#the water displacement when these two go in at the same time would be wild tho

[mushiemellows]

Frinbei fic budding in my brain but it’s just them getting really protective over the fish tank’s maintenance

Like I already hc Franky as A Fish Tank Guy (you don’t build an aquarium like that without going down a rabbit hole or two in your life) so I think he’s already really careful about like. Saline levels, nitrates, algae blooms, coral growth conditions. The workshop’s below the lounge so he has easy access to the pumps and filters just to make sure nothing breaks down.

And then post-Wano Jinbei shows up and is properly impressed by the tank (as he is with almost all of Sunny) and he starts asking to get involved with the maintenance. And Franky’s excited because no one wants to help with it, he has to usually force Usopp to help or just do it himself. And he’s a little wary about the new guy overstepping, but he puts Jinbei on Inside Glass Squeegee Duty for a week just test the waters. Pun intended. But at the end of it, the tank’s never looked nicer. The glass is sparkling, the filter’s running clean, the substrate’s been changed out. Jinbei’s diving into the sea to find new grasses to plant and extra fish to support the ecosystem and the whole thing is just thriving.

Franky’s just sitting on the other side of the glass at the bar watching him work, eyes wide, a little turned on by Jinbei in just his swim suit, totally appreciative that someone sees what he sees in the project. They keep an extra eye out when they find tide pools and look for sea stars to fill the tank with. Someone Usopp accidentally throws some of those snails that reproduce like the devil in the tank on accident and they spend weeks trying to clear baby mollusks from the water.

The aquarium flourishes as they work on it together, and Jinbei starts to use a corner of it as a meditation space. Sometimes they leave the entrance hatch open so the sunlight can shine through and they both work inside the tank at the same time. Franky’s trying to figure out how to install underwater speakers. And maybe they kiss in the bubbles idk I don’t make the rules

[aetheternity]

So sweet, just for me

Synopsis: Just some stories where reader takes care of Virgin! Armin.

Disclaimer: Unprotected sex, blowjobs, Sub Armin and sexually experienced Y/N are all present in this. Minors exit now.

☆☆Just Summer Things☆☆

Sweat coursed down the expanse of every inch of your body. Or maybe it was water you weren't really sure. A set of carefully trimmed nails shivered and shook beside your head, digging into the grimy tree bark. Locks of sun kissed blonde hair stuck to parts of your neck, face and collarbone as you coaxed Armin's breathing down. Forehead resting uncomfortably against the bark and your ass firmly seated against his hips.

"How do you feel sweet boy?"

"I-I.." He panted, pulling his face back a little. Blue doe eyes full of lust and the sweet shine of tears.

His cock currently pressed delicately against your g-spot during what started out as a normal water balloon fight. Between the boys and the girls of course. You guys had all come out during late afternoon, Sasha and Connie started tossing water balloons and teams formed accordingly.

At some point you'd run off to what you thought was a safe zone only to find Armin perched in the bushes. Contemplation etched into his soft features.

"Move slowly ok." You encourage. You were surprised by how big he was sure but the warning was more so this could last for a while.

He nodded where you were still holding the back of his head. His nails cautiously unlatching from the tree moving instead to sink into the fat of your hips while at the same time his once snugly nestled cock began to move. The sweet drag forcing your toes to curl and your eyes to shut. A small exhale cresting off your lips.

A breathy moan fell from his trembling lips as he pulls you in closer. Wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing around you like a lifeline.

You'd met Armin only two years ago through Jean and continued to crush on him for the entirety of those two years. Until today when he'd admitted to you that he was a little ashamed of being a virgin while consistently having to listen to Eren, Connie and Jean's conquests.

You told him they were probably lying about at least half of those stories but it only got you a small smile. So you decided to do him one better and offer to take his virginity.

It wasn't selfish. It was a win win. He would receive a conquest story to tell and you would get what you'd been craving since you'd first seen him in Jean's apartment shirtless and trying to help fix the messed up drain.

"Feels good?" You chuckle huskily

"Oh my God.." He huffs into your skin. 

His hips worked themselves up a little faster. A slightly clumsy pace forming but he was new at this so you weren't mad.

"Armin slow down baby, I don't want you to get ahead of yourself."

"I-i'm sorry.. j-ust feels amazing.."

One of his hands hesitantly snaked up your shirt. Skittish in the way he palmed at your breast. Though he quickly eased up when you replied to the affection with a little mewl.  

It felt surprisingly amazing for you as well. Considering the situation and the fact that Armin had never done this with anyone. This really was his first time.. What a weird thing to tell people. My first time was at a water balloon fight against a tree.

You hummed when the pleasure started to sit in your stomach. Legs trembling a bit as he pumped inside you a little faster. Any other time you would've just thrown your head back and relaxed, especially since his dick was so perfectly filling right now but-

"Armin, slow down." Your breathing was a little raspy.

He replied with a whimpery moan, thighs shaking against your sides. You reached an arm around grabbing his hips with your hand to slow them. It seemed to catch his attention because those soft doe eyes were wide.

"You'll get to cum baby I promise you, ease up a bit it's not a race." He nodded in affirmation and you smiled warmly.

Silk strands warm under your guided fingers as he pulled all the way out and slowly eased back in. A collective united moan exiting both your mouths. You'd shut your eyes but they worked themselves back open at the almost unnoticeable twitch of his cock head.

Your favorite part.

"Mm baby so close.." You whisper, your lip coming to tuck itself under your teeth.

A small chorus of yes's and little gasps fall from his open mouth. His skin somehow easing out of tomato red and into surface of the sun red.

You pull him close making sure his eyes were open. "I need you to cum for me ok? But make sure no one hears you." You say, and fuck is it gorgeous watching him come undone. Just like you'd imagined so many times before.

The tears once welling in his eyes spilled over like a faucet. Choked moans and harsh gasps worked their way off his lips. One of his hands flew back up to the tree where his nails soon dug the bark clean off. His hips stuttering through his entire orgasm. You were almost worried when his climax ended. The way he went silent except for his wild breathing.

"Armin?"

"Fuck.." He sighed

You couldn't help but giggle. "How was your first time?"

He gasps and rolls his eyes still stuck in euphoria. When he pulls out you take the opportunity to turn around. Working your panties up over your hips and pulling your fluttery skirt back down.

"Please, please let me do that again sometime.." He huffs finally managing words. You bring his lips to yours in a chaste kiss that honestly doesn't last long enough for you.

"Only if you promise to stay my good boy." You reply pulling his shorts up till they rest comfortably on his hips.

"I promise." He remarks, almost too eager. "Oh! Wait you didn't get to c-"

"Hey, where did you guys go?" Armin practically separates from his skin as Connie and Jean round the corner. Water guns tucked in their grasp.

"When did you guys get those?" You asked nonchalantly.

Jean shrugged, "We made the game more interesting."

Connie shook his head running back around the corner as Sasha's battle cry sounded.

"Hurry and get back we need you out there Armin." And with that Jean was gone too.

You picked up Armin's discarded water balloon, placing it in his open palm. "See you out there, lover boy."

☆☆Showing Armin how to do Yoga☆☆

"Why's Armin coming over here so early again?" Sasha asked rolling over onto her side. The bag of cotton candy once perched on her thighs flopping over and nearly spilling its contents.

"To do Yoga!" You replied with a laugh sitting the bag upright next to her.

She groaned dramatically. "But it's six thirty am on a Saturday."

"No one told you to get up with me." You remark, pushing the coffee table to the edge of the room.

She holds her once displaced bag up for you to see. "It was calling out to me." She sighs, hugging it to her chest.

A knock on the door takes your concentration. As you pull it open you call back to her, "Well since you're up, you might as well join us."

"Nope!" She quickly scurries away with a wave of her hand. Cotton candy stuffed under her arm.

You shut the door behind Armin as he stares down the hall that Sasha had disappeared down. Your grin is bright almost devilish as it slowly spreads across your face.

"Seems like it's just the two of us." You mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

You watch as he thickly gulps with a nod. Bite able Adam's apple bouncing but you pretend you don't notice. Your mat is already laid out on the floor but you can't stop yourself from bending over to smooth out the corners. Barely paying attention to Armin until you hear a small cough or maybe him choking it's not very clear.

He's holding his mat in his arms defensively across his chest. Silk strands of blond hair fluttering when he blinks. His cheeks a beautifully vibrant pink.

"I-I wanted to th-thank you.." He says, blue eyes trained where they stared at your mat. "For.. the- um.." He gestures and you can't help but giggle.

"The sex?"

Now his eyes find you. Blown wide as his pink lips part over a word that never succeeds in leaving his mouth. Your feet pat over the floor as you close the distance between the two of you. His cheeks warm under your delicate grasp and you hold his face almost as though you're sure he'll shatter.

"You're so cute, please never change."

You're almost scared it sounds condescending but the soft rosy color trudging up to the tips of Armin's ears says he doesn't agree.

You turn back to your mat with a smile but just before you sit on it you add, "And you never have to thank me for sex, I'd do it with you anytime."

He nods once as if responding to you and then twice as if he's confirming that you did indeed say what he heard. The soft plap of his mat on the floor reminding you of what you were both here for.

"Ok, let's begin then." You take a deep breath, adjusting the scrunchie holding your hair in place. "First we wanna stretch alright, so I just need you to reach up above your head with both hands and reposition your feet."

You demonstrate using yourself and Armin awkwardly copies. Slender fingers curling towards the sky as he slowly relaxes his shoulders. You can't help but let your mind wander a little as a glint of light flickers off the steel rings decorating three of his gorgeous digits.

You had fingered yourself last time the two of you were together and now you were craving him. Wondering what the warmth of just one of those inside you would feel like.

"Spread your legs more." You encourage, meanwhile it nearly has Armin doubling back. "Dirty boy." You tease

You stand in front of him gently kicking his legs apart. Easy enough. And he responds to every bit of your touch like he craved you too.

And well you wanna tell yourself that you had actually had completely innocent intentions when you'd invited Armin over here today. He genuinely had never done Yoga before and you knew Sasha was gonna be here. So yeah, you'd love to say you wanted nothing but to relax Armin in this encounter.

But you couldn't even keep a straight face while thinking it.

"Can you bend your knees a little?" He squats, carefully coming back up. Arms reaching out on both sides as you coaxed him. "A little lower sweetie." You say as his ass hovers inches over the mat.

And oh to be the mat.

You step back until you're completely back on your mat. "I'm sure your arms are tired, you can put them down now." You wave him off and he lets out a smooth exhale. "Feel relaxed yet?"

"A little." He replies with a confident smile.

"Then you're ready for the next part." You clap "I need you to bend over and touch your toes alright."

He shuts his eyes, pretty lips parting over your choice of words. What you wouldn’t give right at this second to be a mind reader. His back arches, ankles locking together as you demonstrated. "Good, good boy. Back straight." You sink your thumb into his black athletic shirt to touch his spine. And he hardens with your touch. "Don't be shy, it's just me." You mutter, breath heavy.

Fuck! Touching his back muscles this up close and personal made you wanna sink your nails into them. Leave lines up and down his soft supple skin as a mark that you'd always be his first. No one else would ever get that privilege. 

"I-I.."

Shit.

"Ok, you can stand."

You pretend not to notice the way he shifts his sweats as he stands. This time you vow to actually stay on your mat.

"You should know this position." Your legs spread on one end of the mat while your hands came down to lay flat near the opposite end. "Try it."

Carefully he gets into the position you're currently doing but not without peaking at your figure. His blond hair dipping towards the mat and you can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"Now we're gonna slowly curve our bodies down until our pelvis touches the floor." You say, head curving up toward the ceiling. For once Armin has immediate trouble, hips dangling weirdly over the ground. His arms trying and failing to steady himself.

"What's the matter? Wanna try a different position?"

"N-no it's nothing.."

You plop down on your mat, crossing your legs and gesturing for him to do the same and even without his reluctance you already know what's wrong. He slowly but surely rotates his hips, spreading his legs. His hardened dick print on full display.

You don't even try to hide the slow slither of your tongue wetting your lips. You quickly turn your head before crawling your way over to a very very flushed Armin. Sweat glistening perfectly over his pale skin.

"W-wait Sasha!" He panics, his arms flailing a bit as he backs up slightly.

"Shh it's ok, she definitely fell back asleep the second she went back in her room." You reply crawling towards him again.

"But you know I c-can't keep q-uiet. Wh-what if she h-hears!"

Your hands inched past his now loosened sweats to gently squeeze his hardened cock through his boxers. Both his hands flew to his mouth giving you a new gorgeous view of those pretty rings.

His eyes roll unfocused with every sweet glide of your hand. Tears already starting to brim along the edges of his warm eyes.

“Do you always wear those rings for physical activities or is it just for me?” 

“I-I just forgot to take them off..” 

“Did you?” You can tell your smile is shitty. Just from the way his eyes dart away from yours "You've never been blown either have you?" You ask getting back on topic.

"N-no." It's a muffled response but it hits your ears loud and clear.

"Another story for the growing journal then." You tease

You honestly can't help yourself. Lips curving and confining his tip like a vise. Precum salty where it stains your tongue. His gasp bouncing off the wall so elegantly. So fucking perfect. But even though Sasha is a heavy sleeper you were still worried she'd wake up before you finished.

So as much as you wanted to tease.

"Can I pull these down baby? I know your dick wants some relief."

He complies, oddly quickly. And you pull his sweats and boxers down just enough to hug the tops of his thighs. 

And his dick is gorgeous. You hadn't actually seen it before but fuck was it pretty, standing tall and leaking before you.

You inch forward spit dribbling from your lips to be collected in the hand that was working his slender shaft. It had Armin's hips bucking up to greet you. His sweet whines egging you on.

And slowly but surely.... "Oh my fucking god."

It was an adjustment. Not as smooth as you would've liked because of the weird angle but you'd taken a little more than half of his dick in your mouth. A mildly painful fit made up for by the angelic cries of Armin just above you.

"Pl-please.. oh God please.."

He couldn't tell what he wanted to hold, hands shifting to the top of your head, the floor and his rolled up sweats all in less than a minute. You swore you could hear his heartbeat through his chest every time you swallowed his cock again.

You wanted to speed ahead so bad, see him just as flustered as he had been last week when he had his cock buried deep inside your pussy but it was obvious he wasn't going to last long either way.

Disorganized syllables flooding off his lips with the occasional whimper of "thank you" and "yes". His throat heavy with every curse word he knew stuck in it. Breaths quick and uneven as you coaxed him down your throat. Vibrations coursing past your lips to meet his already sensitive sex.

"I-i'm.. gonna cum.. mmm soooo close! Gonna cum!"

His choked breaths fell over your forehead and in the next second he was emptying every bit of his stress into your mouth. Eyes clouded like Armin wasn't even in there anymore. And you drained him of every drop, reaching between his legs to squeeze his balls.

When you pulled off of him he let out a deep exhale. Body still shaking as he looked at you.

"Thank you so much." He grinned hazily

"God, I wanna be as many of your firsts as possible." You breathe out a laugh.

☆☆The one where Eren walks in☆☆

It wasn't often you came back to the same guy. Every now and then you had one night stands and that's all it ended up being. You'd always been fine with that.

But Armin made you stay. His shaky fingers, nervous tongue and tear stained cheeks so oddly addictive. Intoxicating in how innocent he stayed despite having two sexual encounters with you.

And now here you both were having your third in his bed. Bodies melded together in the heat of both your sweat. Eyes fixated on only each other as his head tilted up like a hungry baby bird to pull you back in every time you fled.

And you indulged him as much as possible because fuck he was the cutest thing. Your hands gliding over his back and up to his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. Spine curving deliciously when he grazed over your g-spot.

"Armin.. there." You breathed

Your free hand slid between your bodies making space for those slender fingers to work over your clit.

"Flick it." You encouraged, he immediately did as he was told earning a moan of approval.

"Good boy." You hum, lip trembling where it curves under your teeth.

The once soft pink of his face deepened with the compliment. A little smile decorating his gorgeous features. Just another thing to add to your growing folder of mental images.

"There honey.. keep going." You cooed over the little whimper fluttering off his lips as you hugged his cock. "You remember that spot right? The one that you hit when we were outside?"

"Yeah.. I think it was.." His hips remained delicate as he slid right into place. One leg up as he slotted his cock inside you. Heat pooled in the lowest depths of your stomach with the hesitant prodding of his tip to your g-spot. Eyes curving up to yours for further instruction.

"Mmhm that's it.. hit it a little harder ok."

It was all sorts of clumsy but he rammed your g-spot full force. An apology made its way to his throat but eye contact and the choked gasp that left your mouth soon proved it wasn't needed. You spread your legs a little further for him and he grabbed your waist smoothly working your hips over his dick.

"You're doing so well." You giggled taking a hold of his face. "And you're holding out much longer this time."

"Y-yeah but I'm almost there.." He sighed, fingers working at your clit a little faster. Right in time with the faster tempo of his hips.

"Fuck, you feel soooo good." He drawls

His lips parted, eyes flying north. You hugged him a little tighter as his chest pushed you up and down with each thrust. The once gentle drag of your nails now much rougher. As you let it slip just how much you were enjoying this.

Let your mouth fall open for the words circling your brain. Stomach heavy as Armin fucked you with intention. You brushed beads of sweat back from his face. His hair going up with it, clumping together atop his head.

"Mm gonna cum.." He moaned, head lolling with the intensity of his full body tremor.

"Hey Armin-"

"Eren!" Armin nearly shot up as Eren pushed the door open with zero warning.

Armin's free hand stayed on your clit completely stagnant. Tip twitching inside you, he didn't even have time to cover his mouth. Moans and whimpers pouring out from his still parted lips. Every bit of your fifteen minute effort now seen and heard by Eren who stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey Eren.." You greeted, pulling your hand away from your upturned lips. Meanwhile Armin's face is buried deep in your shoulder blade. Where you already assumed he'd be staying for the next hour.

"Uh huh.." Eren replied, slamming the door shut. "Mikasa, he's busy let's go!" You heard him call as his boots clicked down the hall.

You don’t say a word till you hear the front door open and close, “You ok?” 

“Any chance Eren didn’t hear that?..” He whispered 

“Not in hell or on Earth love.” 

‘Then no..” 

[inkskinned]

once there was a witch who lived in the woods. she was ugly and mean and loud, as all witches are, and she never found love. the little girls of the village were warned of the witch, who was known to steal daughters. she would eat them, maybe, or destroy them in her experiments. they were not seen again in any case, so it was all true.

you learned of her by way of your mother, who had hair so beautifully blonde while yours was your father’s rusty brown. you learned of her because you had spilled the water coming back from the well. then you learned again of her when you talked back. then you learned again when you were caught with your fingers in a book, staring at the squiggles you did not understand. the witch, the witch, the witch.

your mother, it is known, was protecting you. she said she did not want you to be one of the girls that were stolen or hurt or eaten or all three. she said that girls like you are particularly likely, on account of being, she must admit, uncomely and unfortunately prone to curiosity. 

at seven you told your best friend Patience: i do not fear the witch, but i do wonder how she finds girls. just that year she took a girl named Charlotte, who was lovelier than you by far, so you might have been next, had you not learned to bite back your retorts and stop making snide comments and to only read in the dark, where people could not see you agonizing over teaching yourself.

at fourteen you told your best friend Patience: i do not fear the witch, but i wonder what she eats when it is not children. patience laughed and said - like you, she eats books.

at sixteen you told your best friend Patience: i do not fear the witch, but i would like to see her, to know what she is like. patience has long, shiny hair, and lips so pink they are a sin, and always smiles when she looks at you, even when you are uncomely (as your own mother has admitted). Patience is like a bath of milk, decadent. she holds your hand and says do not go see the witch, for i could not stand if you did not return. so you do not go.

at seventeen, you and Patience uncover a book in the back of charlotte’s farm. shaking, the two of you say a spell over a bowl of violet water in the light of a full moon. the spell is a secret, and i will not write it, but when you come home, you forget the words, thinking instead of how patience looked, wild and grinning, her hands locked in yours, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. wild, untamed. your mother would say uncomely. for the first time, you wonder if the word means - to unbecome.

at eighteen, you told your best friend patience: i would not mind, being a witch, but she is alone.  in a sob, Patience tells you: my father will marry me off next year. you both cry into each other’s arms. you have no marriage offers, for you are known to be too-much, a lady who is frightfully observant and clever, neither of which are appropriate behaviors. she sleeps in your bed this night, and smells of lavender. long after the moon rises, you watch her breathing. she wakes up from a nightmare and reaches out to hold you, tucking you against her so easily it is as if you have been displaced your whole life until now, and have only found home by the fitting of her limbs. 

for a year, you spend like this. playing with each other’s hair and sleeping in the same bed like little girls. sometimes, when it is late, she looks at you, dark eyes all full and wide, you think she is about to speak. she never does, only reaches out and holds your hand. 

on midnight the day before her wedding, she wakes you. i do not fear the witch, she says, for it is better to be eaten beside you.

you take her hand.

there are three witches who live in the woods. they are clever, and wicked, and ugly. they take girls and eat them - girls who would have been married, girls who would have been mothers, girls who like terrible things like asking questions and talking loudly and speaking back to their fathers. do not be fooled by the illusion they will help you - why, two girls from this very village ran off one night, and the witches disintegrated them. i myself found their clothes by the river, and when i turned i heard nothing but laughter, deep in the woods, followed by the scent of lavender.

[battlinghurricanes]

I have another Patzagchilles AU!

(Yeah I know I have a problem but the hyperfixation has me, what more do you want?)

Achilles is a beautiful Aegean nereid that gets captured off the coast and, despite his vicious escape attempts, ends up dragged to land and traded off to a traveling menagerie. His awful, tiny tank is kept with their other “money maker” for convenience, a rare Underworld demon named Zagreus.

His cage seems just as cramped, miserable, and inhospitable as Achilles’ tank, and he seems just as restless in there, even though he must have spent far more time in it than Achilles has. Zagreus does seem more resigned to their occasional forced performances though, acting up with feigned aggression without the threat of a whip.

Achilles can see plenty of scars from before he decided to accept it. Now, he just paces and snarls and frightens the crowds with his fangs without prompting and then is the most polite person Achilles has ever talked to at all other times.

Achilles understands and sympathizes with why Zagreus complies with their orders, but has no intentions to do the same. They open the top of his tank and want him to perform with twirls and flips and other fanciful nonsense, but they’re fools.

He keeps his tail while in the tank, but a nereid can walk on legs when they so choose, whether they realize that or not. There’s already a crowd by the time they finally open it all the way up but Achilles doesn’t care.

He throws himself out and makes a break for it. The spectators flee but the workers scramble to try to drag him down. He’s unarmed and outnumbered but he almost makes it far enough before someone manages to spear him through the back of the heel and they drag him back.

The wound heals eventually but there’s a shackle on his wrist now and no room to try and escape again. Everything is still so restricted and unlivable and he loathes it but at least there’s Zagreus because, by now, Achilles has grown just as resigned.

Patroclus is getting desperate. He’s displaced from his home, in need of a job, and doing all he can to avoid getting involved in a brewing war. A job with this menagerie that will keep him on the move would work well for him.

It won’t be pretty but he’s always been good with animals and he can make it work. They take him on board readily enough but he finds more than just animals. There’s a nereid with his arms crossed over the edge of his tank chatting with a demon (dear gods, those are rare) in an uncomfortable metal cage as if they’re dearest friends talking over a nice lunch and not chained up and trapped in squalid conditions.

“I didn’t realize you kept people here,” Patroclus says testily. The man showing him around laughs and replies, “You won’t last long here if you can’t tell the difference between people and monsters.” The nereid and demon are both staring at him now and he has a very grim feeling about this at this point but he doesn’t have any other plan for himself.

Patroclus works where they tell him to, then tries to help where he can, keeping an eye on that strange pair in particular. They don’t belong here. The nereid, Achilles, is a beautiful creature covered with scales, almost transparent and ever so slightly iridescent above his waist, then rich blue green over his tail. Graceful frills line its edges that stir gently in the water. Pointed nails tip webbed fingers.

When he’s not talking to the demon, Achilles makes for a sad sight. Patroclus watches him drift at the bottom of his tank, still, staring off into the distance as if in the hope of catching sight of something more interesting. Pat has tried to offer some conversation, but goes unanswered.

Zagreus, the demon, is another story. He stares at Patroclus with his wide, red and green eyes. He constantly twitches the hooked tip of his long, thin tail. He has fire in the skin of his lower legs and a formidable set of claws on his hands and feet that make Achilles’ look dainty. There’s a pair of dark horns curling from his wild hair frame by fiery leaves that Pat can’t explain.

When he asks, Zagreus just says they grow there. He talks all the time. Even when Patroclus has to focus on some task and can’t converse, Zagreus will keep going on by himself, chattering away as he paces in endless circles in his tiny cage, over and over and over.

Pat does his best to keep up, offering conversation he hopes is at least somewhat engaging. Zagreus seems to think so. He smiles at him and laughs with him and he’s surprised to realize how well they’ve truly started getting along. He finds himself wanted to talk as far more than just a guilty courtesy to this locked up man.

It’s this kindness towards Zagreus and their genuine interaction that at length makes Achilles start to warm up to him. He lifts himself over the edge of the tank when it’s open or up to one of the holes in the glass when it’s not to join in their little chats. He’s more reserved than Zagreus but has a dry wit that he enjoys and the sound of his voice is lovely.

Achilles and Zagreus are not always together. Sometimes, when the group settles for the night, it’s just more convenient to set their tank and cage somewhere apart. Patroclus gets into the habit of keeping one or the other company on those nights.

His superiors don’t mind assigning him to take care of the two of them more and more since he’s willing to do it anyway and they don’t seem eager to rip his hands off. As long as he knows his place and stays in line, they don’t care if he wastes his time with them.

Patroclus has never cared about staying in line or in his place but he’s a good enough liar to pretend like he does.

He’ll talk to Achilles or Zagreus or both of them late into the night, half the time just falling asleep beside them without returning to his bed. The other men look at him strangely sometimes but they’re not nearly as good a company anyway, and Achilles and Zagreus are smarter and funnier as well, and they both have such interesting stories to tell and listen so raptly to his own, and fine- gods damn it- he’s falling in love with both of them.

Patroclus has never really been one for false modesty, and he thinks his affection is at least somewhat reciprocated. Achilles’ eyes trail after him all the time, a sharp contrast to the absent depression he displayed before.

He smiles at him more, little things as if they’re sharing a secret just between the two of them. He starts to make these soft trills at him as well, lyrical noises that he doesn’t understand but send his heart swooping through his chest anyway. He’s only ever heard him make such sounds at Zagreus on occasion, otherwise.

It’s harder to tell with Zagreus since he’s been so affectionate from the get go, but Patroclus notices a blush accompanying most of his smiles nowadays and his gaze flickers over his form more frequently.

The demon nearly jumps out of his skin when Pat pushes a comforting hand through the bars of his cage one day. He shudders dramatically when he takes it in his own. Patroclus’s heart pangs when he realizes he likely hasn’t felt a kind touch in a very long time. He offers his own more frequently after that and Zagreus accepts his touch almost reverently, tracing his fingers over the lines in his palm.

It’s with Achilles that Patroclus first gets the chance to reveal what’s in his heart. He watches his eyes glow with awe and longing before tightening with hesitation and shame. Voice halting, he tells him, “You deserve more than me. I’m trapped and imprisoned and helpless to what these people demand of me.”

Patroclus sighs in response. “I happened to notice that. I love you anyway.” Achilles eyes go wide and his lips part as if he means to argue, but all that escapes him is a wounded, desperate sound and he reaches out to cup his face with shaking hands and kiss him. Patroclus strains to lean up to where Achilles hangs out of his tank as far as the chains will allow.

Zagreus ardently confesses in return when Patroclus tells him of his affection, though it’s harder to deliver the kiss that he also reaches for. The bars of his cage force an awkward angle and Zagreus sounds a bit choked when he apologizes for it as he pulls back.

Patroclus hushes him and says, “The love is more important than anything that might try to get in the way, dear Zagreus.” He pulls his hands out through the bars and kisses all over his claws and knuckles and palms as Zagreus’s lashes flutter rapidly. Patroclus wishes he could pull him from this cage completely, all cold unforgiving metal so that Zagreus has nothing to burn.

Pat is glad that neither Achilles nor Zagreus take issue with his shared love of them. He hid nothing, but still worried absently that they wouldn’t appreciate him coming between them. However, they both still eagerly enjoy his presence and neither one shies from the affection he shows to the other.

But still, he gets a strange sense in response to such displays, not angry or unwelcoming, but maybe something bitter, maybe something jealous. The explanation he stumbles upon catches him off guard.

One night, when Achilles’ tank is elsewhere, Zagreus asks him with a voice so low and shot through with longing, what Achilles feels like. What it’s like to hold his hand. Patroclus blinks in surprise. Zagreus tells him they’ve never touched. Ah.

Zagreus stares like he’s starving as he describes the strangely cool slip of his skin, the smooth stroke down the scales on the back of his hand and the rough drag up the other way. Zagreus tells him that he’s glad Pat can give him the love he deserves. Pat tries to reassure him that Achilles certainly appreciates the company of his lover, even when they’re physically separated.

Zagreus jolts and flushes and quickly tells him that he and Achilles aren’t lovers. Patroclus blinks hard once again. They are so familiar and affectionate with each other that he never questioned the assumption, such that he can’t think of any response other than “Why not?”

He looks so heart wrenchingly plaintive as he says, “How could we be? He deserves so much and I have nothing to offer him. I can’t even reach him. I want the best for him and I can’t give him any of that.” It aches deep in Patroclus’s heart but he can also barely stop from rolling his eyes at how blind he’s being.

“That’s ridiculous,” Pat tells him. “You’ve given Achilles so much more than you realize. I’m sure he loves you.” Zagreus frowns and disagrees. Patroclus sighs. “Well what about the company Achilles has given you, hmm? What does it mean to you?”

“Everything,” he says immediately. “It means the world to me, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Patroclus raises a brow. “Is it really such a stretch of the imagination that Achilles feels the same way about what you have already given him?” Zagreus looks unconvinced but he doesn’t argue either. Once again, he looks at Pat like he’s starving.

He kisses his lovely demon and tries to give him comfort and reassurance before he has to leave for the night. He spends the next night with Achilles, still apart from Zagreus. He also asks him why they aren’t lovers, and what do you know, Achilles gives basically the same reason Zagreus did. Patroclus does roll his eyes this time.

Achilles is more stubborn when Pat tries to tell him that that’s nonsense but he still sees the spark of longing and hope that creeps into his eye as they talk. Pat kisses him plenty as well, and eventually remembers Zagreus’s question that started all this.

Unprompted, Patroclus tells Achilles how incredibly warm Zagreus’s skin is to the touch, how careful and delicate he is with his claws when their hands connect and how hot his breath is when they kiss. Achilles doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, staring unblinkingly at him with pupils wide and dark.

Patroclus doesn’t talk to them the next night when Achilles’ tank is back next to Zagreus’s cage; he approaches to see them talking, voices disguised by low undertones, and decides to leave them undisturbed.

A few nights pass before Zagreus pulls him closer to his bars and looks at him with an edge of desperation before saying, “Take this to Achilles,” and kissing him firmly on the lips. Achilles is right there, he heard him say it, and his gaze drills a hole into Patroclus as he turns and crosses the distance. He says nothing but doesn’t hesitate in the slightest to lean in when Pat pulls himself up.

His breath hitches when Patroclus delivers the message, as accurate as he can be to the way Zagreus kissed him. He pulls back and the nereid needs a moment before his eyes reopen and he says, “Please bring this back to Zagreus,” and kisses so very tenderly.

A little part of Patroclus thinks this feels quite silly since they’re only about 3 yards apart and they’ve both been staring at him this whole time, but Zagreus is beaming at him when he turns back and he really doesn’t mind doing this for them.

Still, once he’s passed on the kiss to Zagreus, he informs them that this is quite the strange arrangement and that he’ll just have to find a way to unite them properly. Zagreus can’t hide his enthusiasm, looking at him nervously but with a smile that’s only grown wider. Achilles sighs shakily and murmurs, “Please be careful.”

Zagreus falls asleep that night pushed up right up to the cage bars, his right arm shoved through a gap up to the bicep, which can’t fit through, and extended right towards Achilles. He can’t reach out of his tank in the same way, but Achilles sleeps pressed against the side nearest Zagreus.

Even when the two of them can’t touch, every inch between them that they can close takes weight off their tender hearts.

Time passes before Patroclus feels comfortable enough about his chances of getting them out. For one, he wants to wait until they’re close enough to the coast before trying. Achilles tells him that he can survive without being in water for an extended time, a few weeks even, but it’s not indefinite. Fortunately, they’re nearing the coast at last.

The master of the menagerie keeps the keys to Achilles’ and Zagreus’s cages on his person at all times, but Patroclus feels confident he can get him drunk enough to swipe them. That just leaves the odds of them getting away fast enough before anyone notices what’s going on.

Achilles scowls and bitterly admits his fear that he won’t be able to keep up. It’s been a long time since his heel was wounded but he hasn’t had the chance to walk since then and he has no faith in his legs’ ability to run.

Patroclus just starts to wonder if they’ll need a new plan when Zagreus declares that demons are strong and near tireless creatures and that he can carry Achilles as far as they need to go for him to get the chance to regain his strength.

Achilles flushes and frets over his well being and Patroclus questions his truthfulness since he sees Zagreus sleeping all the time. He’s quick to reassure that he’ll be fine and that he’ll never leave Achilles behind and that “It’s just because there’s nothing to do around here, Pat, I don’t need to sleep much, but at least it helps with the boredom.”

Two nights later, they put the plan into motion. An amphora of wine gets Pat the keys and he waits patiently until the area around his lovers is as clear as it ever is then starts opening locks as quietly as he can. Zagreus first, then Achilles.

The nereid does land on his feet when he pulls himself out, strong enough to stand, but he looks shaky. Zagreus whispers a little, “May I?” and waits for Achilles minute nod. They both shudder when Zagreus gets an arm under his knees and gathers him up in his arms, pressed so very close as they touch for the first time.

They make a break for the river that they’ll follow to the sea and apparently Zagreus was being fully truthful because he carries Achilles without trouble, even when they keep going until dawn is fully broken to be sure they won’t be caught so easily.

Resting on the river bank, Patroclus admits that food won’t be great for the next few days, he has a town he’s aiming for that he thinks will take about two and a half days to reach, but until then, they’ll have to find things to eat around them.

Achilles quickly announces that if they stay by the river, he can fish up whatever they might need. Zagreus rubs the back of his neck and sheepishly offers his fiery legs to help cook them. Patroclus can’t help but laugh and kiss them both.

Achilles walks on his own for a while before Zagreus helps again; he limps a bit but it’s not as bad as any of them feared. Patroclus examines the old wound when he gets the chance and doesn’t doubt that he’ll get his strength back in time.

He dives in the river when they stop for the night and comes back with three fat trout. Pat elect to build a standard wood fire for the cooking but Zagreus’s feet are useful for getting the kindling to catch anyway.

As Patroclus sets about cooking the two fish (Achilles says he’ll eat his raw but wants to wait to eat with them) he sees Zagreus shuffle up to Achilles out of the corner of his eye. They intertwine their fingers, holding to each other tightly, and although Patroclus isn’t rude enough to stare, he might watch peripherally that lovely first kiss they share.

They’re very clingy with each other and with Patroclus as well, if perhaps not quite as much. They all sleep together that night, Patroclus clamped close in between them, their linked hands resting on his side, and all is not yet right with the world but damn if it doesn’t feel that way.

They end up settling in the little coastal town where the inhabitants are smart enough not to rat out the three strongest people around. Best not to cause trouble with a dangerous nereid, a fierce demon, and their strange mortal who’s more than capable of handling any trouble in his own right.

Besides, they quickly realize that they don’t want to. Achilles brings fresh fish on every market day, even more when Patroclus convinces him that nets are in fact a valid form of fishing and he starts setting them up underwater in ideal spots only he can reach. He’s always proud of his haul but sells and trades them very generously.

Zagreus (who knew a demon could be such a sweetheart?) takes up all sorts of odd jobs around town. He helps most often with the shepherds tending the herds on the outskirts, patrolling the border every few nights and keeping any predators well away from the sheep and cattle.

Patroclus starts helping out the elderly town healer. He admits that he knows quite a bit already about treating wounds and illnesses and helps the old man with tasks he can’t manage on his own anymore. He helps when things are too busy for him to handle alone and takes his place when he passes away a few years later.

The town doesn’t pay much mind to how they sometimes find Achilles snoozing in the surf or to how Zagreus sometimes burns footprints into wood floors when he gets too excited or to how all three of them are so obviously in love because they’re kind and why make trouble where there isn’t any?

Update: art!

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

It’s Not About Dibs

Ron Speirs x Reader

Oh HELL yes! This is for you @teenmagazines​, hope you’re ready for a doozy! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Talbert was a smooth son of a bitch, you had to give him that much.

You knew he was a flirt, had known it from the moment you’d met him back in Georgia. Being a nurse meant you were accustomed to feeling the lingering looks of the men you helped, it came with the territory, really. It only made sense- these men saw so few women during these years of vigorous training that the first flash of skirt was bound to catch their attention. It was natural, understandable. 

But Floyd? Floyd was absolutely shameless when it came to flirting with you. Where the traumas of war had numbed any sense of charm in most of the men who had initially tried to pursue you, Tab seemed to only grow more determined, bolder in his flirtatious quips.

Normally, you laughed and brushed it off- flirting back for fun before the two of you would inevitably be called back to your positions. It hadn’t ever gone too far, the both of you having some unspoken understanding that it was all done in good fun and that nothing was probably ever going to happen. 

Tonight, however, was a different story entirely.

Part of the reason you’d never truly given Floyd a second thought was due to the fact that it was common knowledge that Talbert would flirt with anything with a vagina and a smile, but if you were being completely honest with yourself- you knew it had more to do with your complicated infatuation with a certain Captain from Dog Company.

Ron Speirs was a….problem for you, to say the least.

He was brooding and intimidating and sharp-tongued, yes- but he was also one of the most distractingly handsome men you had ever met. And the bastard knew it, too.

From the moment Meehan had asked him to further your education in hand to hand combat, Ron Speirs had made it clear that he knew exactly how distracting he could be. Between the smug smirks he’d shoot your way and the borderline lewd take-down positions he’d work the two of you into, Ron always made sure to whisper corrections to the shell of your ear in such a way that your breath would catch almost painfully in your throat.

“Can’t leave your side open like that, pretty girl.”

“You’re gonna have to use your hips to twist out of this one.”

“You gonna get yourself into a whole world of trouble if you squirm like that, darlin’.”

It pissed you off, it turned you on.

Under his tutelage, you’d excelled-  learning how to break away from an attacker and how to strike to kill and how to use someone’s momentum against them. His praise made you preen and you’d be lying if you said that pinning him underneath didn’t you gave you some sort of proud rush.

A strange, heady familiarity had formed- one that never really went anywhere but still seemed to connect you to each other like an electric current. 

After dropping into Normandy, however, his strange charm had turned into a nearly cruel protectiveness. 

More often than not you found yourself being pushed aside and dragged away from the men you were trying to treat, overlooked when it came to picking which nurses were to take rotations on the frontlines. The few times you managed to actually get out there and do your fucking job, Ron was hovering so tensely behind you that you found yourself making mistakes or tripping over yourself. And, worst of all, he didn’t even seem to acknowledge you as a woman anymore.

If anything, you were just another mouth to feed. 

Another face he had to deal with.

The only time any of that had wavered was in the forests around Foy, when he’d had no say in the fact that you were to be Dog Company's medic.

The fail of firepower and shattering trees was nothing short of spectacular- a symphony of destruction that scared you as much as if amazed you. Never before had you felt the earth around you quake and rattle with such violent power that you truly believed it could crack open and swallow you whole.

And through the entirety of it, Ron Speirs had been there- shielding you from the onslaught of falling shards of timber and shrapnel with every inch of his body, holding your helmet onto your head as he used his body to shelter you from the destruction happening just above your heads. 

Any and all of your screams were encouraged into the meat of his chest as he held you so close you wondered if the two of you might fuse together, his grip on you refusing to let you respond to the desperate cries of “medic” until he was absolutely sure that the onslaught had ceased for the time being.

He’d kissed you for the first time during one of these barrages, when you hadn’t screamed at all and simply clung to him as if you feared he’d be torn away from you if you didn’t. Ron had shouted your name through the chaos, and when you’d turned your head to look at him he’d crushed his lips against yours with the same anxious desperation you’d been holding him with- kissing you until your head swam and all you could hear and see and taste and feel was him, him him.

Your lips had been swollen by the time it all became quiet again, your body feeling warmer than it had in weeks and panting up at him like an idiot.

When the scream for a medic rang out, he’d hungrily kissed you once more before sitting back enough to allow you to leave the foxhole, his eyes wild as he nodded for you to go.

“Be careful,” he’d commanded, chest heaving as he looked at you. “Come back when you’re done.”

That had been nearly two weeks ago, and when you had come back he’d acted as if nothing had happened. The next day, when word of relief medics had reached the encampment, he’d sent you away again.

You should’ve known nothing would change, but it still stung.

Which brought you back to Floyd Talbert.

A group of you were sitting around a table while some of the other men played cards nearby, a bottle of some gold liquid being passed around to anyone who wanted some.

Tab, lubed up and feeling confident, was whispering some sweet thing into your ear that you were just tipsy enough to blush at- something about how ‘unfair it was that’ you were so ‘beautiful and smart’ and how sad it was that he hadn’t had the chance to ‘do anything about it’.

“I’m serious, Y/N, it’s goddamn heartbreaking, knowing you’re right here and no one is making you feel as good as you deserve to feel-”

You rolled your eyes, head lolling to the side so you can squint critically at him.

“And how good do I deserve to feel, Floyd? Hm?”

His smile was pure sex, and when he wet his lips with this tongue you couldn’t help but watch with heavy-lidded eyes.

His hand is warm on your thigh, and when he brings his forehead to rest against yours you can taste the alcohol on his breath.

“Oh, Babygirl- there aren’t enough words in the world to describe what I wanna do to you…”

The finger he drags along the seam of your pants between your legs had you inhaling sharply, heat rising to your cheeks as you somehow manage not to jump at the contact.

God, when was the last time anyone had touched you there…?

In your mind’s eye, you get a flash of memory, remembering the time Ron had shown you how to wrestle your thighs around a man’s neck and pin him down. 

He’d looked so proud when you’d finally managed to do it, patting your thigh with a mumble of “that’s it, good job”

Just as your lips part to reply, a hand grabs heavily at your shoulder and you’re being pulled up from your seat bodily, snapping out of your carnal daze like you’ve been splashed with a bucket of cold water.

It takes you a moment to realize that Ron is the owner of that hand, and is currently fisting Floyd’s jacket and all but throwing him to the ground.

“Ron!”

You barely hear yourself shout his name over the sound of everyone else in the room shooting to their feet and rushing over, no one stopping the Captain but no one silently watching either.

A wave of protests and cries to take it easy floods the room, and only you are close enough to hear Ron’s venomous accusations being grit out through his teeth.

“Have you lost your goddamned mind, boy? Is this how you engage with a fellow soldier? Getting them drunk and copping a feel, huh?”

Floyd, to his credit, says nothing as Ron hovers over him face blank and hands raised submissively at his sides. What he probably shouldn’t have done, however, was let a smirk curl the corners of his full lips and shoot a wink your way.

Ron all but snarls at that, roughly letting the man go before standing up straight and turning on you.

“Let’s go,” he snaps icily. “You’re done for the night.”

You protest, backing away from him about two steps before he grabs you by the arm and is hauling you through the throng that had assembled around him and Tab and marching towards the door.

“Jesus, Ron! What’s your problem?”

He ignores you, storming the both of you out of the building you had previously been in, across the street, and pulling you behind him into the house he had usurped from a family earlier in the day.

“Ron, you’re hurting my arm, stop it!”

The grip on your bicep softens instantly, his fingers wrapping around your sleeve and dragging you by the fabric instead. 

By the time you manage to shake him off, he’s already let you go, having brought the two of you into a room that must have belonged to one of the children who’d been temporarily displaced.

You stumble a few steps before catching your footing, anger flooding your veins with a rage you hadn’t felt in quite a while.

You gape at his back as he closes the door behind him, one of his hands coming up to smooth his dark hair back into place. He’s breathing hard but so are you, and when he doesn’t turn back around to look at you you decide to take matters into your own hands.

He does seem surprised when you grab his arm and yank him around to face you, his piercing eyes going wide for just a moment before becoming cold once again.

“What in the absolute fuck is your problem?!” you screech, smacking his hand when it begins to rise and reach for you. “No, NO! Don’t fucking touch me! What the fuck? What’s the matter with you?”

His glare does nothing to intimidate you, if anything it fuels your anger.

Poking his chest with a hard jab of your finger, you step into him and let him have it.

“You have no right to manhandle me like that, you hear me? You had no right to spoil everyone’s night like that—”

“I’m your commanding officer, Y/L/N,” he spat quietly, batting your hand away with all the attention he would give a pestering fly. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do—!”

“Eugene Roe and Spina are my fucking superiors, Speirs- I’m not one of your soldiers and you don’t get to pick and chose to torment me when you feel like flexing your authority! Not with me, not with any of the medics! Only Winters can do that and you know that—!”

The look he gives you is nothing less than a blaring warning, his jaw ticking with rage.

“Get out of my face, Nurse. You forget who you’re talking to—”

You smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind my face being this close to yours a couple of weeks ago, or was that another power trip on your part?”

“Y/N, I’m warning you—”

“Why? What are you going to do? Send me away again? Get all high and mighty just because Floyd has the balls to like me and fucking do something about it and you don’t?”

His hands snap out and roughly grab your face before smashing his lips to yours so hard your teeth clink together, the kiss cruel and overpowering and so goddamn hot it nearly makes your toes curl.

Your hands shove at him, anger and lust and hurt and sadness all hitting you at once and making your head spin.

“Ron, Ron! HEY!” 

You’re able to turn your face from the kiss enough to bark at him, moving to step away only to realize he’s walked you back so you hit a wall softly. Your hands are still fisted in his shirt and his hands have moved from your face to your arms and for a few moments the two of you just stand there gasping for air and openly glaring at each other.

When you finally collect yourself enough to steady your breathing, you let your head fall back against the wall with a dull thud, wetting your lips a few times before you feel like you can actually speak.

“That’s….this isn’t fair. You don’t get to do shit like that—”

“Like what?” he interrupts, taking a step closer to you and hissing when you shove him back.

“That. you don't get to, fucking- fucking treat me like shit and then get all possessive when I’m not even, when we’re not...you don’t get to do that—!”

“He had his fucking hands all over you.” Ron’s voice is steel on stone, and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes.

“I wanted his fucking hands on me.”

Ron frowns at that, and you frown right back.

“You made yourself pretty clear, sending me away like some nuisance after I saved your men when no one else would. If you hate me so much, why’d you kiss me in the first place—?”

He’s shaking his head before you finish speaking, “It had nothing to do with that, I don’t fucking hate you—”

You scoff. “No?”

“No, you stupid girl—”

“Don’t call me stupid, you fucking prick. I’m not the one who results to schoolyard antics when I get a crush on someone—!”

Ron barks a laugh at that. “I don’t have a crush on you.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I left right now and let Floyd Talbert absolutely destroy me tonight?”

He says your name as another warning, and you can’t stop the amused expression that crosses your face as you shake your head.

“Unbelievable. You’re such a child.”

This time he has no reply, but the look he gives you is answer enough.

No, I would definitely mind.

Letting your eyes squeeze shut, you take a deep breath.

“What do you want from me, Ron?”

The hands that had been gripping your forearms falter slightly, and you hear the catch of his breath at the exhaustion in your voice.

When you open your eyes again, you see a look of confusion on his face, as if he doesn’t truly know what he wants either. Like he hadn’t gotten that far in his possessive thinking.

You both stand there for a few moments in silence, your breaths slowing and your fires smoldering into a controllable flame.

You take one of your hands from his chest to tuck some of your hair behind your ear, not realizing that your bun had come loose at some point.

Ron’s eyes follow the movement, and when you go to let your arm hang loosely by your side he takes your wrist and gently brings it back up to rest against his chest. He keeps his touch light enough that you can pull your hand away if you really wanted to.

You don’t.

When you begin to turn your head away Ron says your name again, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it or known it could be. 

“Ron,” you reply, too tired to argue any more.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question catches you off guard, and when you meet his gaze you see a flash of anxiety in his eyes.

The same way he’d looked at you before he’d kissed you in the forest.

You take a deep breath. “Not if you’re going to treat me like crap and send me away afterward.”

He studies you for a moment before he nods minutely, eyes flickering down to your lips as he hesitantly takes a step into you again, the hand not holding yours coming up to hold your jaw.

When he kisses you this time it is sweet, his full mouth plush against yours and nothing like the way he’s kissed you before.

He does nothing untoward, allowing you to deepen the kiss in your own time and inhaling sharply once you do.

His hair is soft between your fingers, softer than it had any right to be for someone so rough.

As you tilt your head to the side he just holds you, hands framing your face as if you’re made of glass before he finally breaks away and takes a step back to catch your reaction.

“That was...different.”

He smiles briefly at your response, a warmth in his gaze only serving to make you flush deeper.

“Bad, or—?”

No, no. Not bad,” you rush to say, taking a deep breath before shooting him a nervous smile. “It was...nice.”

“I should’ve kissed you like that the first time.”

You shake your head at that. “No, I mean- I didn’t mind it, uh….before.”

His thumb brushes across your bottom lip you swallow nervously, unused to this sort of softness from him.

“I didn’t send you away because I don't think you’re a good medic. You should- I should have made that clear.... before.”

You nod quietly. “Okay.”

“You’re, you’re really good- one of the best nurses I’ve seen—”

“No need to lay it on so thick, Ron. I already know how good I am.”

When he smirks and looks down he looks like a nervous little boy in front of you, and when his cheeks pinken you let yourself smile.

It’s obvious this is new territory for him, and the fact that he’s even trying means the world to you. 

You’re still mad, still embarrassed by how wildly inappropriate his behavior was earlier, but you’re also aware of how difficult these little admissions of remorse must be for someone like him.

How difficult any sort of feelings other than rage and duty has become for all of you.

Although, you doubted he’d express any of these newfound values to anyone else.

“I don’t know how I’m going to break it to Floyd,” you mutter, winking at Ron when his head snaps up and he narrows his eyes. “Boy’s had it bad for me since we were stateside—”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it.” Ron interrupts, raising his eyebrow when you frown at his tone. “Besides, I outrank him. He wouldn’t disobey a direct order.”

You scoff at that. “I don’t think you can pull rank when calling ‘dibs’ on a girl, Ron. That’s not how ranks works.”

“Oh no?” he challenges. “Just you watch me.”

Before you can quip something back to him he gives you another long, slow kiss that effectively shuts you up.

“And, just for the record,” he says between kisses. “I don’t call ‘dibs'. If anything, I call finders keepers.”

When you pout he grins wickedly down at you.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re such a child. I’m not a prize,  I’m a catch”

“Damn right you are.”

And he gets right to proving it.

~ ~ ~

WOOHOO HERE IT BY MY LOVELIES I DID A THING AND IT MAY BE CRAP BUT IT’S MY CRAP AND I’M PLEASED WITH IT FOR NOW, OKAY?! 

LOVE YOU GUYS AND THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE LATELY, IT MEANS THE WORLD!!!

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​

[dansnaturepictures]

7/8/21-Return to Blashford Lakes

Today we went somewhere we hadn’t been for seventeen months and five days. A place that with its splendidly varied habitats which hosts a huge variety of birds throughout the year rare and common, and is strong for butterflies, moths, dragonflies and mammals too and was one of our most crucial and one of my favourite nature reserves in my late childhood and teenage years as I got hooked on birdwatching, wildlife generally and photography and I have always loved it since. Over the years there tended to be a barren spell of us going there over the summer as we maybe focused on more butterfly and other insect dominated locations this pattern developing into my working days a bit as we did come during summer holidays in my school/college days but all year throughout the winter especially this hub for wildlife has been a regular haunt for us for so long. But after that last visit on 1st March 2020 obviously Covid hit and the you could say main feature of seeing wildlife at this reserve is the hides, so it is a reserve good for piling into hides with lots of people looking at birds so obviously not good during Covid times. I have to say the team did work very hard to get the reserve open safely without the hides post lockdown 1 and we did explore the idea of coming back to enjoy this at a stage but due to one thing and another we sadly never quite managed it. But following 19th July the hides now are open with the welcome precautions still in place of masks to be worn and every window that can be opened.

A Black-necked Grebe that had been reported on Ibsley Water attracted us here especially today which we needed to see, and it allowed for this sweet reunion with a place I hold dear. During all the discussions of things you will do when lockdown eases or when we find our way to some kind of normal I felt extremely lucky as I have been able to do my main hobby still just because of what it is. But this was one thing on my list of things I wanted to get back to, getting back to places like these so hide dominated reserves. Prior to today since Covid hit it was only Sculthorpe Moor in Norfolk last September and an open screen/hide type area at Newborough Forest in Anglesey this June that I’d been to hides at.

As I walked in at the visitor centre side of the road entrance it was great to be back and one difference from when I last came here is obviously how vastly more interested I am in flowers now and other areas of insects too. And on the verge at the entrance was a lovely moth mullein which I took a photo of and tweeted on Dans_Pictues tonight one I learnt today. St. John’s-wort and yarrow adorned this patch of grass too and there was a lovely little deraeocoris ruber insect on the yarrow a new one for me which was delightful to see. A big thing about my deeper delves into flowers and other insects over the months has obviously been learning so much and it was the sign of the times back at one of my favourite nature reserves that I was only stood on a grass verge beside a road entrance to the site for two minutes or so and I’d learnt two new species!

I then proceeded across the grassy area to get to ivy north hide the first hide I went into in Hampshire since March 2020 and it was stunning to see the fields carpeted in St. John’s-wort, ragowrt and catsear/hawksbeard type flowers making it look deliciously yellow with thistle, black mullein, self-heal and others looking very pretty too. I took the first picture in this photoset of this area. I also liked seeing one of my favourite flowers foxgloves, purple loosestrife, centaury, wild parsnip, dock and Wood avens and Herb-Robert great woodland species that I hadn’t seen for a while still going strong with shadows of cow parnsnip as well throughout the reserve today. On the field area I noticed a beautiful moth flitting around which I got great views of landed on vegetation a smashing Treble-bar a new moth for me today which I also tweeted a photo fo. A welcome life and year tick for my moths and as my eighteenth identified moth species seen this year it levels (whilst I didn’t do a year list then, I worked this out recently) the amount of moths I saw and knew what they were in 2020 which I am pleased with. And whilst I might not ever be able to know every moth I see its more than justified me reinstating my moth year lists recently as I’ve seen more identified moths than dragon/damselflies and mammals two more year lists I keep beside birds and butterflies the main ones this year so far. I also did here today maybe my penultimate Big Butterfly Count this year with the survey ending tomorrow I had never done one here before and I saw three Gatekeepers and one Small White and Speckled Wood between the showers. A splendid Southern Hawker paraded over this area which I saw on the way out and back. 

I reached ivy north hide and among other things I came away impressed with how Covid secure the reserve is to visit as to save going into the hide if one wishes they have added a little open air viewing screen next to the hide which is interesting. As well as lovely views of ivy lake decent numbers of Sand Martins and a Common Tern parading over the water welcomed me back as key Blashford birds at this time of year and I’d not seen either for a few weeks now whilst having a really good year for them both. By the visitor centre I liked seeing some elecampane and mint in a very colourful flower bed area which I took the second picture in this photoset of seeing a nice bee on it too. Before spending some time at ivy south hide and seeing much the same wildlife wise to ivy north with Common Tern flying very nicely over and young Black-headed Gulls among the gulls out there and taking in some nice views I went in the woodland hide.

At this hide one of my absolute favourites with such intimate views available of feeding birds behind the glass where you can see them but they can’t see you as a shower came and went and some brightness emerged I liked seeing the memorable species of this area come one by one. Firstly a Robin one of some seen across the reserve today a fitting one as on that 1st March 2020 visit I took one of my favourite ever pictures I’ve taken of this iconic species. Then the commoner tits were there with Dunnock, soon to be followed by Marsh Tit coming to feed. Coal Tit and Chaffinch would soon follow as wood delicious looking Nuthatch. And I was stunned and got some very exciting moments when a dominant and large flash of red, cream and black arrived in the form of a Great Spotted Woodpecker (GSW). You can’t come to Blashford and the woodland hide and not see these, one of the species that has captivated me most at this reserve right from when we very first visited the bird of Blashford for me for so long with so many times waiting, watching and hoping and loving seeing and trying for photos of. I took and tweeted a photo of this bird, not the best in an awkward angle a little with it more so on the other side of the feeder than my side but having not been here for nearly a year and a half and how important the GSW is to our Blashford visits I was inclined to take whatever I could get if in the summer days when less birds come to the feeders with food available naturally I was lucky enough to see one. And whilst I’ve been so lucky to see and hear these birds a lot elsewhere since last March it was probably my best chances for pictures since this a species I did photograph from this hide on 1st March 2020 too so it felt so good to be back getting such a prolonged view of it. I rarely see many species on a feeder at the same time as the woodpecker they are that dominant but Great Tit and others did stand up to it and be on the feeder at the same time today. 

It was exhilirating to see a Jay and then another fly in displacing the dominant woodpecker and seeing a shaggy looking Jay especially dash past the window getting a striking view I thought it was going to crash into the window at one point. A spectacular moment and I loved getting pictures of them again this year today including the third picture in this photoset I have had a good year for them. Two standout moments on this trip today with two of my favourite birds. I took the fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset of the body of water on the way to ivy south hide and a lovely view of ivy lake there. 

I then met up with my Mum who had returned from a dog walk at nearby Rockford Common with Missy to end the day in the tern hide. There was no sign of the Black-necked Grebe for us as I arrived after a shower but I did see a lot else. This included an early Goosander, a key staple of a Blashford winter this female was something of an early one and we got a pleasant view of this distinguished duck I took the sixth picture in this photoset of this with my bridge camera which came to life in this hide alongside my DSLR for photos I certainly in summer days where maybe it happens less felt I got my fill of bird photos at this top bird spot. I loved seeing the young speckled Lapwing in the seventh picture in this photoset of a nice intimate view I got of this wonderful wader. There were many Egyptian Geese around too I got some stunning views of these including the one in the tenth picture in this photoset. This was my bogey bird this year one I struggled to see quickly which I usually see without too much trouble due to not coming to Blashford we didn’t see any until Fishlake Meadows and then Petersfield Heath Pond in June seeing an extraordinary amount at the latter with Ruddy Shelduck too. Seeing them all here today it was as though we never needed to worry about seeing one this year. There were top views and more photo opportunities of another of my favourite birds with Great Crested Grebe, and I enjoyed seeing gulls including Lesser Black-backed Gulls well. Another pick of the bunch on Ibsley Water was a sweet little Common Sandpiper a key bird for this spot, a third seen this year by me which has been great after RSPB Lodmoor and Stour Vallye nature reserve in Dorset over two days in our April week off of day trips. The top bird moments were set nicely to dramatic scenes as a further showers moved in and their were touches of sun as well looking over the smashing Ibsley water and I was so glad to be back at Blashford. Its interesting sat in the tern hide on Ibsely Water an area overlooked by the further along Goosander hide and Lapwing hide too, I saw Common Tern some more as well as Lapwing and Goosander. With the Goosanders mostly in over winter any terns the spring and summer migrants you would not see them together so this must be the first time I saw all three in a day which I found very interesting. I took the eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset of the views here.

An always likely sight in the woodland hide at Blashford greeted us when home this evening when a Sparrowhawk flew up from the garden and over the other gardens, appearing to have had a kill with some feathers left in the garden. This was so exciting to see. I had seen probably this Sparrowhawk hovering over the area recently and with the noise and numbers from the Starlings coming in lately this was maybe only a matter of time. Its another glorious Sparrowhawk in the garden experience which I feel over the moon to have a little collection going for here and my Dad’s house where I grew up. I liked seeing some new pretty flowers the bright red chrysanthemums in the back garden too and alongside nice other bird and sky views at home today it was special to see some Goldfinches including a young bird on the balcony feeders once more. What a brilliant Saturday, I hope you all had a good one.

Wildlife Sightings Summary for Blashford Lakes: My first ever deraeocoris ruber and Treble-bar moth, three of my favourite birds the Great Spotted Woodpecker, Jay and Great Crested Grbee, one of my favourite dragonflies the Southern Hawker, Cormorant, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Herring Gull, Black-headed Gull, Common Tern, Coot, lots of Tufted Duck, Mallard, Goosander, lots of Mute Swans, Egyptian Goose, Lapwing, Common Sandpiper, Sand Martin, lots of Woodpigeons, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Coal Tit, Marsh Tit, Nuthatch, Robin, Dunnock, Chaffinch, Gatekeeper, Speckled Wood, Small White, cranefly just inside the window of ivy south hide and bee.

[zymstarz]

i very much would love to hear you talk about windwaker,, like just anything about it no specific questions just go crazy (maybe about the game storyline or where it is in the tloz timeline or how the characters differ, just anything at all)

My brain has been activated so here's the explanation of the timeline leading up to Wind Waker and including the events of Wind Waker bc it is so cool to me. Warning for a REEEALLY long post!

If you'd like to know my sources, it's all from the games themselves, and the Hyrule Historia / Hyrule Encyclopedia books! Also 14-year-long brainrot.

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

So in Ocarina of Time (yes that's a different game trust me), there are 2 possible outcomes. (Btw OOT/MM Link is the Hero of TIME and WW/PH Link is the Hero of WINDS. They all have different labels!)

In one of those outcomes, Link loses to Ganon and Hyrule is taken over. In this timeline, labeled the "failure timeline", zora are still fish people, but they attack and are enemies to Hyrule. There is also no Ganondorf (the human version), only Ganon (the monster version, which was made once Ganondorf used the Triforce) and he's like a walking, talking conscious pig for the most part. He won as Ganon in OOT, so why go back to being human you know? There are other big bads in some of those games but I don't have that timeline as memorized as the rest of the timeline(s).

The other outcome is what you see in the game, Link winning and Ganon being sealed in a pocket void in the Sacred Realm. Zelda sends Link back in time after defeating Ganon to let him live the childhood he missed, making this one outcome of the fight split into 2 other timelines.

One of them is Link's perspective, where he goes off the find Navi after she flies off at the end of OOT and the Hero of Time dies in Majora's Mask during his search. In this timeline, labeled the "child timeline", zora are still FRIENDLY fish people, and there is both a human Ganondorf and a Ganon that takes the form of a wild, more animalistic boar.

The other is the timeline Zelda now finds herself in. The Hero of Time defeated Ganon, sure, but now Hyrule is left without a hero. The Triforce of Courage is broken into 8 pieces because of Link's displacement in time. This is the "adult timeline" and where Wind Waker takes place.

Somehow, Ganondorf, the same one from OOT and now returned to his human form, was able to get back Hyrule and sought out the Triforce again. Its citizens prayed for the Hero of Time to come back, but he literally can't. King Daphnes gave up hope for the Hero of Time to return and left the fate of his kingdom in the hands of the gods.

The gods (Farore, Nayru and Din, the creators of the planet and Triforce) responded by telling the citizens to run to the mountains and flooding the kingdom, sealing away King Daphnes and Ganondorf (now only referred to as Ganon even tho he's human again?) with it. Princess Zelda (Tetra's mother) escaped to the surface with a chunk of the Triforce and passed it along to her child, who lived to be a pirate captain and wore it as a necklace.

Centuries pass and the Ganondorf underwater dies and is resurrected above the ocean (pretend I explained why he, Zelda, and Link keep being resurrected here), and one of his first acts was killing the Earth and Wind sages (Loruto the zora and Fado the kokiri), whose prayers help give the Master Sword its power. He also sent out one of his main minions, the Helmaroc King, to search for girls with pointed ears (anyone who could potentially be Princess Zelda / a royal descendant, and therefore holder of the Triforce.)

At this point in time, the zora and kokiri no longer exist. They had to evolve to adapt to the now flooded kingdom, and are now known as rito (bird people) and koroks (tree people).

(Before you ask why the zora evolved from fish people to bird people when Hyrule was flooded, the water was poisoned. Ganondorf even notes before the first of the two final battles that Hyrule's ocean "yields no fish to catch", despite being so massive. It should be noted that in Phantom Hourglass - the direct sequel to Wind Waker where Tetra and Link travel beyond Hyrule's ocean to establish a new kingdom - there is a fishing minigame. Fish do exist here, but it was impossible for them to exist in Hyrule's ocean. The kokiri just evolved over time.)

King Daphnes, dead for a long time now, puts his spirit into a boat, naming himself The King of Red Lions and searching for anyone who even had the potential to be the next hero. He eventually finds (Wind Waker) Link - who is on a mission to get his sister back from the Helmaroc King, and by association, Ganondorf (she had pointed ears, and was taken because she was potentially related to the royal family based on this characteristic).

The King gives up on his search for the hero of legend and asks Link to help him defeat Ganondorf, both to save Hyrule and to ensure his sister's safety. The two set out on a mission for Link to gather the 3 pearls representing the goddesses, meeting the deities that protect them, and seeing the effects of Ganondorf's growing power. Once he gathered all 3 pearls, Link gained access to the Tower of the Gods and proved himself worthy to enter the sunken kingdom of Hyrule, which is frozen in time.

Link gets the Master Sword, which is basically only a sword from being dormant so long and the Earth and Wind sages being... you know, dead. Hyrule quickly comes back to life since the Master Sword acted as a seal on the kingdom, and Link goes back to where his sister is held captive to fight Ganondorf again. Tetra, having met Link in the beginning of the game, makes sure all the captured girls are sent home safely and runs to help Link in his confrontation against Ganondorf. She fails, and Ganondorf realizes Tetra was the royal descendant he was looking for. They escape and return to Hyrule together to get some answers.

The King of Red Lions reveals himself to be King Daphnes to the children, and puts Tetra's remaining piece of the Triforce of Wisdom together with his. Tetra is given royal garb (and a new skin tone for some reason...) and realizes she is the next Princess Zelda. She's told to wait in the Master Sword's chamber until Link returns the Master Sword's power and gathers the broken pieces of the Triforce of Courage scattered across Hyrule, since they believed she would be safe in the castle's basement.

Link awakens Medli the rito and Makar the korok as the next Earth and Wind sages (each one obviously matching their descendants), and returns the Master Swords full power. With the 8 pieces of the Triforce of Courage back together, he returns to the sunken kingdom and Ganondorf reveals he has taken Zelda. Link breaks the seal preventing him from leaving the sunken kingdom with the Master Sword, and goes to fight Ganondorf.

After fighting a few of Ganondorf's minions, Link gains arrows of light, which would be used to fight against Ganondorf in both final battles.

Ganondorf - now seen with a Zelda who is dead asleep - gives Link one last test to prove that he is, in fact, the next hero of legend and would definitely have the Triforce of Courage. He knocks Link unconscious and takes both Zelda's and Link's Triforce pieces to bring Hyrule back to the surface and gain control.

King Daphnes steps in, and wishes for Hyrule to be washed away, and for the children (Link and Zelda) to be given hope and a future. The final seal on the kingdom, keeping it from being submerged in water, gives way. The kingdom begins to flood and be destroyed, not just be left trapped underwater. Link and Zelda wake up and team up against Ganondorf to kill him for good - which they do to the point that he just straight up doesn't reincarnate in that timeline anymore. (In Spirit Tracks, when Link and Zelda have already reincarnated, Ganondorf does not.)

Link and Zelda vow to the King that they would form a new kingdom, and are returned to the surface. Zelda is returned to Tetra, and King Daphnes' spirit finally dies. The game ends with Link, Tetra, and Tetra's pirate crew saying goodbye to Link's family and sailing off to find a place far, far away to build a new kingdom.

[demauryss]

murphy’s law | 1/2

anything that can go wrong will go wrong. eliott just learns it the hardest way possible.

or, kind of an expansion of hold you here my loveliest friend

 alt er love advent calender, day 18

(for my dearest mtea @bluronyourradar, this is the thing which i was writing for you. i tore my heart in half while writing this hehe hope you enjoy reading this. part two coming soon i promise :-))

The thing about giving your heart to your best friend is, you never actually see it happening. You don’t see it coming. It just happens. Maybe at the speed of tar moving over the road. Maybe at the way the sunlight fades behind the darkness of the night. Maybe in the blink of an eye. But it happens.

You see, they’re always there. You find their smile punctuated by the way they look at you, and their words sweet like honey and heart as warm as a stream of water on a hot day. The fluttering of their hands over your skin and in your stomach burning like the crackling fire you’d have stood in front of, smoke from the ashes mixing with the tears in your eyes as you’d have turned away. They’re always there, so you don’t see.

(Maybe sometimes you do. Amidst fleeting glances and stopping heartbeat and sometimes, concrete as the sky and bottomless as the ground beneath your feet. You don’t.)

And it’s the best thing, those short moments where you don’t have to worry about someone else having a hold of your heart, twisting it to their desires. It’s the best thing about giving your heart to your best friend. Because you’re as blissful as you can be around them. Because you’ve always felt this welcoming warmth radiating from them which envelops your bones and makes a home for you inside itself, stopping you from stepping out of it into the unbidden cold, which is sharp and sinks itself over you.

And when your best friend gives their heart to you, you take it without any questions asked. You hold it close to the space where yours used to be. You spend your nights dancing through the grass and your days lifting the feeling slowly settling in your head, blurring your thoughts and fading every sense of reality. You hold on to their heart tighter than your own, and maybe that’s the first mistake you make.

Because then your grip on your own heart starts to loosen. Till a time comes that it completely shifts away from you. Because your brain is busy protecting your best friend’s heart and forgets the part of itself which you have given away.

And because. Because you let yourself. So there comes a time when your best friend hands your heart back to you. They hand it back, warmed and loved and wrapped in a curtain which makes it to look like it hasn’t been used before. They hand it back, a delicate bundle of fibers and beats mixing into one.

And you’ve spent so much time in cutting all the nerves and vessels tying you to that beating flesh. You’ve spent so much of yourself living without that part of you. And when you get your heart back, despite of your wishes, you don’t know what to do with it. You place it beck inside your chest, behind that cage tightening against the walls, hoping it would find its place back. But it sits there, a foreign and estranged piece of you; a displaced swing finding its equilibrium again; a stretched elastic held against its wishes to recoil.

Because you know if you let it go it would return to them in a heartbeat.

And that’s another thing about giving your heart to your best friend. The first time it happens, you don’t realize it. But the second time, when your heart literally crawls out of your chest, and walks away from you and back to your best friend. It rips your skin in the way, leaves your hands frozen, unable to stop the process, as you watch it run away from you.

And you watch, realizing that it will never be yours if you stop it now. So you watch. And you let it go.

And with it comes the realization that the thing beating inside you was never meant to stay there and hide. That even after they return your heart to you under the guise of doubts and ache, it’s ready to turn away in a second. That no matter the layers you put over it and the pain you go through to cover the fierceness with which it is beginning to tear itself from you; it won’t work. And there comes a time where you’re left to collect the pieces of your skin and the fibers your heart has left in its trail.

And that’s the worst thing about giving your heart to your best friend, you see. The realization, the feeling, the fucking knife which keeps on twisting in your chest and you keep screaming for it to stop, just stop. But the blood seeps away and the wound gets deeper and you find yourself filling it with the dust in your lungs and the shivers in your hands. But it fills your mouth with iron and your legs become studded with lead when you realize – you realize that no matter what, your heart will never be yours to keep after that.

    Lucas’s mother owns a candy shop. When he hugs Eliott his hair smells of butterscotch and banana, all combined into one. It’s peculiar, but the thought fades into the back of his head when Lucas nuzzles his face into his chest, and as his hands squeeze the space above Eliott’s hips in a frantic cry of help.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, muffling a laugh behind the wild mess on Lucas’s head which needs to be toned down desperately – but Eliott isn’t complaining. “What is it this time?”

Lucas separates himself from Eliott, his lips puffed in a pout and eyes filled with a look of great disgrace as he grimaces. “Blueberry and basil! Like would you believe that?” He shudders effectively, his eyes going wide as he looks at Eliott. “It tastes terrible.”

Eliott shakes his head, “Terrible as in sriracha and peanut butter or terrible as in terrible?”

“Terrible!” Lucas throws his hands up as he starts walking into the shop. Eliott follows him. “Like how you’d expect someone's locker to smell like after months of dirty clothes accumulating there.”

Eliott shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips, “That’s oddly specific, and besides, I don’t think it’s that bad. I mean, you said the same thing about orange and tarragon and it ended up tasting bloody amazing!”

“I knew you would say that,” The small rainbow embroidered at the left side of Lucas’s olive green sweater catches Eliott’s eyes when he turns around to frown at him. Eliott has half a mind to remove the piece of lint and fraying thread from it, like they used to do before. Pieces of wool caught on Lucas’s hair, eyelash on Eliott’s cheek. Dirt smeared on Lucas’s face, and charcoal on Eliott’s fingers.

He has half a mind to fall back into the circle he barely made out of alive, and blow away the lint for it to catch something somewhere else. But he stops himself.

They don’t do it anymore.

“What makes you think so?”

Eliott’s first memory of Lucas is from the same spot Eliott’s standing on with the two jars of Ali’s homemade orange marmalade. Lucas’s eyes are a shade of an orchestral blue which he finds tainting the memory, and there’s a troubled smile blooming over his features a minute later when he hears another pair of footsteps coming closer.

“Eliott, is that you, dear? Please help me in letting this devil know he’s wrong. You’re the only one who can help me right now.”

Lucas lets out a wounded groan, his eyes widening as he whispers, “That.” Eliott smothers his laugh when Lucas starts to rush in the opposite direction to the resounding footsteps.

“I don’t work here and you never saw me.”

Ali nears into Eliott’s view just as her son disappears behind a display of colorful candies wrapped in pretty ribbons. Eliott, even when he was stumbling about his footing around Lucas, had always been awed by the intricate knots and the curves Ali has placed in the ribbons. When she approaches him, her eyes soften into a blue much like Lucas’s, but still on a different side of the spectrum.

“Lucas’s being a diva again,” she tells him, holding out a wooden spoon dipped in a questionable mixture in a purple bowl. It smells strongly of sugar and home, an exact opposite of what Lucas had so graciously – and wrongly – described. Ali holds out the mixture for him to taste, and he does so, dipping in a figure in the velvety warmth gathered on the tip of the spoon and bringing it to his mouth.

“It…actually, it tastes so good.”

He knows Lucas is hiding behind the shelves somewhere. Before, when it used to be as simple as Eliott using his fingers to do the counting on, or the stars simply dotting the sky without meaning anything, Ali would have Eliott and Lucas spending hours in her little kitchen, having them as the testers of whatever she would have made. It started out as a rush of a breeze for Eliott quickly picking up space before transforming into this pleasant routine he hasn’t departed from yet.

(Despite letting go of the person it all started out with.)

Ali’s smile brings Eliott into a cocoon of familiarity, “Tell this brainless idiot hiding here somewhere. I swear God really messed up when he gave Lucas those taste buds.” She shakes her head and Eliott laughs.

“Please stop talking about me like I’m not here,” He hears a muffled voice, one coming from directly behind him. Lucas emerges, licking around an orange colored candy which Eliott is absolutely sure isn’t meant for eating by him at all. His suspicion is confirmed when Ali gives her son a disapproving look, which he absolutely dodges when his eyes start burning brighter.

“And you please stop stealing the stuff I made which you previously rejected with those abominable taste buds of yours.” Ali bites back and Lucas turns a faux-offended face towards her. It’s familiar. It’s warm. It burns.

“I’ll have you know my taste buds are anything but that; very high in demand too. Tell her Eliott!” Eliott is more shocked on the mention of his name than the suffocating feeling the simple request brings as his lungs almost collapse on themselves. Lucas is unaware of the weight his words had on Eliott, as he struggles to keep his breathing even and heart forcibly inside his chest. There’s something very primal about this feeling – the one of tightness in his lungs and restlessness in his legs – something which takes him back to the very first time he’d seen Lucas a decade ago – right here in this candy shop with butterscotch in his smile and sugar in his hair, gripping Eliott in a saccharine tanginess bound to hold him for the rest of his life.

Lucas says something, and Ali threatens to catapult the bowl of the gooey mixture over his head. Eliott watches, silent, when Lucas shakes his head – all faux annoyed – as his mother stands rolling her eyes at her bratty son.

“Anyways,” Lucas says, looping his arm through Eliott’s at a place where a familiar burn seeps through the material of his shirt. “Since all of your attempts of stealing Eliott from me have considerably failed, can you let us go now?”

Eliott makes a sound of indignation in his throat. As if –

“As if you need any permission from me.”

Ali hasn’t even completed the sentence, and Eliott is being forcefully dragged towards the door. He’s always been amazed by the strength Lucas holds, now even more so when he finds himself just near the door between shouting a goodbye to Ali and taking his next breath.

“Hey,” Eliott starts when they’re outside. He’s resisting the pull Eliott has on him. It’s somewhere around the sun beginning to set behind the clouds. “Slow down, will you?”

Lucas looks at him, eyes narrowed as if he’s seriously judging Eliott, “Yann will have my head on a plate if we do.”

And Eliott would like to know where that we in this conversation came from. But before he does…..”And we can’t have that now?”

Lucas grins, “You know we can’t.”

  Lucas Lallemant is a tide –

He’s a force which keeps on moving forward, carving shorelines and curved shapes in places Eliott finds hard to keep up with. He’s high when the moon comes, rising on his toes to offer Eliott a hit of the blunt curled in his fingers, sometimes snug between his lips. Sometimes he rushes away. Sometimes he crashes against Eliott – but then he slips out of the gaps between Eliott’s fingers, through the cracks in his skin – and settles somewhere hidden, alien, and then Eliott has to crawl – follow the trajectory he would have carved, only to find him crashing against his walls with a rhythm impossible for Eliott to match, to get hold of.

He’s a force which keeps on giving – to shores, to coasts.  To the moss gathered on stone wearing with time and tide – with him. He gives – he gives till Eliott finds himself surrounded in every pore, every grain that is Lucas. He comes like this: little ripples on the surface of Eliott’s skin setting in motion

And that’s when he takes. The sand which lines the edges and the plants covering the base, tearing away their roots, dissolving them into smithereens much like Eliott’s heart in his hands and the blood in his mouth from biting his tongue too hard as it escapes; his heart among the waves melting on the floor and rising upwards, higher, faster. Till the blue of him surrounds Eliott in a lightning contrast against the warmth of his hands, resting, curling in his chest and plunging him into once deep then hallow darkness as he rises.

And when the ebb comes – Eliott drowns in it.

    Idriss takes him by the lapel of his jacket onto the balcony once they’ve reached Yann’s flat.

“Hey,” he says, his voice weighted by the bass which beats under his feet. Lucas gets swarmed into the crowd, one part of it taking him, another forming a barrier for Eliott to reach him.

“How have you been?”

It doesn’t register in his brain; the grave being which holds Idriss's words together for Eliott. He hums out a non-committal response, which does little wonders to ease Idriss off of his case.

“Eliott,” the end syllable of his name catches on a sigh as it comes out of Idriss’s mouth. But he wonders. It’s his name, isn’t it? Then why does it feel so foreign when Idriss says it; like the Eliott in his name and the Eliott that he is are two completely different beings.

Outside it’s cold, but still there is a feeling of warmth – all nebulous and out of place. Eliott doesn’t know what it means, just that he isn’t used to feeling this way.

“What is it?” His voice feels hollowed, and it must have been a trick of light, but he sees Idriss flinch.

“You stood up,” his voice sounds equally grave, “again.”

Eliott has to grasp behind the lines to understand what he means. “The date,” Idriss complies, when he sees the lost look on his face.

Eliott stills for a moment. He was supposed to go on a date. But, did he want to.

“Idriss,” Eliott sighs, turning around and putting all of his weight on the railing, hoping it would swallow the thing weighing him down like mercury. “I don’t want to be set up on dates. You know that.”

Idriss doesn’t speak for a moment. But then, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself Eliott,” He lands a hand on his shoulder, “you can’t.”

Eliott stays quiet, he doesn’t know what to say. What is it he’s doing, exactly? “Forget it-,” He says, at length, “- just leave me on my own. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eliott feels it, inside him, the feling holding him getting impregnated with lead and rust when Idriss replies, “But did you – with Lucas?”

What?

Idriss reads his confusion. “Did you talk with Lucas about the reason why he didn’t want to be with you anymore?” Eliott bites his tongue and something other than physical pain fills his senses at the soft reminder of what went down mere three weeks ago.

“No,” His voice sounds scratchy, like it has taken him a great strength to get the simple word out. “Lucas doesn’t owe me an explanation. Besides, you can stop feeling for someone you thought you liked, no?”

The air is still and Eliott feels desolate from the domain outside his mind. He almost doesn’t register Idriss and his quiet, “But can you?” Almost.

There, something burns in his eyes and his chest and his throat feels awfully familiar to a thorny stem Eliott has grasped in his hands. There, outside, as leaves begin to fall and Idriss lets out a small whisper of comfort, that Eliott feels overwhelmingly small and separate from the significant part of the universe holding Lucas and the currents of waves rising from his touch.

Just tell him, Idriss says and when he leaves Eliott chants a mantra of too late too late too late in the havoc of his mind. And then Lucas comes, like a tide. He looks up at Eliott with fire behind the blue in his eyes and water raising it up instead of dimming it out. He takes away Eliott’s heart, yet again, the space in his chest feeling like a hollow piece of log left to be accumulated as moss on stagnant water and dew on drooping leaves. 

And when he leaves, he robs Eliott off of his breath like a flood does one of his belongings, leaving him wrecked and floating uncertainly in the sea of the world.

    He makes a mistake one day.

They are on the roof of Eliott’s building. Lucas’s hands are covered in gold which glitters in his soul and the stars above. His tongue tastes of mulberry and wine when Eliott licks in his mouth. His lips bleed soft kisses into the place Eliott’s neck meets his jaw. His eyes are dusty asteroids which circle into Eliott’s orbit with a force which knocks him of gravity and his breath when they close with laughter as Eliott finds the particularly ticklish spot on his neck.

I’ve been waiting for this, Lucas says, his voice light and warm and so, so soft. Eliott feels a cloud of smoke in his lungs. Me too.

He makes a mistake that day. He falls.

But then he’s standing next to the fire which Idriss and Yann created using plastic wrappers and leaves they found lying around. Lucas is a comet, the, his cold hands gripping Eliott’s as the fire pricks his eyes and the smoke in his lungs becomes a relic from before.

I can’t do this Eliott, He chokes, his voice heavy and sad and laden with so much hurt that Eliott has to take a step back. We’re – we will be better as friends. I’m sorry I just can’t.

So Eliott swallows around the charred cage in his chest doing little to keep his heart still. Okay, he whispers. Lucas’s red-rimmed eyes curving into a sad, watery smile burn like a star in Eliott’s gut.

He makes a mistake one day. He doesn’t stop falling.

    November comes, and Eliott finds himself shifting between cold winds ruffling his hair and tinging his cheeks with a cold he feels in his bones. It takes him skipping rocks among dirt and catching falling leaves in the palm of his hand. It takes him to Lucas, nestled between the shelves in his mother’s shop, eyes wide and engulfing warmth as sugar and syrup drips from his mouth and stains Eliott’s shirt in a stubborn red.

Eliott sees Lucas, sees him coming for his heart, and the pang which rises inside his chest feels sound in the void which grows around him. It becomes foreign, the security the pain brings him. But he drowns in the cold warmth encompassing him when Lucas smiles and asks him about another constellation, or when he brings Eliott’s coffee from the shop on the curb – when they talk, and their once, five month relationship becomes a fleeting whisper; a puddle after rain gone when the sun came up.

They don’t mention it, and neither their friends. Somewhere between that, Idriss takes the hint and stops trying to get Eliott to go on dates. His heart grows accustomed to having Lucas’s hold over it, and the thorns growing in his throat shrivel. They don’t fall like Eliott thought they would, and sometimes it happens that Eliott feels them digging into his windpipe, swallowing his voice when he sees Lucas from across the room. Or when his eyes glisten like gold and honey all combined into one.

He keeps taking Eliott apart, piece by piece, but Eliott grows familiar to the feeling making a home inside him. And when Lucas holds his hand and points to a falling star much like Eliott looking for a place in the universe, it doesn’t hurt.

Except when it does.

    There’s a hole in his jacket.

Eliott finds it the noon he’s inside the video store he worked at. He must have gotten it when he’s jacket got stuck in his neighbor’s fence, and in his haste, he must have pulled it, hard.

Lucas finds it funny for whatever reason when Eliott delivers him the news with sadness. His laugh rings through the speaker of Eliott’s phone. “You and that jacket, I swear.”

“It’s my favorite,” Eliott says, hoping his tone would convey his feelings to Lucas, “It’s been with me through thick and thin.”

“Yeah I know,” Lucas sounds solemn, “We’ll make it right,” Eliott believes him.

“But listen,” Lucas pauses, then begins again, “the reason I called you – I wanted to ask you something.”

Eliott holds on the phone, “Yes?”

“Sarah let me off with two passes for this art exhibition tonight. I wanted to know if you – if you’d go with me?”

Eliott’s chest gives a resounding ache which travels like water through his body, chilling his fingertips so much he can barely feel the phone held in them. The thing is – they don’t do this anymore; this just Lucas and him alone thing. He hasn’t done anything like this in such a long time that he forgot what being with Lucas – just Lucas – is like.

And he can't wait to remember. So. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “of course I’ll go.” With you.

“Perfect,” Lucas’s voice hold quiet happiness, something Eliott is sure is so fragile he’d break it if he takes another breath.

So he holds it, deep inside his lungs when Lucas says, “I’ll be at the store at 6:30. We’ll walk together.”

And he holds in when he says goodbye, a promise tethering on the edge of something so strange yet so comforting at the same time. His lungs burn, and his chest caves in.

But Eliott gets to work.

    Evening drags November to a cold, scruffy end. He can’t feel his hands when he accounts the last of the sales into the computer. It hits close to six when he finishes, and decides to spend the rest of the time till Lucas’s arrival sorting out the DVDs left on the counter.

It’s between that, one moment picking up the assortment and the other spent looking over his phone lying on the side as it lights up with a notification, that there’s the sound of someone closing the door behind them.

Eliott whips around, heart in his throat at the prospect of seeing Lucas, but the person standing in front of him takes him by surprise.

“Hi Eliott.”

Lucille’s smile is warmer; her hair is shorter, blonder. Eliott takes a hard minute to reply.

Lucille,” He’s sure his tone doesn’t do justice to the feeling she brings inside him. It’s been long – a long time since he last saw her. And that too ended on partial good terms.

But still he tries his best to smile.

“How have you been?” He asks, awkwardly placing the DVDs from where he picked them up. Lucille shrugs her shoulder, and a small laugh leaves her lips.

“Good, I’m good.” She says. Eliott nods, then, and tries to shake off the uncomfortable tension settling around him and over his shoulders. Lucille comes to his rescue, thankfully.

She points to the array of movies behind him, craning her neck to the side as she speaks, “I – I needed a recommendation, actually.”

Huh. “The movies. I – I kinda need one for uhm- this date night. My girlfriend- uh, Sophie is into screenwriting and stuff, so I want to do something to impress her.”

Eliott turns his neck sideways, “And I’m the only one you can come to for that?”

Lucille smiles sheepishly, “You know you are.”

He laughs, bright, and turns to sift through the movies he pretty much knows her girlfriend will surely appreciate. He’s always loved doing this, rec-ing stuff when asked – whether it be movies or artists or funny enough, dubstep artists to listen to.

(The credit for the last one goes mainly to Lucas, and Eliott feels proud to share that at least he’s helped him get into the kind of music he himself loves. Even when the insults Lucas throws after listening to the music are worth keeping in a jar and remembering for later.)

Lucille takes the movies he picks out.

“How are you and Lucas?”

Her tone carries an infinite amount of casualness which Eliott is sure she isn’t faking. But it makes him still – you and Lucas in a sentence together. They don’t go like that. Never have.

“We uh – we’re not together anymore.” He says, voice low and taut as he rings her up. “Uh- yeah. We broke up.”

Lucille is silent. Then, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

 He stays silent. When he’s done with her items, she takes it from him without a word. I’m sorry. It’s funny how many times he’s heard that.

“Um- Thank you,” She’s quiet, soft. Eliott smiles, as terse as that may be. “I’m happy to see you, Eliott.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m happy too.” He admits, because he is. Because she’s familiar. Because he knows her.

Lucille smiles, as she clutches the items to her chest, “If – If you’re free some time, I’d like for you to Sophie. She uh - knows about us, and I’m sure you both will like each other.”

“You’re sure?” He teases, and she slaps him lightly on his arm; familiar. Rolling her eyes, she bites back, “Yeah, idiot.” Eliott laughs; it’s warm.

“I’d love to meet her,” is what he settles on, and it’s what which has Lucille brightening up further. “Great,” she says, and leaves Eliott not before rising up on her toes and giving him a half-awkward, full warm hug which Eliott gladly accepts.

When she leaves, it becomes a game of watching the hands on the clock move. It’s fifteen minutes over the time Lucas and him and decided. But still Eliott sees no sign of him. He’s worried. There’s no text or call from him either, and Eliott knows he could do so too, but it doesn’t guarantee him not sounding desperate.

Five minutes to seven and he gives up, closing the store and walking out into the clear night sky. He spots a couple of uncluttered, adrift stars he doesn’t know yet. Cold air nips at his skin, eyes search for the sign of the familiar boy walking towards him. But he finds nothing.

He sighs, then, and starts walking in the direction of his apartment. Maybe something came up. Maybe Lucas is okay. Maybe he forgot. Maybe maybe maybe.

It’s then that the phone in his holed jacket rings, bringing him back to the now. He hustles to take it out, and as Lucas’s name blinds his eyes, his heart returns with a hopeful tingle in his chest.

His breath fogs in the dark as he whispers, “Hello?”

“Eliott,” Lucas’s voice feels distant, like they’re the same poles of a magnet and the field between them is just pushing them away.

“Lucas, are you alright?” It hurts, that it’s the first thing which comes to his mind. That something happened to Lucas – with Lucas, and he wasn’t able to make it to him. He hates it. He hates it.

“Yeah uh – I got held up. I’m sorry I couldn’t- can’t make it. I just – I didn’t – couldn’t find time to call you sooner. I’m so sorry I -.”

Eliott cuts Lucas off, “It’s alright,” his heart beats on the floor. His legs remain frozen on the sidewalk. It’s not Lucas’s fault if he found something more important than Eliott. He doesn’t owe him anything, anyway.

Eliott doesn’t hear the rest which follows. There’s something – someone on the phone behind Lucas, someone who calls Lucas – “You’re coming back Lu?” Eliott hears the voice.

Then he hears Lucas, loud and clear, “Yeah, baby, you go ahead. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Baby. Lucas only ever called Eliott that. He feels something twist inside him as his lungs burn with a ferocity which leaves him aching all over. His fingers go numb, and his feet drag painfully on the gravel.

Lucas seems to be talking, and Eliott only catches the end through the static in his head.

“I gotta go. But I – I promise I’ll make it up to you, Eli. Okay?”

Eliott purses his lips, doesn’t fight his hear combusting as a layer of heavy rust settles over it, preventing it from moving back to Lucas as he lies motionless there, on the concrete, forging stars from its dying matter.

Okay. Eliott whispers when Lucas hangs up. Then he releases his breath and starts walking.

[surly01]

This Week in Collapse April 11, 2021

"Give me bacon, or give me death!" ~Shaneka Torres, February 9, 2014

If you believe, as we do, that environmental and social collapse is already well underway, the news of the week provided a cornucopia of data points in confirmation. Next week will mark the sixth anniversary of the conviction and sentencing of Shaneka Torres for storming a Michigan McDonald's upon discovering her baconless burger. The frustration Torres felt is now mirrored in all of us as we consume each day's headlines in similar frustration.

But hostility, like violence, is as American as cherry pie. Did you know that members of the starving Donner party were offered assistance by local natives, only to be shot at for their troubles?

Washoe scouts brought the stranded migrants food — including a deer carcass, fish, and wild potatoes — but were met with hostility. On one occasion, an offering of fish was refused. On at least three others, the Washoe approached the Donner camps with food only to be met by gunshots, leaving one man dead…

When a scout saw the white people cannibalizing their dead, the tribe was said to retreat, afraid they too might be killed and eaten. From then on, the Washoe referred to the migrants as “not people.”

Today this hostility toward others, even those trying to help you, pervades most of American society. Many look back upon their high school years as an American version of "Lord of the Flies." Similar put-downs, one-upsmanship, and attack behavior can also be seen in our popular entertainments. This framing our headlong retreat from the natural world and from one another as we immerse ourselves in our phones. To say nothing of our political divisions, best characterized by objectification (of the other, making them “not people”) and derision, and where any attempt to find common ground is met by the back of the hand of friendship. Little wonder that the rising generations find our current set of arrangements hopeless.

But this week's headlines suggest that for a variety of reasons, that set of arrangements won't last indefinitely.

Who could forget the recent Suez Canal flap with the large container ship stuck like a throat lozenge? Not Egypt, who has said to Ever Given’s Owners: Pay Us $1 Billion Or You Aren't Getting Your Big Boat Back. If you thought the Egyptian government would be thrilled to see it go, think again. Nice boat you have here… be a shame if anything happened to it…

“The vessel will remain here until investigations are complete and compensation is paid,” Osama Rabie, chairman of the Suez Canal Authority, told state television in Egypt on Thursday.

“We hope for a speedy agreement,” he said. “The minute they agree to compensation, the vessel will be allowed to move.”

A country filled with people traumatized by the Great Toilet Paper Shortage of 2020 paid full attention to the threat of supply chain collapse. Why you should expect more Suez-like supply chain disruptions and shortages at your local grocery store  In one short week, the price of oil went up, and companies fretted as hundreds of ships carrying everything from coffee and cattle to toys and furniture were delayed. Just-in-time delivery means low to nonexistent inventories. Experts estimated that every hour traffic remained stuck cost the global economy over US$400 million in lost trade.

The pandemic revealed that even simple supply chains, such as that of toilet paper and hand sanitizer, can easily break in the face of disruptions. The same was true with food, personal protective equipment, pharmaceuticals and ordinary household items, which all suffered from severe shortages that lasted for months into the pandemic.

Pandemic-strained supply chains are now creating a global shortage of semiconductors, a component used in a wide variety of consumer goods, from Samsung smartphones and Apple laptops to Ford Explorers and Sony PlayStations. Virtually every piece of electronics needs a chip, and the supply chain is much more complex than for toilet paper.

All coming to a supply-chain chokepoint near you. Read more in The Conversation.

The weekly economic news is not good, but economic news is never good.  How does a country deal with climate disasters when it’s drowning in debt? Not very well, it turns out. Especially not when a global pandemic clobbers its economy.

Today, the debt that Belize owes its foreign creditors is equal to 85 percent of its entire national economy. The private credit ratings agency Standard & Poor’s has downgraded its creditworthiness, making it tougher to get loans on the private market. The International Monetary Fund calls its debt levels “unsustainable.”  Many other smaller countries are in a similar bind. It's a house of cards.

Government Admits Zimbabwe Dollar Collapse, Pegs Passport Fees In US$. Information Minister Monica Mutsvangwa said the senior government officials had acknowledged Zimbabwean currency was no longer a viable option for offshore purchases. That's weaselspeak for “our money is officially toilet paper.”

“Foreign currency is required for the off-shore procurement of consumables. However, the current fees payable in the local currency are no longer viable…”

And that is just one domino. Africa offers others.

Collapse often follows insurgencies. Hunger spreads as Mozambique crisis reaches tipping point.

Insurgents from a group known as Al Shebab attacked Palma, a town in Mozambique’s far northern Cabo Delgado province. They launched an attack on the coastal town, firing indiscriminately, setting fire to buildings and killing dozens, according to local officials. Residents there did what people do: scattering in a desperate attempt to reach safety by whatever means possible: on foot, by road and boat fleeing with the clothes they were wearing and a few things for their children. To hide in the bush for the smoke to clear.

Townspeople joined thousands of others sheltering in displacement camps with limited food supplies across Cabo Delgado.

Much of the strife in the Global South stems from the stresses unleashed by climate change. The climate news this week was as ugly as the economic news.

Despite pandemic shutdowns, carbon dioxide and methane surged in 2020

NOAA announced last week that levels of the two most important anthropogenic greenhouse gases, carbon dioxide and methane, continued their unrelenting rise in 2020 despite the Covid-driven economic slowdown. Carbon dioxide levels are now higher than at anytime in the past 3.6 million years. The last time atmospheric CO2 was this high, sea level was about 78 feet higher than today, the average temperature was 7 degrees F higher than in pre-industrial times, and forests occupied areas of the Arctic that are now tundra.

Methane Has Never Risen This Fast in the Atmosphere

There’s more methane in the atmosphere than any other time since record keeping began. Levels really spiked last year, despite the fact that we were all inside for most of the time. Methane shattering records is one of those things that seems to happen every year. But what’s really troubling is that last year’s rise in methane levels was the biggest rise in a single year since record-keeping began. Methane is over 80 times more potent as a warming agent than carbon dioxide over a 20-year period.

Short takes and highlights from the week:

'A biological Fukushima': Brazil COVID-19 deaths on track to pass worst of U.S. wave

Brazil’s coronavirus death toll passes 4,000 a day for first time

Bolsonaro a 'Threat to the Planet,' Says Lula as Brazil's Daily Covid Death Toll Hits All-Time High

New 'Double Mutant' Coronavirus Variant Found In California

Americans' Worry About Catching COVID-19 Drops to Record Low

A record-low 35% of Americans worry about catching COVID-19. At the same time, 77% say the coronavirus situation is improving.

Ecocide: Should Destruction of the Planet Be a Crime?

Atmospheric CO2 Passes 420 PPM for First Time Ever

Scientists: Mass Extinction Is Coming as Organisms Flee the Equator-- Oceanic life is fleeing the increasingly-hot equator for more hospitable water, and a mass extinction event is likely to follow.

The Coming Antibiotic-Resistance Pandemic that Could Make COVID Look Like the Flu

America Never Wanted the Tired, Poor, Huddled Masses

Another Day, Another Far-Right Fantast: Texas Man Tried to Blow Up the Internet-- Federal Investigators allege that a Texas man wanted to use C-4 to blow up around 70% of the internet.

So it’s been a week of extortion for supply chain disruption, CO2 and methane-based catastrophe, immanent ecosystem collapse, unsustainable debt, and worthless currencies. Another week of downward spin as the American Empire unwinds along with late stage capitalism..

[hikingwithjohnqgrizzly]

The Natural Wonder of Colchuck Lake

Colchuck Lake, that unreal turquoise pool of internet fame, owes its shape and shade to an earlier time.

Not as early as you might imagine.

When you’re standing on the smooth granite of the lakeshore, the natural tendency is for your mind’s eye to wander too far back in time. Mine does. I picture a massive sheet of ice that slowly carves a hanging valley out of the batholith from which it sprang. As the Pleistocene draws to a close, the glacier slowly climbs backwards, until it tucks itself into the steep slopes beneath the col. A brief hiccup in the Little Ice Age leaves a moraine above the western shore, and then it settles into its present and, by all indications, quite final retreat.

In its long, slow wake, the glacier leaves a basin for a lake, but that alone doesn’t explain what you’re looking at. Some of the credit has to go to something much less epochal: the dam-building binge of the 1930’s.

During the depths of the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression, we put nature to work. Dams sprouted like a pox across North America in the geological blink of an eye. The Tennessee Valley Authority was formed; the Columbia began to be tamed by the first phase of the Bonneville; and the Colorado was enchained behind the Hoover for something like good.

Give us electricity. Let us grow crops in the desert. Sustain our homes in the saguaro-dotted sands. It seemed like a foolproof plan at the time.

A similar bout of construction happened here, albeit on a more modest scale. In the late 1920’s and extending into the 30’s, masonry and earthen dams were thrown up in the seemingly untouched, subalpine wilds of the Icicle drainage to impound more meltwater in Colchuck, Eight Mile, Snow, Nada, Klonaqua and Square Lakes.

You’d never know to look at them that they were part of an irrigation system extending miles upvalley and down. Their levels were raised to ensure a steady flow of water during dry season and drought.

You can spot the signs of their real nature easily enough, if you care to. Far downstream, as you cross the deluxe pedestrian bridge that leads from the Snow Lakes parking lot to an unending serpentine climb, your eyes might spy an aqueduct paralleling the turgid waters of Icicle Creek. It is one of the more visible sections of 40 miles of canals that route water to farms in the valley below and to the Leavenworth National Fish Hatchery.

That hatchery, the largest in the world when it was constructed, was the byproduct of yet another adventure in irrigation and hydroelectricity: it was required as a remedy for the effects on fish of what was then the largest concrete structure ever built, the Grand Coulee Dam, one of many obstacles we placed in the way of salmon traveling upriver from the ocean to spawn.

However large that hatchery might be, the runs it produces can’t compare to what was here before those many diversions along the Columbia. Salmon spawned in great numbers in the waters of the Wenatchee River and Icicle Creek. That fishery was strong enough to sustain an entire peoples at the confluence of the two streams. They.called themselves the P’squosa.

By the time the US Government displaced them in the 1800’s to make way for the railroad that still snakes its way through the mountains nearby, they were easy to shunt aside. Their numbers had been greatly diminished by disease that followed the introduction of horses to the area. The powers that be simply disregarded a treaty signed with them in 1855 and lumped them in with the Colville and a few other tribes, moving them east and north and out of the way. Most of us don’t give them a second thought (really, any thought at all) as we make the turn from US2 and drive through their erstwhile homelands on our way to this or that trail somewhere up Icicle Creek Road.

Their lands would become the site for Leavenworth, when it was established at the end of the 19th century as a mining and logging town. It attracted farmers, too, who attempted to grow fruit trees in the valley (unsuccessfully at first, due to frost). Delivering water to that agricultural experiment was the original raison d’etre of the canals built in 1901, right before the town reached its apogee. In the early 1900’s, Leavenworth was even bigger than it is in its current faux-Bavarian incarnation: 5,500 people called it home then, versus the couple thousand permanent residents now (it might seem more populous on a summer weekend, when the town’s numbers are inflated by transient visitors turning lobster red in the baking sun).

Leavenworth’s fortunes would eventually fall, but nowhere near as far (nor with the same finality) as those of the people who first called this place home. All that seems to remain of them is a smattering of place names: Colchuck, Klonaqua, Wenatchee.

Don’t you believe it! The names aren’t right. “Wenatchi '' was the name that the Yakama knew the P’squosa by (synecdoche for the place they fished, Wenatshapam), and the US Government simply adopted the term from them. “Colchuck” sounds authentic enough, but it is not from the P’squosas’ Salish tongue, but Chinook jargon, an amalgam of Chinookan and other languages (including a heaping of French) that served as a trade language betwixt the tribes and between native peoples and fur trappers, traders, and the like who started showing up in the 1600’s.

Chinook jargon traveled from the coast, up the Columbia, into the interior. While the original Chinookan is all but extinct along its former range, the jargon survives, sustained in part by newcomers, including a certain topographer who bestowed the name “col chuck” word-for-word on the “cold waters” he found in a portion of the lands he mapped.

In the decade following the construction of the dams in the Icicle drainage, a different kind of new arrival took an interest in one of the area’s more ephemeral and quixotic resources: enter the peakbagger. It was during the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s that ascents of the peaks surrounding Colchuck Lake were first recorded by the mountaineering types who assign credit for such things. “Let it be known that so-and-so was the first person to stand on such-and-such spot, which is higher than other such spots.”

Today, the hills are alive with the sound of “Worth it!” The lake’s primary function is the delivery of transitory self-gratification and temporary relief of FOMO for the thousands of people who follow in the settlers’ and summitteers’ footsteps to stake vain, itinerant claims of immortality in the form of selfies by the lakeshore (or sometimes in floaties they dragged up the trail). Trip reports and social posts are filled with the assessment that Colchuck “did not disappoint.” Colchuck is very protective of its Yelp reviews.

It is only possible for Colchuck to live up to its YOLO expectations by us ignoring everything that belies its status as a natural wonder. Conspicuously absent from all the online commentary are the things that abet our modern-day conquests, like the ribbon of asphalt that brings us to within a few miles of the lake. The parking lot is worthy of note only as an annoyance - because it’s full - as if this were an aberration and not an integral part of the experience. The pit toilet gets a callout for not being clean enough, which is odd: the river of waste flowing from thousands of modern humans landing on a small, dusty patch of space cleared from a forest should elicit precisely zero shock.  

Not mentioned at all are the dams or the P’squosa, who were here thousands of years before the purported first ascents or Instagram. This is likely the first you’re hearing of them. Surprise is the wrong word - they are hiding in plain sight, expunged through willful ignorance. By not asking the questions we don’t want to know the answers to, we repeat the role of the soldiers who paved our way. We sweep the P’squosa out of our collective memories to sustain the illusion we are taming a pristine wilderness, as if the last 200 years never happened.

If you would like to understand more about the tribe’s views on the promises made to them, please visit this documentary produced by the Confederated Colville Tribes. If you would like to read about the P’squosa in the words of their descendant, please visit P’Squosa Tribe by Mary Big Bull-Lewis.

[heymacy]

what do you mean "one day" you write how mickey's the wild west outlaw archetype... write it now bitch!! (please i say this with love, i've been fascinated with that comparison- and agree with it- ever since i saw your tags!!)

bitch (affectionate) 👏🏼 and okay yes let’s get in to it! disclaimer: this is probably going to be long, i did study film in school for two and a half years before switching my major (which i deeply regret) and i study history now, so the pretentious film student vibes are probably gonna come out swinging and i apologize for that. full incoherent rambling below the cut!

so, the wild west outlaw archetype is one that most people are familiar with, since the "western” genre has existed for over a century in Hollywood. in fact, the first time someone described a film as a “western” was in 1912 in Motion Picture World Magazine, though the first acknowledged “western” film was made in 1899. these films are typically set in the late 1800s during the westward expansion in America (or as i like to call it, “white people stay displacing indigenous groups with their manifest destiny bullshit”). there are very clear and distinct archetypes present in this genre, as with most genres (one day i’ll talk about rom-com archetypes because i find them fascinating). traditionally, there are 8 archetypes aside from the “outlaw”:

The True Cowboy

The Gunslinger

The Gambler

The Preacher

The Doc

The Sheriff

The Drunk

The Tycoon

each of these character archetypes has unique characteristics and motivations. sometimes there are overlaps between archetypes, such as the The Drunk and The Gambler, or The Gunslinger and The Doc. 

what’s unique about The Outlaw (we are now using capital letters, ooooo) is that they don’t fall in to any one category from the list above. rather, they embody a sense of resistance or pushback against expansion and modernization of western territories. to The Outlaw and his ragtag gang of ruffians, the west is an infinitely better place when the colonizers aren’t there (even though they themselves are colonizers - we love a solid sense of self awareness lol). because of this, they often go to great lengths to upset the balance of whatever little town they’re in, in hopes that the settlers will abandon their homesteading and return to the east, allowing for the outlaws to exist free of their inherent oppression (aka, we wanna do crime and these assholes won’t let us)

now let’s get in to shameless. at its core, it’s a show about family, poverty, struggle, and love. there are, however, MANY parallels between the running storylines in the series and the classic western film. gentrification is this century’s westward expansion, with the wealthy and the privileged moving their families to “unknown lands” (the Southside) to buy up property and transform the landscape in to something reminiscent of where they were raised. enter stage left, coffee shops and yoga studios, the modern day saloons and haberdasheries. someone is always stealing something, tagging something with spray paint, intimidating the transplants and upper middle class yuppies, all in an attempt to prevent their home (for The Outlaw, the real “wild” west is his home) from becoming a watered-down version of itself, rife with hipsters, this century’s colonizers in many ways.

using this logic, we could see the entirety of the Southside population, the locals at least, as The Outlaw, but i think that would be short-sighted, since the archetype of The Outlaw is centered around the disruption and destruction of the transforming cultural landscape (see: Mickey’s actions in season 5, his animosity towards Lip, who he saw for a long time as a fellow outlaw, for siding with the enemy and going off to college). not everyone on the Southside is going to have the same central motivation and trajectory as the TRUE outlaw. in fact, i would argue that the majority of the Southside is made up of Gunslingers, which do often overlap with The Outlaw in westerns, specifically ones from the 30s and 40s where The Outlaw is also the guy with the “fastest draw in the west”

now in western films, The Outlaw is almost always the antagonist, the character that gets in the way of the True Cowboy’s journey to self-fulfillment and happiness, and we’re supposed to hate him for it. we’re SUPPOSED to think he’s crass and violent and out of line and a stain on the fabric of society. rarely did westerns delve in to The Outlaw as a fully-fleshed out character. however, the rising popularity of “sympathetic outlaws”, aka outlaws we don’t think are entirely terrible or who have motivations behind their actions that we can empathize with (see: Bonnie and Clyde) has led Hollywood to produce films in which The Outlaw is a sympathetic character, not just a tool used to further the central character’s storyline. it’s a very similar phenomenon to the rise of villain/anti-hero popularity. i think we see this most ostentatiously in the Star Wars universe, with the “light side vs. dark side” debate and so many people meta-ing the hell out of characters like Anakin Skywalker, Ben Solo, and other characters that we’re SUPPOSED to dislike for their heinous actions but we just...don’t? at least not as much as we’re supposed to. of course there are exceptions to the rule, and people who just hate “bad” characters blindly (pea brain energy right there folks).

Mickey Milkovich is the perfect encapsulation of The Sympathetic Outlaw. he is an instantly interesting, compelling character with unique motivations. our first impression of him is when he and his brothers are on their way to the Kash and Grab to beat up Ian for “assaulting” Mandy - like our VERY FIRST impression of him is this dirty, dangerous little gremlin who steals from the shop owner and terrorizes the neighborhood. if shameless were a western, mickey and his brothers would be the “Terrifying Milkoviches”, known and feared throughout the land, riding in to town on their horses, stopping at the general store to steal bread and beer before pistol whipping the store owner (Kash) and tormenting the shop boy (Ian).

The Outlaw is, at his core, a character that is resistant to change, who uses fear and violence to get his way, and who is well-known but not well-liked. sound like anybody we know? yeah, i thought it might!

even though The Outlaw is often feared by locals, settlers, and indigenous folks alike, there is also a unique dynamic between The Outlaw and the townspeople they torment, and it usually appears in the townspeople vs. Big Oil conflict that is prevalent in MANY westerns throughout history. in comes Mr. Handlebar-Mustache-Bolo-Tie-Oil-Tycoon ready to rip his way through the little town in the west so he can build his railroad or drill for oil. the townsfolk are taught to believe that this man is doing so for the betterment of their livelihoods, allowing the town to grow and expand and be an “important spot on the map” for travelers. however, when The Tycoon’s presence disrupts their lifestyles and stability, as it always does, the townspeople very quickly become pretty okay with The Outlaw fucking up Mr. Handlebar-Mustache-Bolo-Tie-Oil-Tycoon’s day. there is this unspoken alliance between The Outlaw (Mickey) and the townspeople (the Southside), where they acknowledge the potential damage The Outlaw could rain down on their little homestead, but usually decide to risk it to prevent more significant damage from Mr. Mustache. thus, a tense but consistent alliance is often formed, giving way to the “Revisionist Western” genre, or modern westerns with primarily sympathetic outlaws.

when everything is said and done, The Outlaw is a symbol of resistance, resourcefulness, and realism. The Outlaw doesn’t like change, and he fights it at every turn. he is thrifty and skilled, which contributes to his fearsome reputation. he is highly realistic, and will often clash with more idealistic characters (see: “do you have anything resembling an imagination in that fuckin’ skull of yours?” “...no. i like facts. things that are real. shit i can hold. like a gun!” / 11x04)

ultimately, Mickey Milkovich is a modern retelling of the classic Outlaw archetype, feared by many but loved by viewers. he is highly critical of the upper classes, grounded in realism, and sympathetic in his plight. he goes up against “the man” like it’s in his fucking DNA, which is why we love him so much. we all love The Outlaw, whether we want to admit it or not. we may not condone all of their actions, but we recognize where their motivations come from and are able to empathize, which only strengthens our love of the wildly misunderstood shit-stirrer that is Outlaw Mickey.

[lonelycloudscholar]

If you are not worthy of your place, you will have more than a house of good, and you will have more to celebrate.

The saying goes: If you don't deserve a place, you will have a lot of things.

One must have noble character to afford money, power, and reputation for these newspapers. Otherwise, they will surely be subjected to disaster.

[Zhou Yi] There is a cloud: ′′ Deity is thin, wisdom is small and big, strength is small and heavy, little is less than a thread."

In ′′ Chogen's ′′ it also says: ′′ The rich and reputation, from moral, such as the flowers in the mountains, is the one who is the one who is the one who is the one who is the one , like a bottle of flower, its root is not planted, it can stand and wait."

If morality is not worthy, it is difficult to be rich and rich for long, after all, man's virtue determines the fate of man.

To enjoy the newspaper, you must first fix your own morality. Xuude is the best way to change his life.

zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ zhǎng jiǔ

Fan Zhong-yang once said: The congenital worry and worry, the day after tomorrow will be happy!

The supreme realm of morality is to restore the body, the family, rule the country, and benefit the world. Only those who are mindful of the world will have a rich and honorable lasting.

Fan Zhong-yan during the Northern Dynasty period, was a famous literary, but he spent his whole life walking for the people

When he was an official in Taizhou, he saw the local sea turtles in disparage for years, often the sea water inversion accidents occurred, leaving the people displaced and

Fan Zhong-yan Xinsheng was intolerant, so the emperor built a wing to protect the people's peace. After playing, Fan Zhong-dang himself took the battle, leading the local people, and repaired the whale day and night.

However, halfway through the construction, the tsunami was encountered, and hundreds of people were killed and injured. Then, let the Imperial Court opponents, seized the handle, and one after another said that this was a warning from the sea gods, that they could no longer repair the moss.

Regarding the issue of ′′ fixing and not repairing there is a heated discussion within the Imperial Court, but the common people can't afford to wait. Fan Zhong-Yan, who is anxious, stood on the work site and waited, watching the sea water slowly fails to A slight step back.

In order to give back to the people a peaceful home, he insisted on forgetting his life and finally waited for the decision to fix it. After the tsunami was completed, there was no flooding again. Later, the local people were grateful for Fan Zhong-yan, and even more, they named the sea turtle ′′ Fan Gong-y

For this reason, Fan Zhong-Zhong-Fan received a gift, and bought a house in Suzhou, and asked Mr. Feng Shui to take a look at it. It turned out to be a feng shui treasure land. Fan Zhong-Zhong listened to it, and didn't Good luck to the people of the Lebanese people.

This moment, Fan Zhong-shuan, who was the heart of the people, was the family of the family, and was the official's bureau, all donated to the Fan family. When he died, he did not even have a decent coffin.

Since then, it has left the style of ′′ faithfulness to the world ′′ and became the Fan family training, so that the children and grandchildren, Sun Jianji, and the family can carry the year of the year!

It was Fan Zhong-yang who was in the world's spirit, passed on to the world, and let me wait for the future generations to study, work, and be human.

In ′′ Zhou Yi :"it says, ′′ The house of the good will have more celebration".

Those who upgrade their own morals, will receive the honor and wealth of riches, like wild flowers in the mountains, and the mountains are flourishing and flourishing. Not only do they have their own newspapers, they will also have descendants and descendants of Yu Qing

shī qù shī qù shī qù shī qù shī qù shī qù shī qù shī qù shī qù shī qù

The idiom, ′′ Cheng-Ya, what can we lose is a good interpretation of Han Xin's life.

As we all know, Han Xin, is a famous founding meritor in the West Han, with unique leadership skills, never defeated in his life. It can be said that without Han Xin, there would be no Dahan Dynasty.

He was originally a man under Xiang Yu, and spent two years around Xiang Yu, and was only a guard. Because he could not be used again, he turned to Liu Bang. He was seen by the people who were looking at him and highly recommended to Liu Bang, and since then he was in war. The sandfield, by the good of the king, ascends to heaven.

Even Liu Bang sighs, ′′ Even a million army will win, and the attack will be taken, and it is not as good as Han Xin!"

After Han Xin assumed the office of the great general, the first gun was ′′ Ming Xiu's martial path, the darkest of the way ". Han Xin, who won the win. After that, it was even more unpackable. Within a few short years, Liu Bang took down half a mountain.

Everything came too smoothly, Han Xin became the capable general of Liu Bang's men, no one disobedient, he began to be proud and self-righteous.

Just when the Qi country was destroyed, Han Xin was greedy for merit, and he still took over the Qi Guo, which had already fallen, by surprise, to coerce Liu Bang and seal himself as king Qi. There was no way Liu Bang could only do the same.

At this time, Han Xin is like the sky. Even more, while Liu Bang and Xiang Yu were in the middle of the war, when he needed the support of Han Xin, he only kept his mouth up, and clearly asked Liu Bang for a seal.

Han Xin, who looks like the future, has done such injustice, again and again, and again, and again, challenge authority. Liu Bang has already hated him in his heart, but he also taboos his ability, and finally, he still doesn't know what to do. Kill Han Xin.

The Han Xin of the Lord of Gao-Zheng, can be said to have all the wealth of reputation status. But as a subject, they do not know how to converge themselves, avoid interests, and eventually fall into a different and three communities.

[Left Chuan] There is a saying, ′′ Many injustice will be taken from themselves, and a child will be treated ".

No matter how big you are, if you don't have a fear of morality, you will eventually go to destruction, it is only a matter of time.

In ancient times, no one wants to take a good reputation, build a business, and enjoy a wealthy reputation, but this kind of reputation is not unchanged and never broken in those who have no virtue.

Those who have been killed by a few, or those who are trying to find a position of power, will eventually become nothing.

And those who are truly virtuous do not care about their personal success or failure, honor and disgrace, but are in a hurry for the people to think about what the people think and do the truth for the people, and in the end they will gain a rich reputation.

miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng miè wáng

Mencius :"Dodosuke, help".

If you don't get the support of the people, even if you stand tall and have more, you will eventually lose it.

In the end of the East Han year, Minister Dong Zhuo, Kwon-yan, held the power of the world, it can be said that the scenery was infinite, and he was eventually killed

He had no ancestors to protect, noble people to help each other. He was completely dependent on his personal efforts, and he was decisive and decisive all the way, and he established the Xilang army and became

However, at that time, the Imperial Court, the Horse Palace, the foreign relatives, the dictatorship, and the party of the palace, led the military to Beijing in order to save the Holy Driving, and after resolving the rebel party, Dong Zhuo became a vassal of power under one person and above

Once man has supreme power, he no longer wants to be subjected to man.

Therefore, Dong Zhuo forced the little Emperor Liu to argue the lower position, re-enacted Liu Association to offer emperor to Han, and truly implemented the heavens to make the priests, plus the army in his hands, and Dong Zhuo was even more fearless and did whatever he wanted, and he was willing to kill indiscriminately. Hands to cover the heavens.

Dong Zhuo, who is unshakable, not only does he allow his own men to rob people and women, but if any opponents appear, they are all considered to be disorganized and tortured, causing the people to complain and be hard to say.

In the end, the people were forced to endure it, and the-way priests fought against Dong Zhuo, and died at the hands of his son, Pub. When the news of Dong Zhuo's death came out, the people of the whole country celebrated with joy, it was seen that the people were just angry with Dong Zhuo.

It's just called, ′′ The people who get the heart of the world."

Dong Zhuo, who has lost the heart of the people, was pointed out by Wanfu His life was an infinite scenery, but this kind of reputation, which was derived from violence, was always a deed of morality.

Many times, how far a man can go is not in how much he has achieved, nor in how strong his ability is, but in how thick he is.

In life, your virtue, also determines your destiny, you can be without talent, but not deed. No man will seek disaster, and what you gain by power will be lost in the end by virtue.

To be born, to be expensive is to have virtue, only to be upright and good to people, can do virtue in the world.

Write at the end

It is said in the Book of Grain: ′′ The shallow waters do not swim, the great fish do not swim, and the shallow of the trees do not flash, and the thin of the earth does not produce great

Meaning, if the water is not deep, how can it attract big fish? If the trees are not lush, how can there be great darts to inhabit here? If our earth is not rich, how can there be great yields?

On the contrary, how can we carry things if our moral deeds are not heavy? You must know that giving will be rewarded, contentment will be happy, understanding gratitude life will become more and more smooth.

On the contrary, if virtue is not worthy, for what others have, we often go to envy, to compare, to discuss, to evaluate, and there will be disaster.

Remember, man is doing, heaven is watching, and no one can escape. For whatever cause you sow, you will get fruit, and the house of good will have more to celebrate, and the house of bad will have more.

◎ Disclaimer: Part of the content, images are from the internet, if there is infringement please contact us in time to delete

[innervoiceartblog]

(via Unraveling – Terry Tempest Williams)

Photo by Rhonda Lashley Lopez

Unraveling by Terry Tempest Williams

Terry Tempest Williams searches for what is revealed when worlds unravel, tracing the entangled nature of undoing and becoming.

Unravel   un·rav·el  |  \ ˌənˈravəl \

verb gerund or present participle: unraveling

1. undo (twisted, knitted, or woven threads)

Similar: untangle, disentangle, straighten out, separate out, unsnarl, unknot, unwind, untwist, undo, untie, unkink, unjumble

2. (of an intricate process, system, or arrangement) disintegrate or be destroyed

Similar: fall apart, come apart (at the seams), fail, collapse, go wrong

3. investigate and solve or explain (something complicated or puzzling)

Similar: solve, resolve, work out, clear up, puzzle out, find an answer to, get to the bottom of, explain, elucidate, fathom, decipher, decode, crack, penetrate, untangle, unfold, settle, reveal, clarify, sort out, make head or tail of, figure out, suss (out)

I am unraveling. I am unraveling like a rattlesnake in the desert tightly coiled, my tail issuing a warning I cannot yet decipher. My mind is unraveling as I move to free my thoughts from being held captive for too long in such a tensely wound space. For months, I have been in a defensive stance visible only to surrounding ghosts. Fear brought me here. Uncertainty brought me here. Two hundred and fifty thousand dead from the coronavirus brought me here. My capacity to strike, from one emotion to the next, frightens me. After isolating myself in a landscape of arid beauty for the past nine months during a global pandemic, why do I find myself in the process of unraveling now? What is waiting and wanting to come forth?

When I don’t know what something means, I do three things: consult a dictionary; ask someone I respect and listen; go for a walk.

The dictionary gave me definitions, but what caught my attention was the word “reveal” in the list of synonyms. To unravel is to reveal what has been hidden. And when I asked my father (now 87 years old and weathering the pandemic at home with his partner and a borrowed dog named Sparky) what he thought it meant to “unravel,” he simply said, “I’m too bored to think about it.”

I understand.

An hour later, Brooke and I went for a walk. We found a small, unexpected pioneer cemetery, adorned with plastic red and blue roses, on a bluff overlooking the Dolores River. We stopped to watch a great blue heron fish the shallows. The long-legged bird was not unraveling; she was paying attention, focused on her task. Within minutes, she speared a trout, most likely a rainbow. We watched her slowly, deliberately walk back to the mudflats, toss her head back, releasing the fish into the air, and on its way down gulp the trout whole. The narrow body of the trout, now a bulge, was moving down her neck in a series of muscular swallows. The heron stood still for some time along the riverbank, then waded back into the depths of her perfect concentration.

What interested me in this particular moment was how the heron could live her life, as her species was meant to live, with an integrity of purpose in place—even as the ecosystem to which she belongs is unraveling around her. Climate change is affecting the flow of the Colorado River, with its incoming tributaries, like the Dolores, waning. We are now in what climate scientists are calling “a megadrought.” Moab’s average annual rainfall is 10 inches. In 2020, we have received 4.9 inches, less than half the norm. Monitoring the health of the Dolores River, the nonprofit group Conservation Colorado gave the Dolores River a grade of D− in terms of its water quality. Why? Dams and reservoirs disrupt the natural flows and displace sediments, deeply altering the character of the river. Abandoned mines and uranium tailings continue to leach into the headwaters, carrying on a toxic history familiar to the Four Corners region of the American Southwest. Increased fossil fuel development, including fracked gas, is affecting water tables and aquifers, all contributing to its failing grade.

Could we read the health of the great blue heron fishing along the Dolores River through this poisonous narrative now alive in her bloodstream? Like us, each species large and small—feathered, furred, or finned—carries the larger story of planetary health in their cells. The difference between our species and other species is that we are responsible for much of the demise of all the others.

As life on the planet is unraveling, in ways seen and unseen, we are also unraveling the natural consequences that these larger narratives of unconscious behavior are inflicting on populations, both human and wild. For example, the heinous, illegal wildlife trafficking infiltrating “wet markets” (where fresh meat, fish, and produce are sold) from Asia to Africa and across the globe is responsible for 75 percent of zoonotic viruses. COVID-19, the disease caused by the SARS-CoV-2 virus, is a zoonotic disease. That means it came from an animal or animals. SARS-CoV-2 is not the first novel coronavirus to infect humans—it’s the seventh.

A report from the Center for Biological Diversity (CBD) found “that the United States imported almost 23 million whole animals, parts, samples and products made from bats, primates and rodents over a recent five-year period. These animals harbor 75% of known zoonotic viruses—pathogens that spread from animals to people.”

Wildlife markets in China—where animals are “kept in cramped cages for purchase and slaughter”—are believed to be the source of the global pandemic we now find ourselves in. The CBD goes on to say that, “…many researchers believe it originated from a bat, a scaly mammal called a pangolin (globally the most heavily trafficked mammal), or potentially both. The virus may have spilled over to humans from an unknown animal. Or it may have evolved after infecting people.”

We are unraveling in inexplicable ways given how tightly and mysteriously the world is woven together. Pull one strand and all the strands are disrupted, threatening the integrity of the overall pattern.

We are Earth unraveling and reforming creation.

Along with dictionaries, scientists, and the land itself, I consult the Dead. I hear my grandmother telling me to focus on “the golden thread” that shows us “the through line” that weaves the world back together again. Where might this golden thread be found now?

In March, early in the novel coronavirus pandemic, a global prayer was held at a designated time on a Sunday morning for the Earth and all its inhabitants. Like so many collective rituals, this reached me on the wind by word of mouth.

I walked outside and faced Round Mountain, an ancient volcano plug in the southern end of the valley where we live. I held my grandmother’s “hand stone”—an egg-shaped, polished amethyst—in my right hand as I had seen her do repeatedly. It was her talisman, which she bequeathed to me in her will. She told me it calmed her heart and opened it. I closed my eyes in prayer—believing in the power and connectivity of people gathered together in the name of health and peace on the planet. My mind was quiet, receptive.

In time, I began to feel a heat rising in me from the ground up. To quell my fears and skepticism, I kept my attention focused on how the warmth was settling in my body. In my mind’s eye, I saw a flame coming toward me from the center of Round Mountain, gaining in heat and size and intensity, until it entered my heart, becoming “a burning core of care”—those were the words that came to me as this force burned with a ferocity of intent that I have never known. My grandmother’s hand stone was hot, almost too hot to hold. Opening my eyes, I opened my hand. The stone was shattered inside, with dozens of fracture lines appearing that had not been there before. It didn’t make sense. My eye focused on a particularly large and complex fracture that occurred at the intersection where the deepest purple merged with the brightest, clearest part of the crystal. Within that broken angle, it appeared brown, burnt. I lifted the crystal up toward the light, and therein, I saw a flame.

I have no explanation for this other than to say that what was burning in me burned through the gemstone in my hand, shattering it. The energy I felt rising from the Earth through the soles of my feet and from Round Mountain itself reached directly into my heart with the radiance of a million prayers circulating around the planet and in that moment created a fire in me of inexhaustible light.

In my desire to understand my own unraveling in this global pandemic, I could not have imagined that it would be my grandmother’s golden thread that would lead me to the source of both my undoing and becoming: isolation and engagement. The golden thread became the gilded sunlight woven into the wings of the great blue heron fishing along the banks of the Dolores River. This same shimmering thread exposed the facts that deciphered the toxic residues from abandoned mines and uranium tailings which are poisoning our rivers, poisoning us, and killing creatures. In a similar way, it cinched the illegal wildlife trade that taunted wet markets with “bush meat,” ripe with tainted blood, a spillover causing a global virus infecting us all, threatening what we have taken for granted: Life.

This golden strand reveals what binds awe and terror together, as it travels through shadow and light—illuminating the loose threads waiting to be picked up by each of us so we can mend, repair, and restore what has come apart. We can reweave the world anew, not from the places of fear and doubt, but from the intimate spaces of belonging we must retrieve for ourselves. We are Earth unraveling and reforming creation. We are meant to engage not isolate. These are difficult days. What causes us to recoil, strike, and retreat is also what allows us to reach out from the anxiety of unknowing and dare to trust what is to come—a reassembling of our humanity.

There is something deeper than hope. Between the hours of darkness and dawn, the voices of our ancestors are amplified in the dreamtime—warning us of our awakening wisdom—a blessing to behold and a burden to enact.

[snini-9]

Orcas VS Humans

In the wild, despite centuries of sharing the ocean, there has only been one reliable report of an orca injuring a human being. The attack occurred on September 9, 1972, when 18-year-old Hans Kretschmer was bitten by an orca whilst surfing at Point Sur. Kretschmer noticed some sea lions playing in the waves prior to the attack, leading him to believe the sudden nudge he received was a curious sea lion. When he turned to look at the instigator, he realised he was terribly mistaken. A six-meter-long killer whale had bitten down on his leg with incredible force. In an attempt to defend himself, Kretschmer punched the animal repeatedly, causing it to suddenly let him go. Once free, the shock-ridden surfer desperately swam 40 meters to shore, a swim which he survived. Upon seeking medical attention, Kretschmer’s doctor commented: “it looks like someone chopped your leg with a sharp axe.”

​

The injury he sustained was just as graphic with three teeth penetrating bone: narrowly missing a major artery with surgical precision. It required 100 stitches to fix. Although Hans Kretschmer holds the title as the only human being to be seriously injured by a wild orca, there have been five other incidents between humans and wild orcas.

​

In the early 1910s, a pod of Antarctic type B killer whales, otherwise known as pack ice orcas, attempted to tip an ice floe on which a Terra Nova Expedition photographer and a sledge dog team were standing. Pack ice orcas specialize in hunting seals by wave-washing them off ice floes. Witnesses theorized the orcas mistakenly identified the barking dogs as a family of seals and initiated their unique hunting technique. Fortunately, no one was injured.

​

A few months before the attack on Hans Kretschmer in September 1972, Dougal Robertson’s 43-foot wooden schooner, named Lucette (Lucy), was damaged by a pod of killer whales and sunk 200 miles west of the Galapagos Islands on June 15, 1972. Everyone on board managed to escape on an inflatable life raft and a solid-hull dinghy. After 38 days as castaways, the small group of people was sighted and rescued by the Japanese fishing trawler Tokamaru. No one was injured.

​

Almost 33 years later, in August 2005, 12-year-old Ellis Miller was swimming in 4ft deep water in Helm Bay, near Ketchikan, Alaska, when he was nudged by a 25ft transient killer whale. The whale bumped Miller on the left side of his chest and shoulder, then arched around him before returning to deeper waters. Experts believe the orca mistakenly identified the boy as a splashing harbor seal (which frequent the bay’s waters) then realized its mistake and aborted the attack. Miller did not sustain any injuries.

​Reconstruction of the attack on Ellis Miller

In 2011, two crew members of the BBC’s documentary Frozen Planet were targeted by a group of orcas who attempted to swamp their 18-foot zodiac boat with a wave washing technique. The crew filmed over 20 different attacks on seals using this technique within a 14-day period, unaware the pod would test it out on them too. The orcas were described as very tolerant to the filmmakers’ presence, and their attacks on seals were described as training exercises for young calves in the group. Perhaps the pod was making use of this new, more challenging “ice floe” to test their attentive youngsters. Regardless, no one was injured. Watch the incident below:

​https://youtu.be/SBRu3LGceAg

​

The most recent incident occurred on February 10, 2014. Whilst free diving in Horahora Estuary, near Whangarei in northern New Zealand, 23-year old Levi Gavin was suddenly approached by an orca who grabbed a catch bag (filled with crayfish) attached to his arm and pulled him beneath the surface. Gavin was dragged for 40 seconds when the rope attaching his arm to the bag finally became loose and he was able to escape. Although his arm became numb, he managed to float to the surface by removing his weighted belt and was aided by his cousin who brought him to some nearby rocks. Once his arm regained feeling and strength, Gavin went to Whangarei Hospital where it was established he did not sustain an injury during the attack.

​

Because of the stress involved in being deprived of everything that is natural and important in captivity, orcas have been held responsible for hundreds of attacks, tens of injuries, and the deaths of four humans. Six incidents have occurred in the wild over a period of around 100 years (1910s – 2014), none of which proved fatal. Yet, within less than a fifth of that time (1991 – 2010), 82 aggressive incidents occurred in captivity, four of which proved fatal, at least 9 others causing serious injuries from torn ligaments to broken bones and internal bleeding.

​

One of the most infamous captive orca attacks occurred at SeaWorld San Diego in November 2006. Kasatka, a 17ft long, 29-year-old, female orca attacked Kenneth Peters – the marine park’s most experienced trainer. Peters was working with Kasatka during a Shamu Show and dived into the pool to perform a water work behavior. He reached a depth of 10-15ft and was waiting for Kasatka to touch his foot when he heard a loud distress vocalization. He later learned this loud call came from Kasatka’s almost-two-year-old calf, Kalia, who was calling for her mother whilst separated in a different pool. Upon hearing her daughter’s call, Kasatka turned on Peters and grabbed both of his feet in her jaws. She held him underwater for almost a minute, violently rag-dolling him beneath the surface, before slowly bringing him to the surface, spiraling upward and blowing bubbles as she rose.

​

Every time Peters’ colleagues slapped the water (a signal for Kasatka to return to the stage) she would only bite down on Peters harder. She responded the same way if Peters tried to pull his foot out of her mouth. Kasatka was keeping him out of reach of the other trainers and away from the sides of the pool. She then pulled him beneath the surface again, thrashed him around, and took him all the way to the bottom of the 36ft deep pool where she laid against him and held him there for around a minute. Once Peters had gone limp, Kasatka finally brought him to the surface again. She released Peters and he managed to make it over a net (which Kasatka also crossed, coming after Peters) and escaped the pool via the slide-out area. Kasatka had broken Peters’ left foot during the attack and he sustained multiple puncture wounds. Regardless, he escaped with his life. Watch the footage of the incident in its entirety below:

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https://youtu.be/RhVbH2NEeLM

Kenneth Peters claims Kasatka’s “aggression had come as a total surprise”. The attack occurred as a result of Kalia’s distress call, who had been separated from her mother briefly so Kasatka could entertain an audience of around 500 people. According to SeaWorld’s own animal profiles, Kasatka finds “being separated from other whales/calf” aversive. As SeaWorld San Diego’s most experienced orca trainer, who had worked with Kasatka for many years, Peters would’ve been more than aware of this fact. Yet, he and his colleagues demonstrated a complete disregard for Kasatka’s triggers and he almost lost his life as a result.

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The heightened level of aggression towards humans in captivity is a clear indicator of how unnatural and unnecessarily dangerous orca captivity is. Here’s a collection of orca attacks caught on camera at marine parks:

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https://youtu.be/Q2ZD4lcJ7EI

Shamu, the original, attacking Annette Eckis at SeaWorld San Diego (April 1971). She recalls the incident almost 40 years later.

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https://youtu.be/BKiGAW2YQm8

Orky 2 crashing into John Silick at SeaWorld San Diego (1987).

​https://youtu.be/Ne4BiacbDNw

Taku displacing a trainer in the water at SeaWorld Orlando (1994).

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https://youtu.be/v3Bfpv7xUzc

Orkid and Splash attacking Tamarie Tollison at SeaWorld San Diego (2002).

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https://youtu.be/j9qtdavR3_Q

Kyuquot attacking Steve Aibel at SeaWorld San Antonio (2003).

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https://youtu.be/Pl1KpCfb0xo

Ku lunges at her trainer at Port of Nagoya Aquarium (Mid-2000s).

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https://youtu.be/hTXE653JPOg

Orkid attacking Brian Rokeach at SeaWorld San Diego (2006).

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https://youtu.be/Yu_yxLXFEo4

Freya attacking a trainer during a show at Marineland Antibes (2008).

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https://youtu.be/b3dRREXe9eo

Shouka repeatedly lunges at her trainer at Six Flags Vallejo (2012).

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https://youtu.be/TipAIojZGNs

Lolita lunges at guests at Miami Seaquarium (2012).

[wlw-imagines-blog]

There is No Ending For Us (Part 2) (Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader)

Part One Here

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Major Character Death, Endgame Spoilers,

Word Count: 1.5k words

Summary: Reader remembers her time with Natasha, and mourns the deaths of the two famous Avengers.

Tagged: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

A/N: thank you everyone for the feedback! So, at the beginning, this is after the battle with Thanos at the destroyed complex, but before Steve goes back in time (at Tony's funeral). Also this isn’t going to be any happier than the first part.

Hours passed like minutes. You let Steve carry you into a hallway before pulling you into a tight hug. Your hands landed on his back, tears blurring your vision. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” you heard Steve say, voice aching. You had said nothing, silently weeping in anguish. That was all you remember him saying. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

As the Avengers worked on the new gauntlet, you forced yourself to leave. You couldn't stay. There was nothing else you could do. A taxi drove you through Manhattan, stopping and starting in rush hour traffic. Upon returning to your apartment, you crumpled, sitting on the kitchen floor, crying. 

Everything seemed to blur together; the return of those who disappeared for five years, a destructive battle at the Avenger's compound, and the untimely death of Tony Stark.

There was plenty of loss in the newfound joy the world was experiencing.

At Tony's funeral, you stood there, watching Pepper and Morgan set the wreath into the water. Your chest was tight, head aching from the tears. It was strange to see so many people who had fought against each other at one point, standing together and honoring a man they barely knew.

After the ceremony, you found Clint by a long, winding river, near a large oak tree.

You threw yourself at him, arms wrapping tight around his neck.

"We did it," he choked into your neck. You could feel his tears seeping through the fabric of your jacket.

You pulled away, eyes shining. "She'd be proud of us."

"She is. I know she is."

Your brows furrowed, mouth twisted, threatening to submit to heavy sobs, but you grit your teeth.

"Y/N," he said, face heavy with guilt. "I tried to stop her. I tried to take her place but she beat me to it."

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "I know, Clint. It's... it's okay. She made the call."

Looking past him, you saw his wife, Laura, and his three children, all dressed in black, standing close to their mother. Laura offered you a kind smile.

"She wanted you to be with them," you managed to say. "They need you."

Clint shook his head. "If anything, I need them."

You smiled at his family before speaking. "I just can't believe I'm never going to see her again. I thought, after the Snap, that we would have more time. But, everyday, I could tell she thought about that day in Wakanda. What she could have done to save everyone, and how they could have beaten Thanos. It was tearing her up." You let your hands shake. "She would wake up in the middle of the night, crying about it. It hurt to see her like that."

"She wanted to make it right," Clint whispered.

You nodded again. "I just wish I could've been there with her."

Clint regarded you. "She loved you. Before Nat died, she wanted me to tell you that."

Your mouth twitched as tears ran down your cheeks. Clint hugged you tightly.

Emptiness swirled in your stomach, curling at the back of your throat, choking you alive.

~**~

When you become an 'adult' time seems to pass a lot quicker. In elementary school, recess was about ten minutes, but sometimes it felt like thirty. When you grow up, you can occupy so much time with your life, and make hours feel like minutes. But when you dread something, it takes forever for time to pass.

It takes three, stagnant years before you visit Natasha.

Within that time, you tried to find balance and security in a world that had seen tragedy and celebration. You tried to mourn while everyone around you celebrated.

The first five months were incredibly difficult. You often stayed inside, too sick with grief to leave for work, or meet with anyone.

Th people you least expected came over to visit. One month after the funeral, Wanda Maximoff showed up at your door, looking displaced and uncertain. You let her in, and the two of you spent hours talking and weeping, before she left. The Tuesday after that, Stephen Strange appeared, and you asked question after question. Was this the only way? Could they have saved everyone? He answered everything you asked. A young man named Peter, who you learned had been Tony’s protege stopped by, eyes big and already red. You let him in without asking anymore questions; besides, the kettle had just boiled, and you preferred company when having tea.

You spent more time than you thought possible at Clint and Laura’s place, sometimes even staying the night. They became a second family to you. You could confide in Laura, and the kids found your fun to be around when the sadness was not so thick. 

Steve visited once a week. Sometimes you would meet him for coffee, or hang out in the evening, but he became something of a constant for you. He was solid, and grounded, especially when you felt like you were sinking. This was all until he told you his plan for returning the infinity stones.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Steve?” You asked, finger tracing the rim of your cup of coffee.

Steve smiled to himself. “I’m not if it’s a good or bad idea, but it’s what I want.”

You thought about Natasha, and how much you would give to be with her. 

You looked at Steve. “Then, go for it.”

Three years and two weeks after Steve left, you found yourself in the middle of a forest, where the trees thinned and opened to a vast field of wild grass.

"Um, hello, Natasha," you said uncomfortably. "I know it's been a while. I'm really sorry about that. I-I guess time really does fly, huh?"

There was no response. Your voice seemed too loud in the empty meadow.

"I thought this would be a nice place for you," you continued, hand tightening around the bouquet you held. "Plenty of trees, and grass. You would love it, in the summertime, these orange roses and violets blossom in the field over there." You nodded to your left. "It's so pretty, Nat. I know you'd love it."

You crouched, placing the lilies at the base of the headstone.

"Fuck, Nat," your voice hitched, shaking when your dropped the flowers. "I still love you. I should have said it more to you. I should have done a lot actually. I should have forced you to leave the compound more, I should have taken you away; to Morocco like you always wanted. I should have called you and spent every second more with you. I should have gotten down on one knee and begged you to marry me."

You knelt down, fingers brushing the headstone of an empty grave. "We should have done so much more together. And I know, I'm going to live with that feeling of regret. Holy shit, Nat, sometimes it's so strong, I think I'm going to be sick. It keeps me up at night, and I'm not even kidding!" You wiped your nose, not caring how hysterical you sounded. "Its been four years, and I can't sleep the same! It's just so empty without you, Nat. And honestly, I'm ashamed to say that sometimes, I curse you. I get so angry, and full of hate, and I scream! I just go crazy! How could you have left me? When everyone came back? And you stayed dead! Everyone was in the streets, celebrating, while I was trying to figure out how to bury you without your body!"

You were shaking all over. Minutes passed as you sat, hearing nothing but the crickets and buzz of bees in the field. You wiped your nose with your sleeve "Fuck. You would hate to see me like this, wouldn't you?" You said ruefully. "I bet on every star in the sky, you'd say, 'stop being so dramatic, Y/N. Pick yourself up and get on with it.' Well, I'm sorry, Nat. I'm not like you."

You pressed your forehead to the cold stone. "I could never be as good as you."

"This is going to get easier," you sniffed, pushing through the tears. "I know it is. I've got that hope you always carried around with you. After this, I'm going over to Clint and Laura's for dinner. They really miss you too, Nat, we all do.” You were standing now, somehow still talking despite everything. “Bruce has changed, he's so distant. Thor's gone for now, Steve's gone too. Tony... well, he's up there with you, isn’t he? Tell him I say hi, we miss him so much."

You pressed your fingers to your lips, then rested them on the top of the headstone. A weak smile danced on your lips as you pulled away. 

"I love you, Natasha. I’ll, visit again soon. Really soon, I promise,” you breathed, air pressing against your lungs as though you were breathing for the first time in a decade. You felt the ghost of a hand against your back, helping push you forward

 You walked back to your car, and drove away.

[thepropertylovers]

How to Put It Into Words

How are you feeling?

It’s been a minute since we’ve written an actual blog post (though we’ve been active on YouTube and Instagram), so we wanted to check in here and see how you’re doing. We’ve been home for the last 4 weeks (though it feels much longer) and, overall, we’re doing just fine. We are in our home, with enough food for now to feed our current family of 5 (plus 5 animals), and we FaceTime with our families at least once a day.

We are not on the front lines, risking our lives to save others with the virus. We are not working late hours and devoting days and weeks to help stop the spread. We are not working in the food industry or service industry or anywhere else that has to stay open so people can still buy food or have it delivered to their homes. We are at home.

We’re at home taking care of our 3 foster kiddos who consume so much of our time and energy (thankfully and rightfully so), as they have been for the past 9 months. They have no idea what’s going on outside our 100 year old house, other than short looks of disappointment and confusion when we tell them we can’t go to the park again today because people are getting sick and we can’t be around others right now. Other than that, it’s business as usual.

But it’s not, really, is it? It’s not really business as usual for anyone who isn’t under the age of 5. Though we’re not directly affected by COVID 19 health-wise (and hopefully we never will be), it’s still a very different reality for us than it was a month ago. Normally very close to our moms, we haven’t been able to hug them (or any of our relatives) in 4 weeks. The kids are out of school and most likely won’t return for the rest of the year, so we’re watching YouTube videos of their teachers reading to them and other learning videos we’ve found helpful. They’re not able to play at the park, so we’ve been spending a lot more time in our backyard on the trampoline and on the slide PJ installed for them on our steps off our back deck. Our food supply is starting to show signs of not being restocked every week like it used to, though we should be okay for a little while, and are endlessly grateful for what we do have. When we take walks during the day, we are careful to move out of the way and keep our distance when we see others out walking towards us.

What can we do to help during this time? We searched our basement for masks to donate, but we used them all up when we were renovating our house a few years back. We can post about awareness and staying home and social distancing on social media, which we have and will continue to do. We are not in the medical field, but we know there are still ways to help. We can donate money and give to those who need it.

We’re in the process of fixing up a rental house we purchased a year ago for PJ’s mom to move into. We mentioned in a recent vlog that she lost her job a few weeks back, so we’ll be doing what we can to help her out during the next few months. It’s such a scary and uncertain time for so many around the globe. We never thought we would live in a world where everyone on earth is going through the same crisis at the same time. Of course, everyone is dealing with it differently and everyone is having to adjust accordingly. There are so many who are in extremely hard, unimaginable situations because of the virus: those without a job, without clean water, without food, shelter, etc. Those who were already in hard situations, like refugees and forcibly displaced persons, now face an even tougher battle. It’s overwhelming and difficult to think about, but we feel everyone needs to be thought of during this time and it’s our right and duty to do what we can to help.

We’ve been at home the past few weeks, only going out one or two times to get medicine for us and the kiddos, and one last grocery stop. We’ve been taking trips out to the land and PJ’s dad’s farm to let the kids run wild and get out all the pent up energy they’ve had lately. The toughest days are the rainy ones where the kiddos are forced to stay inside. That’s when they really get restless. Can you blame them, though? Again, they have no real concept of what’s going on with the virus, and don’t really ask either. The most important thing on their minds is keeping their brother from taking their toy or making sure their sister doesn’t mess up their lego house they just made. They’re blissfully unaware, and we feel that’s the best thing for them right now :).

Over on YouTube, we’ve been posting about our life during social distancing almost daily. It’s been a nice distraction from everything to focus on another social channel so heavily, and we’re really getting into editing the videos and adding new music and just having fun with them. Are you subscribed to us on YouTube?

We’ve also been trying our best to stay away from the news as much as we can lately. When everyone started taking this seriously and we were all being urged to stay in our homes, we had the little TV in our kitchen on every minute of the day consuming as much info about COVID 19 as we could. Day after day we would switch between the different news channels (and compare which ones were taking it more serious than the others…) and our minds would go wild. The constant bad news about how fast the virus was spreading and how many people were dying, mixed with a week and a half of rain every day AND two out of three kids being sick (and us not feeling that great either), really took a toll on our mental health for a short while. It felt like the entire world (or ours, at least) was crashing down and there was nothing we could do to stop it. The first few nights of social distancing were the hardest for us. One night, the worst night, we held each other in bed and just cried. Literally cried ourselves to sleep. It was a mixture of fear and uncertainty. We realized that night that life as we’ve known it the last few years would change in the coming days, weeks, months, and it just hit us. It was a hard blow. Ever since then we’ve taken it one day at a time, and some days are good and some days aren’t so good, but overall we’re all healthy and doing what we can to stop the spread of the virus by staying home and staying put.

We hope y’all are staying safe out there and doing what you can during these incredibly hard, scary, and uncertain times. We’re sending you so much love, friends. Take care! xx