#gildedlife

[wantsusdead]

Happy Birthday @gildedlife ♥♥♥

[readbetween]

@gildedlife

the very first thing diane does is misspeak, "it's the most incredible thing, i almost didn't recognize you."

but her schema for comportment around james is challenged – informed as it has been by ill-fitting conversations, which over time, gradated more comfortably into cursory pleasantries. glib greetings, as one shouldered past.

what she means to say, "it's the textbook example of the – disorientation – a person feels when they happen upon someone outside of their established context for them."

diane's astonishment of such happenstance outshines any impulse to make herself elusive (and, without pretense, his is the first familiar face she's seen in weeks).

[rekant-1]

@gildedlife

it shivers on the ice.

its hair is wet with saltwater, speckled with little flakes of frost. its clothes are wet. its skin is wet. the arctic air chills it to its bones.

—

it crouches behind the radiator in the kitchen of the erebus, eating stew from a can with its bare hands.

[guttersniper]

@gildedlife

mutt's teeth are chattering so fast, he swears they'll chip and grind themselves into dust. his knees are squeezed up to his chest, his shoulders hunched tightly inward. in some pathetic way to stay warm, the remaining men have forgone shaving, something he, for obvious reasons, isn't able to do.

" anything, " his natural rasp is more pronounced, these days, like a death rattle, " talk about any – anything. "

[wantsusdead]

@gildedlife

The bone-weary seaman held his breath as the ship finally docked at its final destination. The yells of the crew a mixture of “hooray” and final orders to moor the vessel; the ship gently bobbing against the side of the dock as it came to a halt. This was it, the moment they had all longed for, the moment they had all believed would never come. They had made it home. The captain felt his hand grip the railing as he took in the sight of the large crowd that had gathered to greet the survivors, his knuckles turning white with his grasp.

Shouts of greeting mixed in with applause began to assault the homecomers' ears. The Irish man turned his head to look at his companion who he was holding steady with his other arm. It was bittersweet. A wave of relief washed over the older man; he had done it, he had kept Fitzjames alive and brought him (along with the other survivors) home but he also felt a pang of guilt in his breast. To the men who had not made it home; whose family and friends, some of whom were present, they would never see again. To the man Fitzjames had been forced to become, to the rose-tinted glasses which had been ripped from before his eyes, for the innocence lost.

He glanced around at the rest of his men; some half-heartedly joining in a chorus of the national anthem started by the crew of the Enterprise, while others looked shell-shocked and some openly wept. The gangway was lowered and there was a rush as the crowed gathered around, some of them shouting the names of the crew. Crozier looked at Fitzjames again, forcing a smile. They should be happy; they should be relieved, he thought. He had to be for the others' sake. He had to be for his friend’s sake.

Suddenly, Crozier felt a hard clap on his shoulder as his oldest friend (and captain of the vessel), James Clark Ross came to see them depart safely. They two spoke for several moments, before all three began to make their way off the ship. The redhead assisted Fitzjames down the steep gangway, though the younger man was eager to walk for himself as much as possible. Behind them their few remaining possessions were carried by Ross's crew.

As the trio reached the end of the slope, their feet finally landing on English soil, they were swallowed up by the crowd. Cries of greeting and sympathy in equal measure filled their ears, and without meaning to, Crozier and Fitzjames diverged along different paths. He felt the clap of welcoming hands on his back and shoulders and tried his best to smile weakly at the passing faces. He had always hated crowds, hated the attention. Now it was worse than ever. What had he to be proud of?

Feeling overwhelmed, he looked around for Fitzjames, surely the man had been right beside him. Now that he was no longer above the crowd but standing among them, Crozier’s height impeded his ability to look above their heads. He wanted to cry out, but with the roar of the horde reaching fever pitch he knew it would be useless. Suddenly, he felt a familiar touch on his shoulder and he turned around to see Ross again, a wide sympathetic smile on his face. “I’ve lost Fitzjames.” Crozier said, his unused voice croaking over the noise. He didn't intent to say it so pleadingly. “I think he found his family.” The other man replied, leaning in to hear his friend better. “Come, I’ll get you out of here.” He said reading Crozier’s mind and leading the Irishman out of the throng of people.

As they reached the end of the crowd, the redhead turned back around; he could see some of his men being greeted by family and friends; pulled into bear hugs, while mother’s wept and father’s smiled with sympathy and sadness. The relief at seeing their family member alive mixed with the shock of finally realizing that the men who had arrived home were not the boys that they had waved goodbye to three years previously.

[mimicic]

@gildedlife liked this post for a drawing/graphic.

you don't gotta use this for anything. i just enjoy adding text to drawings b/c it makes it look less boring.

[spicegrrrlarch]

" i don't usually look this much of a twat, mate. " jon feels the need to assure the other bloke, clearly unimpressed with his own attire -- though it was undoubtedly fashionable, a sleek zara looking fit, it was far from his usual shirt and trousers, " got a new fucking brand deal an' i gotta be seen in it a few times before i can go back to fuckin' normal. makes me feel a clown. " he shrugs, fiddling with a cuff gently, " sorry it's -- fuckin' -- distracting.. me. what were you sayin' there? you what? " @gildedlife.

[vitalphenomena]

@gildedlife

"I was thinking about having you sit in on one of my lectures."

He pulls on his blazer, checks himself out quickly in the bathroom mirror, hurries to grab his lunchbox.

"Call it an interest that's — you know — experimental. How much do I change, in front of the white board? Only you can say," he concludes, sing-song.