every little secret of ours to one of our biggest enemies. 

Cas looked like he wanted to argue but only said “Princess gets to see her.” 

“Because I have a winning personality.” I smiled at him and he launched one of the small pillows from his chair at me. I managed to deflect it but as it bounced off my arm it hit Azriel square in the face. I bit down my laughter at his faux outraged face. He threw it back and before I knew it, they were yelling at each other, well Cas was yelling and Azriel was trying his hardest not to laugh.Sensing a fight was emanate, I pushed off of Azriel and spoke loudly over the two Illyrian males. 

“Outside if you’re going to fight.” Even Armen, who had stalked into the room around as Rhys laughed at that. 

Cassian turned to me, his temper still flaring. “We’re not dogs.” 

“Last time you both fought in the house, I was cleaning up glass for a week.” I raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say otherwise. 

Azriel spared Cassian from having to respond. “C’mon.” He said, pulling Cassian to what I could only assume was the training ring. 

“I forgot how much you look like Rhys when you get bossy.” Cassian said as he was pulled from the room. And my responding gesture made the rest of the room go up in laughs. Rhys followed them out. Probably needing to get rid of his own tension and Armen had snuck back into the research room. 

I didn’t have it in me to just stare at maps all day long, regardless of knowing how much I needed to. So I just stayed in the living room, a random book from the shelf pulled onto my lap. 

Rhys came back first, hair only slightly disheveled, wings out proudly. “Once I get out of the bath, it’s time for your training.” I huffed and he could sense I was about to argue with him. “Cassian and Azriel told me you can’t use your powers.” Traitors. “So we’re going to figure out what the hel is wrong.” 

Less than an hour later I was sitting in Rhys’ study. A small candle flickering in front of me, taunting me to snuff it out. I pulled and pulled for any of the small dark tendrils to do so but found nothing. Sweat was beginning to form on my brow with how hard I was concentrating. 

Rhys huffed in frustration at my lack of progress. “It was easier teaching Feyre to read.” 

“Then by all means, go back to that. I’d love to see her throw another shoe at you.” I bit back at him and he just rolled his eyes. 

“Try again.” He went right back to business, ignoring my statement. I really did try. I Have been trying. That rich darkness that normally lingered under my skin seemed like it was hidden behind a wall. Just out of my grasp, so close I could almost taste it, almost touch it. I yelped as I reached out towards it. Pain flickering through my body as if it had burned me. Rhys’ hand on my shoulder snapped me out of whatever had happened. Sweat broke across my skin and I flinched as I felt my magic fight against the wall inside my head. 

“What’s happening?” I spoke to my brother. He just stared at me before I felt a phantom knock at my mental shields. I forced them open and almost screamed at the pain that flooded through me. I knew the moment he found it. Felt that sickening thread of magic that never released when the spell broke for the other high lords. Rhys’ presence in my head retreated and we could only look at each other. No words to be found between us. 

“Fuck.” The first word he uttered and I somehow found it in myself to laugh. 

“That bad?” 

“Good news is there’s not a physical block. No magic stopping you.” So why did he still look like death froze over? “Bad news, you’re the block.” 

“Go on?” 

“I don’t fully know but it looks like your magic is being tied up by your own magic.” 

“So, you’re saying. I’m the problem?”

“I’ve been saying that your whole life but yes, especially in this case.” He teased, trying to lighten the new tension in the air. I bite 

“Well then that simply means you’re going to be stuck with me a lot more. That or I go to Helion.” He rolled his eyes at the mention of the other high lord, one who has been trying for the last few centuries to get me into his bed. 

“Maybe.” shit. It must be serious if he’s actually willing to let Helion help. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.” He says solemnly and points back to the candle. I stare at him for a moment before sighing and trying to cover the light again. 

We sit as I try again and again and again. Nothing besides a small puff of black smoke to let us know that I’m even trying. Right as I’m about to say something I see Rhys flinch and his eyes flare with anger. Only not at me, his eyes look far away as that anger homes in on whatever must have made his shoulders tense. 

I see his eyes come back into focus and I don’t even have to ask before he’s spilling. “He hurt her.” I don’t need him to say who. “I can tell it’s nothing serious but I got nothing but pure fear from her.” Rhys had already explained that the bargain amplified the usual effects of the mating bond. That he could sometimes get whiffs of any strong emotion from Feyre. Fear, anger, mostly fear but as her nightmares have started to fade I haven't heard much about it. My stomach curls and I try to will my hands to not shake as my mind drifts to the endless possibilities of what could have happened. 

“It’ll be okay. She’s strong.” The words felt wrong in my mouth and Rhys said the very thing I had been thinking.

“You were strong.” 

“Well you can’t very well march in there and get her.” I saw the look on his face. “You can’t, we can’t. And she still doesn’t want us. Unless it feels like that first time…” He shook his head. So not as bad. Still bad, still awful enough for her to send fear down the bond but not bad enough that Rhys could only hear her screaming for someone to get her out of there. So we both let it go, ignored the thoughts that told every part of us to go help this girl from whatever Tamlin was inflicting. But even I knew that Tamlin’s anger comes from his love. That anger so wrapped in fear that something will happen that he almost wills those incidents into existence. 

We spend hours trying to break whatever block is in my head until I’m grumpy and all but biting his head off at every little comment he makes. He bites right back at me and I know there's no point in this anymore, both of us too on edge to do anything productive. Throwing his hands up in surrender he doesn’t stop me as I storm out of his study. I run head first into Azriel on my way to my room, his hands resting on my arms so I don’t topple over. 

“Training went that well.” He says with a small chuckle. The noise sends a low growl from my throat and he takes his hands off of me. “We’ll figure this out.” He says and I continue my path to my room, not staying long enough to see the concern in his eyes. 

I was still grumpy by the time that dinner rolled around but I managed to pull myself out of bed. My head is pounding from the strain and whatever Rhys did inside my mind. I throw on the first thing I find, still in my thin nightgown I pulled on after my bath, and head down to dinner. I don’t say much and not even Cassian tries to cheer me up, all he does is remind me that I’m joining them for training in the morning. I don’t respond with anything other than stabbing the chicken on my plate with extra force. 

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I struck the center of the dummy and looked over for Cassian for any semblance of approval. He gave me a bored look and I stomped over to the stupid thing and pulled all three of the daggers out of it. Cas wanted me to get back up to snuff with long range before he put a sword in my hand again. I had never needed the sword that I kept strapped to my back on the missions I would accompany Azriel on, always having my powers to stop anyone from getting that close in the first place. Between Azriel shadows and my blanket of darkness, very rarely did we ever need anything more than truth teller. 

I grunted in frustration as the sharp metal flew through my fingers time after time, all of them hitting the center of the target. 

“Fuck this Cas, I did the warm ups, I did the exercises. Let me fight.” I needed to do something more than this. If I couldn’t use my powers, if they never came back, I needed to be useful. In no world would I just sit around and let my friends risk death while I sat around playing with my maps. Cassian must have heard the desperation in my voice because he agreed. 

We circled each other and I got a rare glimpse of Cassian with no restraint. This was the war general that scared people just by being on the battlefield. I tried not to let the frision of fear show as he surveyed every inch of me, seemingly reading my body language like I was screaming my next moves at him. I didn’t stand a chance. His fist made contact with my nose before I could turn out of the way and I fell to the ground. My hand went up and when I pulled it back, my fingers were sticky with my blood. Cassian was instantly in front of me, mumbling out apologies. I held up my hand to stop him from talking. 

“Cassian.” A stern voice called out as I ran my hand along my nose again, feeling for any breaks. “What did you do to her?” Azriel’s voice was full of concern as he knelt besides Cassian. 

“Alright bat brains. I’m not dying,” I started to stand up and they both reached out their hands to help me up, I swatted them away and brushed off the dust on my pants. “It’s not the first time I’ve been too slow before, and it’s not going to be the last.” They both stared at me and I rolled my eyes. “C’mon. I still have to beat you Cas.” He shook his head laughing and Azriel shot him a glare. 

Cassian, never one to back down from a challenge, and never one to miss an opportunity to piss off Azriel, agreed to go back into the ring with me. He coached me through it this time, slowing down his punches to explain how to predict them and block them. All things that I knew but just needed more practice. By the end of the hour I was covered in sweat but I was able to block him without his guidance. Azriel didn’t leave either, hanging back to watch, adding his own little tips and tricks to help me get some advantage over Cassian but I still couldn’t get him to budge an inch. 

“Do you want to get in with her then?” Cassian shouted to Azriel as he continued to assist me from the side lines. I made a motion for Cassian to stop as I tried to catch my breath. Placing my hands on my knees and sucking in screaming breaths. 

“I think I’m done.” I panted out.

“If you wanted me to make you breathless princess, all you had to do was ask.” He winked and tossed a canteen full of water over to me. I drank half of it in one long gulp and forced myself to stand up straight. My muscles were already crying out in protest. Tomorrow was going to suck for sure. 

The three of us walked back up to the house, laughing and joking and I felt proud of the progress I was making. Even if the dried blood still on my hands might have suggested otherwise. 

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A month went by so fast, I had to tick off the days to make sure I was right.I woke up to Rhys preparing to collect Feyre from the spring court again. Rhys didn’t ask me to go with him this time, after that last flood of emotions he knew he would have a hard time containing himself let alone both of us. 

I was already waiting at the house for when they got back, ready to play mediator if need be. They had barely materialized before my brother was fussing over Feyre. The two bickered back and forth but from the way she looked over herself, I knew even she could hear the worry in his voice. She had lost more weight since the last time she had been here. The shadows under her eyes creeped back onto her pale skin. “Eat breakfast with me.” He said and I shifted from my place in the living room. Mor was somewhere in the house after her visit to the Court of Nightmares yesterday. Probably still decompressing with the bottle of wine she took with her to bed. 

I gave Feyre a small smile and she didn’t return it, but she didn’t glare at me either. It’s a step at least. The female in front of me gave a heavy sigh after weighing Rhys offer. The growl I heard come from her stomach seemed to make the decision for her. I didn’t follow them, if she had wanted me to I would have been able to tell. So I stayed close enough that I could swoop in and save her from my brother's overprotectiveness if need be. The glimpses of their conversation I caught weren’t the best but I stilled completely as I caught, 

“I was tortured, beaten and fucked until only I could tell myself who I was, what I was protecting. Please- help me keep that from happening again. To Prythian.” My heart ached at the words. He had had it so much worse than I did, regardless of what people might believe. I could see it on his face during some of his bad days, the scars of what Amarantha did to him. I didn’t listen to her response as I walked to my room. 

I found Feyre the next day as I had the last time, hunched over the table with more lines from Rhys to read. She was copying them in better handwriting than she had before. When I approached she didn’t so much as look up at me. I called her name gently and still nothing. So I took that as my sign to let her be. Rhys had gotten called to the war camps later that day. 

“Just look after her please. I know she’s fine but let me know if either of you need anything.” He blabbered as I all but pushed him out the door. 

“We’ll be fine, you overprotective mother hen.” His face fell slightly and I couldn’t stand that look on his face. “I’ll let you know if she needs anything, okay? Now go be a High Lord.” I saw a hint of a smile as he winnowed out of the house. 

I tried to stay out of her way. Whatever bit of goodwill she had allowed me last time seemingly disappeared. So I kept bringing her books when she ran out of the ones Rhys had given her, brought her food and left her to her own devices. Today, she didn’t give me a glare as I sat down in the armchair on her left. I opened my own book without giving her a second glance. The small hmph she made was the only indication she had even noticed my presence. She didn’t want to talk and quite frankly, neither did I, perfectly content with getting lost in our own books. 

It was around midday and the sun was just starting to peek through the heavy curtains of the library when I felt Rhys appear in the room. In his hands were trays of food which he presented to Feyre. A small thank you left her lips and I wanted to smack that smug look on Rhys face as he teased her. But then I saw his face get serious and I suddenly felt very much like I was intruding on a private moment. “Tell me how I can help you.” His voice was scratchy and I knew he was trying to hold back tears, to keep the conversation casual enough that she wouldn’t shut him out again. I truly did try to tune them out but these were the same things I had been wanting to say to her all week but couldn’t find the strength. 

“If you fall apart then the bitch wins. All of that is for nothing and she wins.” Rhys said plainly and Feyre flinched before going back to her book. I could tell that she was talking to him in her mind. My eyes grew wide when I saw that slight layer of frost cover the book cover. Rhys barely had time to dodge said book as it was thrown right at his head. It bounced harmlessly to the floor and I stifled a laugh. The laugh died in my throat when I saw the flicker of flames in her palms and I tried to reach my mind out to Rhys, he all but threw me out. 

Feyre and Rhys left later that day. I didn’t offer to come with, didn’t want to come with. Just like last time when Rhys returned to Velaris, he stalked to his office and hid out for the rest of the evening. I only got close enough to the door to leave a plate of food outside before retreating back to my side of the house. His emotions pouring through the door were enough to give me a headache, the way it felt like I was walking into a brick wall. I didn’t try to talk to him for the rest of the day. Instead choosing to pull my attention back to the map in my study. 

I had been neglecting it to focus on Feyre and Rhys but I knew it’s just because I wasn’t getting anywhere. No matter how many books I read, I couldn’t think of anything that would help us win this war. Not without all seven courts working together and I knew Hel would freeze over before that ever happened. 

So I read until my eyes became blurry and heavy. My head had gotten so heavy like the words were getting stuck and wouldn’t leave. When I felt my eyes starting to close and knocking on the door jostled me awake. I saw the shadows before I saw him, too tired to notice that they had time to take in my current state and report back to Az. 

“You should take a break.” He said as he went to pull up a chair at the table I was sitting at. 

“I can’t take a break when I haven’t found anything yet.” I whined at him. “I’m supposed to be good at this, I am good at this. Or at least I was.” I slumped in my chair and I saw that familiar look of concern flash through his warm amber eyes. He sat there, I could almost see the gears in his brain turning, his shadows starting to swirl around the floor like soothing waves. I stared at them and felt my mind calm slightly. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, wings flapping behind him. 

We just sat there in silence for a few moments and then he stood up suddenly. My eyes tracked the movement, following his arm as he extended a hand to me. It was like my brain short circuited at the gesture. He had to clear his throat before I snapped out of it and I timidly placed my hand in his. He led me out of my office and I felt his shadows on my heels. “Where are we going?” I laughed at how ridiculous this must look, one of the fiercest Illyrian warriors towing someone behind him like an excited kid. 

“Just be quiet. You’ll know when we get there.” His own voice full of an almost giddy excitement. So I let him pull me along. All the way outside until it clicked. There was a little patch of grass beside the Sidra that I loved to sit by when the weather was just starting to turn warm. Our little group used to spend free days out on that field, just soaking in the warmth. He gave me a proud smirk when we finally reached that stretch of grass. “Now, you’re going to sit and just enjoy being out here.”

“Is that an order?” I teased and he didn’t miss a beat. 

“If that means you’ll actually do it, then yes.” I sat and looked out over the river. The lights and sounds of the city walk could just trickle in, becoming a lovely hum in the back of my mind. I patted the spot next to me and Azriel sat beside me. I curled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on top of them. Just looking at the city I loved so much. We didn’t talk, Azriel was always good for that. He knew when I needed the quiet. The sound of the small waves helped clear my head and after a while I felt my shoulders sink down, the tension lightening. It was still there of course but became more manageable as I could smell the water and Azriel’s pine and fresh air scent. It wrapped its way around me and held me like my favorite blanket. 

“Thank you.” I said, breaking the comfortable silence. We didn’t look at each other, still staring out at the city just ahead. 

“Of course. Anything for you,” He cleared his throat, “For one of my friends.” I bit down the string at that little word. I fought the urge to put some distance between us at the feeling that flooded me. The cruel reminder of just exactly how he saw me. So I just pulled my legs in tighter and ignored all the thoughts of him that began to take over. 

We didn’t head back to the house until sundown. The pair of us walked under the flickering faelights that lined the streets. It still blows my mind how much the city changed while I was gone. I told him that much. And he shrugged off the tiny complement. 

“Rhys and I will never be able to thank you enough for how much you all did while we were…gone.” My voice felt tight as I finished, “You kept our home safe when we couldn’t.” He turned to look at me and went to say something but stopped himself. His face looked slightly pained, in that concerned way he always managed. He shook his head slightly. 

“You did more than we ever could. You and Rhys gave us a chance to have something to protect in the first place.” In his words, I was pulled back to that night when it had all gone to shit. How Cassian and Azriel were out dealing with the camps and how I couldn’t convince Rhys not to go so I insisted that I come along. I had to beg him to let me come with him and he still wasn’t happy about it. We walked right into a trap and before most of his power had been ripped away from him he wiped the memory of Velaris from everyone who was under the mountain and let our friends know what was happening, how they couldn’t come after us without leaving Velaris unguarded. 

Azriel’s small nudge to my shoulder pulled me back to the present and his eyes asked the question before he needed to. 

“I’m okay.” But I felt how my arms had wrapped around myself but he didn’t say anything about it, letting me have my space. We reached the house again and I could hear Cassian and Mor’s voices floating down the hallway. The sound alone plastered a smile on my face. Azriel followed behind me as I rounded the corner and Cassian all but cheered when he saw me. “There you are princess, we went to pull you out of your study but it seems someone beat us to it.” He gave me a small wink and I laughed at the joke behind it. I shook my head as I sat down next to Mor who was already pouring me a glass of wine. 

Rhys spoke to me across the table, “I peaked in and saw the map, tomorrow if you’re up for it I want all of us to go over it.” I nodded and he smiled at me. And we all ate and joked and I left the love I felt for the people in the room washed over me like the waves in the Sidra. 

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

“So if it comes down to war. Who do we have?” Rhys turned to Cassian and myself. We were all sitting around the map I had been working on, face grim as I explained the various markings. 

“The Illyrians don’t have a choice. The court of nightmares should. We kept up pretty well with Dawn and Day. Winter…” His voice trailed off. I still remember Kallias’ face as the news broke of the attack on Winter. The thousands of babes dead by Amarantha’s hand. The pure loathing his face held as he looked at Rhys. 

“I can talk to them.” I had always liked Kallias. And from the little bit I’ve heard since our return home, he finally married Viviane after being friends since childhood. Viviane was sweet and her, Mor and I had been known to get ourselves in trouble when together. If she would listen, Winter would come around. 

“Autumn and Spring are lost causes.” Cassian sighed beside me, slumping down in his chair. 

“Tamlin is delusional enough to think it would keep him safe.” And keep Feyre safe. But I didn’t say that outloud. “Beron is…well Beron. Unless we think we can pursue one of the brothers to take him out of the equation, I think it’s better to not plan for them.” 

“Summer?” Rhys asked pointedly ignoring Cas’ words on the other seasonal courts. 

“Tarquin is new and young. He’ll side with the majority. But I think I could talk to him and at least see where his loyalties lie.” I had only talked to the new high lord a few times during our time under the mountain. He seemed nice enough, one of the few people who was even willing to talk to me at all. No fear of the role I had been forced into and hoped he would side with us. Hoped his newness wouldn’t scare him into the easy choice.” 

“I don’t like the idea of having two courts fighting against us.” Azriel finally spoke up. I had almost forgotten he was in the room but his shadow currently sitting at my feet should have been reminder enough. “Hybern has the armies he needs and if he has the cauldron….” 

“So what do you suggest?” My brother asked, head in his hands. 

“We talk to them. Let them know that we won’t win this if we’re not unified. Remind them that we fought a war once to avoid this very thing and some courts were on the wrong side of history then and would be now.” I spoke plainly, it was the only answer. If it had been anyone else the idea would have been shot down. But Rhys just let out a heavy breath and nodded. 

“We’ll wait until we’re sure. Some courts will refuse to believe there will be a war until it’s staring them in the face.” The tone in Rhys’ voice letting us know this meeting was over. We all stayed in the room, the same exhausted look sat on our faces. “Good work.” Rhys said to me as he studied the map again. “You got all of this from books?” I had been too young to remember most of the war, let alone fight in it. But at least someone had thought it smart to recount all of it in very exact detail, I just managed to translate to current day Prythian. Rhys was silently nodding to himself as he really studied the map. The others slowly filter out of the room, leaving Rhys and I alone studying the map. 

“And these?” He pointed to the orange marks I had drawn all over. 

“Trade agreement routes, the thicker the line, the more movement there is through that path. They would be the most vulnerable areas since people know them so well. They’re also normally the quickest way between courts.” I pointed out more of the lines and pins. I had so much marked off, down to what ways the rivers flowed and where their currents changed. Rhys just drank in all the information I threw at him, only nodding along to the explanations. I was about to start on another part of the map before I saw his face freeze. 

Rhys had completely stilled besides me. That all-too-familiar far-away look on his. When I raised my eyebrow at him, “What is it? Is it…” He didn’t wait for me to finish, instead he let me into his mind and I almost flinched at whatever feeling Feyre was sending him. The crushing agony and pure terror. It was a feeling I knew all too well. These weren't the few stray glimpses Feyre had sent him while they were separated. This was the very thing all of us were holding our breath for, hoping it never happened. 

“Rhys we can’t just ignore it this time.” I spoke, already leaving the table. His hand wrapped around my wrist, making me pause. 

“If you storm in there, Tamlin has every right to declare a war.” 

“And we’ll have every right to kill his sorry ass. Something that we could have done decades ago.” I spit back at my brother. 

“Please.” His voice shook with fear. Scared for Feyre and maybe for me. I put my hands up in surrender. I couldn’t argue against the tone in his voice. 

“So how do you want to do this then?” I asked him and we started planning. 

In less than 10 minutes Mor had winnowed right on the border of spring and summer. Rhys had insisted that she come along to help. Her status would help blanket us from any repercussions. Plus her powers would come in handy if any of the guards found us. So her and I snuck into that manor I had sworn I would never see again. Do it for Feyre. Be brave for her. I said to myself as my own terror rose to a fever pitch. 

I could see the darkness already pouring out of the house. My anger quickly turned into fear. What did he do to her? The voice in my head screamed. Rhys had already broken the wards and whatever was locking her inside the house. Mor knocked out the guards before they could spot us. When we finally entered the house my blood ran cold. Sitting in a ball of inky darkness was Feyre. Her screams pierced something deep inside of me. I looked around and locked eyes with Alis. Her eyes wide as she took in my face. 

“He locked her in the house. I tried to…Please just keep her safe.” Was all the older fae had said to me. 

My heart warmed at the concern in her voice. The same concern she had once shown me. I nodded and walked towards Feyre. Whatever darkness she was wielding seemed to only be for her and as I shook her shoulder, gently saying her name they retreated slightly. I looked over to Mor who only gave me a small nod. Taking her cue, I picked up the shaking female and was startled by how light she felt. Mor spoke up from beside me. “Your guards are going to have a hell of a headache when they wake up.” 

Alis nodded in understanding and I added. “Don’t tell him where we took her. Please.” And for a second I felt just as broken as the female in my arms. I knew she would tell him, and would have to tell him but a small part of me wished she wouldn’t. But that was unfair to expect of her. It reminded me too much of the same hope I had when I left. Face sunken in and heart broken as I begged her to not tell Tamlin I was leaving. No one was there to help me and I’ll be damned if Feyre ever felt that pain. I didn’t say another word as Mor winnowed us right in front of the border. It felt like I could finally breathe again as the scent shifted to ripe fruit and salt water that marked us as safe. Marked us in summer. Feyre shifted in my arms and mumbled something softly. 

Mor soothed a hand through her hair. “You’re free.” 

Rhys quickly scoped Feyre from my arms without so much as a word. He looked at Mor and I 

“We did everything by the book.” Rhys nodded before I felt the air whoosh around my ears and I knew we had made it home. Rhys deftly climbed the stairs to take Feyre to her room and I just stood staring at my brother back. I blocked out the memories that began to rise to the surface. The scar on my arm prickled and when my other hand raised to scratch at the angry white lines that trailed down my forearm, Mors hand wrapped against mine. Grounding me in the present. 

“She’s free.” She repeated to me. 

“Thank the mother.” I responded as I started to climb the stairs suddenly bone tired. 

Feyre didn’t emerge from her room that night or the next morning. More than once I found myself standing outside her door, hand held up to knock but some part of my brain told me not to. Rhys hasn't left her side the whole time she was asleep. Whatever magic she had used in the house had exhausted her and I felt my heart pang for her. How alone she must have felt, how scared she must have been to be locked in that house. I remember my simple panic the first time I went to the basement of the townhouse. How it transported me back to under the mountain, I couldn’t imagine how it felt to be locked away again.  

When I finally did see her, she seemed to have gotten a little color back. Enough so that she was able to argue with Rhys again. I didn’t linger this time to hear the fight, letting them duke it out in private. But as Rhys turned the corner, I knew something that happened. Something important. 

”We’re going home.” 

If someone had told me two months ago that Feyre would be standing in the living room of our home in Velaris I would have probably keeled over laughing. But here we were, Feyre’s eyes flickering from spot to spot in the house. I couldn’t get a read on her face but before I could even process that, I heard a pounding on the door. Cassian’s voice filtering through the wood, already complaining. Rhys shot me a look that said deal with them please. He tried to hide it but I could tell he was waiting for Feyre’s reaction to her surroundings. A hint of anything to gauge how she was feeling. He needed her to like this place like he needed to breathe. So I excused myself from the room and slipped out the front door. 

”Are you serious Cas?”

”I want to meet her. She’s right there, my brothers m-” I cut him off, blocking both him and Azriel from trying to peek into the house. They could easily push right past me but stayed a healthy distance. 

”Do not finish that sentence. Do you want all of Velaris to know?” I whispered screamed at him and he rolled his eyes.

”I promise you drama queen, no one’s up this early. I don’t want to be up this early.” 

After a few minutes of us bickering back and forth, Rhys opened the door and said to us, “Are you all just going to stand there?” 

Cassian all but trampled me trying to get in the house. I laughed when I saw his crestfallen face as he noticed Feyre was no longer in the room. “She was here right?” He spoke to the room. 

”Maybe she’s scared of your good looks Cas, can’t have her falling in love with the wrong Illyrian bastard now can we?” I shot Rhys a wink and he growled lightly. 

”She’ll meet you when she’s ready.” Was all he said before he rangled all of us into the dining room. 

Feyre slept for the rest of the morning. She came down the stairs dressed in Night Court clothes and I felt my breath catch in my throat. The way they seemed to compliment her well enough and I had to bite my tongue to prevent me from pointing that out. Rhys met her at the door and shot me a vulgar gesture at my sugary sweet, “Be safe kids.” That I called out from my spot on the couch. I sat on the couch until the sun started to set. I had just got to the good part and debated even going to the dinner at all but I was dying to see how Feyre would handle our crazy family. If she had any chance at surviving here, she needed to like them or they would drive her crazy. Although from Cassian’s earlier words that might be the case either way. So I groaned and pulled myself off the couch, pulling on the first thing that I saw and winnowed with Mor to the front steps of the house. 

Azriel and Cassian were waiting to fly us up. Cassian wrapped his arm around Mor’s waist and Azriel did the same to me. I hardly felt my feet leave the ground before he was already placing me down in front of the door. I had not had the heart to come here since I’ve been home. Too many memories for me to want to come alone and Mor grabbed my hand as she pulled me through the threshold. We had just settled in before I heard the faint trails of Rhys and Feyre voices outside the door. I couldn’t stop the two males from bounding to the door, they flung it open to reveal a very annoyed looking Rhys. I held my breath as she stood in the doorway, eyes searching for something and she landed on me. She squared her shoulders but Cassian was already speaking.

”I promise we won't bite.” 

Last I heard, Cassian, no one has taken you up on that offer.” And I laughed as Feyre’s face blanched. I didn’t miss the way the female's eyes raked over the Illyrians as they stepped into the light. I tried not the bristle as her eyes lingered on Azriel just a fraction longer than I would have liked. Rhys introduced the two and it was Feyres response to one of his questions that made me feel a frision of pride. 

”How the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?” She would fit right in and Cassian’s booming laugh told me that very same thing. Armen had appeared almost out of thin air as we all made our way to the table. 

Feyre was slowly filled in about how the three brothers had met. Her eyes flickered to me during the story. 

”Where do you fit into all of this, besides being his sister.” She quickly added. Everyone seemed to be waiting for me to answer. 

”I mean there's not much else to it besides that. He got stuck with them so I did too. I nearly knocked Cassian's teeth in the first time I met him and I’ve been stuck with them ever since.” I stuck my tongue out at Cassian who rolled his eyes. 

”You mean you broke your fist trying to, princess. I had to nurse you back to health and you were helpless but to fall for my charm.” Now it was my turn to roll my eyes and I fought the urge to throw my bread across the table at him. If it wasn't for Feyre I would have. The rest of the stories and tales flowed out and, much to Feyre’s credit, she didn’t falter in the slightest. She interjected at the perfect moments, making jokes that had everyone roaring with laughter. Then the tables were turned onto her and Cassian was asking her about her life. After she had finished she turned to Rhys.

’I accept your offer- to work with you.” And I wanted to scream and cheer. I felt no such joy from Rhys as he started.

”Good because we start tomorrow. Hybern is starting this war and he’s going to bring back Jurian to help him.” I felt a shiver run down my back. Rhys had neglected to tell me that part. In an instant the lighthearted conversation was thrown to the side and Cassian launched into full general mode.

 I tried my best to keep up with this new bit of information, how it would throw a wrench into any attempts of a plan. I missed the conversation that followed, mind already trying to figure out the adjustments I would need to make to the map in my office. Armen managed to snap me out of my thinking. 

”The Bone Carver might indeed be willing to talk to her.” She pointed a finger at Feyre and I went to argue against the ancient female. Rhy had beaten me to it. 

”Your choice, always your choice, Feyre.” and I tried to keep the fear off my face as she answered. 

”How bad could it be.” Cassians’ answer had her face pale as a ghost and it was clear dinner was over at that moment. The others reduced to arguing over the semantics and who would be doing what in preparation for their journey to the prison. My eyes suddenly felt very heavy at the sounds of their voices. Azriel’s gentle hand on my shoulder was the sign that the arguing had stopped at all. I didn’t need to be asked a second time and as he flew me back down to the ground below Velaris, I wondered if all of us would make it through the war a second time.

Next Chapter: Here

Taglist: @durgenyx @tothestarsandwhateverend @quinzzelx

[flowerflamestars]

okay i’m still obsessed with your idea of nesta and tarquin together!! would you mind giving us a little more on that, like how would they first interact, what would nesta think of him, all of that? thank you so much!!!! 💚💚

I would love to!!!

The important thing to remember about the Tarquin Draft is that is has the same main story as Daylight: Nesta in Day, Nesta the Library, Helion’s grumpy best, best truest friend ride or die companion.

So Nesta doesn’t actually meet Tarquin again until she’s halfway to okay. It’s plotwise timeline closest to where she is in the most recent chapter- feeling at home in her body, really hitting her stride as Librarian, gaining a reputation as just an absolutely formidable force who helps anyone who asks.

There’s been correspondence between the Library and Summer- Nesta, acting as a go-between for Kallias- but remember, no one uses her name. 

So it’s a big surprise when the Librarian arrives in Summer, pulls down her black and gold hood and...there is Feyre Archeron’s face, like a nightmare. Except not- wearier, sharper, older, devastation and salvation like the sunrise after a storm at sea- Nesta, who laughs in Cresseida’s face when the Princess of Adriata calls her a Night Court spy.

Nesta: wouldn’t that require belonging to the Night Court? Try my baby sister, if you’d like to yell about idiotic plans. Where are the books that keep eating people?

Cresseida is so wary, but Nesta, of course, isn’t actually going to leave before handling the cursed trove some Summer sailors pulled from the sea. She’s the Librarian.

Tarquin just...doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be proved inexperienced, that he can’t act for his people’s good by a beautiful woman again. But Nesta aggressively wants to help, and ultimately, he lets her.

And Nesta acts nothing like Feyre.

She takes off that cloak of office (listen, I’m picturing like, the coolest wide-legged, sleeveless white linen jumpsuit that has EVER existed, chic but functional), puts on a sunhat that she...magicked into her hand? and stomps into the shallows. Starts pulling sailors souls out of the treasure and hauling them to shore.

It’s terrifyingly efficient. And listen, Tarquin doesn’t give a shit about rank, so he, after some very blushy surprise because no, he did not know he had a competency kink and Nesta Archeron has tiny adorable little freckles on her shoulders- gets in the waves to help.

Nesta doesn’t even look at him.

What she does is save the lives of twelve of his men, pick up the faintly hissing, utterly cursed chest of books that started all this, and ask Cresseida is there’s a room where she can work. 

So they take her to the palace. 

The beautiful ambassadors rooms, windows and silk and the sound of water. 

It becomes clear that the curse is in fact, just a curse, but one that can only be broken under the full moon, which is two weeks away. So Nesta stays, being the only person who can keep that magic from spreading. The only payment she wants is to take the books back when she goes which leaves Tarquin, arms full of the traditional gift of pearls, VERY embarrassed.

But he gets over it. Tarquin is genuinely chill- he has baggage from the weight of his responsibility, of being fooled by the Night Court- but he’s also so, so young. Kind. Curious. He doesn’t want to judge Nesta on the actions of people related to her, and once she proves herself, he doesn’t.

And meanwhile Nesta is like, cool. Cool, cool, cool- I can’t sleep while I’m here, I can’t winnow home and sleep because the Library can’t suppress a curse from hundreds of miles away, I’m not going to steal the books like a fucking thief in the night like Feyre-

So Nesta does a lot of exploring. 

Tarquin comes into the harbor one morning, pink still streaking the sky. He’d been up in predawn doing Manly Boating Things with his navy- he walks through the harbor, lets the sounds his happy people sooth the rush of magic that still surprises him- to shape the sea, to cease the waves, to bend the world, to call the tide- and goes looking for breakfast.

Instead, he finds Nesta.

In line a line waiting for fresh bread and pastries, in another insanely attractive white outfit, looking at the sky. She’s alone- he’d given her guards, servants, knew damn well Cresseida was watching her- holding a basket, drinking coffee with her free hand.

So Tarquin joins her.

It cannot be overstated how genuinely charmed they both are with how normal it is. No death and war between them. No magic drawing them together. No real history- Nesta isn’t Feyre in the slightest- just a man with salt drying in his hair and a beautiful grin, asking if he can buy Nesta breakfast. 

Just Nesta, and the only High Lord she’s ever met besides Helion who isn’t aggressive. As she says, Nesta has as many problems with High Fae men as they tend to her- the siren song of power, challenge called to challenge by her very primordial being.

And listen, Tarquin is a huge, very physical dude. Summer faeries are touchy, in a friendly way. But he also, like Helion, is smart enough to pick up on how screamingly uncomfortable men make Nesta. He doesn’t know why, and noticing it made him feel a little sick- but he’s careful. Kind, funny Tarquin, whose managed in knowing her just a few days to figure out how to approach her without triggering her.

So Nesta says yes. Nesta probably says something snarky as hell about his High Lordly hospitality.

And Tarquin laughs- genuinely, beautiful.

He’s still laughing when they get to humble little window, and Nesta goes still. 

Tarquin clocks it- handles what they’re doing, gets Nesta out of the line of people without unnecessarily touching her. He sort of thinks she’s having a panic attack?- finds a nice quiet bench under a tree. He’s also pretty sure he’s making it worse just by being present, but he’s not going to leave her alone like this- so Tarquin just like, sits on the ground.

Which startles Nesta. She looks up- he doesn’t know her well enough to know what’s going on, so he’s extremely confused when Nesta goes: why is she here?

Tarquin: ???

Nesta: the HUMAN

There’s part of Nesta thinking the worst possible scenarios- what her past and the Night court taught her. 

But Tarquin just like, blinks? Sets down the pastry bag on the bench for Nesta and is says well, she was shipwrecked. A whole passenger ship from the continent last summer- she was going to the North, to start a new business. But she liked it here, and decided to stay. 

Nesta: that human woman, owns a business? Here. 

Tarquin, who’s starting to get what is happening here: Yes. She’s a Summer Court citizen.

Nesta eats a pastry. Nesta, face wry, eventually hands a pastry to Tarquin, who’d seemingly decided she needed them more than he did. Tarquin wolfs it down in three bites, just enough time for Nesta to grumpily confess: I’ve never seen a free human, above the Wall.

Tarquin, haltingly, shyly is like: well, I want it to be different. We all share the same world. Acting like we’re not all the same is how Hybern almost took over- 

By the end of the sentence he’d managed to look up. That was the voice a High Lord, a man who had power and would use it.

So they have this truce, a spark of very real, pretty damned charmed interest. They walk back to the Palace across the whole city, talking.

The next day Nesta is deep in working Librarianing while she’s there- and Tarquin just pops up. Draws as little attention to himself as possible to be like, here. I noticed your hat blew away yesterday? So I brought you a new one. And some coffee. Do you like it cold? Don’t let me get in the way, what you’re doing is important.

What he means by important: incredible. 

It had taken him ages to find her, because Nesta is apparently spending her spare time- does she sleep??- winnowing all over his territory, solving any problems anyone asks of her, bringing books to schools. Talking to regional leaders about what their educational needs are. Chatting with sea monsters so the fishermen understand they’ll be totally safe, so long as they always throw back in that one kind of crab that the baby krackens exclusively eat.

And look, it is a coping strategy. Nesta CANNOT rest by the sound of the sea- but she’d also realized this kingdom her sister had fucked with had been hit so, so hard by Amarantha, and then the war. That she can help, so she will.

But she just kind of stops. Tarquin left as quickly as he came she’s just there like- coffee. hat. BEAUTIFUL RESPECTFUL MAN. It’s not the vibe of her and Helion. It’s flirty but not...pressing? It’s nothing like how any faerie man (see: Cassian) who wanted her has ever, ever treated her and it’s just...so, nice.

He’s nice. Gorgeous. Easy to be around, which Does Not Happen to Nesta ever.

Nesta breaks the curse and leaves. 

Keeps her promise to the schools, visits to sit on the shore and talk to sea monster babies, so much more prodigious now that they have enough food.

Tarquin thinks she’s amazing, and he starts writing to her. For real Lordship reasons, but also just to see what she’ll say- he wants to know how humans live. How his cities could integrate them. Can they use magic? Will they, if it’s available to them?  

Tarquin finds someone- witty, beautiful, so intriguing- who believes in the value of his most difficult dreams. Nesta finds someone who looks at the most fraught, hurt parts of her- humanity lost, a terrible human life, that she still, even now, asks herself sometimes if she can belong, and treats those things as important and integral.

And they fall in love.

It’s a story about a lot of things- Nesta, who drowned to become, learning the whole seas of world will still for her, protect her. Tarquin who does revolutionize his kingdom, and spend centuries counting Nesta’s freckles as they peel and disappear. 

Love of choice. Nesta, in the sun, being adored. Tarquin, who so many people think is foolish, a reckless dreamer, defended by the most loyal person on earth. 

There’s small details i love so much it makes me want to go to the extremely troublesome work of writing them their own story- Nesta inviting the mermaids from the Night Court waters to live in a place no on is afraid of them. Tarquin who is both sort of a golden retriever but ALSO a proud, petty bitch when tried, draping Nesta head to toe in rubies for inter-court events. 

With Tarquin the story really embraces the idea of eternity- of possibility. They’re young, they’re equals in this eternal life. There’s so many years ahead of them, so many things they can do: they have time to go slow, to make changes, to learn each other inside and out as they become the people they want to be.

[dindjarindiaries]

Collide - Chapter 1

summary: Bella arrives to Colombia to start a new life at her new job and instead runs into some old things.

warnings: angst. lots of it.

rating: R

word count: 4.315k

masterlist

chapter 1.

Medellín, Colombia, 1992

You look out the window of the plane as it begins its descent into Colombia. A soft sigh passes through your lips as a weight seemingly falls off your shoulders. Getting out of Texas is proving to be a relief for you already; you may be running from your problems, but damn does it feel good.

Colombia is a dramatic place to run to, you know, but after hearing about the crisis on the DEA’s hands there with Pablo Escobar having escaped from La Catedral, you couldn’t help immediately requesting a transfer. Not only is it getting you far away from Texas, but it’s also putting you at the heart of some of the trickiest work the DEA’s had to do—a sure distraction from the daily torment of your mind. With no family to leave behind, you feel as unattached to your home as ever, and the feeling is already more freeing than you’ve anticipated.

After waiting a painfully long amount of time for a cue, you’re soon reaching for your carryon and getting off the plane. You stop at baggage claim once you’re in the airport, preparing to get over the border. You raise an eyebrow when you see a man start approaching you, his tall and lean demeanor not appearing as threatening but simply surprising, sticking out oddly amongst the locals who roam around. He ruffles a hand through his light hair before he stops just in front of you.

“DEA,” he greets, flashing his badge. You do the same with your own. He offers a small smile. “Good, you are the new agent. I was hopin’ they would give me an accurate enough picture.”

You chuckle a bit yet keep your gaze skeptical. “I’m not new,” you correct him, “just… reassigned.”

He nods, reaching out his hand to shake yours. “I understand. I’m Steve Murphy, your new partner.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, letting your arm fall back at your side, returning a smile as best as you can. “Nice to meet you, Agent Murphy.”

“Please, just Steve or Murphy is fine,” Steve insists. You nod to acknowledge the correction. “Look, I know you’re probably confused as to why the hell I’m here, but you see—when I came through here the first time, they found out I was DEA and somehow ended up killin’ my cat, so… I didn’t want that happenin’ to you.”

You widen your eyes in shock. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

Steve waves his hands. “I’ve done my mournin’. I’m just here to make sure you don’t have to do any of your own.” He pauses, looking at the luggage you’re carrying. “You don’t have a cat, right?”

You laugh lightly. “No, Murphy, I don’t.”

“That’s a great start.” He bites back more chuckling as he takes your largest bag for you. “Let’s get goin’. You’ve got a lot to see today.”

You can’t help feeling a swarm of butterflies ignite in your stomach, composed equally of nerves and excitement. You follow Steve to the border control, getting cleared with ease thanks to his presence and soon finding yourself outside in his car. He takes you on the road quickly, and he gets down to business straightaway.

“It’s dark shit down here,” Steve begins, not looking away from the road as he speak, “as I’m sure you know.”

“From what they’ve told me,” you respond, “and what I’ve seen on the news.”

Steve huffs. “The news. Don’t got a damn clue what they’re talkin’ about.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I thought they agreed that Escobar—?”

“No, no, not with that shit. Just…” Steve trails off, letting out a heavy sigh before finishing. “Things. It’ll make sense once you’re settled in down here.”

You offer a nod, tapping your fingers against the car door as you look out the window. You watch as your new home passes you by. There’s lots of children running around and enjoying the warm air, bringing you a nostalgic smile regardless of the pain those memories of your own now offer. Other people stroll down the streets, looking like they’re either going to shop or just having a leisurely trip. Some simply stand there and stare at Steve’s car as it passes by, and at the sudden unease their attention brings, you break your eye contact with the window to look back to the windshield. The city seems surprisingly active and busy for a place that’s suffered from acts of terrorism and violence at the hands of a drug lord.

“You alright over there?” Steve’s voice pulls you from your observations, and you turn quickly to look at him. “You got quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah, just looking,” you murmur. “I’m surprised. It seems…”

“… normal?” You offer a nod as Steve finishes the thought for you. “Yeah. That might be one of the saddest parts of it all.”

“Do they all know about Escobar?” You know the question sounds naïve, but you can’t imagine how they could possibly know about everything that’s been happening and still function as if the world’s completely normal.

“‘Course.” Steve pauses as he takes a turn, soon pulling up into a parking space outside a large building adorned with a sign designating it as the Policía Nacional de Colombia. “Some just still think he’s a hero.”

You scoff. “A hero?”

“He built neighborhoods with that money, helped out the poor. To some, he’s their Robin Hood.” Steve turns off the car, looking over at you. “Sorry we had to come here first. You can leave your stuff here, and I’ll bring you back to the apartment building after. Your rental’s there.”

You wave a dismissive hand at him. “It’s fine. The flight wasn’t that bad, anyway. The sooner I dig into things here, the better.” You’re yearning to lose yourself in your work, to finally push aside some of the darkness that clouds your mind—or, at least, exchange it for a different kind of darkness.

You and Steve both get out of the car, and he leads you inside. You already feel surprisingly comfortable alongside your new partner, likely because of his sheer kindness and evident grip on reality. He seems educated, motivated, and experienced, which are all things you’ve always wanted to see in a partner. You’re about to vocalize some of these thoughts to ease the nervous tension that’s surely exuding from you when Steve unknowingly cuts you off. “So, there might be one small detail I haven’t told you yet.”

You raise a curious eyebrow and look at him. He looks over at you, a small grin appearing on his lips before he looks ahead of you again.

“We have another partner. Now, he doesn’t know you’re comin’, because—well—he isn’t the best at makin’ quick friends, and he can be too skeptical for his own good. We had to surprise him.”

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Of course there was a drawback. Things had seemed too good when it was just you and Steve. “Oh, that’s… great.”

“Don’t worry, you know your shit. I’m sure Peña’s gonna warm up to you just fine.”

Upon hearing the name, your gaze snaps over to Steve, and you feel a rush of strong emotion run through you as you nearly stop dead in your tracks. “Who?” He doesn’t even have to answer as he suddenly stops at a cluster of desks, and you look ahead to meet the deer-in-the-headlights expression of none other than Javier fucking Peña.

You freeze. It feels as if your entire body has turned to stone, and if you make one wrong move, you’ll crumble into pieces on the tile floor. You haven’t seen Javier ever since that night—that fucking night. That night was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before—and, as hard as you try to keep it tucked into the shadow of your memory, it always somehow makes its way to the front of your mind again—and the fears that’d crept up in your mind shortly after ended up coming true. That’s when life in Texas became a shitshow: right after senior prom. Nothing had changed between you and Javier, and he treated you the same, as if you never shared those intimate moments together under the night sky at all. You didn’t gain the faith to confront him about it until just before he left for college. It proved to be a bad decision, as Javier was immediately flustered and, as a result, very angry. He questioned your friendship, your lifelong bond, and you—and he rejected it all. When he left the next morning, you never saw him again. Ever.

Until now.

His dark gaze pierces through yours in a way it hasn’t ever since you shared far too much of yourself with him. You want to look away, but you can’t, and you absolutely hate yourself for it. You shouldn’t be feeling fireworks inside your stomach, or a skip in the rhythm of your heartbeat. Your eyes shouldn’t be noticing his new sense of fashion, having exchanged the modest flannels and loose jeans for tight short-sleeve button-ups and fitted denim. You shouldn’t have the urge to melt into the ground when you observe the long sliver of tanned chest the loose buttons of his shirt offer, or the new mustache that makes his lips look even more kissable than they did all those years ago. Yet, here you are, unable to do anything but stare.

“Javi?” you finally choke out, your throat already feeling dry.

“Bella.” Javier’s voice is much gruffer than it used to be, as if it’s been roughened over the years, and your knees almost give out at the sound of it. Hearing him say your old nickname nearly makes tears rush to your eyes, but you refuse to let something so childish happen during your first few minutes at your new workplace.

“So… you know each other?” Steve interrupts your trance, and both you and Javier look over at your partner who’s evidently confused by your familiarity and longer-than-necessary stares.

“Why are you here?” Javier questions you as if Steve never spoke. You look back at him, seeing his gaze glitter with a hint of concern at your random presence. You want to tell him to cut the protective and sympathetic shit out, but you also want to wrap your arms around him and let him comfort you.

“I work here, now.” You say the words more firmly than necessary. Javier’s brow lifts, and you swear you can see a hint of horror in his expression. “As an agent.”

Javier’s head snaps to Steve, and he gives him an accusatory glare. “You didn’t tell me we were getting a new partner, Murphy.”

Steve shrugs. “It was last-minute.” Javier exhales deeply, closing his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose and leans back in the chair of his desk. You feel an ache in your chest, detecting that he’s displeased at your presence. You let it fuel the angrier side of you as you cross your arms over your chest indignantly. “That won’t be a problem, will it, Peña?”

Upon hearing Steve’s words, Javier looks up quickly, his eyes falling on you as he shakes his head. “No, Murphy, it won’t. I just… I would’ve liked a warning, at least.” Javier stops, and his eyes continue to watch you as Steve pushes a vacant desk over to the cluster of two where Javier sits. He maneuvers it so that it splits the end of his and Javier’s desks, placing you in almost a mediator position. It’s just as close to Steve’s as it is Javier’s, which you feel grateful for at the moment. Still, there’s a small part of you that yearns to be even closer to Javier to make up for all the years you’ve endured without him.

You scoff to yourself at the thought. Endured. Javier’s absence was torturous, indeed, but it was mainly because of his stinging rejection that had made you question so much about yourself. He’d taken your vulnerable heart in his hand, provided it with the most love and comfort you’d ever felt before, and then ran it through with the sharpest of knives, leaving it to bleed back in your own chest. And now, he’s staring at you as if that never happened, as if he can’t understand why you haven’t run over to him and embraced him yet.

What a cocky bastard. The Javier you knew—rather, the one you thought you knew—would never be like this.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Steve warns you, gesturing with his thumb back to the hallway you just came from. “Messina wanted to see you.”

You nod, unable to produce words thanks to your racing thoughts as you file into the hallway behind him. Though you’re faced away from him, you can feel Javier’s gaze burning into your back, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from looking at him. You’re still unable to process the fact that it’s him, and that you’re going to have to get closer to him again whether you like it or not.

Maybe one of the things he said that night had been true: your paths really did collide in the most unexpected of ways. Is it a good thing? You’re not sure. You’re not sure if you’re even ready for that answer yet.

The brief meeting with your new boss feels like a blur, and while you’re able to hold together your professionalism and understand the things you’re being informed of, your mind never leaves the man who’s waiting for you back in the office. You’re proud of the way you can compose yourself despite the storm that’s raging within, like a feral animal being caged and managing not to fight its way through fragile iron bars. You tell yourself you can keep it up once you’re heading back to where you came from, but you’re not sure if you can.

So much has happened since Javier walked out of your life, and you’re sure it’s been the same for him—and, despite how hurt you’ve been by him, you still feel attached to him. You want to know about his life because you still care for him. He’d mangled your heart, yet it still belongs to him, and you know that. It’s just what makes everything shittier, because you know he doesn’t feel the same way. How could he, if he’d walked so easily out of your life and never even tried to come back? Javier’s never been one to leave things to fate, so it’s not like he’s been waiting for a miracle to see you again. If he had, he wouldn’t have tried to marry one of your high school friends or started a brand-new life in Colombia without so much as a phone call to let you know.

Shit. It’s gonna be a goddamn fight to keep this animal caged.

When you get back to your desks, Javier’s gaze snaps up from his previous work straightaway, falling on you naturally. You avoid his eyes, knowing they’re a trap that’ll drown you back in the feelings you can’t give in to right now. Steve announces that they’ll catch you up on everything they’ve got so far, and so all you have to do is sit in your chair as they tell you names, places, faces, whatever the hell they’ve managed to scrape up and what they can do with it all—which is not much, right now. They talk about the tip lines and how unproductive they are but encourage you to just deal with it for the time being.

While in the midst of a rant about a time they ended up visiting a complete setup, Steve suddenly gets cut off by the ringing of his phone. He picks it up and answers, and your gaze falls to your thumbs as they play with each other in your lap. You refuse to look up, knowing who you’ll have to face if you do. You’ve been doing so well, and you’d hate to ruin it so fast. Your gaze only raises once again when you hear Steve hang up his phone, and you look to see him gathering his things.

“I hate to do this, but I gotta run,” Steve announces, looking between the both of you with a guilty expression. “Connie’s getting called in for something, and she needs me to watch Olivia.” Upon seeing your confusion, Steve gives you a clarification. “That’s my wife and adopted daughter.”

You nod, lifting your brow in an attempt to alleviate his guilt. “Don’t worry, Steve, it seems like not much is happening around here, anyway.”

Steve scoffs in agreement, grabbing his keys and stalling immediately after. He looks at them and then back at you. “Shit. Your stuff.”

You make a move to stand up, intending on going with him. “I can just—.”

“I got it, Murphy.” Your head snaps over to Javier upon hearing his interruption, and he’s already risen from his chair to walk over to Steve. “We’ll put it in my car, and I’ll bring her back when we’re done here.”

“You sure?” Steve seems almost dumbfounded, as if this is something extremely out of the ordinary for Javier. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. It probably is.

“Yeah. Now let’s go before Connie calls back asking where the hell you are.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as they walk down the hallway towards the exit. You sit in a panicked heap at your desk, staring blankly into its metallic surface as you try to determine how you’re going to keep yourself composed once you’re alone with Javier. Your fingers bounce on your thigh as your other hand runs over the crook your neck, a typical nervous habit of yours. The thoughts in your mind run so fast that you can’t keep up, and before you know it, his voice is breaking everything up again.

“You alright, bella?” Javier’s voice, while still rough, is softer than it’d been even just minutes before, and you watch him as he sits back in his chair and leans towards you. His dark gaze never leaves you. I wish he never left me.

You curse your thoughts mentally, instead forcing a small smile on your lips. “I’m fine. Just… adjusting.”

Javier raises an eyebrow at you. Your fingers begin to tap against your thigh again, and your hand slides back and forth over your neck. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Your nervous thing.” He gestures to your neck and thigh with his head. Your mouth nearly falls open at that. You didn’t expect him to remember things like this anymore. You were sure he’d long since forgotten about you—but things like this are starting to make you think otherwise. “Are you nervous?”

You shrug. “Sounds like a lot of shit’s happening down here.”

“Not at the moment.”

Your lips make a thin line as you try to ignore the awkward tension swimming around due to both your inabilities to address the elephant in the room. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“No. It fucking sucks.”

“Oh, yeah, well—sorry about that.”

Javier stares at you blankly for a moment before the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. He lets out a curt laugh, shaking his head as he runs his hand over the back of his neck. “Dios mío, bella, relájate. You know me.”

You feel your anger begin to bubble up as you furrow your brow at him. “Do I?”

Javier’s eyes widen a bit, and you resist the urge to flinch at the shock and hurt his gaze reveals. “What do you mean?”

A crude chuckle leaves your lips as you cross your arms. “Javi, you’re acting like it hasn’t been almost twenty damn years since I last saw you, after leaving off on the worst of terms.”

Javier doesn’t respond at first. He only begins to look around nervously, as if he’s scanning the area for potential eavesdroppers. He then rises from his chair, beckoning you to do the same. “Let’s have this conversation somewhere else.”

You oblige, feeling more than glad to be getting the freedom to give Javier a piece of your mind. No, you chastise yourself. You can’t do that. You have to stay calm. But, after the hell you’ve lived in ever since he walked out of your life, how can you possibly do that? Everything went to shit after he left, and he never even checked back in to see if you were okay. It’s not his fault, but for some reason, you put a lot of the blame on him. Unfairly.

Your mind runs through all of this as you follow Javier to his Jeep, trying not to think about the times he’d opened the door for you that night. Once you’re both sitting inside, your mind envisions him holding your hand in his, and you shake your head to try and get rid of it. As soon as Javier starts pulling away from the building, he wastes no time continuing where you’d left off.

“So, you never thought about me all this time?” There’s a pained tone to Javier’s voice, and you feel a quick pain in your chest upon hearing it. “Is that why you’re saying you don’t know me?”

“No, Javi, you idiota. That’s just the problem—I have. A lot. But have you? Because it really seemed like you didn’t even want to remember me when you left that day.”

You see Javier’s jaw clench, but he remains silent for a few minutes before speaking again. “I was young and stupid then. I didn’t mean what I said, bella.”

You bite back a harsh remark requesting not to be called that, knowing it’s just second nature for him—a word with completely detached meaning. “If you didn’t mean it, then this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you since that night.”

Javier’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, and you watch as his knuckles go white. “Well, you haven’t made much of an effort to see me, either.”

You scoff at his words, looking at him with widened eyes. “Because I thought you never wanted to see me again! What the fuck did you expect me to do? Beg for you to forgive me for being honest? You broke my fucking heart, Javier.”

Javier’s shoulders tense at that, but you’re too angry to read further into its meaning. Your gaze has now switched to the window, and you continue to look out and breathe in tempo with the bounces of the Jeep over the uneven Medellín streets. Javier’s silence is deafening, and you’re almost relieved when he speaks again to break it. “I never wanted to.” His words sound like they’ve been choked out, and it almost makes you tear your gaze away from the window. “I know it won’t mean much now, but… I’m sorry. I’m real fuckin’ sorry.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from forgiving him on the spot. Those are some of the few words you’ve been craving to hear from him ever since he left, but you can’t give in that easily. There’s just too much he hasn’t addressed yet—things that you know and things that you don’t. He has to realize it’ll take time. So, once you compose yourself and take a deep breath, you speak to him again. “I appreciate it, Javi. But you have to know, we can’t go back to the way it was.” You finally look back over at him, trying to ignore the way his eyes are glossier than usual. “Maybe… maybe we can get there, but it’ll take time and work. Since we’re partners now, we have to be willing to do that. Especially for Steve’s sake.”

Javier nods right away. “I’m more than willing if you are.” He pauses as he arrives to the building, pulling into the small driveway and parking the Jeep before looking over at you. “You may not believe me, but I’ve really missed you, bella.”

You offer a small smile, trying to ignore the rush of feelings you gain from his words. “I’ve missed you too…” you trail off, hesitating before reaching into the depths of your strength to utter the last word, “… cariño.”

Javier’s eyes light up a bit at the sound of his familiar nickname, and he gives you a smile similar to your own before he steps out of the Jeep. You do the same, allowing him to help with a piece of luggage as he shows you to your apartment, which—lucky for you—is just down the hall from his. “Did Steve give you your key?” he asks, and you nod as you pull it out of your jeans pocket and show it to him. Javier gives a nod of approval, watching as you unlock the door and step inside. He sets the luggage down near the doorway, freezing in place after he does so. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.”

You stop to look at him, nodding in response. Javier lifts his hand to offer an awkward wave before he steps out, closing the door behind him. You release a breath you haven’t realized you’ve been holding, and you find yourself plopping down onto the nearby couch. As you look around your new home, a wave of overwhelming feelings sweeps over you, and your face falls into your hands. You have a brand-new place to get used to, Escobar’s missing at large, and the man you still love is right down the hall, and he’s one of your new partners.

Maybe the true shitshow’s just getting started.

chapter 2

translations:

Dios mío, bella, relájate = My God, beautiful, relax

tags: @tarrevizslas @none-of-your-bullshit @lavenderl3mons @gooddaykate @flower-petal-blooming @mrsparknuts @fionnthebandersnacc @pisss-offf-ghostt @gaydreamland @longitud-de-onda @literallytrashhhhhh @arrowswithwifi @rage-isaquietthing @awesomefandomsunited @theforceofdarkandlight @murdermewithbooks @blushingwueen @marchingbass1 @madadlorian @ah-callie + three users that tumblr said didn’t exist! (stilllivindue2spite, kkgraham, irishleesh93)

[runnerfivestillalive]

The Price of Alliance: Part Three

Part Two | Part Four

It was two centuries, before Thor saw his brother again.

Zeus had not needed to come to Asgard in person very often, after all. Not after the marriage finalized their alliance. Mostly he sent delegates, just as they sent delegates to Olympus.

And none of those delegates, none of them, brought word of Loki, beyond confirmation of his continued existence!

But there was a rare, powerful alignment of the stars soon. Asgard would be in the perfect position to benefit from it, and so had invited many important guests.

Thor waited in the bifrost chamber, formally arrayed alongside his parents, trying not to look as... as he felt.

Loki was coming! Loki!

He remembered being a child, and all the times he had latched onto a visiting child and whisked them away to play, leaving the adults to their boring talk. He was far, far too old for that now, but he wasn’t at all certain he was going to resist the urge when Loki appeared.

Loki! Would he recognize him? No, of course he would. Wouldn’t he? How much could Loki have changed, from fourteen to two hundred twenty?

Two hundred and six years of being married and ruling in Olympus.

At long, long last, Heimdall activated the bifrost, and the Olympians - plus one Loki - or should he think of Loki as an Olympian, after all this time? - appeared.

He picked Loki out at once.

He didn’t look much different at all! He’d gotten taller, of course, and filled out a bit, from the gangly teen Thor had last seen. But there was something still unfinished about him, as if he hadn’t quite reached full maturity, even yet.

It was his expression that was different. His expression that made Thor’s eyes sweep over him again, just to be sure. His style of clothing had changed, and his hair, but... it was Loki. Loki, with closed off eyes, and the sort of tension in his shoulders that seemed permanent.

He greeted their parents formally, graceful but unfamiliar, as if they were the King and Queen of Asgard only, whom he had never met. He only glanced around at the rest of the welcoming party, eyes passing over Thor as if he were no one of note.

Did he look so different? He supposed he had filled out quite a bit more than Loki had. And added facial hair. And... well, he didn’t think he looked so unfinished, but perhaps that was only denial.

Their parents and Zeus got to talking, all trying to diplomatically intimidate the other, as servants swirled around with baggage and arrangements. As soon as the party broke ranks to proceed down the bifrost bridge, Thor snapped out of place, and to Loki’s side.

“Loki!” He’d meant to hug him, but Loki stiffened and took a small step back, enough to stop him. “How...” What could he possibly ask, to encompass everything he’d missed? “are you?”

But Loki was looking at him warily, smiling only politely. “I am well, thank you, Lord...?”

He didn’t recognize him! And Thor wanted to laugh in relief, at having the key to erasing Loki’s standoffishness! “Brother, it’s Thor!”

Loki brightened a bit, in response to his own enthusiasm, but still looked puzzled. “Brother... Oh! Yes, that’s right, I remember! I did have a brother!”

Thor felt his smile fall. “Remember? Do you not-“

“You said your name was... Thorn? Oh... I’d almost forgotten I had a brother! I was so young when I left Asgard.” He finally fell into step with the tail end of the party leaving the bifrost, apparently in no hurry to walk with Zeus, and tilted his head for Thor to walk with him.

“Thor!” Thor protested. “You were fourteen, Loki, hardly a toddler! You must remember!”

Loki frowned, and shrugged, looking more annoyed to be told what he must remember than at his lack of memory. “I remember some things, of course. But really, who remembers much of childhood?”

“I remember you!”

“Ah, but you’re... older?” His tone suggested it was a guess.

“By less than a year! I remember...” Everything. “I remember you very well.”

Loki shrugged. “I suppose it must be easier to remember when you’re living in the place of your memories, continuing the life of your memories. You may remember, with all your clarity, that I was moved to Olympus, and immediately expected to act as an adult in Olympian court.”

There was a definitely a tint of bitterness in his voice, but Thor latched onto a different, more terrifying detail. “An adult?”

“So I hardly had cause to wallow in- Yes, of course. I was married to Zeus, Thorn. You said you remembered.”

“But... but you were married later. You were taken to Olympus to continue your education in their ways; you weren’t married right away!”

Loki gave him an irritated look. “I assure you, I was. Ceremony. Feast. Marriage bed.” He snorted. “I suppose that’s education.”

He grabbed Loki’s arm, jerking them both to a halt, dragging him around to face him. “He took you into his marriage bed? That night?” He could feel the storm growing. Could feel the weight of Mjolnir, channeling it, pulling at it, seeming to grow heavier at his side.

“Let go of me!” Loki snarled. As if all too used to being roughly handled.

But Thor squeezed his arm harder, bruising. Lightning was beginning to dance over his skin. “Did he FUCK you when you were FOURTEEN, Loki?” His voice was far too loud. He didn’t care who heard.

No. He did care. He wanted that sick rapist to hear, to dread, to know what was coming.

And when Loki, still pulling away from his grip, said “Yes, of course he-“, Thor decided this dread was going to be the last thing Zeus would ever feel.

He released Loki, freed his hammer, and with half a swing, lunged over the frozen gawking servants, toward the front of the procession.

With every spark of power he could command, he brought the full force of himself and Mjolnir down on the rapist who had stolen his brother.

But of course, he wasn’t the only god of thunder in the fight.

Part Two | Part Four

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

you’re not the poison; it’s me.

... um. titans 2.07 absolutely WRECKED me you guys, and i would like to tell you why in excruciating detail:

SPOILERS ahead

(and before i go ahead, i just want to say this: this episode deals with ptsd and psychosis and suicidal ideation explicitly, in ways that even i found difficult to watch. it’s very intense. please keep that in mind if you decide to watch it.)

1. usually genre tv shows like to pile on the trauma but deal with its fallout either rarely or in oblique ways--shots of the character brooding, a couple of ‘candid’ talks filled with frustrating euphemisms, then it’s on to tackling the next plot point. not titans tho--for this show, the trauma is very much the point. the plot is wafer-thin and takes a backseat as the show takes episode after episode to break down its central characters and hammer it in that there are no easy fix-its for complex trauma, and that Dealing with it is a continuous, sometimes lifelong process. it forces you to keep re-evaluating and re-contextualising the actions of these characters and challenges your assumptions.

1.5. for instance: let’s take donna troy. in s1 she was the put-together big sister to dick, content with living her life outside the superhero community while giving sound advice to dick about how he can get his own life back on track. now? she’s a stressed, paranoid wreck, plagued by horrible memories and taking her insecurities out on dick and jason and whoever else is available. deathstroke’s machinations aside, there’s something deeply dysfunctional about the way the original titans operated, the ways they brought both the best and the worst out of each other. it seems like none of them really understood the seriousness of what they were doing until they did something truly terrible that they couldn’t take back, and it was earth-shattering enough that donna completely abandoned her old life to live as a civilian. trigon’s vision for her in 2.01 reminded her that she was fooling herself; coming back to titans tower and actually having to face what made her run away in the first place has broken down the walls she’s spent five years putting up. it’s not pretty to watch, but... it tracks.

2. after having written post after post about dick cracking under relentless stress and the weight of his own guilt complex, it was startling to see him actually fall apart. halluci!bruce was absolutely brutal and really brought home the fact that Good Lord, Dick Grayson Is So Far From Okay That It’s Not Even Funny Anymore. 

because here’s the thing: dick is deeply unwell, and however the show proceeds with his character from here on out, this episode made absolutely no bones about that fact. his single-minded dash to find and kill slade is framed as both irrational and suicidal. he’s visibly on edge, bursting into bouts of uncontrollable rage. he’s shown to carry a guilt complex the size of mount everest, to the point where it actually seems delusional. he’s fucking terrified of abandonment, to the point where he’d rather cut off ties on his own rather than have others leave him. he’s constantly berating himself and this doesn’t give him a moment to sit down and think and try to form a rational plan. halluci!bruce even mentions meds and “uppers and downers” to cope, and i am genuinely concerned that that was what dick actually did to cope in the immediate aftermath of whatever the fuck went down with him and joey and deathstroke. maybe it’s ptsd with a secondary psychosis triggered by nearly losing jason the same way he lost his parents (and massive sleep deprivation, i imagine), or maybe there’s another underlying chronic mental illness. either way, he needs help. 

man but halluci!bruce was vicious. if this is what dick has running in his head at all times, no wonder he broods, and no wonder he takes others admonishing his choices with barely any protest! 

2.25. looking at this from a different perspective, tho, here’s another way in which bruce wayne functions as a symbol on this show. phantom!bruce is how dick normally externalises everything he hates about himself, and this dynamic plays out very literally in this episode. 

interestingly, and somewhat heartbreakingly, it took dick accepting and internalising his low opinion of himself and his veritable ocean of guilt for judgy!bruce wayne to turn into loving, concerned!bruce wayne, who would comfort dick and wipe his tears. (it is entirely heartbreaking that that’s what dick subconsciously craves from bruce.) dick must debase himself for love and acceptance. it’s fucking tragic. 

2.55. and what does it mean--for dick and for his friendships with the og titans--that he’s so convinced that they would leave him if he told them the truth about jericho? for one, even back then, it seemed like dick was doing a lot of the emotional labour for the team: as a leader he both funnelled and executed the team’s plans, with responsibility for the fallout falling unevenly and mostly on his shoulders; he acted as the go-between for the team and bruce, for donna and garth, probably for hank and dawn, given he was dawn’s rebound. later, hank and dawn are visibly concerned by how viciously he fights. after re-forming the titans, he continues to shoulder responsibility for the shit-show that deathstroke rains on them, although he didn’t know deathstroke was alive when he re-opened the tower. of course he thinks that the team will think that he’s beyond redemption if they find out the truth; of course he’d want to go and finish off deathstroke on his own--or die in the process--before any of them finds out. 

2.75. but guys, here’s the thing: in spite of all of this, dick grayson still went around to check on conner and jason and assure the latter that he didn’t blame him for running off on his own. he saw jason standing there on a precipice right at the end, and decided he was going to be opaque anymore, or fall back on what he learned from bruce. he sits down with jason and finally divulges the secret that he had been willing to die to protect--making himself vulnerable to save jason’s life. he’s trying so goddamn hard even though his brain is rioting against him right now and probably has been for years. it’s just--i can’t imagine a truer, more sensitive portrayal of dick grayson than this.

3. watching jason reach his breaking point was,,, Not Fun. it’s one thing to be seemingly passed on like unwanted baggage from guardian to guardian. to be viewed with contempt and impatience when he just wants to make sure his voice isn’t lost in the constant shuffle. to be looked at as an impostor by the very people he looks upto. to be assigned the role of hot-headed fuck-up despite all his attempts to be useful, to prove himself. but to have all of that fall on him all at once on top of (poorly) dealing with a near-death experience? yikes.

3.25. and the horrible, tragic, human part of it all is that donna and the others probably didn’t even know what they were doing to jason by piling on him like that? he’s a relative outsider to both rachel and the og titans. he’s an arrogant prick that’s easy to hate. without dick and gar to stand up for jason, he’s cornered by people who haven’t even gotten to the point of seeing him as a vulnerable kid that’s struggling, just like the rest of them.

3.5. and so the two robins perch on the ledge, each convinced that they are poison that will either kill or drive their friends away. it’s a fraught moment of connection that stops jason from jumping, but he doesn’t step away. both of them are on a precipice in more ways than one; i can only hope they help each other land on the right side.1

also, bruce wayne? send your sons to therapy MY GOD

4. kory and rachel using their awesome powers in concert to cure conner! kory using her cultural background to connect to and help conner! conner mumbling in kryptonian! krypto fucking shooting across the sky with eve on his back! in such a sad and intense episode, it’s important to remember that some fantastic things happened as well!

5. here’s the thing: i don’t think dick killed jericho in the way that he probably thinks he does. dick is a hugely unreliable narrator--that’s been his Thing since s1. part of me thinks jericho should be dead; whatever happened with him and the titans has been built up to be such an earth-shattering event that it would kinda be cheating if he survived anyway. the other bigger part of me says: fuck that noise. JOEY WILSON LIVES, and that’s that

6. gar was sleeping? are you kidding me??? i’m assuming deathstroke drugged him or something so that he wouldn’t be there to Talk Sense and stop these melodramatic fools from tearing into each other. i can only hope that there’s some Big Plans for him down the line. 

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 19

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud

Nik has managed to arrange a private flight; a jet owned by a high-profile business big wig she's provided previous -and successful- services for. He has all the toys and all the connections: his own gulf stream, no checking of passports and baggage through either the small municipal airport in Telluride or the much larger one in Belfast,  a flight manifesto with all fictitious names, and absolutely no contact with the general public.  Normally Yaz would fly them in and out of extractions, but with many unknowns and the need for him to run point on the tech side of things in Ireland, a private flight had been the best and safest choice.

 Tyler had taken the seat at the very back of the jet; preferring to space himself out from the other two passengers and the small flight crew.  He'd needed a chance to clear his head; a stampede of thoughts surging through his already weary brain.  Unable to get Millie's meltdown out of his mind, the way she'd become a child possessed and he'd had to physically restrain her. Heart still aching over the words she'd said: “I hate you”, “Don't come back. EVER.” Stunned by the vehemence and hostility that had just spewed from such a tiny, innocent body. The look of the utmost betrayal written all over her face.

 And his wife. That heartbroken, lost, and haunted look in her eyes when she'd kissed him goodbye. The way she'd clung to him when the made love for the last time; her hands slowly moving over his body, as if committing every inch of him to memory. Of their desire to have another baby: the first and last. And how he hopes and prays that the news doesn't come while he's away.

 His eyes are closed, arms folded over his chest, legs stretched out under the seat in front of him when he feels someone slip into the seat beside him. And he cracks open one eye just as McCann, a glass of whiskey in his hand, plops down next to him.  Part of him wants to tell the guy to fuck off; after all, he's the main reason behind Millie's meltdown and harsh words and Esme's heartbreak. But his more logical and humane side reminds him that this is a man who genuinely needs someone to prop him up Who is going through quite possibly the worst shit a husband and a father could ever deal with.

 “It's always hard saying goodbye,” McCann says, as he sips his drink.

 Tyler nods. “My wife takes it pretty bad. She's been struggling with some things. Since Dhaka.”

 “PTSD?”

 “Undiagnosed. But yeah, I think so.”

 He'd been so caught up dealing with his own issues and getting Ovi the help he needed, that her struggles had bee pushed to the back burner. And they've spent so much time, effort, and energy during their five years of marriage having a babies and raising them, that he's never really pressed the issue of her getting some kind of help. But he sees it. Every day. The way she struggles with her up and down moods; hyper and manic one moment, horrifically down and depressed the next. Her battle with self confidence since having Declan and being unable to lose the last ten pounds she is always obsessing about. The sleep issues.  The days when she can't even get out of bed because the weight of the world is just wearing her down.

 “How about your kids?” McCann asked. “How do they handle it?”

 “The baby's too young to understand anything. The twins handled it pretty well.  They're just disappointed that we didn't get to do all the things I promised we would when I got back last week. My daughter...” he sighs, leaning his head back against the seat.  “...she didn't take it too well.”  He leaves it at that. It's too painful to relive, and the man sitting beside him doesn't need to know every detail of what goes on behind closed doors.

 “She's a daddy's girl?”

 Tyler nods. “Well, she was. I'm not so sure about now.”

 “Kids are resilient,” the other man reasons. “By tomorrow she'll have bounced back and all will be forgiven.”

 “I hope so. She's a stubborn little thing. Like her mother. She doesn't forgive and forget easily. If at all. I've been on my wife's shit list a few times and the past and it felt like I was never getting off of it.  She's amazing though,” he smiles. “She's put up with a lot. Keeps putting up with a lot. I haven't always been the best husband for her. I'm not an easy person to live with. Yet she keeps hanging in there and giving me chance after chance.”

While infidelity has never been an issue, his own struggles with mental health problems  and substance abuse has caused a lot of angst within the last few years, as has  his often volatile temper and his need for control and issues with seeing her as a possession instead of an actual person. But they've battled through it; a lot of fights, counselling, even a trial separation when the twins were only two.

  They latter they'd kept a secret from everyone they knew.   Friends and family alike.  It had been the wake up call that he'd needed; living in a shitty hotel, relegated to seeing his kids once every two weeks, wanting so badly to beg and plead with her to just take him back yet his pride never actually allowing him to do it. For six months they'd lived like that. Barely speaking except for him he'd stop by to grab the kids or when he took them home. Never actually setting foot in the house, instead having to carry on awkward and tension filled conversations with her on the front porch. Until one night she'd called him and said she missed him.  That she wanted him to come home.

 After that he'd made it his mission to make up for all the bullshit he'd put her through.

 “You're lucky,” McCann says. “That you found someone like that. Not many in the game manage to, you know. It's hard finding someone that gets it. That understands why we do what we do.  It's a hard life. Not just for us, but for them too. Having to put up with us gone all the time, taking care of a house and a family all on their own. It's why so many people in this job never get married. Or if they do, it never lasts long.”

 Tyler thinks about G. Finally meeting the love of his life and settling down, only to never get the chance to grow old and gray with his bride.  

 “Drink?” McCann offers. “I can wave the stewardess over.”

 “I'm fine, mate. Thanks. I'm trying to stay clean for a couple of weeks. I've been going a little overboard lately and I need to slow down. For my family.”

 “Battles with the bottle?”

 Tyler hesitates on using the word 'alcoholic'. He's never felt that things have been that out of control. At least not within the past five years.

 “I struggle from time to time,” he admits. “It's my weakness.  I try not to let it beat me.”

 “Must be hard. Seeing what you see. Doing the things you do.”

 “It has it's moments,” he agrees.

 “You know,” McCann downs the remains of his drink, the motions to the stewardess that he'd like another. “You didn't have to stay in a hotel. I've got enough room at my place. Why waste the money?”

 “I'm not actually paying for anything. Nik takes care of all that. I appreciate the offer, but I work better on my own. When I have my own space and my own little bubble. I focus a lot better.  Besides, the last time I stayed under the same roof as someone while doing a job, I ended up marrying them. And no offence, but you're just not my type.”

 McCann laughs at that. “None taken. I can definitely understand why you'd prefer to stay under the same roof with her.   I hear Nik has a little project she's working on. Starting up the business in North America.”

 Tyler nods.

 “She said she asked you to run it. You given it much thought?”

 “If I had to give my answer now, it would be yes. But ask me in two weeks. It all depends on how things go while we're in Ireland. Things go nice and smooth, then I go for it. Things go to shit, then I just go home and keep doing what I'm doing now. I've already told Nik this is my last year. That I'd give her twelve months and than I was walking away. My family needs me. They deserve to have me home. And we're trying to have another baby, so...”

 “Another one? Five all together? You're mighty brave. Both of you. Why not go for two? Make it an even half dozen?”

 “I don't think my wife would go for that. Unless this one ends up being twins too.  If I do take the offer from Nik, I'd be home more. Not so much time out in the field. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. My mind may say yes, but my body is very much telling me no.  I don't know how much more I can put it through before it just gives out entirely.”

 “I keep telling myself...and my wife...that I'm going to give it up,” the other man muses. “I've been saying it every year for the last six. But something always comes up and I just keep hanging in there. My wife's a lot like yours. Stubborn as all hell. Fiery temper. Likes to hold a grudge from time to time. But she keeps me around. Lord knows why. I've put her through a lot. Because of the job,”

 “I guess we're both lucky then,” Tyler reasons. “We both managed to find that balance. Between the job and a real life. It's not easy. Far from it. But it's worth it. Every time she smiles at me. Every time my kids hug me or tell me they love me. It makes all the bullshit worth it.”

 McMann nods in agreement, slowly sipping his drink. Contemplative now. Eyes dark. Lips set in a thin, firm line.

 “We'll find them, mate,” Tyler assures him. “We'll find them, and we'll bring them home.”

 “I've been thinking about what you said the other day. When you talked about why you didn't want to be the one to get the kids. About not wanting to have to choose between the two of them. If you knew you could only get one or the other.”

 “I never should have said that. I was way out of line. I never...”

 “You made a very valid point. As much as it hurt to hear you say it. What if you couldn't get both out at once? What if you knew there'd be no chance of going back to get the other? How would you decide? If you had to pick between your two sons. Your twins. Which one would you pick?”

 “I wouldn't,” Tyler's answer comes easily. With absolutely no hesitation. There isn't a scenario that he hasn't run through his mind at least once or twice.  A solution that he hasn't come up with. “If it came down to that, I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. If something like that were to happen, it would mean that whoever it is, is after me. They don't want my kids. Not really. They just know that taking my kids will bring me to them.   I'd give them what they want. Me. As long as it means they let go of my kids.”

 “And if they won't? Let them go?”

 “Then they better make sure the first bullet is the one that kills me. Because I won't go down easily. I'll do whatever it takes to save my kids. Or my wife. So they better make sure they put me down permanently the first time because I'm going to just keep getting back up.”

 McMann nods slowly, considering the words as he swirls the ice within his glass.

 “If you're not willing to do that, what the hell are we even doing here, mate? If you're not willing to sacrifice yourself for your kids, so they can live and get home to their mother, why are you even bothering with all of this? You know it's you that they want.  They're just using your family to get to you. If it comes down to it, are you willing to give yourself up so your kids will get back to their mom?”

 “They have to have a mom to get back to you. That's your job.”

 “And I'll do my job. I'll find your wife. I'll get her out of there.  But I'm not worried about my end of things. I've got my shit under control.  But if you're not willing to give up your life for your kids, this is all for nothing.  You don't offer yourself up, they'll kill all of you. You pick one kid over the other and you'll kill yourself in the end. Because you'd never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again.  You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. So you better be ready for that, mate. To make that choice. Yourself or them. Because it's a damn good possibility that that's going to happen.”

 McCann finishes his drink in one large gulp. Coughing as the whisky burns his throat. “And what if you've got a choice to make? When you find my wife? If they want your life for hers? What decision are you making?”

 “It's simple,” Tyler says.  “I'm going home to my family. And it's not going to be in a body bag.”

 The other man blinks at the brutal honesty.

 “Let's get one thing straight. I'm here to help you. I'm not here to die for you. For any of you. If it comes down between me and your wife, I'm being a selfish bastard and choosing me. Because I've got my own wife at home. I've got four kids. And I made a promise to all of them that I was coming home. Alive. And no one is going to stop that from happening.”

 “Your family gets the money,” McCann reminds him. “If you don't make it, they still get the money. As long as my wife gets out of there.”

 “I don't give a shit about the money.  Five and a half years ago, when I had a death wish, I would have gladly gone in there and offered myself up for a complete stranger. Back then I wouldn't have given a shit. I was close to putting a bullet in my own head, so it wouldn't have mattered if someone did it for me.  But now? I have way too much to lose. People that count on me. Depend on me. And as big of a dick as I sound for saying it, your wife's life is not worth more than mine.”

 “I'm counting on you, Rake. I'm counting on you to get her out of there. To make those bastards pay. Don't fuck me over just because all of a sudden you can't take the heat or because you get a little squeamish.”

 “I can take the heat. And I don't get squeamish. We're not buddies. We're not partners. So you better watch who you threaten. I'm not scared of you. Or your buddies in the IRA.  You asked for my help. I could have easily just told you to fuck off and leave me alone.  But I'm here. I'm on your side. And if you're the one that's planning to fuck me over, you better start thinking twice right about now.”

 “You don't trust me?”

 “I don't trust anyone. It isn't personal. If I find out there's any hidden agenda or something you're not telling me, you better run and hide.  Run far. Find the darkest, deepest hidden place you can. I will come for you.  If I get to Belfast and this was all some kind of bullshit to get me away from my family...to make me vulnerable...there isn't going to be a place I can't find you.”

 McCann smirks.  “Now you're threatening me?”

 “That's not a threat. That's a promise.  Don't fuck me over. I'm warning you right now. Because if I come for you, you better have a goddamn army to help you out.  All those stories you've heard? The things I've done? The people I've killed. They're all true.  Bigger and better than you have tried to put me down. And I'm still here. So if this is some kind of game...”

 “This is all true. Every word of it. The videos you saw. All real.  This isn't some kind of ploy to get you into a strange place and catch you off guard. This is exactly what it is. A job. I need your help.  No games. No bullshit.”

 “Fair enough,” Tyler says, once more leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. Hoping the other man will take the hint and leave him alone.

 “You just do your job, Rake.  You get my wife out of there and you make those bastards pay. In whatever way you have to. I need you to give me your word. That you won't leave her there. That you won't just drop her off in the middle of nowhere or leave her in the street.  At least give me that. At least give me your word that you'll do whatever it takes. That you'll make them pay.”

 He sighs and opens his eyes, seeing the hand that is being offered.

 “You have my word,” he says, and they shake on it.

 *****

 While not exactly five star, the hotel in Belfast is a far cry from the one he’d stayed at in Dhaka.   Clean. Spacious enough for two queen sized beds. Fresh carpet and paint; no unusual or concerning stains lingering on the walls.  No weird smells.  No obnoxious noise from the street below. Running water -hot water at that- and a normal shower and tub. A toilet that flushes.

 There’s two closets. The first one he uses to stash his clothes and personal effects. The second he uses for the ruck sack filled with weapons; using an abnormally large and powerful combination lock looped through the handles on the doubles door to keep it safe and secure.  He removes the holster from his right hip; setting both it and the Glock in the top drawer of the nightstand that separates the two beds.

 He hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the hotel room door, then sets both the locks; deadbolt and flimsy chain. Toes his boots off and leaves them in front of the closet that holds the weapons.  The SAT phone he uses to send a message to Nik that he’s arrived and to expect a call soon from her brother, then he places it in the drawer next to the Glock.  There’s an unlocked mini bar in the far corner; next to the dresser and the wall mounted TV.  Locating the remote, he turns the latter on and selects a local news channel, volume on low as he grabs a travel bottle of scotch from the bar and cracks open the seal. He doesn’t even consider grabbing a glass from the small kitchenette, taking a long pull straight from the bottle as he stands in front of the sliding glass door that leads out onto the small balcony.  The room overlooks the downtown area, much cleaner than the market area in Dhaka. Less populated. White mini lights strung up in the trees that line the curbs, shops with illuminated closed signs, flashing neon advertising which bars and restaurants are open to patrons.

 His stomach growls. Prompting him to make a mental note to order room service.

 Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he places the bottle of scotch on the floor and his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his weary face, then clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. Contemplating his first moves when the new day breaks. He has to wait for Yaz to get some information; even the smallest tidbit that will send him in the right possible direction.  Wandering aimlessly through town will only draw unnecessary attention. People will find who he is and what he’s there for when the time is right.

 He opens his eyes, meeting his own reflection in the glass.  His beard needs a trim. He already needs to take the clippers to the shortest parts of his hair.  

 He’ll do that in the morning.

 Taking another swig of scotch, he stands up; wincing as his knees crack noisily.  He finds his cell phone in the inside pocket of the flack jacket that he’d worn from the airport and now hangs in the unlocked hall closet.  Hitting the second number on speed dial as he slides open the patio door and steps outside.  The air is crisp and fresh; an unusually cool evening for summer in Ireland, he’d been told by the desk clerk. And he takes a seat on one of the patio chairs just as the call reaches the fourth ring and someone finally answers.

 “Hey,” he greets, his heart immediately feeling a hundred pounds lighter at the familiar sounds of his ‘normal’ life in the background; the dog barking, the kids squabbling, the baby giggling and attempting speech.

 “Hey,” he can hear the relief in her voice. He knows she’s smiling. “Did you just get in?”

 “About half an hour ago.”

 “What time is it there?”

 “Eight thirty. PM.”  He does the math in his head.  He’s seven hours ahead. Making it one thirty, her time.

 “How was the flight?”

 “Long. No issues though. I don’t know who this guy is that Nik knows or what she has on him that he’s so willing to cough up his private jet, but I’m not going to complain.”

 ‘Maybe they’re friends. Special friends. If you catch my drift.”

 He grins. “Maybe. I’m sure she has a lot of special friends.”

 “You sound tired.”

 “I am. Tired. Sore. Hungry.”

 “Well make sure you eat. I know how you get when you start throwing yourself into something. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re trying to run on an empty tank.”

 He smirks. “Worrying about me from even thousands of miles away, huh?”

 “It’s what I do, Tyler. I worry. I try to take care of you.  It would be a lot easier if you weren’t so damn stubborn. Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” he picks the bottle of scotch up off the ground and takes a swig. “You okay?”

 “I guess. As good as I can be. The first couple of days are the worst. But I manage.”

 “The kids?”

 “They’re doing okay.  They get sad and weepy every now and then. Tyler is grumpy as all hell. He is so much like you. He even has the same facial expressions when he’s mad or irritated. I see so much of you in him. Tanner is really stepping in to help him through things.  He’s an old soul, that one. He’s just so sensitive and so intuitive. Such a big heart in such a tiny body.”

 “Like his mom. All the best stuff he got from you.”

 “Oh I don’t know about that. He got some pretty amazing things from you, too.”

 He smiles at that. “And Millie?”  

 “She’s pretty bitchy. I’ve had to send her to her room twice already today.  She’s just snapping at everything and taking it out on her brothers. She’s stronger than she looks. She almost beat the living shit out of Tyler because he looked at her the wrong way. And you know how strong and tough he is.  Your daughter does not take shit from anyone. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, at least we know she’ll be able to handle herself when she gets older if some asshole tries anything with her. But at the same time, she should not be beating the crap out of her brothers. She even goes after the baby. And all he’s doing is baby things.”

 “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. If she’ll talk to me, that is.”

 “She’ll be fine, Tyler. She’ll be happy to hear your voice. She’s already asked about you. Three times. If you’d gotten to Ireland yet and if you’d called to say you were okay.  I know she feels bad. For what she said to you. Please don’t let it bother you. She’s a little girl. She just worries about you and misses you. She didn’t mean what she said. Don’t hold it against her.”

 “I don’t. I just thought I had a lot of years to go before she said something like that. Like when I started scaring potential boyfriends off. I swear to God, if she brings home some guy with weird hair and tattoos…”

 “You basically just described yourself,” his wife laughs.

 “You like my hair.”

 “I love your hair.  You know she’s going to bring someone home that you just despise, right?”

 “I’m going to despise all of them. Not just one of them. All of them. None of them will be good enough for her. Not a single damn one.”

 “I’m sure someone will come along that you like. Maybe someone like you. A military guy.”

 “Uh, yeah, no. That’s definitely not what I want for her.”

 “I don’t know, you’re a pretty good catch. And you’re ex military. So…”

 “Ex. You hit the nail on the head. Ex. Look what I do now. Is that really what you want for our daughter? This kind of life?”

 “I think you’re overreaching. There’s a big difference between her finding a military guy and her finding a mercenary. And where would she ever find one of those?”

 “You found me,” he points out.

 “Only because I was already in the job. Our paths would never have crossed if I hadn’t had been. I doubt that is going to be a lifestyle that she choice.  She’s beautiful and smart and…”

 “So are you.”

 “…and we’ll do our best to get her on a different path. That’s years away, Tyler. Why stress about it now? And why talk as if this is the worst possible life to have? It isn’t. I know you get down on yourself and you think you’re a failure as a husband and a father. You think that I hate you and that I hate this life.  But I’ve never once hated you. Ever. And I don’t hate this life. It’s not my most favourite thing and it’s hard. But I walked into this. Willingly. I fell in love with you.  I chose you. And I don’t regret that. So please don’t ever think I do.”

 Silence falls between them as he considers her words; the power of them both comforting and overwhelming. And he closes his eyes against the hot, bitter tears that threaten.

 “Tyler?”

 He clears his throat noisily. “Yeah?”

 “Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” he assures her.  “I miss you.”

 “Already?” he can practically hear the grin on her face. “That was quick.”

 “I missed you the second I got on the plane,” he admits.

 “I miss you too, baby. It was hard this morning. Waking up and not having you there. With your messy hair and your sleepy little grin.  The way you kiss me awake. And the way you do other things to wake me up.”

 He grins at that.

 “Most of all, I just miss you. I miss your smell. The sound of your voice.  Your smile. The way it crinkles the corners of your eyes. I miss all those things.”

 He can hear the emotion in her voice; the way it chokes at her. And he can’t hold back the tears any longer; allowing them to flow freely down his cheeks and the sides of his nose.

 “Please be safe,” her voice is barely above a whisper. “Because if anything happens to you…”

 “I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and uses the back of his hand to wipe the tears away.  “You know how you said you didn’t trust McCann? That something about him just doesn’t feel right? And I said you were probably just on edge? Well I’m starting to think you’re right.”

 The line crackles as she moves the phone from one ear to the other. “What’s happened?”

 “Just a conversation we had on the plane. The other day when we first met, he wanted me to be the one that goes for the kids. I told him that I couldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t do it. That I didn’t feel confident that I’d be able to safely get three of us out. One kid was enough in Dhaka. And he was a teenager. Not a little one. I told him that he should be the one to get his kids. That I’d deal with the wife.”

 “Makes sense. I mean, they might panic if they saw you. A complete stranger all dressed up like he’s going to war.  That would just make things worse if they got scared and freaked out. They won’t do that if it’s their dad.”

 “Exactly what I thought. It just makes more sense. I brought up what would happen if I could only get myself and one of them out of there. How would I make that kind of decision? About which kid lives or dies?”

 “Tyler…” she sighs. “…don’t do this…”

 “He threw it back in my face on the plane. He asked me how I would choose. If it came down to the twins. If I knew I could only get one of them out alive. Which one would I pick?”

 “Tyler…”

 “I told him I wouldn’t. That I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. It’s me someone would want. Not them. They’d just be using the kids to get to me.”

 Silence from the other end.

 “Esme?”

 “I’m here,” the sadness hangs heavily in her voice. “Tyler, why are you…?”

 “I would do it. In a heartbeat. Offer myself up for them. For any of my kids. For you.”

 “I know. But…”

 “It was weird. How he responded to that. Like he wasn’t on the same page. What father wouldn’t do that for their kids? Especially when he knows that he’s the one they want? What father wouldn’t give himself up to save his children? I can’t wrap my head around that. Then he asked me I’d do if it came down to saving myself or his wife.”

 “And you said…”

 “I told him that her life isn’t worth more than mine. That I have my own wife and my own family and I’m going home to them. And it’s not going to be in a body bag. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a selfish prick now.”

 “It’s not selfish. It’s smart. It’s self preservation.”

 “There’s something not quite right about this guy. I didn’t like the way he acted when I talked about how he might have to sacrifice himself for his kids. He was reluctant. He wasn’t willing to make that choice. And that’s fucked up. To me, anyways. It should be an easy decision to make. At least in my eyes.”

 “Be careful, Tyler. Watch your back. Even more so than you usually do. Something isn’t right here. And I think you’re beginning to think that way too.”

 “Yeah…” he finishes off the scotch. “…I am. I miss you,” he says once more. “I miss you so fucking much.”

 “I miss you too.  Be safe, okay? Come home in one piece.”

 “I will. I promise.”

 “Go and get something to eat. And try to get some sleep. You’ve got a big job ahead of you. I’m proud of you, just so you know. I’m so proud of you, Tyler. For doing the things you do. For other people. I know it’s not easy on you. But you still do it. You still put people ahead of yourself. Even knowing the consequences. Even knowing the ending might be horrible. You’re the strongest person I know. And the bravest. Whether you want to hear that or not. Whether you want to admit it. Ovi was right. When he said you were brave for rescuing people. You are.”

 “I love you,” he manages through another wave of tears.  “Just know that I love you. That I always have, I always will.”

 “Please don’t talk like that. It sounds so…final.”

 “I just want you to hear it. I just want you to remember it. Just in case.”

 “I love you too. I’ve loved you right from the beginning.  I meant it. When I said it to you on that bridge. I know it was way too soon. It shouldn’t have made any sense. But I meant it. I love you and I can’t wait for you to come home. Please be careful.”

 “I will. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hug and kiss the kids for me. Tell them I love them. That I miss them. That I’ll be home soon.”

 “I will,” she promises. “And eat, Tyler. Get something in your stomach. And then get some sleep. Or try to at least.”

 “I love you,” he says one last time.

 “I love you, too. We’ll talk soon.”  And with that, she disconnects the call.

 Sighing, he places his cell phone on the ground beside the empty bottle of scotch and runs his hands over his face.  Unable to shake the feeling that he’s walking straight into hell.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Anna and the Apocalypse

If you've ever thought that Shaun of the Dead would be better if it starred high schoolers, was set at Christmas, and was also a musical, then praise the Lord we've got a Christmas miracle that was made just for you. I'm sure those of you who weren't wishing and hoping for this incredibly specific movie stew are saying to yourselves, "Um...there's no possible way all of that can come together without being a total mess." Well...

Anna and the Apocalypse is a dazzling display of originality. The songs are catchy, the characters are well-developed, and the heart (and guts) are very real. 

The film is a feature-length version of a 2011 short film, Zombie Musical, and centers on the tiny Scottish town of Little Haven as it’s overrun by the undead. Our plucky protagonists are a group of high schoolers just trying to make it through the normal life-and-death peril of senior year. There’s Anna (Ella Hunt) who wants to take a gap year and travel far far away from her little town before going to uni; John (Malcolm Cumming), who is the Ducky to Anna’s Molly Ringwald and mostly just wants her to stay; Steph (Sarah Swire) a lesbian activist who has been ditched in Little Haven by her jet-setting parents and her flakey girlfriend; and Chris (Christopher Leveaux), and amateur filmmaker who just wants to record his friends goofing around and stay with his girlfriend Lisa (Marli Siu) 5ever. Throw in a hyper-macho ex of Anna’s (Ben WIggins) and a totalitarian headmaster (Paul Kaye) and you’ve got enough drama to go around even before the dead start rising.

Some thoughts:

Yay for a lesbian main character who (spoiler) survives to the end and saves the fucking day! Any lesbians who are reading this review will appreciate knowing this information in advance, and I am very happy to report it.

The antagonist Mr. Savage kind of flips out of nowhere, and I'm not really sure why his role was so big in the back half of the film. It almost seems like they had his villain song written before the rest of the script and they had to figure out a way to work backwards around it. It's not a huge problem, per se, but in light of the situation at hand, his decisions don't really make much sense. This is the one dicey narrative spot in an otherwise pretty airtight script. 

I appreciate most that each character gets their own unique and complete arc. Anna has to confront her feelings about her family and her future; John faces his feelings about Anna head-on; Chris is in search of something real to film, and he really, really gets it; Steph just wants her voice to be heard and to experience some true human connection. Even Lisa gets a fantastic jab in at Savage when he asks her what people do when society is on the verge of collapse - “They help each other.” In a tightly paced 93 minutes, I appreciate the focus on character relationships and development rather than more shots of zombie violence.

The singing is actually pretty impressive, as was the choreography. Fun fact, Sarah Swire, who plays Steph, was the choreographer as well! I particularly enjoyed the High School Musical vibes of "Hollywood Ending."

There are so many homages to so many things, it’s easy to mistake the movie as simply a pale imitation of better films. But part of the charm of Anna is the gusto with which they just GO FOR IT. The most obvious comparisons to Shaun of the Dead are justified, but John Hughes, Mean Girls, the Buffy musical episode - they’re are floating around in here too, and the end result feels bouncy and fun rather than weighted down by pop culture baggage. 

Man, zombie movies are sad. I think I always forget how fundamentally sad they are. 

I’m not sure there’s much more to say about a Scottish zombie Christmas musical - if you don’t think that would be your thing, I’m honestly a little sad about the lack of whimsy in your life. But if you do think it would be your thing, check this one out and enjoy listening to the soundtrack on repeat 24/7 as I’ve been doing since I left the theater. 

[dearmyblank]

mozart,

this is going to be a long letter with a high probability of not getting posted. i’m just attempting to sort my thoughts out here, because lord knows i need some help. sometimes i think i should see a therapist, but i’d sooner die than sit in an office and tell a stranger about my feelings. 

anyway… you’re sleeping right now, i guess, and i miss you. i miss just sending hearts back and forth or talking to you, and i especially miss your presence… even though i saw you only a few hours ago. if you were asleep beside of me, it probably wouldn’t fix anything, but i think it would help to have you there. i could at least listen to you breathe. hold onto you.

i know you have trouble finding sincerity in anything i say because i’m terrible at showing my emotions, wearing my heart on my sleeve, being affectionate… all the things normal human beings do… but i mean what i say, damn it. i couldn’t mean it more. i’m sorry it isn’t convincing. i do not know how i feel a good chunk of the time, but even with that i know that i want you. i know that you make me feel safe and comfortable — as comfortable as i can be, anyway… we know i’m awkward beyond helping. i know that i could spend hours simply kissing you. i know that you’re my favorite person to hug. i know that holding your hand grounds me. i know you make me happier than i thought i could be. which terrifies me. i can’t stand the idea of the rug being ripped out from under me. as i said, i’ve always found it better to just… not know what you’re missing. then you can’t ache for it. you know?

i don’t know what i’m going to do when you break up with me. maybe i shouldn’t say when rather than if, but i just know. i know that it’s too good to be true. i know this can’t last forever, or even close. i know that you’ll decide i’m not worth the effort one day. i know that you’ll find better or you’ll grow tired of me, and i won’t blame you for that. but it’s going to hurt like hell…

i’m not enough. i know i’m not enough. i’m not pretty enough. i’m not funny enough. i’m not enthusiastic enough. i’m not affectionate enough. i’m not warm enough. i’m just… not enough. i’m not good enough. not for anyone, but especially not for you. you deserve… so much. not to sound like a broken record, but you do. you deserve everything. i want to give it to you, but i genuinely don’t know if i’m capable. especially right now. i know it should be easy to get over my fears and insecurities when the risk is losing you if i don’t. i know you deal with so much more and you keep going. i know that no one my age else struggles with being open, vulnerable and attached the way i do… but there’s a wall there for me. and i don’t even think i put it up. i thought it was self defense, but now i’m doubting that. i think it’s a mixture of lack of socialization, the emptiness i probably get from my father, and a bit of a coping mechanism. i take everything that hurts me and i shove it down until i can’t carry the weight anymore and it starts to break me. then i pull myself together before i can heal and i move on. it’s a terrible, vicious, stupid cycle. i’m not fixing anything, i’m not gluing the cracks back together, i’m just desperately trying to fit into this idea of being “okay” that i can’t grasp. i want to be okay.

a part of me wishes i had reasons to be so fucked up. there’s no explanation for the way my mind works. there’s no explanation for my trust issues and… all of the other baggage i won’t even bother bringing up.

i’m just so tired, baby. i know that’s life. but i don’t know how much more i can take. i’m starting to get bad again. or i already have and i’m in denial because i have a good day here and there. a good moment. because i have you to take my mind off of the harsh reality. but i’m afraid it’s getting out of control. there’s everything and nothing at all going on in my mind at once. it takes so much energy to make myself climb out of bed and start the day. sometimes i don’t until the sun is down and i’ve slept until my eyelids won’t stay shut any longer. i came so close to cutting again. the only thing that stopped me was the thought that you’d notice if i made a deep enough mark in the places i used to consider hidden. but maybe i should do it anyway. maybe if i bled i could bleed out some of the numbness or the pain. maybe… i don’t know. maybe i should cry… or break something…

but i can’t. it’s like there’s a storm inside of me and i can’t pinpoint the reason and i can’t fix it and i can’t even bring myself to fucking acknowledge it. i swear i’m not giving up, i’m not even considering giving up, if anything just for you. i don’t want to push you away. i don’t want to shut down on you. i don’t want this to end.

please please please don’t give up on me.

i don’t know if you ever remembered to check the link i sent you, a couple of weeks ago when i was attempting to prove what you meant to me, so maybe you won’t see this letter. i don’t think i want you to. it feels like guilt tripping, like i’m begging you not to break up with me but i just want you to be happy. if not happy, content. i want you to get what you want from life. i love you. i hope that’s enough. i really, really hope that’s enough…

i’m sorry. i love you. i’m so sorry. please.

- anything else.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I came back to my apartment yesterday to little fanfare and a new refrigerator.  I left the house around nine.  Spent the day shopping for gifts for my mom’s birthday.  There was never any reply to my initial text to my landlord which included a request to install my new smart thermostat.  I had left in the text that I could always return it.  The old thermostat was refastened to the wall securely as if to prove a point.  Two hundred dollars less spent after a return but still the amount of things you have to read into is priceless.  That’s par for the course in this city.  Nobody likes confrontation.  Nobody is particularly good at it face to face.  I walked out my door to some gang shit.  My instinct is always to get out of the way.  First you look at people’s hands.  Then you make sure there are no guns.  Then you change your course quietly and walk away from any heated arguments.  I get on the bus to be greeted by my old neighbor who is Korean and a medical student.  I smile and nod politely.  Then spend the morning playing Hearthstone over coffee at a cafe called the wormhole.  It’s communal seating but I don’t feel very uncomfortable or out of place.  In New York being comfortable in public at a coffee house for me is the same as back home.  You are sitting there in public and people leave you alone for an hour while you do your thing.  I grew up in the south suburbs of Chicago in a bleak cultural wasteland.  The epicenter was a twenty minute drive to the next town over.  I drank so much coffee at Denny’s they eventually hired me.  I’d play magic the gathering in the smoking section until four in the morning.  Sometimes we’d meet up and drive to raves the next state over.  These days I don’t own a car anymore.  I’ve seen it parked around the city.  That’s a door to the past I’ve sealed shut with holy water and dark magic.  Life is always in your face to remind you how it really is.  Confronting the reality of it is akin to grabbing the hounds by the teeth.  What are you really trying to say with all that barking?  After travelling all over the world I’ve learned communication is a complex thing.  I’ve felt more accepted in silence than I have being explained over countless times.  Sometimes people say things without saying them.  My landlord is Polish.  The only word I know is be quiet.  When I told the landlord they didn’t quite smile.  It was in the emptiness of the moment I knew how things are.  Just like nobody dares move that Jesus statue in the parking spot when the snow goes above five inches.  There are unwritten rules and unspoken narratives in real cities that go untouched for better or for worse.  Mine just so happens to have a new refrigerator and the same familiar feeling.  No sudden changes financially or otherwise for the time being.  Nothing new worth confronting in the outside world other than in game currency.

Am in the matrix or am I outside the simulation?  If life had an on and off switch I’d be flipping that shit randomly to create the sickest of all strobe effects.  Sadly mortality doesn’t quite work that way.  Yolo is king.  The worst thing people could say behind my back is that I don’t fit in.  That I don’t belong when it’s so easy for me to be invisible in plain sight.  Every narrative walking around in the deep jungles of urban planning has a place.  Some of it you don’t want to be trapped in.  Some of them you cannot avoid.  It’s a geography of many overlapping circles or rhizomes.  Interconnected by impossible relationships and hidden values.  It’s quite daunting to navigate openly and transparently.  But half of the aesthetic of the clothes I wore wistfully cherished this sort of open rebellion.  An elegant sort of punk.  That you could come crashing in at any moment like the softest wave and roll back out to sea unknowingly.  And the tides would bring you back to the same point again and again.  Riding the wave isn’t something you control.  I have not yet mastered the ability of forcing gravity to do my bidding.  There’s rules you follow and practice involved.  But there is a knowing of when you are in danger at all times.  The more you value of yourself the less you are interested in rocking the boat or adding additional weight.  I like to think of whatever aura I project as rooted in some sort of accountability.  It’s easy to forget what all I do and how great I really am sure.  When I look back all I see is failure.  Kind of like when I look at a map and see Indiana just across the lake from us.  You stay over there with your dunes and your guns.  If I look at how long I’ve done the same things with broken results I know what doesn’t work for me.  I know suffering through the daily struggle doesn’t really have much to show for it other than being a good person.  I do know for however public or private people think I am it varies where on the map I’ve dropped the pin.  My reputation often precedes me so often that I constantly have to make sure people don’t get the wrong idea.  In my little bubble there are very few people outside of this blog that know or listen to anything personal.  I may talk to myself in the back room often instead of projecting it on the internet.  But I know the results of putting it all out there in the moment sound confusing when I hear myself say it.  I take time to reflect in my little world which is easier to do with a refrigerator that isn’t making noises all the time.  I have a consistent space where I renew and grow.  That space follows me out into the wild for better or for worse.  But the only real trouble at my doorstep are a couple of feral cats.  I can say after all these years that I have very little baggage other than the usual wrinkles under the eyes.  That’s what I get for staring at the screen at all times.  Somewhere out there I’ve got three oculus strapped to my forehead like I’m the edge lord of the inception.  Locked in a freezer or cryo for eternity would be poetic justice.

But really it’s just the same old Tim again this year.  The nightmare keeps getting realer.  I don’t know that I’m all that bothered by that.  It’s like I’ve set up a huge bulwark in my life over the years.  I put a lot of positive practices in motion with absolutely no validation.  And it hurt often.  Made me cry.  Made me think I would never be good enough.  And I faced those feelings.  I grew from them.  And ironically became more of the person I needed to be.  Whatever that is.  That’s the mind fuck of all of this.  Nobody has the answers for you.  You do.  And people will still make you question your reasons for living.  Make you feel your dreams are not possible.  That however far away they might be it’s not as distant as the silence you have to read into daily to survive.  Communication is rough.  We talk all the time.  I write down here week after week thinking someone will finally get it.  And someone does.  The person that gets it is me.  That’s why I write.  It’s very easy to reflect on the narrative a year ago.  Because it came from within me.  And I know where it’s failed.  And I know where it’s grown.  And most importantly I know where it matters and where it doesn’t.  If they say life is what you make it then we all should have an opportunity to make it better.  And then some people make over people’s entire right to exist in the process.  Just because they feel they know better.  Society is a constant steam roll of ideas that can be bad if you are too close in proximity.  You can’t force people to understand you and you also don’t need to accept half assed attempts at being understood.  The way I’ve navigated this over time has largely been time management.  There’s things like prioritzing, scheduling, financial planning, and dark looks into the mirror that coalesce.  I know people make me feel guilty daily for not sharing my power.  My life has practically been an open book nobody wants to acknowledge is a best seller.  I don’t really sell anything other than the places I eat when my refrigerator is broken.  In that respect the Chinese dumpling place by work is very cute.  But imagine if I wasn’t putting myself out there.  Or if I wasn’t comfortable living in this city alone, transparent and always questioned for interaction’s sake.  Life is pretty exhausting.  It’d be far more emotionally draining if I wasn’t able to just shut the door and stare out the window at peace over good coffee.  I think if anything I’ve become more comfortable with where I am in life.  And most of that is about being the king of my particular circle.  A very small space that represents individuality and freedom here in a very naughty country called America.  Change comes from within.  And while I don’t really see much changing I know I’m not going anywhere for the time being.  Other than sticking around here with you.  In the matrix.  Away from the prying eye’s of Sauron.  My lips are sealed much like my fate.  Six more months of WoW.  I’ll keep my heart on ice until further notice.  The frozen throne.  How many winters can I survive alone?  Trick question I’m a viking.  I’m genetically predisposed to be cold in the best possible way.  And I have the appliances to match.  <3 Tim

[heartbattled-a]

compiled list of headcanons for one Mr Sam Evans ! some have already been posted but have been tweaked in this post for clarification / better wording . ( template not mine ! )

SEXUALITY & AFFECTION . 

Sam is 100% pansexual. There’s absolutely no doubt about it in my mind. 

Those feelings were closeted for a very long time, pushed very deep down. Not because his family were homophobic (which they weren’t/aren’t) but because it was unacceptable in his old school. Sam went to an all boys school and there were very few gay people there and they were bullied insistently and physically / mentally / emotionally abused. 

If Sam was experiencing feelings of attraction or arousal during his time at that school, he did a damn good job of hiding it. Pretending that it didn’t exist. 

When Sam moves to McKinley, he begins to realise that being gay is okay. That being anything other than straight is okay. Kurt was his first example of that and then Blaine. They were definitely the two most important role models for the first few years at McKinley. 

Even though Sam is incredibly accepting of other people’s sexualities & genders, it took a much longer time for Sam to come to terms with his own sexuality. Hence why he was always so skittish whenever asked about his sexuality, especially from Blaine. 

Eventually --- canonically, around the end of Glee S4, Sam finally comes to terms with his sexuality. After a lot of confiding in his close friends (Blaine included) and a fair amount of time spent googling, Sam finally had a term for what he felt. Pansexual. Sam isn’t really a big fan of labels, never has been --- but it felt really good to have one in that moment.

He is absolutely shyer with boys than he is with girls. Boys make him twice as nervous as girls do because he has far less experience in dating boys or anything to do with boys in general. 

That being said, Sam will do his absolute best to learn. To be better at it. Though he’s not afraid of being seen in public holding a boys’ hand. He does know what the world is like surrounding the LGBTQIA+ and he knows that people suck but he isn’t ashamed of who he is anymore. He isn’t ashamed to completely know who he is. So he’ll absolutely hold his partners hand in public, will kiss them in public too. 

RELATIONSHIPS . 

Any kind of romantic relationship makes Sam very, very, wary. He’s incredibly cautious & nervous about them and it takes a fair amount for Sam to even consider entering one after everything he’s been through with the McKinley girls.

Sam has a fair amount of abandonment issues, along with trust issues and some other baggage. To begin with, Sam is incredibly clingy and worried. He panics and overthinks, which leads to Sam convincing himself that he’s doing something wrong --- that he isn’t enough, that he deserves to be cheated on. 

He would absolutely rather pine over someone that he likes as opposed to telling them straight to their face. Mostly because he’s terrified that the person will make fun of him for it or shun him because of the fact that his entire life story has been spread throughout McKinley high. (homeless, stripper, etc.)

It takes a long time for Sam to work his way out of the bad mental space regarding relationships because of how many times he’s been cheated on before. He will get out of it, it just takes a while for that to happen.

That being said, though, when Sam does enter a relationship --- he enters it completely. 110%. When Sam loves someone, he loves them hard and with everything he has. Sam Evans has a very, very, big heart and it shows when he’s in a relationship with someone. Hell, it shows in his friendships. 

Even though Sam doesn’t have a lot of money, he will still do his absolute best to spoil his partner. Not having much money means that he needs to get creative with date ideas and anniversary/Christmas/birthday presents. He likes to think he does a pretty good job. 

Sam is an incredibly loyal boyfriend. He is incredibly caring and very sweet, very considerate of his partners feelings. He is also very, very, sensitive. Proof of point: when he was kissed in canon by that photographer while he was dating Mercedes, he cried immediately afterwards because he felt so guilty even though he didn’t kiss her back and had no intention of kissing her back, either. He owned up to it immediately, too. 

APPEARANCE ( trigger warning for eating disorder mentions ! )

Sam’s hands are very rough & calloused. Both from playing the guitar non stop as well as lifting weights every single day. Some people think that his hands are soft from first glance but they definitely are not. He has a lot of callouses along his palms. 

Sam is tall. About six foot one. Around 140lbs or 10 stone. He’s very close to being underweight for his height. The reason being that Sam has an eating disorder. See more about that HERE, if you’d like. 

At some point during Sam’s twenties, he realises that he has a problem (with the help of friends depending on the verse) and decides to seek help for it. It’s a lifelong problem that isn’t going to go away with a snap of his fingers, as much as he wishes it will but going to therapy does help along with a few other methods. But the problem will always be there and he will always have a very, very, complicated relationship with his food. 

While he might look skinny / unhealthy, he is muscular. He works out pretty regularly (sometimes to the point of fatigue/dangerous levels) and it shows. He has minimal body fat because seeing any kind of body fat/rolls/any kind of sign that he’s fat or overweight (even if he isn’t) gives him really bad body dysmorphia. 

Sam’s nail beds are pretty much ruined by the time he hits twenty one. The skin around his thumbs are pretty gross looking, too. He bites/picks at his nails and bites/picks at the skin by his fingernails, a tic & sign of his anxiety. 

WORK, HOME & SCHOOL LIFE .

Sam has had quite a few jobs in his lifetime. Granted, they were all pretty short term & paid pretty abysmally but they were jobs nonetheless. 

At one point while Sam was in the Glee Club, he also joined the swimming team for a while, as well as the football team (and had the quarterback position for a while). Not to mention the fact that he regularly volunteers at homeless shelters for no other reason than the fact that he can (although he somewhat knows what it’s like to lose the roof over your head). He also worked at Dairy Queen, was a night time pizza delivery boy and was also an exotic dancer. 

He might look lazy, he might look spacey and distracted but nobody in the world can convince me that Sam Evans doesn’t work fucking hard. He was doing all of this to try and maintain his status at high school (re: popular kid) as well as bring in enough money to help out with the rent for the motel room, groceries each week & anything that his siblings might need (school books, shoes, shirts, etc). 

Speaking of the motel room ... the motel room that Sam and his family stayed in wasn’t all that big. There was one double bed in the room, with a very small TV and a dresser. There was no indication as to whether or not there was a kitchen (I assume there would be, however small) or a bathroom (again, I assume there was - it was probably just very small). That motel room was bursting at the seems, given that it was intended to sleep two people and instead had FIVE in there. The double bed would have been for mom and dad and there was a small fold up bed to the side, which I assume would have been for the kids to sleep on in the head & tail position. Sam wouldn’t have let his parents or his siblings sleep on the floor, which left only him to sleep on it. All the while working, attending Glee club as well as other after school clubs & acting like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. 

Sam absolutely does the same thing that Fiona (Gallagher - Shameless) does in regards to saving up money. He works as many side jobs as he can, preferably ones that are cash in hand & hire under 18s, then puts the funds in a pot and hides it away, makes sure to write down how much he earned that night and keep a tally so that he knows what they can afford for the week / month, in regards to bills and other household needs. He doesn’t buy things for himself, he can’t afford luxuries even on a good payment - everything he earns goes towards his siblings care, his parents and the house/motel. He always runs himself down and stretches himself as thin as possible to make ends meet and to make sure that his family have food on the table because he’s the only one of the three kids that can legally work. 

PERSONALITY .

Sam is insanely loyal. To the point where, if he trusted you, he would follow you into battle (or an equally dangerous situation with little to no care about himself). He is an insanely loyal friend, will always protect them and be by their side & defend them when they’re not there, to bullies and the likes. 

Unconventionally smart. Doesn’t really understand much about the real world & its details but can name all of the hobbits in Lord of the Rings as well as nearly every character / spell from Harry Potter. Likes to use fictional situations and apply them to the real world and nine times out of ten, it works.

Cares far too much. Has an incredibly big heart. Always working on himself, always working to become a better person with better ideals. Very open minded and accepting of everyone in the world. Is full of tons of love, even after all that he’s been through. Hasn’t let the world corrupt him too much just yet.

Funny. Likes to make jokes, likes to do dumb impressions that he knows are cheesy or a little bit stupid so long as it makes his friends smile because that’s all he wants to do, make his friends laugh, smile & forget their problems for a minute or two. 

Not much of a talker but a very good listener. Will listen to your problems and try his best to offer up some kind of solution or advice. Very empathetic, will try and put himself in his friends’ shoes to understand their problems if possible. 

Compassionate. Full of excitement. Loves to be around his friends. It gives him energy. Isn’t so much a fan of strangers, though. 

HOBBIES .

Sam is really really good at Macaroni Art (as seen in Guilty Pleasures).

He is also pretty damn good at playing the guitar. Nine times out of ten, he only has to hear a song play once or twice before he can play it almost perfectly on the guitar.

Not to mention the fact that Sam is a big ass nerd. He loves playing Video Games. No matter the console. Most of the time, he’d play on his friends consoles when he was invited over for dinner or for a sleepover. His family couldn’t afford a console of their own for a long time.

Pokémon is one of his all time favourite games to play, along with Mario Kart, Super Mario Brothers & The Sims. He likes a lot of games but those are definitely his top contenders. 

He likes playing board games, too. Like snakes & ladders, monopoly & checkers.

[spockandawe]

Why do you pretty much ship gay relationships with exclusively with robots? Putting aside the fact that they're robots, it makes no sense that every single one of them is gay.

……well then.

You’ve shown me the error of my ways, no more shipping men with men, I’m a dirty filthy horrible person and should be pilloried and publicly whipped for my sins.

I’m going to go right ahead and assume you’re not from around here, or you’ve spent 5+ years being weirded out by the fact that I ship robots without saying a word. And I’m also going to go right ahead and assume you’re here because of that b0ssbot post, and you’re somehow trying to defend the people who have been yelling about OP being officially The Worst. (remember the first rule of holes, folks)

And I’m going to go right ahead and assume that you have effectively zero familiarity with transformers period, because this is a clumsy, transparently-manipulative message to begin with, but my goodness does it become so much more clumsy once you have even a little knowledge of the source material. Good grief, how did you fit so much dumb into one tiny ask, I’m going to throw a cut on this

First, bottom line up front:

Queer identities besides gay apparently don’t exist, good job, buddy

You don’t know anything about transformers if you think there are enough well-written, well-developed women to go around, good lord

You definitely don’t know anything about the IDW comics if you think there have been piles of women from the start

And definitely definitely don’t know anything about the IDW comics if you think dude robots being in relationships with dude robots is anything remarkable

Inb4 you say something about bluh bluh unrealistic sex

And finally, are you seriously fucking telling me that it’s better to use women as romance pawns, is that seriously something you are trying to fucking say

And now, a cut (◡‿◡✿)

Now, let’s put aside the fact that you’re putting aside the fact that they’re robots. If you think shipping robots is silly, come back when you grow up a little. They’re the vast, vast majority of the cast, pal. Never even mind canon romance, Hasbro legitimately telling their writers to focus on the emotional interacts between characters, Hasbro and IDW giving an enthusiastic thumbs up to canon queer marriage– I mean, golly gee. M/M robot shipping is only a central plot point multiple times over in MTMTE, it’s only like these robots have been happily having romances and getting married in an almost exclusively male population pool for a mere couple million years. Shame on me for having anything to do with it.

And oh no, it’s really kind of incredibly obvious that you didn’t research jack diddly before trying to police someone else’s fandom experience, because there is nothing in current comics canon to indicate robots have sexual orientations period, and in fact a large portion of the cast doesn’t even have a great understanding of gender. Good job, very embarrassing, the ‘anon sent you a message’ thing is annoying, but I am glad that your name was not actually attached to this. These robots care more about what vehicles they turn into than what gender someone is, good grief

Wow would you just look at all the times that robot mentioned how much he was into dudes and/or ladies. It’s…… it’s almost like he doesn’t care

But the meat of this ask! Getting on an internet rando’s case for shipping men together! Which is suddenly bad, because…. ????

First off, great fucking job ignoring the existence of any queer orientations beyond ‘gay’. And you’re not even talking lesbians here, if you’re ragging on my shipping habits, you’re only acknowledging gay men. Bisexuality is a myth folks. Pansexuality? What even is that? People who identify that way don’t deserve to be acknowledged in any way, shape, or form, anon has opened our eyes.

And oh, my sweet summer child. Transformers is a franchise that was invented to sell toys to boys. Think about marketing. Think of all the franchises you’ve ever been aware of and how their marketing works. If a franchise is being aimed at boys, how many female characters are even going to make it into the mix? There’s a list of female transformers that I linked before, if you can’t be assed too look it up. That’s ALL of them. Spread out over about 22 continuities. And it’s downright depressing how many of them don’t even have a wiki page, or are just recolors of other characters, or are a dude character flipped to being a lady for just this one continuity. When they do get a wiki page, maybe it’s like Rosanna’s! She’s one of the few named ladies in all of TFA and just look at how much love she got. And of course, that list includes such LUMINARIES as “a troupe of dancing girls” and “an unnamed female decepticon resembling airachnid“. Or Alice, the fembot from the live action movies who tries to fuck Shia Labeouf!

Silly me, not spending my time working with this wealth of FANTASTIC, HIGHLY-DEVELOPED, WELL-WRITTEN characters.

And let’s just throw an estimate on the gender ratio in this mess. Let’s call it 10:1 dudes:ladies. And let’s go ahead and approximate this at 100 dudes:10 ladies for something similar to the current comics. That doesn’t account for legacy characters having old emotional attachments or which characters get the most screen time or anything, but hey. Now run some math on this. Across the board, there are about 6000 2-person ships. Of those, about 5000 are just m/m.

Burr hurr hurr, you say, what about that other thousand ships? Okay. The IDW comics started their phase 2 run with one (1) lady in a cast of many, many, MANY men. And IDW looked at themselves, looked at their choices, and was like fuuuuck man, we need more ladies. So they’ve been introducing ladies! WHO ALL GET DEVELOPED STARTING FROM SCRATCH. Oh, most of your cast is coming from the baggage of four million years of war, and almost a decade of comics just within this continuity? Well, look at this new lady who we just introduced who has been sharing the spotlight with all these older characters! INDEED THESE CHARACTERS HOLD EQUAL EMOTIONAL WEIGHT FOR YOU.

And lets go ahead and even say you want to whine something about those dirty, nasty, shameful fujoshis shipping m/m and writing unrealistic porn does potential harm.

I sure hope you didn’t whine that, because it’s xeno all the way down, you moldy walnut.

Let’s not even touch on how dumb you look complaining about this when the VERY LAST FIC I POSTED was Arcee/Whirl. Or that one of my few transformers standalone fics is Verity/Prowl. Or even that my second-longest transformers fic of all time, which is in a series with so many future plans, is all about Windblade bagging two guys! And you couldn’t have known that the WIP I have open on my desktop right now is Optimus Prime/Pyra Magna, but that sure is the case, and I’m going to go right ahead and roll my eyes even harder at your attempted point.

But you know, anon, you’re right. I should be shipping these women much more effectively. I should be strategically distributing them as romance pawns, where character be damned, what’s important is HOOKING THESE WOMEN UP WITH THE RIGHT MEN.

Progressive

[davidaolson]

The long, leisurely drive from Garden of the Gods to the Comfort Inn in Alamosa where we will hole up during our visit to the Great Sand Dunes National Park takes us by the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument. It is happenstance. We had no idea it existed. We see the sign. Have the time. Stop for a visit. As the name suggests, it is famous for fossil beds including massive stumps of petrified redwood trees. After watching the Park Service video, I am most anxious to encounter the petrified beings, to touch the stone rings stretching deep into the seasons before man attempted to harness time, before man created gods in her own image, before woman anointed herself lord of creation.

Outside the main doors, there is a very small loop where the largest of all the unearthed stumps are on display. Though they have completely turned to stone, they look fresh, newly exposed wooden stumps that can easily be chopped into kindling or cut horizontally for spectacular multi-hued, deeply ringed tables. They are held together with 1/2 inch binding metal strapping wrapped around their circumference to help them hold form. Entropy has a way of driving things to crumble and decay. The bands stave off the crumbling. For how long, I can’t say. Still rusts. Entropy is formidable, unrelenting, always the victor.

The downside? We cannot touch the ancient beings. A dry moat and fence separate us. There will be no running my fingers over the rings, no feeling for a petrified pulse, no communion with the venerable trees. I understand why. People can be assholes. They will nibble away at the fragments. Stuff chips into their pockets and scurry off like packrats adding the memorabilia to a collection of forgotten trinkets gathered over the years. A few bastards ruin it for everyone.

We choose as our longish hike, considering there are some time constraints, the mile-long Petrified Forest Loop which winds around a number of the petrified redwood stumps. The loop is almost completely flat with vistas of the mountains in the background of short prairie grasses in the foreground and a smattering of trees. It meanders. We drift soaking up the gorgeous weather, basking in the ambiance, enjoying the stillness, thankful this is a decidedly uncrowded trail and there are no screeching voices raping the silence. We only encounter one other group, a hobbling grandfather with a cane and his two highly energized grandsons, two playful kittens rough house tumbling in their own joyful world.

The second stump we approach is massive but lacking the girth of those at the trail’s start. Its presence should align my senses like metal filings marching to invisible magnetic lines. But it doesn’t. I am more powerfully attracted to the tall, lifeless tree behind the stump up on a small knoll. I say lifeless because I can see no Spring buds like the surrounding copse. The bare branches are gnarled with arthritic joints. I say lifeless knowing looks can be deceiving. I say lifeless yet I feel an energetic connection across the space separating our two living souls. I stand transfixed gazing at its magnificence wishing to comprehend the long life journey from seedling to sapling thru maturity into now.

I need to get closer, need to make physical contact with the tree now knowing that is a deception. However, it is off the official trail behind another damn fence and a petulant sign, a petty bureaucrat happily handcuffed by inane rules demanding obeisance stipulating we stick to the established trail. ‘I’s dotted. ‘T’s crossed. Signed in triplicate. Stamped by the grand poobah. I opt for a few wide-angle and zoomed photographs.

Frustrated, I kick the fence. It cracks. Should I beat the bastard down and score a victory against tyranny? No. Despite my rebellious streak, I do tend to follow rules…sometimes. We turn to leave. One step. Two steps. I sense a strengthened pulse, tease a whisper off the leading edges of the wind that hit me in waves synchronized with the inhalation of my own breathing.

I pivot back, walk around the fence, cross the forbidden zone, halt at the foot of the majestic being. The bark is missing. Flayed by entropy? Age? Elements? Colonies of ants once making the between layer a colony home? Where are the ants now? What happened to their sultry queen?

Bark gone, the heartwood is exposed, raw nerves open to driving wind and cascading rain, searing heat and bitter cold, the chewing mandibles of insects, bird’s pointed beak digging for larvae. Does it feel pain? I imagine the sensitivity of my own flesh with the outer epidermal layer missing and I’m staked to the mast of a sailing ship the salt spray burning holes in my desire to live. Does that approximate the experience of this being?

I reached for the tall trees exposed flesh. Did I say tree? I hesitate calling it Tree even with a capital T. Too much baggage in the four-letter word, too many assumptions contained in the generic label. How should I reference this being many times taller than me? Deity? Demi-God? Do I have the courage to come face to face with a God? In the Bible, seeing the face of God meant death. God declares, “You cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” Which then begs the question, what is a face?

I don’t throw these loaded God words with fanfare or poetic license rather for the transformative effect on my soul, my cluttered, encumbered, burdened soul. But I will use the archaic term for clarity. Anyway, at the instant I finally press flesh to flesh, energy flows into me and my mind calms. The disappointment lingering from the Garden of Gods visit is washed away. Free at last. Free at last.

The trunk is warmer than the surrounding air by at least 10° if not more. I’m not good at estimating temperature. The marked difference is strange. I can see if was basking in the sun but there’s a heavy cloud cover. I’ve never encountered a warm-blooded tree. Err…warm sapped tree?

There’s a definite pulse. A strong pulse…daaaa dummm, daaaa dummm…slower than a human pulse…daaaa dummm, daaaa dummm. There is one tree pulse to every four or five of my own. If I could slow my system to match, would my life span quadruple, quintuple? What would life be like 200 or 300 years into the future? What did this tree see 400 years in the past? Definitely a blooded tree. I press my ear against the body. There’s a heartbeat too. Incredible.

The tree is not significant in diameter. I wrap my arms around it to feel the warmth more deeply. There’s a slight give similar to pressing the surface skin on a very cold batch of chocolate pudding. I squeeze tight, feel my body penetrate the surface then, like a noodle being slurped into a mouth sans the slurping sound, I’m pulled into the tree. Inside the tree? I’m broader than the tree. How can I fit inside?

I look around. The tree is bigger on the inside than the outside? Tardis? Doctor? Doctor, are you here? Romana? K9? Maybe, it’s not that doctor. Clara? River? Amy? Rose? Wishful thinking.

I am able to see in a 360° arch without moving my head. There’s a slight cast like looking through a one-way mirror. There’s my wife. I knock. The knock echoes loudly. She doesn’t move. I slam the wall with my fist. Still, nothing. I’m out there too with my hand still pressed against the barkless flesh.

I have not physically popped inside the tree. My body is still intact on the outside. My mind and soul shed the flesh and wormed their way into Tree. Freaky! How is Irene not able to tell she’s standing next to shell David? Is it because my internal life is so inconsequential there is, in effect, no difference between whole David and shell David? That shines some light on my life.

How do I reconnect with my shell? A problem for later? A problem at all? If she can’t tell the difference why not simply exist in both places? If this tree lived for 100s of years, might my mind and soul also exist inside of Tree for another hundred years? That would give me 100 years of solitude. Ever since living in India, I find my self increasingly craving solitude. But for 100 years? I might go insane. If I’m not already insane? How do trees maintain sanity when living for so long. Hell, Methuselah is almost 5000 years old! If I do get out of here, I must make sure a vacation wraps around meeting Methuselah.

Perhaps, I am already beyond insane and believing I’m inside a tree is another manifestation of my insanity. If I can see myself outside, do I have multiple personalities? I must be cray cray. I know! It’s the CO2! Trees breathe CO2. I’m in the tree, probably inside the lungs and am breathing CO2 into my lungs. It must be fucking with my perceptions of reality. And if I’m breathing in CO2, I must be inside the three which means I’m not crazy. Am I the first being to slip inside a tree?

“No, you are not,” a feminine sounding voice echoed in the cavernous space. “We share our space with more insects by weight than 50 of you. We give them home, they massage us and keep us clean. They raise their families in the crevices of our bark, build nests in the holes vacated by songbirds. We allow songbirds to bore holes in our body and inhabit those holes. For our small sacrifice, we are guaranteed daily songs, nightly prayers, and decaying matter to enrichen soil filtering succulent water to sip in through our roots. And the bird song aids in our meditation.”

“Who…who is we?”

“We are Tree. Tree is We?”

“Tree? Is that your name?”

“We have many names. To some We are Anito. Others call We Kathor or Bo. In parts of China, We are known as Pi-Fang. There are as many names for We as there are peopled tribes.”

“What shall I call you?” Time to get to the essence of the name. If I know what they call themselves, I will have better insight into who they are.

“You may call We…Tree. It is a common term in your lexicon and a communication tool easy for your mind to grasp.”

Shit! Thwarted by a tree. “Nice to meet you, Tree.”

“Likewise, David. It’s obvious you don’t realize this but We have met before, many times before. We have watched you grow your entire life.”

That’s creepy. I feel like I’ve been stalked! Push that ill-feeling away. There is so much to learn. What shall I ask next? Obvious. “Why does We sound like a woman? And why do meditate?”

“You are interpreting to assuage the needs of your psyche. It is likely you view women as nurturers and are more comfortable having this conversation with a feminine persona, a female hero. It can also be because deep down you realize trees are givers of life. Never takers.

Your second question. We have no voice. We meditate because We sustains We. Walking is not possible. Through meditation, We march under and across open land easily creating an above-ground forest with aerial canopies. We as a family invite all to share in this glory. The marching is put into play by our mind while in deep meditation. With each new We, our meditation power amplifies exponentially until an entire forest of We creates a unique ecosystem breathing life into this planet. Without We, you would not be.”

“That’s kinda arrogant!”

“How are facts arrogant? We created the oxygen necessary for your emergence. We create oxygen necessary for your continued existence. Ergo, without We, you would not be. You may even say, We are your creator being.”

“Is that all you do? Create an atmosphere so man can be?”

“Hardly, We create atmospheres that all life may be. Not just humanity. Through our meditation, We make thoughts manifest.”

“What does that mean…to make manifest?”

“Our unified thought is so powerful it cannot be contained in simple synapse connecting electric impulses. The energy builds and Our thoughts explode into physical beings. Hummingbird is the outward manifestation of highly focused, deep thought exploding into Kaleidoscopic light. Hummers collect pollen from flowers instantiating the sex act between plants. It’s rapidly flicking tongue drives both female and male flower parts to long orgasm fruits which you not only enjoy eating but add to your health.”

“Whoa…your thoughts create hummingbirds?”

“Yes, We do. Those ancients lying dormant in the field behind you were much stronger. There were many more We in their day thus the meditative energy was intensified. They created Sparrow, Hawks, Flicker. Our ultimate creation, the one we are most proud of…

“I know.” I blurt out. “You all are most proud of is Golden Eagle.”

“No. Golden Eagle was meditated into existence during a season of tree self-aggrandization. It soared on the wave of inflated tree egos. We have since achieved a deeper, other-centered harmony and no longer create Golden. It’s why their numbers are so low. Their tribe is sustained solely on egg production. We no longer augment that race.”

I sensed a tinge of regret. “Sad?”

“Sad? No. It is merely the normal progression of life. All beings jump to a new body when the old one dies. Life continues just in different forms. As forms change, knowledge of the previous incarnation is carried deep in the brain’s core. It’s how empathy is created between beings vastly different than ourselves. If you love dogs, it means you were likely once a dog.”

“That’s Karma!” I blurted feeling proud of my intimate knowledge of life’s intricacies. And to show tree I was smarter than We.

“Close but no.”

“No? I’ve read about Buddhism. I lived in India. I’m familiar with karma.”

“Karma says the sum of previous existences decides fate in a future incarnation.

“Exactly.”

That Karma is a distortion of reality bent by the scratched prism of human minds because your kind has a need to believe they control their future. It is the same with all your ‘religions’. Truth becomes twisted and mangled until humans are at the center and the reason life exists.”

I find myself intrigued. My views on religion are similar. “Then what do you mean?”

“The next phase is a random act. A body is ready, the being’s soul is ready. And voilà. Existence in a new state.”

“Each person has one and only one soul that is judged by the Good Lord Above upon physical death?” Poised as a question but really a statement.

“Religion misinterpreted to mold reality into man’s narrow ability to grasp the immensity of the pluraverse.”

“Pluraverse? How does that align with our universe?”

“There are multiple universes superimposed upon each other. Thus a pluraverse. There are three here right now.”

I crane my neck trying to get a glimpse of the parallels.

“Don’t bother trying to see them on your own. The human ability to perceive is narrow, myopic, unable to perceive there are many universes right here, right now. Only one exists in color bands your eyes can see. Humans discriminate colors with three cones. Mantis shrimp have 12 and can see more colors than you can imagine including ultraviolet, infrared and x-ray. Trees see with 9.”

“Trees can see?”

“Of course.”

“Where are your eyes?”

“We don’t need eyes as you imagine them to see.”

“What’s in the parallel universes?”

“The petrified being you looked at before coming up here is, to you, a stump, a decayed tree replaced with rock. It is petrified and struggling to fend off entropy.”

“What do you see?”

“In the slowly vibrating, infrared lighted parallel universe, We see a massive redwood still living, growing strong, shouting thought leaves into the sky some morphing into songbirds…”

“Birds again. You seem to have a single-minded focus on birds.”

“We are of a collected mind, never single-minded. Our primary focus is giving life to the world. Life without music lacks purpose. So, We make sure there’s a constant infusion of birds to add their beautiful songs.”

“And why is that? You are not God. What is it your responsibility to create life?”

“Responsibility? It is our joy. We are not God but, then, neither is God a God. The ultimate is an aggregation of the Collective Consciousness extant in all beings. We serve the Collective Consciousness by breathing oxygen into the pluraverses and exercising our unique gifts to infuse birds into the mix.”

“Hold on a second. If God is another name for the Collective Consciousness by extrapolation all contributors to the Collective Consciousness are God.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“That’s so heavy. And it corroborates an essay I wrote in college with the conclusion being that I was God as was everything else. I guess I’m a man ahead of his time.”

“Yes, I can see it being heavy for one who has not existed for more than a century in continuous meditation. We Tree are sanyasi, truth seekers. We abandoned the folly of disconnected individualism eons ago instead unifying under a single meditative hum. Our unified meditation has given us understanding well beyond the imaginable approaching the ultimate infinite.”

“I need to understand ultimate truth. Please tell me.” Hoping I don’t sound too needy.

“Humanity is the only beings not ready to accept ultimate truth. Birds do especially Lord Raven who’s mind thinks in poetry born of supreme meditation. All the animals and plants do. Human minds have not developed the capacity to simultaneously hold two opposite ideas believing them to be opposing truths.”

“What?”

“I will provide you with a simple example. To you, black and white are opposites. Black can’t be white. White can’t be black. Light and dark are mutually exclusive and can’t coexist.”

“Obviously!”

“We know black defines white. Light dances with dark. There is no difference between white and black.”

“That make’s absolutely no sense!”

“As We said, your kind are not ready. Evolution is slower in some than others.”

I needed to take back control of this screwy train of thought. There is knowledge here to be gained. How do I manipulate a tree? “Ok. Ok. I will accept what you said at face value. What can I grasp at this stage in my cognitive development?”

“That depends…”

Silence. Tree stopped talking. Seconds tick off into minutes that roll into hours. I wait until the silence gnaws through the ropes binding my patience and I am compelled to fill the void. “Depends on what???”

“I see you have very little patience so I doubt you have what it takes to absorb Our knowledge.”

“I’m patient. I waited minutes before jumping in with my question.”

“You were silent less than 10 seconds even then your mind was churning.”

“Well. I’m better than I used to be. With your help, I know I can grow the patience and learn from you.”

“Are you ready to spend eternity with me? Give up life as you know it and merge into the We? Because that is what it will take for you to begin grasping our knowledge.”

“Oh Shit. Uh. There is so much to see in this world. I’m not ready to set roots down in this isolated place for the next 100 years. So, no. I don’t wish to merge with We…at least…not yet. Perhaps when I’m old and sitting on the border between now and next.”

“Wise choice, human.”

I can’t leave empty-handed. It would be an extreme waste of a learning opportunity. “Can you show me something? A glimpse of all you have learned? Something my mind can grasp with a little stretching? Maybe a tidbit that will make sense down the line?”

“What you request means pecking a hole in this reality and allowing you to enter our dreamvision.”

“Fantastic! Let’s dream away.” I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take over. “I guess I’m too eager here. How can I dream wide awake?”

There are dreams, visions, and dreamvisions. I can dreamvision all of what came before me and some of what is yet to be. Entering our dreamvision is quite easy. Just follow my instructions. Breathe in for a 7 count. Hold for 4 counts. Exhale for 8 counts.”

“How long is a count?”

“Synchronize your counting to the beating of your heart. The inhalations will fill your lungs with CO2 and help you on the journey.”

“Whoa. CO2 is deadly to humans. Doh. My body is out there. It’s my soul in here. My soul has no lungs.”

“It is a mindset. You are correct and the CO2 cannot hurt your spirit.”

“How can my spirit breathe? It’s bodies that breathe.”

“You need to trust We on this. Repeat the breathing sequence a few more times making sure it is perfectly aligned with your heartbeat.”

I cannot sense my heartbeat. I put my hand on my imaginary chest. There it is. Da-dum. Da-dum. Breathe in 7 counts. Hold 4 counts. Exhale 8 counts. Repeat. Repeat. I’m feeling light-headed.

“You should be feeling lightheaded. The Carbon Dioxide is infusing your system soon you will pass out.”

“Pass Out?” I pull out of the breathing sequence. My vision is reduced to a tunnel which, in time, returns to normal.

“Yes. Pass out. The CO2 is a shock to an oxygen-breathing being. Don’t worry though you will awake almost instantaneously and experience the dreamvision of We. Just let yourself go.”

“But… but…but…I don’t want toooo….I’m afrai…”

A raven croaks. A long, drawn-out croak. A soulful croak. It’s long, held in perfect pitch, a vocalist singing and extended until the breath is exhausted then persisting a few heartbeats longer.

“What’s up with the Raven?”

“Raven unties memory knots helping us to recollect past and future memories.”

I open my eyes. Two moons hang in the sky, waning crescent moons half as bright as the sun piercing the clouds on a foggy day. “How can there be two moons? Why are they flickering between black and white?”

“There are always two moons. You are seeing through the eyes of We, seeing what We see. As I told you, the parallel universes are always present, superimposed in the now. The flickering you see is your mind approaching the ability to comprehend that black and white, dark and light are identical.”

“The moon was full yesterday. How can they be identical crescents today?”

“The moons are not identical. One is waning, the other is waxing. And what makes you believe today is today?”

“Isn’t today always today?”

“You have entered the meditative dream of We. Today, yesterday, even tomorrow have no meaning. We can experience any point on the time continuum beginning with the emerge of First Tree. Think of it as being fully present in the now and now can be any now, any time, the particular now necessary for enlightening. Trees are all bodhisattvas and we are sharing bodhisattva experience with you.”

“Bodhisattvas? Like the Buddha?”

“Of course. Do you recall where Siddhartha Gautama achieved enlightenment to become Buddha?”

“Beneath the Bodhi tree in what is now Bodh Gaya, India. I’ve been there a couple of times. I collected some leaves fallen from the tree. My wife framed them. They sit on our bookshelf.”

“You don’t think it was an accident that Siddhartha became Buddha beneath a tree, do you?”

I could be a smartass and say coincidence but this seems like the wrong time. I wanted to see where Tree teaching took me. “I guess not.”

“It was We who shared the knowledge opening Siddhartha’s eyes. Over the days he meditated at Our feet, we dropped leaves around and on him. Some became birds before touching Earth. Others were perfumed with understandings of the Universal Consciousness puzzle. It took a while until Siddhartha was able to connect the pieces into partial understanding, enough for a slice of enlightened knowledge. That is the origins of Buddhism.”

“Partial understanding?”

“Yes. As I said, the human mind, in its present evolution, cannot grasp full knowledge. So, we dispense what is needed when it is needed. As has been our practice throughout your history.”

“There are others?”

“Yes. Siddharta was one of the few with a spirit evolved sufficiently to grasp a fragment of true knowledge. He achieved the fourth phase in one lifetime.”

“Fourth phase? Grandfather taught me about the four phases. Do you know grandfather?” It was a question to which I immediately knew the answer.

“Of course. Grandfather is also We.”

“Were there others you gifted special knowledge? Of course, you just said were there were others. Who else have you gifted this enlightening knowledge to?”

“There have been many others.”

“Like who?”

“Moses at the burning bush. It was we who simulated burning in his mind and dispensed the knowledge needed at that a point in history to help humanity on their journey. There was Jesus at the fig tree. We scared him so he made We whither then avoided We for a long time. He learned enough to understand the necessity of loving one’s neighbor. We needed to engage with him again to complete his teaching but didn’t have the opportunity until he was hammered into the cross. The cross was We and We completed his education. When he moaned, “It is finished.” it was because he finally understood and was ready to leave the fourth phase into Spirit existence.”

“Are you telling me you instigated the great religious revivals?”

“Yes. It was communion with We that inspired Mohammad’s recitation of the Islamic Holy Book. We have gifted a litany of shaman’s and holy people throughout history reaching way back to the cave paintings in El Castillo, Spain and Sulawesi, Indonesia. There are older ones from the Neanderthals that have yet to be discovered. Few remain because CroMagon man destroyed them believing they were against their view of God. Your kind seems to never learn.

We point you forward yet you choose to close your eyes. We always chose a messenger from a person in their fourth phase because they have proven themselves capable of spiritual evolution. The problem is the many in the early phases with marginal abilities to comprehend the ultimate, grasp onto the lowest limbs and force them down the throats of others as gospel. And thus you have your unholy wars, your dogmatic religious practices, the hate across belief systems.”

“Why are humans always the recipients of your knowledge. Why not animals?”

“Animals, plants, rocks, all beings other than man are many lifetimes into the spiritual phase and coexist in the Collective Consciousness. They are also We.”

“This is absolutely fascinating. I must share this with the world. Too bad my blog has so few followers. Our world is pretty fucked up now. Hopefully, you’ve picked out the next great teacher to help guide us. The US has an orange baboon in highest office fighting with cockroaches on both sides of congress. Evil is gaining strongholds the world over with a stranglehold on political power. An enlightened teacher is needed now, was needed yesterday.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Have you found one yet?”

“We have. In the past, We chose messengers who achieved the fourth phase in one life cycle believing their intelligence was the key success. This time We have decided on an individual that has struggled through many life cycles to reach the fourth phase. The thinking is that resilience is key and their experiences will help cement the message in souls also struggling to progress.”

“Who is it? Can you tell me? Would I know her, him, they?”

“Grandfather tells We, you are ready.”

“Me?”

“You have been chosen.”

“But, I’m a nobody. What can I possibly do? Nope. Not me. Pick another…someone with…with…I don’t know. Someone who is not me. I am getting old. Retirement is a few years away. I want to spend my time traveling. No one will listen to me. I have proof. My blogs have been out for a good 7 years and they have few followers.”

I pause, breathe. Wait for a response. Nothing.

“How can Tree expect me to nudge the course of human history when I can get barely any blog followers? You know, I’m a loner. No one will listen to a loner. I can’t even maintain friendships. Who would take a loner seriously? A half baked, half-assed loner like me?”

“As were they all…”

“What? You are equating me with the prophets? With the Son of Man?”

“Of course not…not yet. They were all similar to you before their anointing. They did not believe in themselves. But they all made the leap.”

“Hmmm…let’s say I acquiesce with your ask. Will I be well known? Will my blogs increase in followers making me an influencer?”

“That is hardly the point but yes. You will be well known, near-universally known. As such, near-universally loved and near-universally hated. Your penchant for solitude will be critical for you to rejuvenate. We foresee long periods of alone time in the desert.”

“That I like. I love the desert…especially red deserts with twisted canyons…but you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Of course. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Ok…let’s say, for the sake of argument, I play along. And I’m assuming I have a choice?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Why me? Why now?”

“We could go into extensive detail about why you but you would throw up objection after objection to any and all logical or illogical, spiritual or corporeal arguments. To avoid the fruitless, a bit of Tree humor there, debate, We will just say, ‘Why not you?’”

“I get that. Then my 2nd question, why now?”

“History has cycles, ebbs and flows. There are buds in spring, fruit in summer, color in the fall, and barren winter days when We withdraw into our subterranean root system. Humanity, mentally, is in a trough…worse than being barren. When barren, fruit is not created. When in a trough, the fruit is actively destroyed.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Do you not read your own blog? Despite the metrics pointing to this being one of the safest points in history, The powerful would have everyone believe we are in crisis and must resort to isolationism and hoarding. It is they who are forcing the crisis mentality. History is struggling because of a small but influential swath of humanity. We are in a point where the numbers show flowing yet the voices of the elect claim we are ebbing, stuck in a trough and fighting a squall. In the current human trough, the fruit is being poisoned. Humanity is the poison fruit destroying all life including your own.”

“Is it global or only America?”

“Narrow thinking. It is impossible to be healthy in isolation. We is connected globally through an extensive root system. We are aware of everything happening everywhere simultaneously. We are acutely aware of the complete and total interconnectedness of all beings.”

“Humans are deluded by the egregious belief that one arbitrary enclosed space can exist isolated from all others and be healthy. It is a dangerous delusion that will destroy the planet including your America.”

“No surprise there.”

“It is your destiny to awaken humanity before the tipping point and the impossibility of return.”

“Destiny. I am beginning to hate that word. I gather this won’t be easy?” A half question at best. A question to which I already knew the answer. Why ask it? I don’t know. Sometimes, I need to hear the obvious.

“No. Change never is. Think to your corporate life?”

“You are aware of my corporate life?”

“Yes. Are We not on the patio of your office?”

“Yup.”

“As We said, all are interconnected including the We planted on your 7th-floor office patio. Change is difficult in a corporation with a clearly defined mission. The difficulty of course-correcting humanity will be like escaping from inside a black hole. You will be adored, reviled, ignored all at the same time, by the same individuals. You will have all beings, with the possible exception of roaches who expect to inherit Earth once your kind destroys it, helping you in this quest to save the world.”

“I enjoy a challenge but, I’ve got to say, none of this ‘reality’ endears me to the cause.”

“Better a cruel truth than a comfortable delusion.”

“I love that quote. Did Ed Abbey get that from you?”

“No. Enlightenment is multidirectional. We learned quite a lot from Abbey. He wrote with such wisdom, opened up new worlds for We to see.”

“As did I.” Emotion roiled in my soul for the author I appreciated more than all others. I still feel anguish at his passing.

“Ok. I’m reluctant but if it’s written in the stars I guess…well…destinies are as destinies will be.”

“Destinies are destinies and one of yours will influence all of ours.”

“So much pressure. What’s next?”

“We teach you to connect with the universal harmonic. It helps you to tune in the Universal Consciousness, turn on to the connectedness, and drop out from the mental clutter wall separating you from Everything.”

“You must be referencing the Aum.”

“Each being connects in their own way. To humans, the way is through repetition of the Aum.”

“Aum in 108 repetitions.”

“No. Again a human distortion of knowledge shared ages ago. The 108 is manmade not universe ordained. Are you ready?”

“Yes. I think I am.”

“I will lead you. All you need do is repeat after me until you are tuned in. After that, it’s in your hands. Until then, follow me closely. So I can steer you clear of the broken worlds laying shattered inside. You’re not strong enough for those yet. Visiting one could give you a Psychic wound. They are difficult, almost impossible to recover from.”

“I’ve heard enough. Let’s kick this off. Hit it, Tree.”

“Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“Auumm.”

“Longer. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“Aaauuummm”

“Listen closely. It is much longer. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“Keep repeating. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.” Raven croaks, almost as if it is laughing. “Hey, I’m feeling an internal vibration. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“You’re getting it. Keep going. Hold the Aum longer.”

“Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm. Aaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuummmmmm. I’m getting a vision. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“David.”

“Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“Ccooommmme ooonnnn.”

“Come on? Tree what’s that supposed to mean. Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.”

“David, Comme ooonnnn. I want to get to the dunes today before it’s dark. Let’s finish up this hike so we can get to the dunes.”

“Dunes?” How confusing. “Aaaaaauuuuuuummmmmm.” I feel a strong tug on my arm and open my eyes. It’s my wife.

“You’ve had enough time to photograph this dead tree. We need to get going if we’re going to make Great Sand Dunes before sunset.”

“What?” My hand is still pressed against the tree. The bark is cold. There’s no heartbeat. “What the hell? Have you been here the entire time?”

“What do you mean the entire time. It’s only been a few minutes. There’s some bright orange lichen on this petrified stump. I think they would make a great picture.”

“I can’t be worrying about pictures now. There’s so much to do if I’m going to save the world.”

“Save the world?”

“Tree said it was my destiny…” I stopped. A red mist descended over her face quickly replaced by concern.

“Don’t tell me you had another hallucination. David, this is bad…really bad.”

“They are NOT hallucinations. It was real. They were all real. I experience other dimension interconnectedness. I’m chosen. And all my experiences you call hallucinations are connected. Common elements are woven between all of them. Grandfather is the unifying thread. He either shows up or is referenced in the experience.”

“In my professional opinion, one of two things are going on. Either you have cancer and your brain is feeding upon itself or you have dementia, maybe even schizophrenia.”

“Schizophrenia?”

“Yes. There’s no mental illness in your family history so it is more likely early-stage cancer. Hopefully, early enough to be caught and eradicated. When we get back I am going to make the Doctor’s appointment.”

“A shrink or a cancer doctor?”

“Both! We are going to get to the bottom of this insanity.”

“Insanity? Nice joke.”

“I’m not being funny. I am worried.”

“Ok. Ok. We will set up appointments. Shrink first so I can prove to you I’m not crazy.”

“Thank you. Now, let’s walk over to that outcropping. It is picturesque. Then we can drive to the dunes. I can’t wait to climb the great sand dunes. You know how much I love sand dunes.”

    Tree is We But We are Not Tree The long, leisurely drive from Garden of the Gods to the Comfort Inn in Alamosa where we will hole up during our visit to the Great Sand Dunes National Park takes us by the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument.

[adambstingus]

5 Movie Conflicts That Only Happened To Advance The Plot

Action heroes need to overcome obstacles before they kick all of the asses presented to them in chronological order. After all, their victories need to feel like they were earned, through much struggle and hardship. But sometimes screenwriters can’t think of a good way to accomplish that, so they whip up some absurd personal or bureaucratic nonsense instead, like being refused service at the DMV because you’re wearing a beer helmet. It’s part of our religion, Janice. Look it up.

5

The Rebellion in Rogue One Wants To Surrender To A Threat They Don’t Think Exists

In Star Wars: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story About Star Wars, Jyn Erso, the Star Wars character who sounds most like an Asian car model, informs the Rebellion about the existence of the Death Star. A few members of the Rebel Council support her plan to steal the Death Star’s schematics, but most either don’t believe that the weapon exists, think it’s all a trap, or decide that they should surrender to the Empire in the face of such overwhelming superiority instead. Eventually, the Council leans toward disbanding the Rebellion … because of a weapon half of them don’t believe is real. Wait … what?

Oh, and the reason some of them don’t trust Jyn in the first place is because she’s the daughter of the Death Star’s designer … which is also the exact same reason they sent her out to find information about the Death Star at the start.

Ultimately, Jyn gives an inspiring speech on the nature of hope … to which the Council responds with a series of fart noises. Remember, the Rebellion has already been fighting for years, and was formed entirely to wage a series of risky battles against a much more powerful foe; the only reason they were being doubtful here is because the movie needed a drama infusion, stat. Luckily, the Rebel Fleet eventually does show up and help out, right when things were looking their most grim. Sadly, we weren’t shown the scene where the Rebellion’s Death Star Truthers rounded up the rest of the council and made them watch YouTube videos until they all saw the light.

4

The Guy In Charge Of Defense In Independence Day Objects To Defending Things

If everyone on Team Good Guy agrees that their daring plan to stop the villains is brilliant and flawless, that kills the suspense. So Independence Day gave us Secretary of Defence Albert Nimziki, whose sole purpose is doubting our heroes, even if there’s absolutely no reason to do so.

When Jeff Goldblum first suggests his desperate plan to stop the overwhelmingly powerful aliens by giving their mothership a virus, Nimziki’s response is “This is ridiculous” before calling it a “cockamamie plan” and complaining that they don’t have the manpower or resources. He then offers absolutely no alternative suggestions, despite the fact that that is his entire job.

Remember, they’re coming up with this plan after:

A) They discovered the aliens intended to exterminate humanity.

B) Most of the military had already been wiped out, and …

C) Pretty much every other option, including the use of nuclear missiles, had failed.

So Nimziki’s objections boil down to “Nuh uh, this will never work, let’s just sit around and wait to die instead.” He’s the friend who shoots down every pizza topping after claiming he’s “up for whatever.” The plan, of course, works — making Nimziki look both cowardly and stupid for ever doubting it. After all, what good is saving the world if it’s not in somebody’s face?

3

Die Hard 2‘s Captain Lorenzo Hates John McClane For Absolutely No Reason

Die Hard 2: Die Hard In An Airport features the beginning of John McClane’s transition from relatable everyman to a cursed muscle lord doomed to encounter elaborate criminal activities wherever he roams. Early on in this extremely pre-9/11 film, McClane gets in a shootout at the baggage claim, and discovers that the man he just killed is a mercenary who was supposed to be dead already. He takes this suspicious information to airport police chief Captain Lorenzo, who immediately … becomes a huge bureaucratic pain in the ass, solely because a more reasonable response would end the movie in about 15 minutes.

Lorenzo complains about McClane breaking regulations, doesn’t bother to properly investigate the crime scene, and accuses McClane of gunning down a luggage thief and blowing it out of proportion because his fame has gone to his head. All of which is completely unwarranted. And this is after McClane points out that the dead man was carrying an obscure, expensive gun designed to beat airport security which — even if Lorenzo wasn’t genre-savvy enough to realise that he was in a sequel by now — should have clued him in that he was dealing with more than a desperate underwear thief.

Instead, Lorenzo has McClane thrown out of his office. Then, even after the full scope of the attack on the airport is revealed when the bad guys crash a plane, killing hundreds, Lorenzo threatens to throw McClane in jail. He eventually does try to arrest John, before finally accepting that his whole purpose in life is to be a designated naysayer, and comes around. In the end, Lorenzo apologises to McClane by tearing up a parking ticket he got at the start of the movie. It’s unclear how he deals with the psychic weight of the hundreds of deceased souls that died horrifically because he “just plain didn’t like the dude’s face.”

2

The Argument Over Detonating The Nuke In Armageddon Is Pointless Drama

In Armageddon, a team of oil drillers are recruited to blow up an asteroid that threatens to annihilate all life on Earth, because Michael Bay went to film school in a burning dumpster. The plan is to drill 800 feet into the asteroid and then detonate a nuke inside it, because a direct hit on the surface of the improbably tough rock would be ineffective. But then, of course, there’s a plot twist, wherein the government decides to remotely detonate the nuke on the surface …

Soldiers forcibly occupy mission control down on Earth, while up in space, William Fichtner gets his space-gun out to space-seize the space-nuke.

“The president’s advisors feel that the drilling isn’t working,” General Keith David tells a lead scientist inexplicably played by Billy Bob Thornton, even though Thornton points out that “they haven’t drilled the damn hole yet.”

Every intelligent (relatively speaking) person in the movie has made it explicitly clear at this point that detonating the nuke on the surface will do approximately fuck all to the asteroid, yet the government’s argument is “Our plan might not work, so we’re going to switch to a plan that definitely won’t work,” because apparently this 150-minute movie about blowing up a big rock needed to be padded out.

And this comes before the drilling team faces their more serious obstacles, like one of their drills breaking down. This scene might make sense if it came when the heroes were really struggling — a last-minute act of desperation — but as it is, it feels like the president is secretly siding with the asteroid, a foreign force that clearly doesn’t care at all for our well-being. Colluding with it, even.

1

Just Offer Peter Parker A Wrestling Contract

Early in 2002’s Spider-Man, which was the Spider-Man before the Spider-Man, Peter wanted to impress Mary Jane by buying a car, because he thinks he lives in 1950s rural Nebraska and not modern-day New York City. Luckily, he finds a newspaper ad promising the exact amount of money he needs. Movie magic! The catch: He has to survive three minutes in the ring with a pro wrestler at a sketchy cage match. Lord knows we’ve all been there.

Parker not only survives the match but also wins it. It looks like he just made an easy 3,000 bucks, but the sleazy promotor only gives him a hundred, arguing that Parker didn’t earn the money because the fight only lasted two minutes. The promoter is then immediately robbed, and Parker lets the thief escape in retaliation. But that same thief soon kills Uncle Ben, Spider-Man 3 is eventually made, and all of life is revealed to be a cruel puzzle with no solution.

But let’s back up. Why did the promotor stiff Parker in the first place? Yeah, he only lasted two minutes (heh), but he just beat up a professional wrestler with inhuman strength, acrobatics, and freaking web slingers. The crowd went from cheering for his grisly death to loving him within moments. Fans would pay damn good money to see more of a mysterious masked man who can walk up walls, jump unnatural heights, and kick serious ass. That’s why we keep making Spider-Man movies, at any rate. Why on Earth wouldn’t the manager sign him up on the spot, and make Parker the guy who annihilates mooks answering the newspaper ad?

But no, Uncle Ben Must Die, so the promotor prioritizes being a jerk to Parker over doing his job and getting rich. Maybe when the Spider-Man franchise is inevitably rebooted again in a few years this plot point can be addressed.

Molly is an avid reader and writer with all sorts of millennial dreams. Is also willing to write for food. Joel B. Kirk is a San Francisco Bay Area resident. He plans to produce and act in his own films for the masses, as well as write for television someday.

For more things that make no sense in films, check out 7 Movies That Made You Ignore That Their Plots Make No Sense and 5 Dumb Things Movie Characters Do Only to Advance the Plot.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 4 Plot Holes You Didn’t Notice in Your Favorite Movies, and other videos you won’t see on the site!

Follow us on Facebook, and we’ll follow you everywhere.

Get intimate with our new podcast Cracked Gets Personal. Subscribe for great episodes like What You Don’t Know About The Opiate Epidemic and How Illegal Drugs Saved Our Lives, available wherever you get your podcasts.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/166414854562

[samanthasroberts]

5 Movie Conflicts That Only Happened To Advance The Plot

Action heroes need to overcome obstacles before they kick all of the asses presented to them in chronological order. After all, their victories need to feel like they were earned, through much struggle and hardship. But sometimes screenwriters can’t think of a good way to accomplish that, so they whip up some absurd personal or bureaucratic nonsense instead, like being refused service at the DMV because you’re wearing a beer helmet. It’s part of our religion, Janice. Look it up.

5

The Rebellion in Rogue One Wants To Surrender To A Threat They Don’t Think Exists

In Star Wars: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story About Star Wars, Jyn Erso, the Star Wars character who sounds most like an Asian car model, informs the Rebellion about the existence of the Death Star. A few members of the Rebel Council support her plan to steal the Death Star’s schematics, but most either don’t believe that the weapon exists, think it’s all a trap, or decide that they should surrender to the Empire in the face of such overwhelming superiority instead. Eventually, the Council leans toward disbanding the Rebellion … because of a weapon half of them don’t believe is real. Wait … what?

Oh, and the reason some of them don’t trust Jyn in the first place is because she’s the daughter of the Death Star’s designer … which is also the exact same reason they sent her out to find information about the Death Star at the start.

Ultimately, Jyn gives an inspiring speech on the nature of hope … to which the Council responds with a series of fart noises. Remember, the Rebellion has already been fighting for years, and was formed entirely to wage a series of risky battles against a much more powerful foe; the only reason they were being doubtful here is because the movie needed a drama infusion, stat. Luckily, the Rebel Fleet eventually does show up and help out, right when things were looking their most grim. Sadly, we weren’t shown the scene where the Rebellion’s Death Star Truthers rounded up the rest of the council and made them watch YouTube videos until they all saw the light.

4

The Guy In Charge Of Defense In Independence Day Objects To Defending Things

If everyone on Team Good Guy agrees that their daring plan to stop the villains is brilliant and flawless, that kills the suspense. So Independence Day gave us Secretary of Defence Albert Nimziki, whose sole purpose is doubting our heroes, even if there’s absolutely no reason to do so.

When Jeff Goldblum first suggests his desperate plan to stop the overwhelmingly powerful aliens by giving their mothership a virus, Nimziki’s response is “This is ridiculous” before calling it a “cockamamie plan” and complaining that they don’t have the manpower or resources. He then offers absolutely no alternative suggestions, despite the fact that that is his entire job.

Remember, they’re coming up with this plan after:

A) They discovered the aliens intended to exterminate humanity.

B) Most of the military had already been wiped out, and …

C) Pretty much every other option, including the use of nuclear missiles, had failed.

So Nimziki’s objections boil down to “Nuh uh, this will never work, let’s just sit around and wait to die instead.” He’s the friend who shoots down every pizza topping after claiming he’s “up for whatever.” The plan, of course, works — making Nimziki look both cowardly and stupid for ever doubting it. After all, what good is saving the world if it’s not in somebody’s face?

3

Die Hard 2‘s Captain Lorenzo Hates John McClane For Absolutely No Reason

Die Hard 2: Die Hard In An Airport features the beginning of John McClane’s transition from relatable everyman to a cursed muscle lord doomed to encounter elaborate criminal activities wherever he roams. Early on in this extremely pre-9/11 film, McClane gets in a shootout at the baggage claim, and discovers that the man he just killed is a mercenary who was supposed to be dead already. He takes this suspicious information to airport police chief Captain Lorenzo, who immediately … becomes a huge bureaucratic pain in the ass, solely because a more reasonable response would end the movie in about 15 minutes.

Lorenzo complains about McClane breaking regulations, doesn’t bother to properly investigate the crime scene, and accuses McClane of gunning down a luggage thief and blowing it out of proportion because his fame has gone to his head. All of which is completely unwarranted. And this is after McClane points out that the dead man was carrying an obscure, expensive gun designed to beat airport security which — even if Lorenzo wasn’t genre-savvy enough to realise that he was in a sequel by now — should have clued him in that he was dealing with more than a desperate underwear thief.

Instead, Lorenzo has McClane thrown out of his office. Then, even after the full scope of the attack on the airport is revealed when the bad guys crash a plane, killing hundreds, Lorenzo threatens to throw McClane in jail. He eventually does try to arrest John, before finally accepting that his whole purpose in life is to be a designated naysayer, and comes around. In the end, Lorenzo apologises to McClane by tearing up a parking ticket he got at the start of the movie. It’s unclear how he deals with the psychic weight of the hundreds of deceased souls that died horrifically because he “just plain didn’t like the dude’s face.”

2

The Argument Over Detonating The Nuke In Armageddon Is Pointless Drama

In Armageddon, a team of oil drillers are recruited to blow up an asteroid that threatens to annihilate all life on Earth, because Michael Bay went to film school in a burning dumpster. The plan is to drill 800 feet into the asteroid and then detonate a nuke inside it, because a direct hit on the surface of the improbably tough rock would be ineffective. But then, of course, there’s a plot twist, wherein the government decides to remotely detonate the nuke on the surface …

Soldiers forcibly occupy mission control down on Earth, while up in space, William Fichtner gets his space-gun out to space-seize the space-nuke.

“The president’s advisors feel that the drilling isn’t working,” General Keith David tells a lead scientist inexplicably played by Billy Bob Thornton, even though Thornton points out that “they haven’t drilled the damn hole yet.”

Every intelligent (relatively speaking) person in the movie has made it explicitly clear at this point that detonating the nuke on the surface will do approximately fuck all to the asteroid, yet the government’s argument is “Our plan might not work, so we’re going to switch to a plan that definitely won’t work,” because apparently this 150-minute movie about blowing up a big rock needed to be padded out.

And this comes before the drilling team faces their more serious obstacles, like one of their drills breaking down. This scene might make sense if it came when the heroes were really struggling — a last-minute act of desperation — but as it is, it feels like the president is secretly siding with the asteroid, a foreign force that clearly doesn’t care at all for our well-being. Colluding with it, even.

1

Just Offer Peter Parker A Wrestling Contract

Early in 2002’s Spider-Man, which was the Spider-Man before the Spider-Man, Peter wanted to impress Mary Jane by buying a car, because he thinks he lives in 1950s rural Nebraska and not modern-day New York City. Luckily, he finds a newspaper ad promising the exact amount of money he needs. Movie magic! The catch: He has to survive three minutes in the ring with a pro wrestler at a sketchy cage match. Lord knows we’ve all been there.

Parker not only survives the match but also wins it. It looks like he just made an easy 3,000 bucks, but the sleazy promotor only gives him a hundred, arguing that Parker didn’t earn the money because the fight only lasted two minutes. The promoter is then immediately robbed, and Parker lets the thief escape in retaliation. But that same thief soon kills Uncle Ben, Spider-Man 3 is eventually made, and all of life is revealed to be a cruel puzzle with no solution.

But let’s back up. Why did the promotor stiff Parker in the first place? Yeah, he only lasted two minutes (heh), but he just beat up a professional wrestler with inhuman strength, acrobatics, and freaking web slingers. The crowd went from cheering for his grisly death to loving him within moments. Fans would pay damn good money to see more of a mysterious masked man who can walk up walls, jump unnatural heights, and kick serious ass. That’s why we keep making Spider-Man movies, at any rate. Why on Earth wouldn’t the manager sign him up on the spot, and make Parker the guy who annihilates mooks answering the newspaper ad?

But no, Uncle Ben Must Die, so the promotor prioritizes being a jerk to Parker over doing his job and getting rich. Maybe when the Spider-Man franchise is inevitably rebooted again in a few years this plot point can be addressed.

Molly is an avid reader and writer with all sorts of millennial dreams. Is also willing to write for food. Joel B. Kirk is a San Francisco Bay Area resident. He plans to produce and act in his own films for the masses, as well as write for television someday.

For more things that make no sense in films, check out 7 Movies That Made You Ignore That Their Plots Make No Sense and 5 Dumb Things Movie Characters Do Only to Advance the Plot.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 4 Plot Holes You Didn’t Notice in Your Favorite Movies, and other videos you won’t see on the site!

Follow us on Facebook, and we’ll follow you everywhere.

Get intimate with our new podcast Cracked Gets Personal. Subscribe for great episodes like What You Don’t Know About The Opiate Epidemic and How Illegal Drugs Saved Our Lives, available wherever you get your podcasts.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/

[allofbeercom]

5 Movie Conflicts That Only Happened To Advance The Plot

Action heroes need to overcome obstacles before they kick all of the asses presented to them in chronological order. After all, their victories need to feel like they were earned, through much struggle and hardship. But sometimes screenwriters can’t think of a good way to accomplish that, so they whip up some absurd personal or bureaucratic nonsense instead, like being refused service at the DMV because you’re wearing a beer helmet. It’s part of our religion, Janice. Look it up.

5

The Rebellion in Rogue One Wants To Surrender To A Threat They Don’t Think Exists

In Star Wars: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story About Star Wars, Jyn Erso, the Star Wars character who sounds most like an Asian car model, informs the Rebellion about the existence of the Death Star. A few members of the Rebel Council support her plan to steal the Death Star’s schematics, but most either don’t believe that the weapon exists, think it’s all a trap, or decide that they should surrender to the Empire in the face of such overwhelming superiority instead. Eventually, the Council leans toward disbanding the Rebellion … because of a weapon half of them don’t believe is real. Wait … what?

Oh, and the reason some of them don’t trust Jyn in the first place is because she’s the daughter of the Death Star’s designer … which is also the exact same reason they sent her out to find information about the Death Star at the start.

Ultimately, Jyn gives an inspiring speech on the nature of hope … to which the Council responds with a series of fart noises. Remember, the Rebellion has already been fighting for years, and was formed entirely to wage a series of risky battles against a much more powerful foe; the only reason they were being doubtful here is because the movie needed a drama infusion, stat. Luckily, the Rebel Fleet eventually does show up and help out, right when things were looking their most grim. Sadly, we weren’t shown the scene where the Rebellion’s Death Star Truthers rounded up the rest of the council and made them watch YouTube videos until they all saw the light.

4

The Guy In Charge Of Defense In Independence Day Objects To Defending Things

If everyone on Team Good Guy agrees that their daring plan to stop the villains is brilliant and flawless, that kills the suspense. So Independence Day gave us Secretary of Defence Albert Nimziki, whose sole purpose is doubting our heroes, even if there’s absolutely no reason to do so.

When Jeff Goldblum first suggests his desperate plan to stop the overwhelmingly powerful aliens by giving their mothership a virus, Nimziki’s response is “This is ridiculous” before calling it a “cockamamie plan” and complaining that they don’t have the manpower or resources. He then offers absolutely no alternative suggestions, despite the fact that that is his entire job.

Remember, they’re coming up with this plan after:

A) They discovered the aliens intended to exterminate humanity.

B) Most of the military had already been wiped out, and …

C) Pretty much every other option, including the use of nuclear missiles, had failed.

So Nimziki’s objections boil down to “Nuh uh, this will never work, let’s just sit around and wait to die instead.” He’s the friend who shoots down every pizza topping after claiming he’s “up for whatever.” The plan, of course, works — making Nimziki look both cowardly and stupid for ever doubting it. After all, what good is saving the world if it’s not in somebody’s face?

3

Die Hard 2‘s Captain Lorenzo Hates John McClane For Absolutely No Reason

Die Hard 2: Die Hard In An Airport features the beginning of John McClane’s transition from relatable everyman to a cursed muscle lord doomed to encounter elaborate criminal activities wherever he roams. Early on in this extremely pre-9/11 film, McClane gets in a shootout at the baggage claim, and discovers that the man he just killed is a mercenary who was supposed to be dead already. He takes this suspicious information to airport police chief Captain Lorenzo, who immediately … becomes a huge bureaucratic pain in the ass, solely because a more reasonable response would end the movie in about 15 minutes.

Lorenzo complains about McClane breaking regulations, doesn’t bother to properly investigate the crime scene, and accuses McClane of gunning down a luggage thief and blowing it out of proportion because his fame has gone to his head. All of which is completely unwarranted. And this is after McClane points out that the dead man was carrying an obscure, expensive gun designed to beat airport security which — even if Lorenzo wasn’t genre-savvy enough to realise that he was in a sequel by now — should have clued him in that he was dealing with more than a desperate underwear thief.

Instead, Lorenzo has McClane thrown out of his office. Then, even after the full scope of the attack on the airport is revealed when the bad guys crash a plane, killing hundreds, Lorenzo threatens to throw McClane in jail. He eventually does try to arrest John, before finally accepting that his whole purpose in life is to be a designated naysayer, and comes around. In the end, Lorenzo apologises to McClane by tearing up a parking ticket he got at the start of the movie. It’s unclear how he deals with the psychic weight of the hundreds of deceased souls that died horrifically because he “just plain didn’t like the dude’s face.”

2

The Argument Over Detonating The Nuke In Armageddon Is Pointless Drama

In Armageddon, a team of oil drillers are recruited to blow up an asteroid that threatens to annihilate all life on Earth, because Michael Bay went to film school in a burning dumpster. The plan is to drill 800 feet into the asteroid and then detonate a nuke inside it, because a direct hit on the surface of the improbably tough rock would be ineffective. But then, of course, there’s a plot twist, wherein the government decides to remotely detonate the nuke on the surface …

Soldiers forcibly occupy mission control down on Earth, while up in space, William Fichtner gets his space-gun out to space-seize the space-nuke.

“The president’s advisors feel that the drilling isn’t working,” General Keith David tells a lead scientist inexplicably played by Billy Bob Thornton, even though Thornton points out that “they haven’t drilled the damn hole yet.”

Every intelligent (relatively speaking) person in the movie has made it explicitly clear at this point that detonating the nuke on the surface will do approximately fuck all to the asteroid, yet the government’s argument is “Our plan might not work, so we’re going to switch to a plan that definitely won’t work,” because apparently this 150-minute movie about blowing up a big rock needed to be padded out.

And this comes before the drilling team faces their more serious obstacles, like one of their drills breaking down. This scene might make sense if it came when the heroes were really struggling — a last-minute act of desperation — but as it is, it feels like the president is secretly siding with the asteroid, a foreign force that clearly doesn’t care at all for our well-being. Colluding with it, even.

1

Just Offer Peter Parker A Wrestling Contract

Early in 2002’s Spider-Man, which was the Spider-Man before the Spider-Man, Peter wanted to impress Mary Jane by buying a car, because he thinks he lives in 1950s rural Nebraska and not modern-day New York City. Luckily, he finds a newspaper ad promising the exact amount of money he needs. Movie magic! The catch: He has to survive three minutes in the ring with a pro wrestler at a sketchy cage match. Lord knows we’ve all been there.

Parker not only survives the match but also wins it. It looks like he just made an easy 3,000 bucks, but the sleazy promotor only gives him a hundred, arguing that Parker didn’t earn the money because the fight only lasted two minutes. The promoter is then immediately robbed, and Parker lets the thief escape in retaliation. But that same thief soon kills Uncle Ben, Spider-Man 3 is eventually made, and all of life is revealed to be a cruel puzzle with no solution.

But let’s back up. Why did the promotor stiff Parker in the first place? Yeah, he only lasted two minutes (heh), but he just beat up a professional wrestler with inhuman strength, acrobatics, and freaking web slingers. The crowd went from cheering for his grisly death to loving him within moments. Fans would pay damn good money to see more of a mysterious masked man who can walk up walls, jump unnatural heights, and kick serious ass. That’s why we keep making Spider-Man movies, at any rate. Why on Earth wouldn’t the manager sign him up on the spot, and make Parker the guy who annihilates mooks answering the newspaper ad?

But no, Uncle Ben Must Die, so the promotor prioritizes being a jerk to Parker over doing his job and getting rich. Maybe when the Spider-Man franchise is inevitably rebooted again in a few years this plot point can be addressed.

Molly is an avid reader and writer with all sorts of millennial dreams. Is also willing to write for food. Joel B. Kirk is a San Francisco Bay Area resident. He plans to produce and act in his own films for the masses, as well as write for television someday.

For more things that make no sense in films, check out 7 Movies That Made You Ignore That Their Plots Make No Sense and 5 Dumb Things Movie Characters Do Only to Advance the Plot.

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from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/