#wrote this 8 months ago

[sluttyseacadet]

WHERE THE STARS MEET THE SEA

Elendil & Estrid, Isildur/Estrid - Comfort, Fluff

During one sleepless night on the shores of Armenelos several weeks after her arrival in Númenor, Estrid meets a certain sea captain.

Read on AO3

“Do you come here often?” was all she could manage. He nodded, although she noticed the flicker of sadness in his eyes. “I used to come here almost every night for months.” He looked like he wished to say more, but decided against it, his expression hardening again. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around here before,” he added, peering at her with curiosity. I’ve been away for some time,” she said. “I arrived back only a few weeks ago, from Middle Earth.” There was a sudden shift in his expression. “My son also returned from there not too long ago.” Her eyes widened and there was a brief pause, both of them coming to a slow realization. “You’re Isildur’s father,” she gasped softly. Although there was still a slight puzzlement on the man's face, he nodded. "Elendil,” he added, although he was still trying to piece everything together. "How do you –" “He is my – I'm his…” she trailed off, clearing her throat. “I’m his…friend.”

[canarydarity]

(haha happy new year! Heres 6K words of DL ranchers fighting 🤩 [ao3]) dull&slow

There was no feeling like a respawn; it was like jumping off of a building with nothing below to catch you, only to discover you had in fact been fastened into a harness when the bungee cord snapped taut. Except, it also wasn’t like that at all, because the mechanics of respawning—regardless of permanence—did nothing to curb the feeling of death, the actual sensation of dying. All it really did was remove the relief that one might experience had death been final, for what is death but a merciful release from pain? 

Jimmy imagined that there were few things that could even begin to feel like what a respawn did—the simultaneous cracking of all your joints at once in a manner akin to a human glow stick; ice cream that had been left out on the counter to melt but was then shoved back into the freezer again after only making it to that indescribably viscous stage between solid and liquid; a jam in a paper shredder—the kind where half of the page is relieved and sticking out of the top, completely intact and fine, while the rest is in ribbons below, still warm to the touch at the recent dismemberment. 

And that was only the physical aspect—the violent draw of your subconscious from the brink of death to perfect health mid-panic was something else entirely. It never got any easier, no matter how many times he did it (and Jimmy did it a lot). 

This was their second respawn, but it was different in the way that it happened unlike it did the first time: together. It was new but not unexpected to shoot up in bed at the ranch, cows mooing to his left and moonlight peaking through the window to his right. Jimmy heaved some breaths in and out; logically, he knew he was fine, but his body remembered the vertigo of falling. 

Tango was next to him, still lying back in their small bed staring at the ceiling. 

For a few beats, they were quiet, they caught their breath. The buzz of the cicadas outside was heavy in a way, droning alongside the cacophony of cows and the muted clucks of chickens from below ground. 

When his eyes began to itch and dry out from staring at nothing and his heaving sounded more like huffing, Jimmy broke the silence first. 

“I was leanin’ over the edge…why was I leaning over the edge?” His words were incredulous and barely there, only formed enough to actually get them out of his mouth but not any further. Had Tango not been right next to him, he probably wouldn’t have heard. 

Tango sat up, “Jim, hey–hey!” One of Tango’s hands reached behind Jimmy and settled on his shoulder, the other moved across himself to settle on Jimmy’s arm. “It’s okay! It’s only our second life, it was bound to happen sooner or la—”

Jimmy blinked out of his daze to realize Tango was soothing him; It was not shocking in the way it hadn’t happened before—it had actually, in fact, happened quite often—but in the way it was happening now. the combination of noises pushing in all around the ranch, having just lived through dying, again, and Tango’s warmth that he would’ve appreciated any other time, made it all immediately too much. Tango was soothing him—Tango misunderstood. 

It was instinct to throw Tango’s arm off of him, to scatter, to stand and create distance, and had Jimmy been in the right state of mind he would’ve explained that and apologized, but Tango’s shocked offense was the last thing he was focusing on. 

“No, you—why was I leaning over the edge?” 

It was the only thought that had run through his head since he’d woken up and stopped feeling like an egg mid-scramble. Not worry about being on red life, not concern about having been the one to return the favor of killing Tango this time, not upset that things were shaping up like they always did. 

Tango wasn’t necessarily wrong to assume that that’s where Jimmy’s thoughts had gone, as that’s usually where they would have. But this was not Jimmy when he was anxious, when he was guilty; This was Jimmy when he was mad.

He was pacing, but he wasn’t aware when it had started. He was just—he couldn’t stop thinking about fish. Or—no, not fish, parasites; there was this parasite he’d heard about that matures in the eye of a fish but reproduces in the belly of a bird. Jimmy had heard this and thought what a stupid, impossible thing—and he’d thought he had shit luck.  

That was until he’d heard the rest. Under control of the parasite, infected fish swim closer and closer to the surface of the water, leading it to be spotted and picked up by a bird; the parasite ends up where it needed to be all along, and that damned stupid fish is what gets it there. It doesn’t know what it’s doing, it’s not choosing to swim near the surface—by that point, the parasite is choosing for it—but it’s still— 

It just—

The fish gets itself eaten, essentially. The scariest part, Jimmy thought, was that he wasn’t sure the fish even knew. Was it aware it had been infected? Or was it swimming up and up and up and thinking what the fuck am I doing? Was it resting precariously below the surface, watching in fear as the birds circle, knowing all it had to do to avoid being eaten was swim the fuck back down, but for some reason, it just couldn’t?

Jimmy just—why was he leaning over the edge? His hands were wrapped around his stomach, griping his sides, hard. His teeth were grinding together, or he was biting his lip, or he was mumbling nonsense that even he didn’t know what meant. 

The floorboards of the ranch creaked and groaned with his pacing, and Tango remained watching from the bed, his face still painted in confusion. 

A noise—something caught between a whine and a grumble—worked its way out of Jimmy's throat, and more words came with it.  

“I saw them with their bows and arrows out—Joel, Etho, Scott—and I—” He shook his head. “We’d have been fine if I just didn’t peak my head over!” 

Jimmy turned back to Tango and pointed at him; Tango blinked, but the accusation delivered wasn’t for him. “And they weren’t even shooting at Grian, at—why weren’t they shooting at anyone else?”

Tango shook his head a little, opened his mouth to reply, but Jimmy wasn’t done. “I don’t understand—I don’t—” he grabbed at his hair and pulled; he bit into his lip again, not stopping when it started to hurt even though he knew Tango must’ve felt the ghost of it too. Jimmy rocked in place, “I even thought it. I thought ‘what are you leaning over the edge for, idiot!’ And then!” 

Jimmy spun, but no form of movement could match the direction of his thoughts, the restlessness of his mind. He felt like he was malfunctioning, every action begun and then subsequently aborted in favor of another; as if he could stop it all if he could just get himself to feel physically how he felt mentally, equilibrium a sort of saving grace. 

Jimmy hit himself in the head once like he could knock things back into place, fix whatever was loose in there–get the paper to start shredding again; in pieces, maybe, things would be okay. There was a call behind him of stop that, hey, none of that! and the bed creaked as Tango finally made the move to stand. 

“I don’t understand,” Jimmy mumbled again. They were inside, but his hair still felt the wind ruffle through it as though he were at high altitude; his hands touched nothing, but he could grip the hardwood of the defense tower all the same, rough and splintering. Joel and Etho had stood so far below, looking up, each with a hand up to their eyes to shield them from the sun. Jimmy remembered every detail about that moment—Grian had been leaning over right next to him. “Stupid parasite and it—why weren’t they shooting at anyone else? All I had to do was not lean over…”

Jimmy startled when Tango spoke again, he’d forgotten for a moment he wasn’t alone. 

“I don’t follow—parasite? What pa—”

Right, he wasn’t alone. 

“Gosh, and I’ve killed you, too, we’re–we’re red!” Jimmy said, facing Tango again. “And we’re back to nothing, we’ve lost everything—the horns, they’d have taken them by now, surely.” The anger from before seeped back into his voice, and Tango kept his space; a part of Jimmy felt bad at that, but he mostly felt validated. The guilt would come later, his chest didn’t house the room to feel so many things at once. 

Though space didn’t mean Tango was willing to stay out of things completely. 

“Jimmy, just hold on, I can’t keep up.” Tango was clearly still thrown by the direction things had gone in—he’d been expecting to reassure, not pacify—but Jimmy didn’t have it in him to stop and explain. His hands out like he was corralling a feral animal, he said, “What are you even…? Slow down, alright.” 

And maybe that was the last straw—his soulmate, known for his rage, asking him to calm, to slow down; the stark contrast between the Tango standing in front of him—hands splayed, face confused but determined—and the Tango who’d needed to be restrained as the ranch smoldered behind them; the fact that it was Jimmy who was being looked at like a time bomb with not even 5 seconds left to spare. 

This time, the accusation was meant for Tango, and Jimmy watched him stumble a little in shock when he received it. He threw his hand out like he’d needed that extra strength to pull the question from him, like his throat wasn’t up for the challenge alone, like he had to prove this was something he wanted to start and start now.  

“Why aren’t you mad?”

Tango’s face wound up with disbelief. “What?” 

Jimmy’s voice wasn’t made to be raised, but he gave it his best effort. It hurt, in a way—his throat not used to the coarse delivery; it hurt more for the fact that he’d made Tango the object of its direction. 

“You’re sitting here, and you’re calm,” he spat. “And—and you’re telling ME to be calm! Me!” Jimmy huffed again at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. “Why aren’t you mad?”

This time as Jimmy spoke, Tango wound down; he visibly CTRL+ALT+DLT-ed, a total system shutdown reboot. His hands dropped back to his sides and he stood up straighter. His face reset until he was just blankly watching Jimmy sputter and steam. He was still in a way Tango rarely was.

Jimmy thought it was the most un-Tango-like thing he’d ever seen, and that just made things worse. 

“Because it was going to happen either way, I could’ve just as eas—” its delivery was flat, like Tango knew he was stepping off of a bear trap but onto a landmine; though he did it anyway, and in most circumstances, his dedication to the idea of if at first you don’t succeed! was something Jimmy found endearing. If it wasn’t clear enough already, this was not most circumstances. 

Jimmy made a noise of dissent. This wasn’t—

“No, not—that’s not what I meant.”

A few beats of silence. They argued with the awkward hesitation of two people who’d never fought before and therefore didn’t know the procedure; neither of them had had time to memorize their lines. Fight was something they didn’t do—partially because they hadn’t been together long enough to garner the need, and partially because they got along with a simplicity they hadn’t expected. There was a question in this lapse between one comment and the next, an are we really going to do this?  

Tango blinked at Jimmy. “You don’t mean why am I not mad at you?” 

It would’ve been an easy out if he had. A way to walk them back to familiar ground—the kind where Jimmy was apologetic and guilty and anxious and Tango was steady and reassuring and kind. 

He couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t part of it; he was a liability, and he would never be over Tango being his collateral damage. 

He looked away from Tango, “Well—”

“Jimmy…” Pity was such an ugly, regretful thing. 

“No! No—yes, that’s not what I mean.” And it really wasn’t—at least, not at first, not completely. That was the undertone that would drive all his decisions and thoughts and feelings, it’s true, but this was different. This was—they’d died, Jimmy killed them, and Tango wasn’t upset about it; moreover, Tango was docile, passive. He was—

“Then I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

—resigned. 

Jimmy didn’t yet look back, because he knew it would be his turn to talk when he did. All that he had to explain lacked the rationale to be said aloud; simply put, he was mad because Tango wasn’t. 

“You’re gonna have to give me something to go off of here, Jim.”

Eyes still fixed resolutely on the wall, Jimmy repeated the only sentiment he really could express at the time. “You’re not mad…” He let the end trail off, embarrassed it was all he had to offer, knowing it was unfair to Tango, knowing a normal person would’ve been able to voice more; just another way Jimmy fell behind. 

“At?”

“At anything!” He was discovering that when he did yell, his voice got high, and he tended to cut off the ends of his words. They shortened, got sucked up into the emotion until they weren’t letters anymore but sounds. “You’re—I had to restrain you, practically, after Scar burned down the ranch! And I wasn’t there, but I heard about last life and I—”

He felt like his sentences were being recorded in takes; start and stop, start—stop, mark! He would sound so much better edited together. He needed a script, surely he’d be able to say the right words had someone else given them to him. He’d do it right then, he knew. Of course arguing, too, was something he wasn’t good at.

Jimmy gestured at Tango, “You’re not mad, at anything, you’re just standin’ here! We’re going to die and it’s like you don’t even…like you’re not upset.” The final clause came out dejected and unsure; it sounded like it belonged to a completely different conversation. If he were reading lines, he’d likely receive notes about consistency and remaining in character. It was hard to do that when he wasn’t sure who he was or was ever supposed to be.

Tango looked no less confused. “That’s how the game works, Jimmy—we’re all going to die at some point.”

“I know that, Tango, I know.” Jimmy bit his lip. “How are you just okay with it?”

Tango’s eyebrows raised in shock, the kind that spoke to his questioning the audacity of something. “Well, I’m not happy about it, bu—”

“You are, though.” 

Eyes narrow, frustration finally starting to seep in, Tango said: “No, I’m not.”

“You are!” This felt more tantrum than argument; more whining about not getting his way than making a point about having been wronged; he wasn’t really sure he had been wronged. At least, not by Tango. But he didn’t know how to rewind, he didn’t think there was a going back. 

“Damnit, Jimmy, I’m not. You think I want to lose this?” 

No, Jimmy didn’t—and that’s why he was so confused. 

“Then why aren’t you angry that’s what I don’t…” This line of questioning wasn’t going to work—he’d already discovered that again and again. He needed to figure out a different direction to head in. “Even now I’m yellin’ at you and you’re just there.”

“So now you’re mad because I’m not yelling at you?” Annoyance, frustration, irritation—they were close, but none of them were what Jimmy wanted. Or—not what he wanted but what he needed. People were mad at him far too often for him to crave it in this uncommon time when no one was, but he needed to know Tango was with him on this.

“No, Tango!” Jimmy whined.

“Well you’re not explaining anything, what am I supposed to think? That’s what it sounds like you’re saying to me!” His voice finally at an above-normal volume, Jimmy shrunk; reality wasn’t ever quite like expectation, was it? The simultaneous relief mixed with the guilt, and everything got worse; he thought maybe that’d been his goal all along, he could see it now that it had occurred. And yet, it wasn’t right; sure, Tango was mad—but he still didn’t get it. Tango kept rambling.

“You’re mad that I’m not mad, and you say it’s not about you, but then you’re also mad I’m not yelling at you—which I have yet to figure out, by the way, and—” 

Following Tango’s wild hand gestures, Jimmy’s eyes landed on their wall of chests, and he knew what he needed to do. He scooted past Tango, who turned to keep facing him, and started rooting around until he found what he was looking for. 

“Oh, and you’re ignoring me too, now, which is neat,” Tango said to his back.

He’d wrapped it in a bundle of spare wool hoping that bed made they wouldn’t need much else and Tango wouldn’t find it on accident, but he pulled it out now and turned back to face Tango gripping it in his hand.

His soulmate shut up immediately, his gaze first on Jimmy’s hand, and then up at his eyes. 

“Where did you get that.” The anger was finally there, but Jimmy didn’t immediately respond. “Why do you have that?”

The golden apple was cold in his hand, colder than he thought it should have been. It glowed slightly in the darkness of the ranch, a yellow hue that spread out in a dim radius; he had the bizarre thought that it would've made a good nightlight had it not been illegal. Jimmy had always been a bit scared of the dark (he’d been pleased, then, when the game had started and he found that his soulmate glowed just the same). He didn’t need the apple sitting on the lid of their chests to provide light—not so long as he had Tango; how ironic then that he only got both or none, that consuming—and therefore getting rid of—the apple would rid him of Tango, too. 

Jimmy didn’t want to be left alone in the dark, but that was sort of why he looked back at Tango and he said, “I think you should eat it.”

“No.” It was both a response and an expression of disbelief rolled into one; a no, this conversation is not happening, not now, and a no way in hell is that thing getting anywhere near my mouth. The stillness was back, but it was more dangerous this time; less resigned, more preparing to strike.

Jimmy repeated himself, lifting his arm and holding the apple between them as he did. “Tango, you should eat it.”

“No.” Tango shook his head. “Jimmy, I said no.” 

“Why not?”

“Why not?” A sardonic, humorless laugh made its way out of Tango, and Jimmy flinched at the sound; a broken echo of their usual selves. “This is a joke, right? There’s something here that I’m missing that makes this all super-happy-funny and we’ll laugh about it in 5 minutes.”

“I’m serious, Tango.”

His hands on his hips, Tango nodded at Jimmy as he said, “you are.” It was deceptively compliant, mockingly understanding. Jimmy was misled often enough in conversation to recognize when he was being set up, but he hadn’t quite yet learned the skill of letting things go; he walked again and again through a door labeled trap! which was how he knew he was doing it now. 

“Yes...” 

“Serious-serious, you’re seriously asking me why I don’t want to eat a golden apple.” Tango doubling down, Tango continuing to misunderstand, the fact that Jimmy couldn’t blame him for any of it, the feeling of everything at once, and the knowledge that all was out of his control; he felt his eyes well up with tears of frustration. 

“That’s what I just said...” Dejected, a clown waiting for the punchline—waiting for others to laugh at his expense; setting up joke after joke, forgetting what it was like to not provide the entertainment. 

“Well I just wanted to confirm before I informed you that that’s the stupidest question I’ve ever been asked in my entire life.” It was at this point that Jimmy let out a breath, and a tear fell with it. “Like, wow it’s almost an accomplishment how stupid that question is.”

“Tango…” He’d plead but he knew he didn’t have the right—not in this conversation of his own devising. It wouldn’t be a lie to say he didn’t know how they got here, but it wouldn’t be the truth either. 

“Really! I’d make you a ribbon to commemorate and everything if we had literally anything to our name at all.”

Catching the opportunity to jump back in, Jimmy took it. “Okay, that—that’s my point.” 

“That I haven't offered to make you a rib—” 

Jimmy cut Tango off again before he could stuff the conversation with more nonsense in defense. “That we have nothing—have had nothing since we started!” 

It was more than just luck—it was design. There came a point where chance ended, a place coincidence didn’t reach. Jimmy had dwelled long enough in the space between unlucky and doomed to know that one was cyclic, intermittent, while the other was ceaseless, fixed. Luck would come and go, but damnation? That kind of fate had been here since before all of them, and would remain long after. 

The subject was taboo, but there wasn’t a single person on this server who was unaware that Jimmy was ill-fated. They poked and prodded him about it, but any level of seriousness to the conversation was buried under veiled laughter and slightly glassy eyes; the kind of sheen to a stare that said even if they tried, they couldn’t know what it was they talked about. To everyone else, Jimmy’s “curse” was a bit they’d overindulged in; to Jimmy, it was a burden he wasn’t allowed to acknowledge. They didn’t let him. 

He’d thought maybe…Tango was being forced to share it; maybe something would click; maybe they’d let him have this for just a few weeks. 

Jimmy didn’t think he could get any more stupid. 

The sarcasm remained equipped, defenses high. “Well, I’m sorry that you think I’m not doing enough to provide for you, Jimmy, bu—”

Jimmy groaned again. “Tango can you be serious for 2 minutes! 2 minutes, please!” 

“No!” Tango was looking at him in a way he never did; a look that conveyed I cannot believe you, the underlying sentiment of dismissal that hurt more for it coming from the only person who’d ever really listened to him without reservation.“You know what, no, I cannot. If you’re going to start a ridiculous argument you’re going to get ridiculous responses—you don’t like it, too bad.”

Jimmy had been involved in a lot of ridiculous arguments before—it came with being a reactive person; he existed with defenses always already half-raised, on high alert for anything that might make him the center of negative attention. 

But this wasn’t one of them. The ranch, Tango, soulmates—they were easily the most valuable things he’d ever had—and that was why he couldn’t have them. He was going to lose it—he was already losing it; it never hurt so much when he was the only thing he had. “Gosh, dont you get it?! There’s nothing we can do—nothing! I’m gonna kill us, you understand?”

It felt good to say it out loud, to watch Tango blink in the face of such bluntness. Somehow his shock betrayed his lucidity, and proved to Jimmy what he’d feared all along: Tango felt it too. 

And that made him circle all the way back to the beginning of this stupid roundabout conversation. Maybe he didn’t know it in so many words, having less time to experience it than Jimmy did but Tango knew—their time was running out; running out in a way it didn’t for anyone else playing these games; running out in a way Jimmy had—until now—never before been allowed to acknowledge. Tango knew. 

And Tango wasn’t mad. 

“Ugh, this is—this is childish, is what it is! I don’t…I can’t believe this is happening. This is—it’s madness.” What did they bother going in circles for if they were just going to end up right where they’d started?

“You’re the one trying to force feed me a golden apple,” Tango grumbled, eyebrows raised and face mocking as he looked at the cows. A few of them were standing against the fence staring back, mooing insistently; a strange audience for a strange night. 

“Because I’m sick of it, Tango!” He was, once again, not the right recipient of this complaint, but what else was Jimmy to do? Seasons of grief built up in one desperate conversation, it was becoming more a list of grievances than a call to action. “Of all of it! Of the jokes, of losing, of—of not being in control of anything, of dying—and you—”

“Me?” Tango huffed, interrupting. “Wow, tell me how you really feel, Jim.”

Jimmy shook his head and looked down, a dismissal; his answer immediate and unhesitant. “No, that’s not what I—” 

Sick of Tango—it wasn’t possible, but he saw in his hands that he still clutched the golden apple, and he was reminded again of all the ways in which he was dangerous; of the ways in which he was the heavy rock tied around Tango’s ankle, sinking slowly despite all efforts. He closed his eyes, tight, hard enough to hurt, and swallowed the bile in his throat. “You know what, yeah. I am.”

He looked up again to look at Tango, forcing himself to look determined, sure. “Yes, I’m sick of you.”

“Jimmy…” There was a warning there, but following warnings was never Jimmy’s strong suit. 

“I am!” He didn’t think there was much of a chance Tango would believe him, but he loved Tango enough that he owed it to him to try. “I’m sick of you and how calm you’re being. We’re losing everything, again, always and you’re just standin’ around and I’m sick of it, Tango.” 

Tango refused to answer, and Jimmy knew to be any convincing at all, he had to commit. 

“I’m sick of this place,” he gestured around the ranch, rebuilt since the fire but still nowhere near as advanced as the other bases on the server; they could try and try and try but they’d never reach that level; they couldn’t be allowed to have an actual chance. “and—and how we built it from nothing and it still didn’t matter. We weren’t even doing that bad, and we’re still losing, and I’m sick of that, too!” 

Tango standing still, Tango with his hands on his hips, Tango refusing to rise to the bait in Jimmy’s words. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe me? Fine, I’ll just keep going then.” He shrugged, undeterred, glancing around as if he wasn’t bothered—and his eyes landed on the cows in the corner, still watching them as if simply their being awake meant they’d be getting fed. Jimmy raised the arm with the golden apple, using it to point at them. “These stupid cows mooing all the time—the chickens—might as well just kill ‘em all now, 'cause they’re not going to matter either, are they? I’m over this place, and—and everyone else treating us like a joke.”

He looked back at Tango when he’d finished. “And I know you’re sick of it too, you are.”

“I’m not.” This, finally, was familiar ground—Jimmy projecting, Tango reassuring—but for once, Jimmy wished his anxiety proven right, he wished Tango would give in and admit that this wasn’t what he wanted—that Jimmy wasn’t what he wanted; not if it meant the absence of a fair chance.  

“You are, you have to be.” And it was somewhat like begging. Jimmy’s never begged someone to be sick of him before—he was usually pleading for the opposite; how backward, how wrong, everything in him screaming what are you doing?! No one else had ever treated him like Tango did. 

He sniffed once—as he was still crying—and kept listing things; the sort of fears it would kill him if Tango validated, but he said them anyway. If there was any chance it’d get Tango to eat the apple and be safe. 

“You’re sick of having to cater to me, right? Of having to answer a million questions and reassure.” Tango began to shake his head, but Jimmy ignored it and kept going, stepping closer to his soulmate. 

“And I bet you’re sick of losing, too. You don’t want to lose, Tango, not again, right?” It was a low blow, but Tango didn’t look hurt so much as he looked sad; he accepted Jimmy’s meanness as a product of his fear, and he curbed his offense to make room for the heartbreak. 

Figures that Jimmy starts a needless argument insulting Tango endlessly and was still the most pitied in the room. He didn’t know if it was a product of his selfishness or Tango’s altruism, but the effect remained the same. 

Within arms reach at last, Tango raised a hand but stopped it midway between them, unsure if breaching this distance was yet allowed. When Jimmy didn’t do anything about it, Tango lowered his hand until it rested on the front-facing part of Jimmy’s shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, not trusting that this was over.

Jimmy mirrored Tango with his own hand, feeling the warmth of Tango’s vest and above-average temperature below—the heat that’d been keeping him warm at night when they couldn’t splurge on extra blankets or were sleeping in a half-burned-down building or just because. He only allowed himself to feel it for a second before he pushed—not hard, but enough to make Tango take a step back, more because he wasn’t expecting it than due to force. 

“Come on,” Jimmy pled. “Fight back. Get mad, hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy stepped forward and pushed again, both hands; not harder but more firm. “Fight back, Tango, come on.”

“No.” Tango’s face was scrunched together in the most vehement disagreement he could give, and, out of options—out of energy—Jimmy made another noise somewhere between a whine and a groan and raised his hands again, only for Tango to catch them this time and drag Jimmy closer; dropping his hands the second he was within holding distance, one of Tagno’s arms wrapped around him and the other cradled the back of Jimmy’s head as he pulled it down towards his shoulder. Their height difference made it difficult at first, but they’d been practicing for weeks. 

Jimmy went without protest, arms at Tango’s waist, screwing his eyes shut tight enough that he could almost pretend he didn’t hear the I’ve got you’s that he didn’t deserve but Tango was nonetheless whispering to the side of his head. He wanted to protest—or, no, he wanted to want to protest; to keep trying until Tango understood, until Jimmy screwed up enough that Tango got fed up and left the way anyone else would’ve done weeks ago, possibly just upon finding out they were paired. 

“You’re okay—we’re okay,” Tango said. “I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay,” hand steady on the back of Jimmy’s head, holding fast when he tried to shake it and express his opposition. Jimmy didn’t think that ‘okay’ had a place here, not for them, not anymore. 

They were on their last life now, he could feel the effects of being red thrumming through him, though they weren’t as much to blame for the damage he’d caused as he wished; this disaster, like most, was entirely Jimmy’s own. 

Still murmuring and offering reassurance, fingers of one hand still scratching through Jimmy’s hair, Tango used his other to gently pry the golden apple from Jimmy—no longer putting up a fight—and toss it away without looking until it rolled on the wood flooring through the gate of the cow pen. Jimmy watched, head still on Tango’s shoulder, as the cows shuffled around for the lobbed apple, mooing increasingly louder until, after a crunch or two, it was assumed no longer there. 

He felt more so than heard Tango clear his throat, the motion vibrating through Jimmy like a warning. “I am mad,” Tango whispered, voice only half-formed at the low volume. “I am,” he repeated, “don’t think I’m not.” His tone the kind of calm that only gave way to true anger. “But what can we do?”

Jimmy closed his eyes. He didn’t know. 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

They’re in bed after, facing each other in the dark; Tango watching Jimmy, Jimmy watching their clasped hands between them. Tango’s thumb ran along the ridges and valleys of his knuckles, waiting for something, though he didn’t know what. In his mind, Jimmy was running through all he had to offer—the things he should say, the things he couldn’t voice—but what he kept getting stuck on was:

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Tango said; not exasperated, not upset, just matter of fact. 

Jimmy raised his eyes to Tangos, shaking his head as much as he could while lying down, not willing to risk any more miscommunication, “I’m not sick of it here.” 

“I know, Jimmy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Tango pulled their joined hands until Jimmy scooted forward, head under Tango’s chin, all not forgotten but, at the moment, behind them. They were on their red life, after all—there were other things to worry about. 

Jimmy knew that the fact that Tango loved him shouldn’t be one of them, but when it was more than he wanted to live, it was. There was nothing he could do about it now. They would wake up in bed tomorrow and, maybe if they were lucky, the day after that—but there wouldn't be another respawn. They were out of time, out of options—this was it. 

Tango loved him, Tango wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t need to press his ear further into Tango’s chest to hear his heartbeat—not when it was an echo of his own—but he did it anyway and tried not to number the beats like a countdown, to assign them values and limitations. 

He squeezed Tango tighter, comfort disregarded; it was an offering where words had previously failed him, though there was no guarantee that his message would translate this way either. Physicality was another language Jimmy had never gained proficiency in—pretty much any method of communication verbal or non-verbal was—but he owed it to Tango to try. The trace of his fingers along Tango’s spine said I’m sorry, his breath on Tango’s chest whispered of how he’d spare Tango’s heart from his if he could; forehead to collarbone asked if things could still be normal tomorrow, since there was now a very real possibility that tomorrow was all they had. 

He didn’t bother interpreting the response, focus lost as Jimmy tried and failed not to drift away on the subliminal messaging of his own; that this was his loss, his failure, his fault. 

If he’d tried, maybe he’d have read the brush of Tango’s fingers through his hair as I don’t mind, the press of lips to the top of his head as reaffirming the deliberate choice being made—the decision to stay, to be a part of this. 

But he didn’t. Jimmy was stuck, and not at all like he had thought. Maybe he wasn’t the fish, maybe he was the parasite; the birds were circling and Jimmy could beg all he wanted, but Tango loved him. Tango wasn’t going to swim down. 

Tango wasn’t going anywhere.

[itsalwaysforyou]

jay: wtf is wrong with mal

evie: uma beat her in fencing lol

mal: she didn’t beat me!!!!!!! i challenged her to best of five 

carlos: and she won all 5?

mal: no i won 2

jay: ok so then she beat you

mal: i won 2!!!!

carlos: but uma won 3????? so you lost

mal: yeah but i still won 2

jay: shoulda done best of 6

jay: at least you could’ve drawn then you sore loser 

mal: ok but i still won 2?

carlos: i’m changing the conversation before i bludgeon mal’s head in 

carlos: e did you duel anyone

evie: i beat some auradon loser

evie: me & lonnie were gonna go next session 

jay: ooooo lmk how it goes

jay: lonnie’s good!!

evie: i know jay i was there on the isle fight

jay: i should fight harry again

mal: you’re always fighting harry

jay: duel him then

carlos: you’re always duelling harry

jay: no with a sword

evie: what kind of sword 

jay: ohhh SHUT UP

jay: i’m going to challenge harry to a duel with a fencing sword. there are you happy now

carlos: no

carlos: be more gay

jay: bitch maybe i will

evie: gods i hate you both

jay: you don’t want me kissing boys?

mal: jay you’re expecting boys will want to kiss YOU

jay: why mal are you jealous are you wanting me to kiss you

mal: i want me to kill you, sure

jay: how nice of you

mal: yeah i’m such a nice person now :) can u believe it

carlos: what is happening

evie: something i don’t want to bear witness to

evie: .

evie: hey mal lost three duels to uma today 

carlos: yo no way?????

mal: hang on

jay: HAHAHHAHAHA

mal: i WON 2!!!!!!!

jay: wow i should duel harry again

carlos: oh really jay. with what

evie: NVM WE ARE NOT GOING HERE AGAIN

carlos: ok but fr can we duel the pirates again soon :(

jay: what kind of duel los

evie: LORD

mal: me & uma have business to settle

evie: you mean losing a best of 5 3-2?

mal: i didnt LOSE i won 2!!!!!!!!

carlos: mal just bc we’re good ppl now doesn’t mean i cant kill you. bc i will

mal: bet

mal: best of 5?

jay: LMAO

evie: i’m actually very curious to know who would win that

mal: me obviously 

carlos: i literally came second place in swords and shields. but go off ig 

mal: you would’ve come third if i had competed 

jay: bc you would come 2nd?

mal: no?? i would obviously beat you???

evie: HAHHAHAHAHAHA

evie: mal. you know i would support you in anything. but you are not being jay in a s&s tournament 

mal: i totally could

jay: ………..

jay: hmmm mal who did you lose to earlier today

jay: three times

carlos: RIGHT 

carlos: not to CHANGE THE SUBJECT or anything but i’m actually craving slop shop coffee rn

evie: that’s the devil talking

jay: isn’t that a good thing?

mal: no it’s a bad thing

carlos: it’s a good thing for people like us

jay: evie can you confirm what your stance on slop shop coffee is 

evie: it’s wicked

jay: wicked in a good way or wicked in a bad way

jay: do you guys understand me. 

carlos: wicked as in reprehensible or wicked as in exceptional

jay: i feel like i’m going insane

mal: what are you all FUCKING talking about

carlos: the complexities and intricacies of changing sociolects 

mal: don’t fucking swear at me

jay: when did this conversation turn into psychological warfare

carlos: isn’t that most convos on the isle

jay: is it evie you’re gonna bludgeon next c?

carlos: yes. and then it’ll be you. and then myself

jay: WHAT DID I DO

mal: lmaoo

carlos: evie is being unnervingly quiet 

jay: YOU DIDNT ANSWER MY QUESTION 

mal: she’s probably preparing to fight carlos when he goes to bludgeon her head in

jay: i don’t even know whose side i’m on here

mal: you’re not on mine

jay: ??????

jay: whose side ARE you on??????

mal: did i lose to uma today

jay: YES

mal: not yours

jay: i genuinely feel like my head is collapsing in

carlos: good

carlos: make it go quicker

jay: ok fine i’m on evie’s side

evie: good choice jay. i have no bad side ;)

mal: all your sides are bad

carlos: how many sides does a person have

mal: what

carlos: you know. like vertices. how many do we have

jay: are we technically spherical??

evie: jay i don’t want you on my side anymore

jay: which number side eves

evie: carlos. proposition 

carlos: being?

evie: we team up against jay

jay: HUH????????

mal: LMAOOOOOO

evie: and mal

mal: HEY

jay: HAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAA

carlos: deal

jay: so like. what now. are we going to spar in the gym or something 

evie: no i’m going to kill you in real life

jay: hello??????

carlos: no resurrection in auradon!

mal: bloody hell 

jay: see i fault whatever the fuck this is to carlos bringing up he wants slop shop coffee

jay: no normal person says that

mal: how many times did you steal my slop shop coffee jay

jay: gee mal i’m so incredibly grateful that you allowed me to drink your mud in a cup whilst my father was actively trying to starve me 

carlos: WHAKJSJDLSKSHDKSKD

mal: OH ITS LIKE THAT NOW??????

evie: LORD

jay: anyway

jay: i say we gang up on carlos

evie: i agree

carlos: betrayal????)? MUTINY????????? TREASON AND CONSPIRACY???????????

mal: gods above evie that was brutal 

mal: listen. jay lies for fun,

jay: SKAJDKSLAJDNDLSKSJDKLSKD

mal: don’t pity the man.

evie: oh i don’t pity him in the slightest i just think it’s funny to gang up on carlos 

jay: youre after my own heart eves

carlos: no what the fuck is happening actually 

mal: no e you’re right it’s my favourite past time too

carlos: Hi. Are We Twelve Again

jay: i mean you haven’t grown since we were

mal: you still fight like it

evie: you still look it

carlos: Im Going To Kill You All

mal: didnt you already try that

evie: multiple times

jay: it didn’t work

carlos: do i need to remind you all. there is no immortality in auradon

jay: awwwww carlos is trying to be scary

jay: WJEHAKJHJJEHER NVM JES GROWLING AT ME RN GAJEHRBKEJRHR

mal: you guys are in the same room?????

jay: yeah? are you not?

mal: obviously we are

jay: you’re saying this could’ve been an irl convo?

jay: we couldve saved so much time 

evie: what’s wrong with our texts, jay :)

 jay: nothing at all, evie :)

carlos: u guys meet us here?

mal: wbat no you’re coming to us

carlos: ????? why?????

mal: bc im comfy???? and don’t want to walk??

carlos: ok but IM comfy

jay: carlos is currently dangling his head off the side of the bed.

carlos: as i said,

evie: what about neutral ground 

evie: library?

mal: are you insane why would we hang out at the LIBRARY 

jay: NERD

evie: i am not starting a fight again

jay: that’s a very unusual thing for you to say

evie: i am losing brain cells

carlos: that is worrying

mal: yeah you don’t have too many of them 

evie: more than you!

carlos: yeah mal how many fights with uma did you lose today

mal: i *WON*

mal: TWO

jay: i will throw my fucking phone off the balcony, and then all of you

carlos: not yourself?

jay: do you want to be the first to die

evie: so are we just. not meeting

mal: im not moving

carlos: me neither 

jay: kids these days

jay: always on their damn phones

evie: not like us

evie: getting beaten up

jay: stabbing people

mal: avoiding our insane parents 

carlos: trying to escape from the hell prison island

mal: lol

evie: we are so well adjusted <3 

jay: absolutely nothing wrong with us

mal: im serious abt not moving btw 

carlos: ya me too

mal: fine

carlos: fine

evie: fine

jay: fine

mal: fine

carlos: fine

jay: NO

jay: WE ARE NOT DOING THIS AGAIN

mal: you hate fun

jay: i hate YOU

evie: we have to stop having the same conversation like 5 times over.

evie: let’s talk about something else 

[timefadesaway]

my tiramisu recipe i made it a second time so i know it’s not a fluke that it was good the first time 😁 idk how big a container sorry but quite big hope this helps

[stillmother]

finally got around to replacing my icon and also updated my about to actually reflect that im 24

[creatorbiaze]

me: *literally just existing*

brain, randomly: you should poem again

me: ??? about what???

[zephyr-draws]

musings on insects, isolation, and how much can change when you're not looking

[arielluva]

grief is such a weird emotion bc i can be fine most of the time even if it think about it, but then sometimes thinking about it digs it up all over again

[faunabel]

sexual implication in the image of this post warning

i am so so easy to please my mom said the breakfast i made was really good and i added the perfect amount of ingredients and now i'm :D

wait EXCUSE ME WHAT IS THIS POST CANCELLED I NEVER WRITE ABOUT THAT KIND OF STUFF WHAT IS GOING ON??? I ESPECIALLY DONT USE CAPITAL LETTERS HELLOOOO???? 😭

[britishchick09]

after 4 years, 3 months and 27 days i've finally finished book 3 of my sibling story! :D

[cattycaleb]

hohhhhh............... fcg being kind of upset at the revelation that they have a soul............ yeas.............. 

[skitskatdacat63]

Oh...

[simply-starryeyed]

i am filled with grief. i do not know where to put it. it overflows like a spilling sink sometimes, unable to stop itself from pouring over the edges, and then i must sit on the floor and clean it up and put it back.

i am filled with grief. i do not know who i would have become without it. it fills me with more grief than i already have to think about it. that person would be much happier, I think. but i don't know who that person is.

i am filled with grief. there are so many blank patches where i could not tell you what became of them, for i do not remember and i am not sure i want to. so many memories i have lived yet do not know. it is better this way, i think.

[miscreantahead]

Read one of my OP fanfics that got some comments today and like. That shit was p good. Why don't u write like that anymore?

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

Is that DEV PATEL ? Oh, no, that’s ROHAN KAUR, a THIRTY-SEVEN year old OCEAN EDUCATOR & FREELANCE VIDEOGRAPHER who uses HE/HIM pronouns. They currently live in VALPARAÍSO, and the character they identify with most is DICK GRAYSON from BATMAN. Hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas! ( star, 25, she/her, est, )

tw : family death ( via boating accident ) minor climate change mention

tl;dr : funny little ocean nerd grew up in falmouth, england, with a really good family life. goes to school in cali and then vancouver to get his phd in oceanography, when tragedy strikes and his mother and sister are killed in a boating accident. this sends him on a long spiral of being afraid to be close to people because they, too, could one day die, but also inspires him to get out of a lab and back into the ocean to share his passion with the rest of the world via screens. most of the time he's just a bitch, but sometimes he can be funny. resident valpo punching bag.

basics

full name : rohan kaur nicknames : ro ( his family and his family ONLY ), ronnie ( don’t call him that but like it is a nickname now ) age : thirty-seven pronouns : he/him place of birth : falmouth, england date of birth : 10/29/198X star sign : scorpio

height : 6’2 scars : a bitemark around his calf from a juvenile dogshark, some minor bite marks especially around his hands and arms from smaller fish and sharks, lots of random small ones he can’t remember from cutting himself on boating equipment or while underwater or while doing stupid stuff that disregards his own safety ( as he does ) tattoos : the biggest piece is a anatomically correct whale skeleton on his calf, and then otherwise various misc small ones on his legs ( lots of flash tattoos from various places he’s travelled, especially ocean-related ones such as small fish or corals or location-specific sea monsters because he likes his flash tattoos to relate to the place he’s been as well ), various misc small ones on his hands ( lots of scattered important numbers and dates, such as the anniversary of the boating accident, his mom and sister’s birthdays, etc and then again lots of small flash tattoos crawling up his wrists/arms ). all of them are in american traditional style and all of them are somehow related to nature. piercings : n/a other distinguishing features : n/a

traits : intelligent, resourceful, witty, blunt, patient, arrogant, thrill-seeking, judgemental, insubordinate, pretentious, sentimental, awkward, anxious

career : ocean videographer & educator education : bachelor of sciences in oceanography (UCLA), MSc in oceanography (UCLA), doctor of philosophy in oceanography (University of British Columbia) ; his niche is chemical oceanography and he did his dissertation of the effects of ocean acidification on the genetic structure of purple sea urchins along the central British Columbia coastline.

aesthetics : the eerie creaking of weather-worn wood of a boats hull ; the feeling of your body tensing up after jumping head first into freezing cold water ; hearing distant voices despite being the only human underwater for miles ; the feeling of kelp grasping at your ankles like long, slimy hands trying to pull you under ; the hot sun against your shoulders as you man an entire sailboat alone ; hands covered in callouses from always holding ropes ; the smooth feeling of a turtle’s shell under your fingers ; the blueish tint of a jellyfish washed up to shore ; the feeling of your heart in your throat as you plunge into the next adventure ;  being more at ease with sharks and whales than people ; the ache of loneliness and grief that eats at your chest ; the constant wish to escape, to be free of your thoughts, to be anywhere else but where you are.

currently playing : too sweet, hozier ── cringe, matt maeson ── false confidence, noah kahan ── all things end, hozier ── give yourself a try, the 1975

biography

I : can you state your name, age, and how long you’ve been living in valparaiso, for the record ? 

R : he takes a seat across from the interviewer, his posture stiff and his eyes glued to the floor beneath their feet. it’s clear he’s not used to being in front of the camera ; rohan prefers things to be the other way around, and ideally, the subject is not human. sharks don’t usually expect conversation. “ rohan kaur, “ he replies after a beat, like he forgot his own name. “ i’m thirty-seven, and i’ve been here for about a year and a half. “

I: let’s start at the beginning : where were you born ? what was your family like ? 

R : “ i was born in falmouth, england. “ he states, arms crossing over his chest as he sinks reluctantly back into the comfortable interview chair. “ my mom was a marine biologist. she did a lot of research on the deep ocean── she was determined to be one of the first scientists to document a giant squid on camera. “ her fascination with documenting animal behaviour might be where rohan got it from. he recalls the hours of home video footage, of hermit crabs and dogsharks among the massive kelp towers around england, narrated by himself and his older sister. the memory is too personal, and digs into his chest like claws, so he chooses not to share, swallowing it down with a listless shrug. “ she travelled for work a lot. when you’re a kid a five week expedition feels like forever, because that’s half of your summer vacation, and me and my sisters were always waiting for her to come home because we weren’t allowed to go into the kelp forests near our house without her. “ rohan’s the middle child── typical. somehow he got both little brother and older brother personality traits. yikes ! “ we were confined to the tidepools and water that went up to our waist. she would always come home with cool stories about seeing sparm whales or anglerfish, too, which i think made waiting for her feel a lot more difficult. “

he pauses, takes a deep breath. he’s not used to talking about himself like this. if he doesn’t have to think about his past, he tries not to. “ my mom tried to call as much as she could, but with her being so busy, my dad took care of us, mostly, with some help from our aunts. he was an insurance salesman, so he was willing to let her have her career to stay back. i’m pretty sure he never really got the appeal of the ocean, but he loved my mom so he supported her in whatever she did. he retired last year, i think, “ rohan doesn’t speak to his father much. he remembers to call, at most, once a month, and has a nasty habit of just letting it ring through whenever the caller ID clearly displays ‘ dad. ‘ his younger sister doesn’t talk to him anymore for that reason. she feels abandoned ; or he assumes she feels abandoned, since he hasn’t spoken to her since her phone call after the funeral he never attended. “ he’d bring us down to the beach every morning so we could try and spot the porpoises in the channel. “ it’s a habit rohan still carries. “ we never did, but we would always claim we did to try and make each other jealous. “

I : what kind of kid were you ? what was your childhood like ? 

R : “ me ? “ he looks caught off guard by the question. admittedly, rohan doesn’t like talking about himself– he’d much prefer reminiscing about his family home. he has to think about it for a minute. “ quiet. “ yet again, he shrugs, “ i didn’t── i don’t── have a lot to say. i liked books. adventure stories, mostly. a lot of patrick o'brien and anything i could get my hands on at the library or whatever i could convince my parents to buy me when i went to the bookstore. i cried reading moby dick because i was so mad that ahab wanted to kill the whale. “ his mom used to say that rohan’s heart was about as fragile as a jellyfish, but that was a long time ago. naivety and blind faith in the goodness of the world and her beauty had dominated his perspective for years, but he’s been ( harshly ) brought back to reality since. another pause. “ that’s embarrassing to admit on the record. “ he forces out a sarcastic snicker as if to disappate his own awkwardness.

I : what was the most defining moment of your ife ? how has it impacted you personally ? 

R : he takes another long pause after this question, his gaze downcast as he drags his tattered sweater sleeves over his hands. this is exactly what he was afraid of being asked, and so rohan starts fidgeting in his seat immediately. “ i was doing research with the university of british columbia, about the kelp forests. it was so unimportant i actually forget what exactly we were looking for, but it was the same doctor i did my dissertation with and i was hoping maybe it would land me a position teaching there. up until that point i had been moving around, acting mostly as an assistant on other research teams. “ his dry tone has been soft the entire interview, but now it’s quiet enough it could barely be heard. it’s possible if he wasn’t mic’d, the cameras wouldn’t have picked up his answer at all. “ i spent every summer back home. every summer. even if it was just a week. it was one of the promises’ we made when all three of us moved out. “

( climate change mention tw ) his older sister had gone on to follow in their mother’s footsteps, working alongside her in marine biology, where rohan had turned his attention towards chemical oceanography. he didn’t just want to document what animals were doing, he wanted to save the oceans themselves ; help be a part of the scientific solution that were working on reversing the damage being done to the ecosystems, weather patterns, ph levels. in doing so he became completely unattached from the nature that he loved so much. although he was on boats collecting data, rohan was rarely in the water anymore── half his time was spent in labs or conference rooms. he was always good with numbers, but now that skill was starting to launch him towards stardom within the ocean science community, but success always comes at a price. 

( family death tw ) “ i thought it was one of those things i couldn’t miss out on because it was going to help my career. everyone understood. “ his gaze drifts upwards as he sinks further down in the chair. rohan presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, as if trying to remind himself that there are other people in the room ; he needs to share the story factually, without letting the emotion seep into his tone. “ there was a boating accident. we were out on the victoria bay for a few days so i didn’t find out immediately… when i got back to shore, i had a bunch of missed calls from my dad. it was some freak accident, you know– the other guy had a stroke. it wasn’t his fault. he crashed into them and his boat was so much bigger there was no shot. wrong place, wrong time kind of thing. “ despite the fact rohan tells himself that every day, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s somehow his fault instead. he was supposed to be there, on that boat with them, and he wasn’t. it’s his own form of survivors guilt. 

( family death tw ) he didn’t go to the funeral. he hasn’t been home since, and that was 5 years ago. “ i think it really messed us all up. my dad was always the practical one. not really touchy feely with us. i don’t know if he knew how to handle it. “ he doesn’t want to talk about how it impacted him, because it did– heavily. the news sent his entire life topsy turvy. he had people he cared about, but none of them were quite as important to him as his family, and rohan didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.

( family death tw, grief tw ) instead of facing his grief head on, he ran from it. “ i bought my boat, the odysseus, off some bloke. i spent a while fixing it up. “ he picks again at his clothes, “ i got really claustrophobic by the idea of going back into the lab. there was this big, wide ocean, that was so wild and amazing and hard to understand and i was spending all my time looking at statistics and formulas and making powerpoint presentations and feeding egos. “ that work is important too, but his world view had shifted. rohan didn’t want to be a part of that anymore. why should he care that he had a piece of paper that claimed he was an expert in something he will never possibly be able to understand, when two of the most important people in his life were gone, and he didn't even get to say goodbye ? “ i didn’t want to confine myself to an office for the rest of my life, not when there was so much out there that i could see instead. “

I : obviously, that leads into the next question : what made you choose the field of study you did ? what is your job ? 

R : “ i shifted my priorities around. i got back into the water, this time with a camera. i always knew that there was this complex world under the ocean and i had experienced it more times than i could count, but other people hadn’t. “ this is a topic that’s much easier for him to talk about, and it becomes obvious in the way that he relaxes, sitting up again in the chair. “ my sister’s whole thing was trying to connect people back to the ocean. she worked a lot with kids. she didn’t want all the prestige that i did, didn’t want to be a hero. she thought the proper way to save the ocean was by teaching people about it, and very suddenly, she wasn’t going to be around to do that anymore. i thought maybe i could do it instead. i had been free diving since i was a kid and i knew my way around the scientific community. i’m not nearly as good with kids as she was, but i owed it to her to try. “ it’s rohan’s own form of repentance, though it doesn’t seem to ease his guilt. “ people are too scared to get in the water though. it takes a lot of skill, and not everyone can be trusted around animals like sharks. i wanted to bring it to them, if i could. guess that’s where the camera comes in. if i could show people that it wasn’t just fish down there, and that even the fish have personalities and routines, then maybe people would be more inclined to pay attention. i applied for grants and contracts, got on tiktok and youtube, worked with some conservation groups down the west coast until i ended up here. “ 

I : what’re you doing in valparaiso ? do you plan on staying ? 

R : “ there’s a conservation group here called oceana that give me pretty consistent contracts. “ he admits, “ and i’ve made a lot of contacts at the aquarium. there’s so much happening off the shore valpo is on the migration route for all kinds of sharks and whales and turtles, and has beautiful coral reefs and sea mounts if you move out of the bay. “ it doesn’t hurt that the city is about as far away from falmouth as rohan can get. as for staying… “ freelance work kind of allows me to work wherever i want. i’ve been invited to work on a few teams in different places since, but… i like valpo, i guess. it’s fine, for now. “ 

quickfire facts

he has a small tabby cat that he adopted as a stray when he first docked in chile and that's his closest companion. talks to it all day long even though it can't answer back. it doesn’t have a name because he finds that everybody seems to want to call her something different— he just refers to her as “boat cat” ( or sometimes just cat ) 

he is vegan ! the environment and climate change and the impact of humans on nature is very important to him, and so he tried to negate his own carbon footprint in however many ways he can. this includes going vegan as often as he can ( though if there's no vegan options he's not the kind of person to complain or fuss about it. )

as i mentioned above he does have like a youtube channel where he posts a lot of the amateur footage he takes of wildlife he's encountered over the years but he’s in no way like, an influencer. he doesn’t show his face in the videos or narrate them much ( it’s usually subtitles explaining any interesting behaviour. )

does a lot of talks and sits on a lot of panels, mostly from the safety of his own bedroom though... hello zoom !

big reader. tends to lean towards non-fiction, especially adventure or travel memoirs, though he will pick up and read just about anything ( he has a lot of free time on his hands. )

the death of his mom & his sister did impact him pretty heavily, especially because of the guilt he feels for having not gone home to visit them that summer. he's pretty isolated because of this; it freaks him out to be close to people because he doesn't know if they could just up and die in an accident ( he worries a lot about stuff like that, but only about other people, not himself. ) he's also a workaholic because of this, and has thrown himself into the conservation work he does to avoid having to deal w/ it. 

adrenaline junky 100%. nobody who swims with sharks willingly isn't. he gets nervous about other people doing scary or dangerous things, though, because he is still overtly aware of their mortality ! 

amateur art enthusiast. he doesn’t know very much but he’s definitely thrown himself more into the cultural/philosophical side of humanity as a way to avoid his own grief teehee! 

he travels a lot for work when he gets contracts to do camera work on documentaries or work with scientists to try and get footage of animals that are hard to capture on tape. he'll disappear without saying much for like 2 weeks and then come back from some expedition like he's been there the whole time. practically a ghost out here

film nerd ! when you're someone who doesn't leave your apartment except to go look at the ocean what else do you have to do except consume content. that also helps with the videography stuff that he does i think. ~ cinema ~

he can very shittily play guitar. mainly it’s just one of those things he has on the boat for the hours that he’s sitting waiting for something to happen LMAO. 

little bit of a dick, but he doesn’t always do it on purpose. sometimes, yes, especially if someone is irritating him he will bite back, but a lot of the times it comes from him either being awkward and blunt, or it’s a defense mechanism to keep people from getting too close to him. he’s just not great with people.

despite that though he does, at the very least, have a pretty decent sense of humour. it's very dry and sarcastic, but he knows how to poke fun of himself.

convinced he's right about everything, probably, always. even if he was wrong about something he'll find a way to be right about it.

wanted connections

PAST ONE NIGHT-STAND ADJACENT PLOTS: i just think between the traveling and the valparaíso-ing there’s probably some room for chance encounters. he’s pretty and got some ? weird guy ? rizz ?? (maybe?? i dont get to be the one who decides that). i don’t have a lot of specific ideas i think this something that would really depend on the likelihood of the characters coming into contact with each other but the only thing is that i think he’s very blunt & honest and would be pretty up front about not wanting anything to come from it if it was post-accident. it could be something that happened recently since he got to valpo or it could be something from when he was traveling down the coast, it could have gone poorly it could have gone well, maybe something almost happened but for whatever reason it didn’t? either way nowadays he’d be incredibly awkward probably around that muse and i think it would be FUNNY.

COLLEAGUES/SCIENTIFIC OR ACADEMIC PEERS : i think tbh this doesn’t have to specifically relate to the area of work that he’s in, and they don't have to be working together at all either for them to know each other via past projects or something. it would be funny to see him consulting with other people in other career fields on different things, but also people who’s brains he could pick i guess would also be it. smart people things ig. alternatively it could also be students who are studying in a field that's adjacent to him.

RESEARCH PARTNER : as another adjacent plot to the above one, if there’s a character that’s specifically into marine biology or conservation or would have a more specific project they could be working on that he is also working on, i think it would be really funny if there was someone that rohan got paired up with on a grant or something and he does not want to have to work with them. he probably doesn’t thrive with teamwork, especially nowadays, so it would be very funny to see him trying to work on a project with someone where he has to give up some semblance of control about it.

FELLOW VOLUNTEERS : one of the things rohan does through his job is work w/ a lot of conservation groups so i think he does spend some extra time working with those groups like volunteer wise, like on the boards or even just doing grunt work (continuing on his family’s work or whatever blah blah blah) anyway if there are characters who also have an interest who would volunteer in a similar sort of way then i could see him being a bit more likely to open up or befriend them??? less grouchy upon meeting LMAOOO an easier friendship.

EX-ADJACENT PLOT : this isn’t really like a huge part of his backstory but like it makes sense that at the time of the accident he would have had a long term partner at some point??? like maybe they weren’t anything really that serious bc they were both really focused on their respective careers but they were together for a while in that easy going capacity, but then for whatever reason they break up. (it could be because of the accident and him deciding he doesn’t want to lose more people like that blah blah blah but it could have happened before that too depending on if there’s a reason the other muse would have!)

usual plots such as neighbours, friends, frenemies, people he doesn't get along with, etc. etc.

[catgirltitties]

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