#but swiss rocky was just too good to pass up

[03k64ff]

GHROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW CASTING FT. ERA V GHOULS

Frank: Dewdrop

Janet: Cumulus

Brad: Phantom

Riff: Rain

Magenta: Cirrus

Columbia: Aurora

Crim: Mountain

Eddy+Dr. Scott: Aether

Rocky: Swiss

BONUS

Copia as Trixie/Usherette

Terzo and Omega as Ralph and Betty

[phoebepheebsphibs]

.Dead asleeP.

Title: Chapter 1: COMA Prompt: You were peacefully sleeping when you suddenly wake up to the sound of a heart monitor steadily beeping somewhere nearby, and realize you are in the med-bay with no memory of what happened prior to this. // After watching movies with your siblings all night and passing out in the tv room, you wake up to find that you're alone. What happened? Fandom: ROTTMNT Word Count: 1,927 Author: PhoebePheebsPhibs Rating: Gen Characters: Leonardo, minor Michelangelo, Donatello, & Raphael (disembodied voices) Warning: Derealization, nightmare-ish stuff (Leo is stuck in a dream) Summary: Leo enjoys a calm sleepover with his family... but when he wakes up in the middle of the night, everyone is gone, and the world starts to turn upside down... Notes: No Beta, We Die Like Gram-Gram! More chapters to follow (5 more, to be exact)

@shr00mi3writefight @tmnt-write-fight @that-0n3-shr00mi3

Posted on AO3 <-

Leo missed having nights like these. The five of them, watching movies late into the evening and early into the mornings. Bowls of popcorn emptied within the first fifteen minutes, stacks of pizza for them to scarf down, liters upon liters of soda, boxes of candy for everyone to enjoy, and plenty of pillows and blankets so that not a single square foot of the concrete and metal-grated floor was exposed. The classic Hamato-O'Neil sleepover extravaganza.

Leo battled April with their typical pun battles, where one would make a joke using wordplay, and the other would have to follow suit with a similar or related word. Leo started off saying that all her jokes would be 'cheesy'. April assured him they were all 'gouda'. Leo retorted that her jokes 'were like swiss cheese -- too many holes'. And so on and so forth, gaining complaints and boos from the rest of the group as they went on. Raph brought out all his cuddlies and stuffies, letting each sibling take one for comfort... should they decide to watch any scary movies. Their energy came in waves, the first dissipating after the first J.J. film. They paused, had some food and snacks, watch some 'Try Not To Laugh' challenges, failed the challenges, and then the second wave hit. Donnie set up a special game he'd heard about and fixated over for them all to play. At some point, Mikey started laughing too loudly and accidentally screamed in April's ear. Leo was making fun of the characters with his colour commentary and annoyed Donnie into pushing him off the couch. Raph decided it would be cool to see if a mint in Vitamin Water and shaking it would have the same effect as a Mentos in Diet Coke. News flash, it did.

So the night was going really great!

Leo cackled as he pulled Donnie off the couch with him. Raph panicked and dropped the bottle once it started foaming and exploding, and April grabbed the drink and used it as a weapon against them. Donnie started a massive pillow fight and created a battlefield. Once their second wave of energy had depleted, and the pizza boxes were all but empty, they settled down to continue the movie night. It was really nice, having everyone over together like this. Leo tried to recall the last time they'd gotten together like this and had a massive celebration...

Mikey laughed as he pointed to the screen, cackling madly. Raphael had fallen asleep watching Jupiter Jim's Pluto Vacation 4 and broken the coffee table with his face again. Donnie and April groaned loudly, but Leo and Mikey high-fived with glee.

Just another fun family night. One Leo was so extremely grateful for. Though, he didn't have any real need to feel that way. The Shredder was locked away, Big Mama was not causing any problems (that they knew of), and his family had never felt closer since Splinter had shared the a good portion of his past with them. Everything was... perfect. Sure, things had been kind of rocky before. Concerning Leo's portals needing more experience, the secrets that Splinter kept from them about their origins, Draxum being a villain, and the Shredder's resurrection. Among other things.  They needed a night like this. To unwind, relax, take it easy and have a laugh. They were all just teenagers, after all.

Leo leaned back in his sleeping back, propped up with pillows to form a cocoon throne. He chuckled softly at Raph's light snoring, Mikey drawing pictures on his face, April putting curlers into Mayhem's hair and through Donnie's mask tails...

His eyes grew heavy.

Leo fell asleep.

"Leo, wake up, Leo!"

"Can he hear us? I think he can --"

"How do we know this will work?"

"It just will. It has to."

"Don't give up on us, Leo... C'mon, get up... get up...!"

"Leo?"

Leo's eyes fluttered open. He yawned, and turned over in his sleeping bag.

"Wake me'up... wh'n iz... morn'n....."

No one responded. The lair was silent. Leo couldn't even hear the movie playing.

He sat up slowly, glancing around to see if the others had all fallen asleep as well. No one was here. The projector was still running softly, but there was no sound, no image. Just TV snow -- static buzzing across the screen as the machine whirred and whined with exhaustion. Huh. Weird, he'd never known the projector to do that... Leo tilted his head in confusion. The screen blinked at him oddly. The static took soft shapes Leo could almost swear he saw images in the interference. It must be his imagination.

⠀⢀⡀⡄⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⢶⢶⢲⠄⠀⢴⠦ ⢸⡈⣷⢱   ⠏⣾⢾⢸.    ⠿⡀⠀⠀⢸⢸.  ⡿⢹⠀⢸⡈⣷⢱⠲⢶⢶⢲ ⠀⠁⠀⠈⠉⠈⠀⠈  ⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⡇⢸⢻⠀⡞⢠⠖⢦⠀⣇⡤⠂⣠⠶⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⡆⢰⠴⠢⡄ ⠀⢳⡏⠀⣷⠃⢶⣉⣹⡀⡏⠳⣀⢯⣉⡩⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣀⣯⢻⣄⣠⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠂⠀⠀ ⢸⡈⣷⢱   ⠏⣾⢾⢸.    ⠿⡀⠀⠀⢸⢸.  ⡿⢹⠀⢸⡈⣷⢱⠲⢶⢶⢲ ⠀⠁⠀⠈⠉⠈⠀⠈  ⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠲⢶⢶⢲⠄⠀⢴⠦

But the instant Leo called his attention to it, the projector popped, fizzled, and disconnected.

Huh. Must be the sleep deprivation...

Leo's attention came back to the emptiness of the room. Where had everyone gone? It was too dark and too quiet to be morning yet. Maybe... they'd all gone to get more snacks? It was a silly idea, but the only probable one he could think of. Leo rose to his feet, stretched, and clambered over the sea of pillows and cushions surrounding the area. He wondered what time it was. He tried to find his phone... but, uh... hm. That was unlike him, to leave his phone unattended. Oh well, he didn't actually need it. Besides, there were other clocks in the lair. Leo roamed into the halls, which seemed a lot longer and more dominated by shadow than usual. These shadows were strange, rounding about the walls and ceiling and floor as if they were cloth rolling down a hole. In fact, the more Leo focused on the world around him, the more it seemed distorted and out of place. The photos on the walls were tilted and slanted, the images were too blurry to be discernible. There were doors that he did not recognize, practically littering the hallway. And the hallway itself went on for miles and miles and miles. Leo eventually saw a door that felt familiar. Felt familiar. It did not look familiar. But being near the door felt like being at the end of a task you forgot you were doing. Recognition of completion. He opened the door.

It was the kitchen. And it was empty. No one was here... huh. Weird. Where had they all gone? Leo glanced at the wall clock. The hand were at... uh... He couldn't read the numbers. There weren't any numbers. And for whatever reason, he couldn't recall in what order numbers ran, or where they started on a clock. At the top? The middle? The bottom? Where was the 1 supposed to be? And which hand represented the hour?

Uh... h-he didn't really want to see the time, anyway. It would just remind him of how many hours he had left to try and sleep.

"You've been sleeping enough, I think..."

Who said that?

Leo glanced around room anxiously. The once warm light was starting to dim, darken, desaturate. It was getting pretty cold in here. Leo ran out of the room, and looked down the halls. The way back to the living room was pitch black, and getting darker and scarier by the minute.

"This way, Leo! Follow us!"

Leo turned to look the other way.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel! A deep, warm, golden amber light. He'd go that way. Leo started running. It was so hard to run, he felt like he was running through water, or molasses. Slowed down to a crawl, he forced his arms and legs to move as fast as they could to escape the oncoming, ever consuming darkness.

"Come on, Leo, you can do it!"

"You've got this, dude! Keep going!"

"Don't give up!"

Leo struggled hard, gritting his teeth and growling with strained effort.

"Rrrrrgh! Who ARE you weird disembodied voices, anyway?! What have you done with my family?!"

The voices didn't answer. Or maybe they did, he just wasn't hearing them anymore. Everything felt like slow motion.

Leo finally made it to the edge of the light. As soon as his fingers touched the sparkling beams, he felt the effects of the darkness bleed off of him, ebbing away like the tide as he crawled out of its reach. The cold chill that had been clawing at his heart and lungs was now replaced by a glorious sensation of healthy warmth. The air sparkled, chasing the dark back into the abyss. The light brightened, beckoning him. Something about this light felt like... like... Like Mikey, somehow. It mirrored his bright personality. Leo could almost swear that touching the light was like holding his hand. He could feel the weight in his palm.

"...Mikey?" he asked aloud, eyes wide with shock at how familiar and real it all felt. The realest thing here...

"He felt me!"

"Huh?" Leo asked, still unsure where the voice had come from...

But before he could discern anything, his feet started moving again, almost as if he was no longer in charge. He strode through the tunnels, following the light.

"Don't worry, Nardo, we'll help you get back."

"We'll be right here beside you, no matter what."

"Anatawa hitorijinai."

"I don't speak... whatever that is," Leo mumbled sleepily. He wondered why he felt so drowsy all over again.

But Leo felt like the voices weren't malevolent. They weren't evil, or cruel. Maybe they had done something to his family, maybe not. It felt more like they wanted to help return him to them. Leo wasn't an overly trusting guy, but he was willing to stake his life for his family's sake.

He was willing to follow the light.

[skeleton-mischief]

The 14 Skeleton Names:

As I type this, I know that I have a lot of other AU's I can put here, but I narrowed it down to the main 14 sets of brothers to keep it short. I'll make another separate posts including the other AU's and even the outcodes like Error, Ink, Killer, etc. Not every name I use is what others use within the community, so this just keeps things in line and even will explain the reasoning behind certain names! This is entirely based on that really cheesy trope of them all being roommates so take this as if they all decided to have names to differentiate each other! Also yes, UT brothers deserve names too, it's not fair that they hardly have their names changed in those fics and also I think that both of them would find it fun!

I also decided to name each of them with the same last name: Serrif. It's a font and I think that they'd all (mostly) agree that it's a good last name for them to share. After all, it's clear that none of the monsters underground had a need for last names.

Undertale -

Undertale Sans: Vanilla Serrif. Just like vanilla ice cream, Sans has a variety of AU's with each of their own unique "toppings." I find it fitting that the classic og has the name Vanilla because there's so much to do with vanilla ice cream, you can't do something new with something such as rocky road

Undertale Papyrus: Cyperus Serrif. Cyperus Papyrus, which is better known as Papyrus, is a species of long, aquatic flowering plants that is known for being a "paper plant." It has origins dating all the way back to when the font was first used on "Papyrus Paper." Now wouldn't that be a fun reason he chose the name? He's a smart, creative monster who would definitely do something like this.

Underfell -

Underfell Sans: Red Serrif. A classic, of course. He's more of a lazy type and I think that he'd name himself Red to seem cool, instead of naming himself after food like the og. He wouldn't put too much thought into his name, but it would stick rather well since he was one of the first to be moved from his universe.

Underfell Papyrus: Pitch Serrif. Pitch black like the leather he'd wear and pitch black like his so totally cool and edgy personality! He wanted a menacing name, and he wasn't going to just name himself after a color if it didn't sound cool! (He was going to name himself something cooler, but his brother named himself after a color and so he wanted them to secretly match with color coded names)

Underswap -

Underswap Sans: Powder Serrif. Not only is it a pretty color of blue, but it's a name that implies that he's nimble and almost "floating." He has a very active personality, so he found that it's a very fitting name! It's light like his personality and behaviors, he swears that it's a better name than just Blue. He wanted to put a little bit more thought into his name than "edgy him."

Underswap Papyrus: Stretch Serrif. Also a classic, there weren't many names that he found appealing. He was nicknamed things such as carrot, but it was actually Vanilla that helped him find his name. He commented that he was like a "stretched" out version of him, joking. Of course, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to make his name not only an inside joke, but almost a small pun that he loves.

Horrortale -

Horrortale Sans: Saint Serrif. It actually wasn't his idea to be named Saint. He was more stubborn about his name since that was an identity he wanted to cling onto. However, this was still when he was just fresh outside of his underground. At the gentle persistence of his brother, he begrudgingly let himself not be so clingy about his name. The others weren't so cruel as to name him something like Axe, Swiss, etc. In fact, Powder actually was the one to come up with the name. It means a holy one, and Powder found that it was fitting because despite everything that happened: He prevailed, and kept to at least most of his morals. Saint values his name now as he opens a new chapter of his life

Horrortale Papyrus: Lunar Serrif. He was delighted to have a new name, even if he had a history with his previous name. There's a lot of shame in the underground, and so he ended up going with the name Lunar. It's pale, faded like his magic, but it also means the moon. Unlike the Sun, it is soothing and quiet, still ever bright but in its own way.

Swapfell Red -

Swapfell Red Sans: Carmine Serrif. It's a very pretty shade of red, just like his magic. He liked the idea of making himself think of a pretty color, while also going by a name that had associations to his underground roots without specifically tying the name down to it. After all, the color carmine is the color of dried blood and is a raw pigment. As a result, he chose a name that suited his tastes

Swapfell Red Papyrus: Rus Serrif. So, he really did not care for changing his name. Some people say it's because it sounds like a name a dog would have, but it's actually because he liked the sound of it by itself separate from Papyrus. papy-RUS. Carmine tried to make him choose a different name, but he stuck with it

Swapfell Purple -

Swapfell Purple Sans: Razz Serrif. Raspberry purple is a beautiful shade of purple, and it happens to be the color of purple his magic is. So, for short, he chose to call himself Razz. Razz, however, is a word that means to heckle, ridicule, or to tease. It's a habit he happens to have, and because he's educated enough to have known this, it's the real reason he chose to name himself this

Swapfell Purple Papyrus: Cash Serrif. He has a lot of ties and intelligence revolving money, the best gambler underground in fact. He's lazy, but Razz refused him to go by anything that could be associated with his original name in the name of originality. This failed, of course. But, Razz let him keep it

Fellswap Gold -

Fellswap Gold Sans: Wine Serrif. Wine is a beautiful drink that was rare in his underground, but a pleasure he had nonetheless due to his ranking. It's also a beautiful color, so he found it only rational to name himself Wine. It's a reflection of his more classy personality, after all.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus: Coffee Serrif. He wanted to go by a name that complimented his brothers, so he did the same thing as Wine by naming himself after his favorite drink. He didn't need to put much thought into it, but it works nonetheless

Some reasons have more meaning than others, so uh,,,yeah👴👍

Pt 2 on the way

[ben-the-hyena]

So I watched the Lackadaisy pilot. I want to precise, except the trailer, a few drawings, gifs and animation tests I knew nothing about the story, I never read the comics or knew the names of the characters

I must say... mixed feelings. But overall hopeful

I really liked the Cafe Daisy bit, it looked beautiful and had a nice cinematography (the fact Mitzi misses her husband is established a very natural and casual way that doesn't feel forced), nice colors, the music in the end was so catchy, its funny bits WERE funny and had me laugh or at least giggle (THIS is how you make an adult animation, not by forcing in profanities), Mitzi seems to be a very interesting, complex character with an elegant design and a sweet and melancholic tet powerful personality (I think she's my favorite character for now), Wick and Zib were cool for different reasons one being elegant and a bit posh yet awkward and the other a depressed yet cool drunk musician, Viktor was threatening and very cool in his own way I love big angry guys doing a "nice" job they look too scary for...

This bit really saved it and had me like the pilot and look forwards for more because (and I know I will be shit on for thinking so) the first 16 minutes really bored me and I kept wondering why, except the animation which indeed is smooth and beautiful (unsure if it was intentional but I do love how they left tge sketchlines, it reminds me of the bronze era of Disney), people were praising it. It took waaay too long to truly start to get in action, the 2 trigger happy gangsters (are they a couple) sure looked and sounded cool they seemed to be too much bidimensional (but eh it IS a pilot so I'll let it pass), the action was... not hyping me at all (I was like "😐" during the whole chase and a good part of the sneaking mission, it didn't make me feel anything), and BY GOD do I feel like I'm gonna hate Rocky. He REEKS character made to be "the likable and funny fan favorite for the sole reason he is so random lolz and LOOK he dresses up nicely and plays violin even when it's not needed or helping at all that's SO quirky, Tumblr sexyman material ain't I rite ???", he was exasperating, a jackass meant to be charming which I found failed completely, and his random obsession about explosions and the way he was being insane about it which is meant to be funny only had me be tempted to turn off the video for how annoying it was. And he's gonna be a main character... I REALLY HOPE this is just because it's the pilot but so far I think I will love him as much as I loved DT17 Dewey siiiiiigh...

However even in that first part I found Freckle cute and his crush for Ivy (who is cute too !) adorable, and I did get happily surptised and laughed at him being SO trigger happy and turning into a whole different person with guns, THAT was the only part of the first part I found funny enough to laugh for lol (and I did find funny when Rocky gives him the dynamite like it is nothing or when Rocky threw the dynamite at the villains before ricochetting back to him, but not to the point of making noises). I also did get a change of opinion about that mysterious Mordecai. Ibitially he looked and seemed as bidimensional/boring as Serafine and Nicodeme, then when he stepped out and proved out to be good with a gun too became a little more introguing, then whenever the sneaking scene was focused on him and Freckle it actually did have tension since both are as good as each other and how unlike Freckle who was (understandably so) panicking he was instead as calm and collected as ever and I love cold and pragmatic villains, I grew to love the little gimick about hearing a clock whenever he aims to showcase how slowly it takes him to aim yet how 100% efficient precise it turns out to be just like a Swiss clock, that was clever, and then when in the end he COULD have shot Ivy but I feel like by seeing it is her chooses not to, it got me hooked. Why ? How ? Does he know her ? Does he care ? Who is she to him ? NOW that is the one moment from the first part that had me want to know more

In short, not the best and it took too long to catch my interest, but at least it does catch up later on. Except Rocky. Only part of the srcond part I didn't like. Whenever he opened it. Fuck Rocky

[yandere-mha-blog]

Part 14: A story for the Dabi lovers

“Well it isn't much but it's ...a palace to stay in.” Dabi said as you walked in, you wouldn't judge too much he probably wasn't expecting company today anyways

“It's fine, don't worry.” you said as dusted off the bed

“You Can sleep here. I'm going to go to sleep on the couch.” Dabi said and walked out of the room, you sat your bag down on the floor and collapsed on the bed, man this mattress was very uncomfortable, still better than staying at your place.

Dabi knew he was being an idiot, yes bring the girl who you were trying not to get attached to, as she sleeps in your bed, well whatever he was just going to make some ramen noodles and go to sleep, and not think about it. He saw your bag on the door knob outside his room and walked over, and unzipped it, yup there were yoru house, keys, he needed to make sure nothing would happen, he knocked on the door and let himself in, you were already passed out, an adeleine rush will do that to you, once it's gone you are out, well at least he didn't have to explain why he was going out.

ANother stop at your apartment, man you kept this place clean, exactly opposite of his place, he took his shoes off and grabbed your pillows and put them under the blankets so it looked like somebody was sleeping there, then he went into the bathroom and turned off the lights and waited, and waited.

It was around 3 when he heard the door jiggle a bit, must have been him. He took out his swiss army knife he always had on hand and waited till the door open, Dabi always had weirdly good eye site in the dark, there was Keigo standing in the doorway trying to be as quiet as possible, his hunch from a month ago must of been right, and your hunch from today was right, Keigo walked over to the pillow he thought was you, and he was holding duct tape, well jokes on him as he removed the blanket from the pillow and was in shock to see you not there.

And then Dabi lunged at him with the knife. He was going to end this here and now, But Keigo was fast and dodged and he only grazed his shoulder.

“AGh you mother … .fuckerrr !’ Keigo winced  as he held his shoulder “What have you done with her?”

“I think the question to be asking here is what the hell are you doing in her apartment with duct tape.” Dabi asked, Keigo looked guilty, he knew the best thing to do was run, even the fact Dabi shouldn't be here either, Keigo counted his losses and ran out the door, Dabi chased after him making sure to close your apartment door and lock it didn't need him coming back here, and he was heading toward his car, but when one of your arm was had a giant cut in it didn't make easy, Dabi grabbed Keigo by the shirt and dragged him out and slammed his head on the concrete, must of been a bit to hard wince Keigo was out like a light.

“OH shit…” Dabi said, checking for a pulse, oh good he is still alive, but he needed to do one more thing, he got the duct tape keigo had and wrapped him up and tossed him in the trunk.

“Killing you would be too easy.” Dabi said as he took the keys off of him and got into his car, it's been a while since he drove, he would be fine.

It was a bit rocky but finding a 24/7 shop that sold booze was really easy in this area, he opened the trunk and poured some booze on his clothes, and ripped the duct tape off his mouth and poured some down his throat before reduct taping his mouth, a small concussion wouldn't kill him, empty beer bottles in the car and driving his car down a hill in the middle of a park, before dragging keigo out of the trunk and undoing his ties, and putting empty beer bottles around the car and in it.

“Have fun with a DUI mother fucker.” Dabi said and left the spot, which took a bit longer than expected, as he called the cops saying there was a red car parked in the middle of a park that came swerving in.

Finally getting back home just as the sun was coming up, he put your keys back in your bag and well he wasn't getting any sleep anyways, and made some coffee, no reason to buy some when you were already here, guess two cups would be better then.

He knocked on the door and walked in seeing you still in that dozing off, i'm just waking up look

“How did you sleep?” Dabi asked

“Okay, but your mattress is very uncomfortable.” You said

“I know it's so I don't feel the urge to stay in it all day.” Dabi said handing you some coffee, you happily took it

“Thanks.” You said

“So what is your plan for the day?” Dabi asked

“Well I told my boss I felt sick so I'm not going into work today, so really, I'm just hiding.” You said

“Well I need to go grocery shopping, so you want to come with me?’ Dabi asked

“I guess that is okay.” you said

Keigo woke up in the hospital, agh That damn bastard Dabi must've knocked him outwait a second why were there handcuffs on him, what happen, and blegh why did his mouth taste like cheap booze

“OH good Mr. Takami, you are awake.” An officer said, ah shit “You are under arrest for driving under the influence, how much do you remember?” “UHhh what?” Keigo said

“We found you in your car, smelling like booze, you have a concession and a slash on your arm, which can we assume is from drunk driving, you are lucky no one else was hurt, anyway you saw your emergency contacts and we called in your manger, we will get the rest of the details later.”

“That motherfucker framed me.” 

[sherrybaby14]

Cast Away

This is for PrettyYoungTragedy’s challenge

 Prompt: “Why didn’t you just listen to me. I could have saved you.”

 Warnings:  This is angsty fluffy, smut, animal death (not graphic)

 Summary:   You find yourself stranded on a desert island with Captain America himself.  (This is a bit of enemy -to- lovers) 

 Pairing:  Steve Rogers x Reader

                 “I didn’t sign up for this.”  You took deep breaths as you sat in the co-pilot seat. “Should I go to the back?”

                 “This is the safest place.”  Captain Rogers hit some of the switches.

                 You looked out the window and saw nothing but darkness and rain.  The plane bounced against the turbulence and you griped on to your seat belt.  Certain it was keeping you from slamming all over the cabin.  

                 “Weird assignment Y/N.” Your boss knocked on your door.  “Want to take a private plane to Japan?”

                 “What?”  You looked up from your computer and stood, your mouth agape. “Are you serious?”  

                 “Tony Stark is buying some jewelry.  He wants an appraiser.   I think it’s a perfect assignment for you.”  She leaned against the frame. “Oh, and guess who will be flying the plane?”  

                 That conversation was ten hours old, but it felt like years ago as the plane continued to bounce in the storm.  

                 You imagined a luxurious ride and while the small plane didn’t disappoint in that department, the safety and smoothness you pictured vanished.  

                 The plane started to dive and Captain Rogers tugged at the controls.  The door to the cabin flew open and everything that wasn’t bolted to the ground came flying forward, covering the inside of the window with paperwork.  

                 “We’re not going to get on top of it.”  Steve screamed over the sound of the wind.  

                 This was your end.  Dying next to an America legend in a plane wreck. The beeping and the thunder pounded in your head.  Suddenly the nose of the plane tilted up as Steve got control over the gears again.  

                 “Are we going to die?”  You screamed back.

                 “Trust me.”  Steve didn’t look at you as he continued to flip switches.  “Just stay in your seat and…”

                 The leveling out of the plane was too much and your stomach started to churn.  The seat belt was suffocating you and you clicked it off before standing up and running for the bathroom at the rear of the plane.

                 “HEY! GET BACK HERE.”  Steve’s voice faded as the plane shook.  

                 He was right.  What were you thinking?  You turned toward him, forgetting the bathroom as another patch of turbulence came and you fell forward onto your stomach.   There was a cracking sound, like splintering ice.  Steve’s hand reached out for yours and you lifted your palm to take it, when the cracking turned into a boom.  

                 The floor was gone and you looked down into gray nothingness.  The rain was all around you as your arms and legs flailed and your body picked up speed. This was death.  

                 Your life started to flash before your eyes: images of your parents, friends, family, and pets throughout the years.  You weren’t ready to say goodbye.  It wasn’t your time.

                 SMACK!  Something hard circled your waist.  You turned your head to see Captain America.  

                 “HOLD ON TO ME.”  He yelled against the wind.  

                 You were in freefall but managed to turn around and wrap yourself around him as tight as you could, literally holding on for dear life.  

                 WOOSH!  There was a jerk and you screamed into the wind, terrified you were going to slip away.   Your plummet started to slow.  It was a parachute.  

                 Steve saved you.  He saved you. You buried your head against his chest, not wanting to see any of the rest of the storm or admit that you were far from safe.  

~~

                 Your lungs burned, your body ached, but as you crawled up on to the beach you took fistfuls of wet sand and pressed your cheek to the ground.  

                 Waves continued to wash over you, pushing your body further out of the salty water.  With shaky arms, you stood up and walked out of the water on to the white sand. When you were out of the water you fell back down again, turning onto your back, needing a moment to catch your breath.  

                  “I can’t believe we’re alive.”  There was still ringing in your ears, a phantom from the plane dropping and the thunderous storm.  

                 “Why didn’t you listen to me?”  Steve Rogers stood over you with folded arms.  “I could have saved you.”  

                 “Excuse me?”  You sat up on your elbows.  He did save you.  Did he not think you were grateful?

                 “If you would have stayed in your seat, we would have gone down with the nose of the plane.  Had a life raft, and most importantly the black box.  Now we have nothing and a slim chance of someone finding us.” Steve shook his head in disappointment.

                  “Hold on a second.”  For some reason, you had a renewed energy and you rose.  “You are blaming me?  For this?”

                  “You should have behaved, listened to me.” Steve’s jaw ticked.

                 You were seconds away from kissing this guy’s ass and being forever grateful for his plunge to save you, but your impression was starting to change based on his attitude.  

                  “I am sorry I didn’t know the protocol for emergency plane landings in the middle of the Pacific.”  You held your finger in front of his face. “I’m not the pilot. It wasn’t my choice to fly into a giant storm. So stop trying to pass the buck.”

                  “I told you to stay in your seat.  I gave you an instruction.”  Steve didn’t back down.

                  “You also just told me your plan was to go down with the plane.”  You through your hands in the air.  “Do you think you could’ve controlled that better?  There’s no such thing as an orderly plane wreck.”  

                  “Maybe we’re both to blame.” Steve uncrossed his arms. “But if we’re going to survive this, I need you to listen to me.  No more mistakes.”  

                 He turned and looked around the empty beach. You’d always admired and respected Captain America, but right now this guy seemed more like Captain Pompous Dick.   You ran your fingers over your face as your wet clothes clung to your body.  At least it was hot out.   You started walking toward the edge of the beach, where there was a slightly rocky edge about four feet over the sand.  Behind that was the start of a dense jungle.  

                 “Where are you going?”  Steve was right behind you.  “I don’t think we should leave the beach.”  

                  “That cliff tells me one thing.”  You pointed ahead.  “There’s a tide.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get swept away after surviving that.”  

                 “Oh.”  Steve picked up the pace and was soon walking in front of you.  

                  “How’s that for listening to ‘you’?”  You mumbled under your breath.

                 “What?”  Steve glanced over his shoulder.

                 “Nothing.”  You let out a yawn and pushed yourself over the rocky ridge.  

                 “Tomorrow we’ll explore the island.  We have to look for water and a way to send a message.” Steve took a seat in the grass. “It’s too dangerous at night.”  

                  The man said things you already knew, but if he wanted to take the credit for the ideas so be it.  You laid down in the grass so your heads were a few feet apart, bodies in line with each other.  

                  Everything would be okay.  You took a few deep breaths as your body drifted off to a state of exhaustion.  

 ~~

               The sound of scraping made your eyes flutter open. It felt like your body had been run over by a train as you pushed yourself up onto one arm.  As you predicted the tide was in and your beach was gone, the water now splashing against the small cliff.

                 You looked up to see Steve a few feet away, scraping the end of a stick into a point with a rock.  

                 “Any sign of the rescue team?”  You doubted the spear he was making was a good sign.

                 “If they knew where we were the jet would’ve been here by now.”  Steve didn’t hide the annoyance from his voice. “That storm could have blown us a hundred miles off course.”  

                 You rolled your eyes.  He obviously still believed you were at fault.

                 “We could be here a while.”  Steve flung his spear into the dirt.  “I’m going into the jungle.  See if I can find fresh water.”  

                 “Alright.”  You stood up and tugged at your skirt that was now stiff with the dried sand.  

                 The silk camisole was your top now, having lost the suit jacket on the plane.  It was once flowy and smooth, but the dried salt water also made it feel more like cardboard.  

                 With the budding humidity and late night swim you didn’t even want to guess what your hair looked like.  

                 “You’re not coming.”  Steve glared at you.  He was in jeans and a t-shirt, they obviously had some wear from the water, but more importantly, he had shoes on his feet.

                 Your heels were lost when you tumbled out of the plane.

                 “Wait here.”  He picked the spear out of the ground.  

                  “I’m going to walk along the coast.”  You pointed to a giant rock.  “That should be a significant landmark not to get lost.”

                  “We don’t know if the island is inhabited, how large it is, anything.”  Steve sighed. “You need to so as you’re told and wait here.”

                  Your anger flared.  You lifted your chin and walked past him.  He grumbled something under his breath and then followed you.  

                  “I mean it Y/N.” He was right behind you.  “This is a dangerous situation.”

                 “And I’m not going to sit here and do nothing.” You rolled your shoulders back.  

                 “Without the black box, or any of the GPS stuff on the plane, we’re lost.  Stranded.” Steve walked in front of you. “Our best hope of survival is waiting for a rescue party, but that could take weeks if not months.”

                 “If not at all.”  You folded your arms.  “I’ve seen Cast Away, Blue Lagoon, Swiss Family Robinson.  I know how this goes.”  

                 Steve raised an eyebrow, he didn’t know what you were talking about.  

                 “Obviously you’re not into movies.”  You walked around him and continued your stroll.  

                 “And obviously, you’re not into listening.” Steve followed you.  “If we had that box, we’d be rescued in an hour, probably less.”  

                 “So we’re back to this again?”  You shook your head.  “It’s my fault I fell the wrong way out of a broken plane.”  

                 “Well it’s not mine.  I had a plan.”  Steve moved so he was in front of you, walking backward.  “But I threw it away to save you. Maybe now you should return the favor by following my orders?”

                 “Yes you did save me.”  You stopped again and started pointing a finger. “And for that I am grateful, but you don’t know what you’re doing any better than I do.  So rather than sit and wait I’m going to take a look around, and I don’t need to ask permission.”  

                 “Fine. Get yourself killed.”  Steve through his hands in the air.  “Make the sacrifice for nothing.”

                 “I barely know you.  You are not my boss, and even if you were I wouldn’t listen to you in this situation.”  You put your hands on your hips. “So how about this? I am not your problem.  You do not have to worry about me.  Let’s do our own thing until the rescue party shows up.”

                 “Right,”  Steve smirked. “Like you could survive without me?”

                 “Oh fuck off!” You pushed passed him.  

                 “Alright Y/N.”  Steve didn’t follow you.  “Have fun on your little adventure today.  When you’re ready to come groveling back, begging for a drink of the water I find I’ll be waiting.”  

                 You held up a middle finger as you paced away. It never occurred to you that Captain America was so arrogant.   But as the coast rose up and you climbed there was a small nagging in the back of your head.  What if he was right?

 ~~

               The coast turned rocky and elevated.   Your thoughts turned from ‘the nerve of that man’ to ‘would begging for water’ be that bad?  He was a soldier, after all, maybe you should’ve just listened to him and stayed put.

                 You were lost in the alternating thoughts that you didn’t notice the roaring sound grow closer.  Who did Steve Rogers think he was?  A hero or something? Your personal hero?  Now that he saved your life, did he think you needed to turn it over to him?

                 He was a stranger!  

                 “Fuck.”  You took one more step and all thoughts vanished.  The roar wasn’t the white noise of your thoughts, it was a waterfall.

                 It was right next to you, and the drop down was at least thirty feet.  It was breathtaking, but almost as beautiful was the view at the bottom.  It was a cove, where the white sand beach stretched out into the ocean.  

                 There were no signs of a tide coming in and affecting the base of this area.  You couldn’t cross the top of the waterfall; you would get swept over.  But the landscape on the other side made a subtle swoop downward.  You could jump over the fall and land easily in the pool below.  

                 If you did that, it would be difficult to cross over again.  That meant no going back to your rendezvous with Steve.  

                 You walked to the edge of the river that was flowing over and stuck your hand in the crystal clear water before bringing it to your lips.  

                 It was fresh!  All of a sudden a huge thirst came over you and you bent, scooping and slurping the water.  

                 THUD.  Your attention was diverted to your right.  You looked at what caused the noise and almost burst out laughing.  It was a coconut.  Your eyes scanned the other palms and you grinned larger as you saw a bushel of bananas.  

                 This was perfect.  The cove below would provide enough protection from the elements, there were fresh water and fruit nearby.  You could survive here.  And you’d found it all without Steve Roger’s help.  

                 You looked at some of the giant canopy leaves. If you got some of those you could make a lean-to in the cove below.  The beach below really fanned out too.  It gave an incredible view to look for a rescue ship.  

                 If you saw one you would be able to start a fire on the beach.  It was a perfect spot to survive, wait it out.  

                 You were about to jump down when there was a gnawing in your stomach.  It wasn’t right.  You had to return and get Steve.  

                 The walk was about an hour, if you left now you would make it back before the sun peaked.  You were about to turn around when something caught your eye.  It was red and white, tangled in the waves at the end of the beach.  

                 All thoughts of Steve vanished as you ran toward the waterfall and jumped off the cliff, plummeting into the water below.  

                 You splashed into the pool and didn’t take a second to enjoy the freshwater before you swam to the edge and pulled yourself out. Then you sprinted across the sand to the open ocean, not slowing as the small waves hit your calves.  

                 You started tugging in the parachute, your mind racing with ideas on how to use it.   Maybe you could write HELP on it, in case a plan flew by or possible use it as a roof.  There were also the strings and the pack Still attached.  There were metal pulleys you could heat up in the sun and maybe use to start a fire.  

                 It was heavy and you collapsed a few times as you pulled it ashore.   The parachute was a great find. Screw Steve, he was probably fine anyway.  

~~

               The parachute was stretched out on the beach, weighted by rocks.  You’d used one of the metal carabineers to start a fire and had made several trips up the hill, resulting in a few coconuts, bananas, and a third weird fruit.

                 “You found the parachute.”  Steve appeared out of nowhere.  

                 “You scared me.”  You put your hand over your heart.

                 “Maybe I can build a boat.”  Steve looked at the stretched out fabric. “Use it as a sail.”

                 You rolled your eyes and went back to tending your fire.

                 “Maybe you’re not as incapable as I judged.” Steve bent down and grabbed a banana. “Is that fresh water?”

                 Steve didn’t wait for a response as he went toward the waterfall.  

                 “So now he can build a boat?”  You smirked as you glance out at the sea.  

                 There was a huge crest surrounding the entire island. It would take an actual boat to clear that, not a raft.  

                 You glance up as Steve took a few slurps from the waterfall and then stuck his head under.  Not as incapable?  It wasn’t a compliment, but it was better than your previous interactions.  You’d take what you could get at this point.  

                 “This cove is a perfect spot.”  Steve walked back over.  “I think we should make this our HQ.  We can build some sort of a lean-to with those leaves, maybe even the parachute? It looks like that waterfall has several little pools along the rocks, I bet I kind find some fish.  Can you listen to that?”

                 SLAP!  There was no hesitation as you reached out and smacked him hard across the face.  He blinked in shock as he looked back at you.   You were used to men taking credit for your ideas, but this was on an entire another level.  

                 “What the hell Y/N!”  Steve touched his cheek.  

                 “How about you find your own ‘HQ’ and leave me to wither away without you?”  You held your hands out to the bananas and fire.

                 Steve scanned the area and nodded.  

                 “Fine.”  He ground his jaw.  “You obviously don’t need my help and I sure don’t need yours.”  

                 He turned and walked to the hill.  You felt a pang of guilt.  Without the man, you would be dead.  You took a few steps, about to call out and apologize when Steve turned back around, his face fuming with anger and making you stop in your tracks.

                 “Remember.  It is your inability to follow directions that landed us here in the first place.” He put a finger in your face.

                 Any intention of apologizing you had vanished and you turned and went back to your fire.  The entire time one thing on your mind: fuck Steve Rogers.  

~~

               By the time nightfall rolled around you were exhausted from setting up the camp.   You threw some more pieces of wood on to the fire, just in case a boat came by and moved back to the rock wall and into your lean-to.  

                 You didn’t see Steve the rest of the day/evening and you wondered where he went, but then told yourself you didn’t care as a dreamless sleep came over you.

 ~~

               Today was the day the rescue party was going to find you.  You told yourself that as you climbed out of your tent.  You’d been missing for at least thirty-six hours, and while you were nobody your traveling companion would have everyone on alert.  He mattered.

                 “Jackass,” you said the word out loud to yourself as you walked over to the waterfall, needing a sip of water.

                 “SQUEEALLL.”  The response made you snap your neck.  

                 Next to your fruit stockpile was the largest boar you’d ever seen.  The tusks were as long as your arm, and the teeth larger than a horses as he chewed one of your bananas.  You held your hands up, trying to show that you were not a threat.

                 “SQUEEAALLL!”  This thing seemed to grow more agitated by your movement.  

                  “No, no, no, no.”  You turned to run, since the boar started shoveling its foot into the ground.  

                  It’s squeal turned into a deafening roar and you could hear it galloping across the sand.  You were trapped and there was no way the thing wasn’t going to ram into you, use its tusk to impale you and then probably eat you while you were still alive. It was close enough you felt the warm breath on your calf.  

                 “SQUEEAALLL!”  The warmth stopped and you turned to look back, slipping and falling to your ass in the process.

                 The thing was on its side, with a giant stick poking out.  You looked around and then heard a thud.  Steve jumped down onto the sand, without tumbling.  

                 He had a knife in his hand and you winced, looking away as he put the thing out of its misery.

                 “Are you okay?”  He grabbed you and pulled you up, holding you against his chest.  “You don’t have to look.”  

                  You nodded your head and bit back a tear.  

                 “Come on.”  Steve guided you around the waterfall, blocking you from the boar.

                 There was a shake to your body as he led you out to the beach.  

                 “I spent all night thinking about it.”  Steve kept his arm over your shoulder.  “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I apologize about that and hoped we could start over.”

                 “Thank you.”  You wrapped your arms around his neck.  “Thank you for jumping out of the plane, thank you for killing that thing. Thank you.”  

                 There was a slight delay, but Steve’s arms wrapped around your lower back.  

                 “Why don’t you go pick some more bananas and I’ll take care of the boar?”  Steve broke away from the hug.  

                 You nodded your head, and went up to the hill. Your life had flashed before your eyes too many times.  Leaving out food like that?  What did you think was going to happen?  

                 At least Steve was there.  You gulped as you climbed the hill.  You weren’t about to give him complete control, but maybe you could follow a few of his suggestions.  It wouldn’t kill you.

~~

               “On the count of three, pull.”  Steve signaled over to you.  “One, two, three.”  

                 You both tugged as hard as you could.  You didn’t think you were any additional help, but at least you were included.  

                 The stand was raised from the ground and you smiled as the poles clicked into place.

                 “Now, if there’s a boar you can get to higher ground.”  He smacked his hands together.  “And we have a weird little porch to sit on.”  

                 “You know the next step is building a hut?” You looked at the lean-tos, they were starting to fall apart.  

                 “Two weeks isn’t that long.”  Steve grabbed your arms.  “There is a lot of land to cover.  People are looking for us Y/N.  I promise.”

                 “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been this healthy in my life?” You smelled the fish cooking on the heated rocks.  “Fresh fruit, fish, nuts, clear water?”  

                 You walked up onto the stand and looked out at the ocean, the sun setting in the background.  

                 “You missing twinkies or something?” Steve laughed as he followed you up.  

                 “No, I’m not.” You looked at him.  “I’m not actually missing much.”  

                 After the rocky start you’d clicked with Steve, but any hint you dropped at being more than friends seemed to float over his head.   You decided it was time to stop with the hints and be direct.

                 “Steve, the last few weeks, I’ve gotten to know you and….”  

                 “What’s that?”  Steve interrupted you and pointed out to the sea.  

                 You tried to hide your disappointment, assuming it was some other sea creature and he knew how you felt and didn’t return the sentiment.   But when you turned to look your mouth hung open.  

                 “That looks like part of a plane.”  You jumped down the stand and Steve was right behind you.

                  He blew past you as he stripped off his clothing, down to his boxers.   You’d seen each other several times in just underwear, but even know you stopped to admire his taunt physique.  

                 There were a few other items washing up on shore and you decided to drag them in instead of going for the plane.  Steve would have to handle that by himself anyway.

                  You pulled up a few bags, not recognizing any of them.    By the time you’d dragged them over to the fire Steve was shoving the piece of the plane out of the water.  

                 It was impossible to tell if it was your plane, but the size looked about right.   You went to the bags and opened up the first one.  Your hands shook as you held up the contents.  It was filled with travel samples, the sort of thing a plane would throw away and pulled out a new one for each guest.

                 Tooth brushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, mini lotions, shampoos, shower gel, razors, deodorant.  All in little mini-sealed gift bags.  

                 You pulled open a toothbrush and wasted no time getting some paste and brushing your teeth.   The next bag was filled with pretzels.  Little snack sized treats.  You crossed your fingers as you pulled open the third bag, hoping for medicine.

                 A laugh escaped your throat as you held up the little airline bottle of liquor.  I guess to some it was a medicine.  

                 “Is that what I think it is?”  Steve dropped down on the sane next to you with heavy breathing.

                 You handed him a mini bag and he moaned as he pulled out the toothbrush.  

                  “Did you find anything?”  You looked over to see the plane part on the beach.

                  Steve shook his head.   You cringed with guilt. Maybe it was your fault there was no GPS to find you.  

~~

               You’d never felt cleaner in your entire life. It kinda sucked to pull back on the same clothes, but your skin was soft from the lotion and your legs were shaved from the razor.  

                 The sun set and you sat by the fire, waiting for Steve to join you from his time with the hygiene supplies.  

                 “I forgot how awesome mouth wash can be.”  Steve collapsed next to the fire.  “Stinks we didn’t find any new clothing though.”  

                 “Stink we didn’t find a way to send a rescue beacon.” You dug your toe into the sand.  “I was hoping it would be there.”  

                  “Hey.”  Steve put his hand on your knee.  “I was way out of line.  It is not your fault we went down without the black box.  I promise Tony won’t stop looking until he finds us.”

                  “You…until he finds you.”  It was the truth, but Steve frowned.  “I’m a mid-level appraiser.  Nobody is looking for me.  

                 “You’re more than that.”  Steve sat up and moved closer to you.  “You’re kind, intelligent, resourceful, beautiful.”  

                 Your breathing stopped a little at that last word. You realized your position.  Steve’s hand was on your knee and he was inches from your face.  His eyes looked alive in the flames of the campfire.  

                 “What else?”  You leaned closer.  

                 “You’re….”  Steve didn’t finish before he inched even closer and your lips finally touched.

                 It sent a spark straight from your lips to your core and you moaned.  Steve took advantage of your open mouth and brought his palm to your cheek, spreading his fingers across your face as his tongue slid against yours.  

                 His kiss was like him, deep and powerful. You tilted your head up and brought your arms around his neck as you twisted in his lap.  

                 “I’ve wanted this for so long.” Steve grabbed the hem of your shirt.

                 You lifted your arms as he removed the clothing from your body.  Then you did the same to his, eager to finally feel the skin-on-skin contact.  

               “Me too.”  You pressed your lips against him as he lifted your hips and tugged your skirt and panties down.  

                 You reached between you and started to tug at his fly.   Once he guided your legs awkwardly out of your bottoms you remained up on your knees as he pushed his pants down.   His cock sprung forward and it was just as giant as you’d assumed.

                 “You’re amazing Y/N.”   Steve’s hand cupped your pussy as he pushed his palm against your clit. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”  

                 You gasped and steadied yourself on his shoulders. His middle finger was at your entrance, teasing as he slid inside of you and rubbed against your bundle of nerves.

                 “The last two weeks have been foreplay.”  You pressed your forehead to his.  “I’m ready.”  

                 Steve grabbed your hip with one hand and used his other to steady the base of his cock.  He positioned you so you were right on top of him and then lowered you down.

                 “Ahh.”  Your head dropped back as you took him in.  

                 You were slick and ready, but his size made you move slow.

                 “Take your time.”  Steve kissed at your breasts. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  

                 You nodded and braced yourself on his shoulder as you lifted yourself off, before lowering even further, finding the action easier than having him slide in at once.  

                 Each time you came down you were able to take more of him.   He let out a grunt of approval and his hand moved from his cock to your tit.  He began kneading it as his mouth found your other nipple which he lavished with attention.  

                 You moaned and spread your legs even further, sinking down on him and arching your chest up to his attention.  

                 Steve started nibbling on your pebble, and you found it being tugged the lower you went on his shaft, sending a strange mix of pain and pleasure to your core.  Happy to feel more of him, but a sting at the tug on your nipple.  

                 The pleasure of it won out as you finally felt him bottom out, splitting you to the fullest.  Your body shuddered around him, almost proud of itself for how you took him all the way.  

                 “You’re one in a million baby.”  Steve lifted his head so he was looking you in the face.  

                 He grabbed your back and moved up to his knees, taking you with him and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.  

                 He kissed you as he laid you down in the sand. Then he ground his pelvis down, rubbing the bone against your clit as his cock continued to stuff you.  

                 You kept your legs wrapped around him as he started to plow into you, rolling his body in a manner that brought the perfect amount of attention to your bundle of nerves.  

                 His lips were on yours again, but you struggled to pay attention as a sinking need grew in your belly.  You tried to roll with him, needing that pleasure satisfied.

                 “So tight.  So hot. So wet.”  Steve increased his speed.  

                 You found yourself teetering on the edge of the cliff. He bit at your lip and dragged it between his teeth, before moving to your neck.

                 Then he slammed his cock deep inside of you and pressed his pelvis to your clit again, it was enough as he rocked his body and you exploded around him.  

                 It felt like every muscle was pulsing as Steve pulled out and railed back into you.  

                 He must have felt your release, because he no longer tried to pace himself as he pumped into you with speed.  Each of his thrusts elongating your orgasm.  

                 “Ugh.”  Steve pushed in one last time before he pulled out.  

                 You felt his hot sticky cum hit your stomach. As he collapsed next to you, both of your breath heavy.  

                 “I think we’re both going to need to get cleaned up after that.”  Steve grinned at you.

                 “I miss the beard.”  You reached out and touched his freshly shaven face.  

                 “Well I will have to grow it back then.”  Steve grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss.

                 “Is it wrong, that I sort of like being the only person in the world with you?”  Tears welled at your eyes.  

                 “No.”  Steve kissed your forehead.  “I like it too.  I’m starting to think no matter where we are, you will always be the only person in my world.”  

                 You smiled, as the warm tear fell.  You hoped that was true.

~~

                 Steve stretched as he woke up.  Y/N rolled over next to him as he opened the door to their small hut.  He itched the beard on his face.  It was getting too long again.  He’d have to shave it.  

                 “We should get up.”  He bent down and kissed her shoulder.  

                 “I’m too tired.”  She nestled into the make-shift mattress.  “You have to take a break on the nip games.  My boobs are killing me this morning.”  

                 “Alright.”  Something stirred in Steve and he kissed the top of her head.  “Stay in bed.”  

                 He stepped into his pair of underwear that now doubled as shorts and he opened the parachute door.  Three-four months.  It didn’t feel like enough time and Steve had been so careful to always pull out.

                 But she was tired, sensitive, and he couldn’t remember the last time she had her period.  He knew what that meant and she would put it together soon.  

                 He glanced behind him at the piece of plane that made up the side of the hut.  This was never permanent, and she was no longer the only person in his world.  

                 He round the hill and went straight for the pile of carefully arranged rocks.  As he pulled them aside he spotted it, still in perfect condition.  

                 Steve reached inside and pulled out the tiny black contraption.  He’d found it a few months ago, but wasn’t ready to give this up.  It was only the pregnancy that was making him do it now, but his girl would need a doctor.  He wasn’t that selfish.  

                 So with a heavy heart Steve clicked the button. He saw the green light flash and set it down as he looked out over the ocean.  

                 “Steve?”  A voice came out of the black box.  “We have your coordinates. We will be there in approximately two hours and seven minutes.”

                 Steve didn’t say a word as he set the stick down. Instead, he turned and went back toward his girl, hoping to enjoy the last two hours and seven minutes where they were the only people in the world.  

[william-nylander]

having a very rough day, do you have anymore top willy moments to gift us?

i am so sorry u are having a rough day pebble. i decided to go a bit rogue with this, in that it is instead a Top Willy Interviews On the Leafs Youtube Page listicle. i hope it makes ur day a teeny bit better.

idk if you’ve ever been to toronto BUT this look is very like. like this willy lives in the junction and hates the “noise” of the downtown and has waited 2 hours in line for bangbang ice cream in august. he likes to smoke weed in trinity bellwoods. he goes to poetry readings on bar roof tops and says shit about how everything north of dupont is “north york”. hes been known to sit at the piano in the common room at university college (uoft) and play scales. he can and has fucked ur boyfriend.

this willyum is your coworker at canadas wonderland one summer. he does not know what hes doing. he is either like :| or like :D depending on the moment. his nose gets sunburnt at the beginning of the summer but only ever in a charming way!!! u never see it peel. he works the stuffed animal stands and cannot understand why his has a line and none of the others do (hint: its bc every1 has a crush on him!!!!). before the park opens he wanders around with one of those velcro monkeys around his neck. he likes the mindbuster the best bc thats MY favourite ride and this is my listicle. 

also i miss willys gigantic front teeth gap. he used to have little tombstone teeth. what has he done to them. 

hey i love kyle dubas with my whole heart and all but there was something to be said about how when lou made them all be clean shaven and hair short it meant that willys hair was always kinda like a dragon ball z character and also his skin was all fleshy and elastic like a babys arm 

speaking of kyle dubas i found this choice shot of willy blinking while kyles prattling on about nothing and like has anything ever been more My Aesthetic 

god. has any1 ever been more iconic. this willy lives just north of bloor on dufferin and will tell anyone that the ossington strip is the “most underrated part of the city” (& hes right!!!!). they know his name at sugo. he takes all his out of town friends there and he gets tattoos at ink + water (thats at lansdowne right? now ive confused myself). he goes to the value village there and owns 29 pairs of sunglasses. he has his bed on the floor. he listens to a lot of better oblivion community centre. he long boards. he goes to bulk stores for groceries. he wants to start brewing his own kombucha. actually u know the more i typed this willy might just be me whoops.

this man is my next door neighbour for the summer in cottage country. he has a fishing boat but he doesnt fish because fish suck. i invite him over for bbq and telling stories around the campfire. we drink shitty beer. he is not interesting but he is hot. maybe we make out on the dock. willy looks weirdly good in green.

whenever someone has bracelets on their wrist my mind goes str8 to SUMMER CAMP. willyum is a camp counsellor at a camp maybe on like idk lake erie or some shit. he is a cabin leader and he loves his little sprouts/campers. frederik gauthier is the HEAD LIFEGUARD and willy thinks hes so funny and weird and sweet and cute and he doesnt realize!!! until the end of camp!!! that he has a big crush on freddie goat!!!! its the last night of camp and theres a big campfire and a camp dance and willy asks goat to sneak away with him. they go down to the beach and sit on the picnic table under the lifeguard tent and willy kisses goat and its very romantic. 

okay 1) love a man in a puffy coat & 2) there is something about “my father will hear about this” draco malfoy looking like He Was a Diplomats Son mp3 willy that just really gets my goat. he went to a boarding school in the swiss alps and fucked ur girlfriend. he has a closet for his shoes. he dated a member of the swedish royal family for a summer but broke up with him bc he was too clingy.

speaking of that bitch…..here he is again. this is after his tour after high school. he rented out an apartment in lisbon and would smoke cigarettes with beautiful people on the balcony. he spends a month in the south of france turning golden on the rocky beaches and buying dinner every night from the market on his way back to the hotel. this willy takes molly at a gay club in dresden and wakes up in an architect students bed and then he goes to the park to sweat off a hangover and pretend to read nietzsche  

this willy is absolutely the rapscallion son of the president. whats that movie with mandy moore (maybe???? oh no wait i just googled it its katie holmes) - that movie with katie holmes where the first daughter like falls in love or whatever?? this is willy. OOH IVE GOT IT. okay so this willy is absolutely a zoey barlett type from the west wing who is very cute and everyone loves him even though he is a spoiled brat sometimes/all the time. ENTER the assistant to the president - zach hyman - in a charlie young role. they fall in love over a pot of chilli. its the most beautiful thing u have ever s33n. 

okay so like willy is the new Legal Assistant at the office. kyle is a Partner in Law or whatever tf they’re called. willy and he are Working Late One Night and u know what that means…..they go to rol san bc its open until like 6am and they eat the FUCK out of some dumplings and then kyle drives willy back to his apartment (maybe in this one he lives in a shitty place at yonge & college???? like classic “roommate in the living room” toronto living??) and they KISS in the CAR and its ROMANTIC.

this willyumm is your date for thanksgiving dinner. he comes extremely bundled. my parents live north of toronto so i imagine this willy driving us north for the weekend. his scarf is very evan from skam and its sexi. he does not like the folk playlist that you have put on but its FALL and the TREES and OCTOBER MEANS HOZIER and hes like UGH FINE WHATEVER and is a bit grumpy but then u pass thru the holland marsh and he’s like “hm smells like onions” and its all fine again. his laugh confuses your extended family and he sucks at scrabble and is a pouty bitch about it but its a GOOD TIME.

god THIS WILLYAM is ur older brothers BEST FRIEND and he comes over to play video games ?? i guess ?? i never had a brother but i YEARNED to crush on a brothers best friend. he is very handsome like a lion. maybe you write some weird diary shit about it. every time he comes over ur SO WEIRD and he KNOWS ABOUT UR CRUSH and hes VERY NICE ABOUT IT.

also would a willy listicle be complete without me marvelling over his long straight nose??????????? look how straight it is!!!!!!

this will ham is in ur intro to gender studies class on friday mornings in sid smith. hes in one of ur projects and hes got no fucking clue whats going on. hes on the varsity blues hockey team and he thought that he clicked on “intro to geography”. despite the fact that he has no idea whats happening ever hes enthusiastic about listening. one time u go for coffee at mallo across from where honest eds used to be and he asks u what the male gaze is. 

okay. i hope u enjoyed this. it took me awhile and i enjoyed every second of it. to conclude, here is several screen shots from my favourite willy interview:

u ever see a man more beautiful

lil elastic face weirdo 

[nonbinary-renfri]

Blood and Blue Skies The Witcher Last of Us AU

TW: blood and gore, death, implied/referenced animal death

Europe didn't fair much better than the Americas, when the outbreak hit. It came in the crops and they weren't recalled in time, and just like everywhere else, after people started getting sick all that was left was chaos splattered in gore. Geralt had been trying to build himself a life in a world that wasn't supposed to end. Until it did, suddenly and violently, and he and everyone else had to do their best to survive it.

not necessary to know the Last of Us to read but it does help

Chapter One: The End of the World

Geralt was twenty-four when the world came to an end.

He was on his way back to the stables, having taken his horse out on a long ride into the forest to stretch her legs and get some peace and quiet for himself. Cell service had disappeared along with the sounds of society, but once the ride back brought them close enough for it to return, Geralt’s phone began vibrating insistently. He pulled out the device from the back pocket of his jeans as it buzzed one final time, a bit confounded; he rarely got this many texts. There were multiple from Calanthe, one from Eskel of all people- he hadn’t heard from the other man in almost a year- and one from an unsaved number. Reading the latter, Geralt instantly knew who it was from.

           “It is time to take to the Path.”

           Vesemir. Had to be.

What the hell was that supposed to mean, anyways? The Path didn’t exist. Geralt had already decided that the old man and the rest of his cult friends were insane, believing that the world was set to come to an end like they did. Believing that it was their duty to prepare monster hunters to protect the rest of humanity. But it was always something they were waiting for; they didn’t have a day or a year or even a decade in mind. The end was coming, they said, and we must prepare, despite not knowing when but refusing to be anything but certain all the same.

Geralt had believed it, for a little while. Drank the Kool-Aid, so to speak. He’d grown up being taught that he was one of the chosen to save the world, that everything the elders put them through was for the greater good of humanity. He’d lived it and breathed it, because what else was he to do, a ward of the state since he was three years old, given into Vesemir’s care at the age of five. He’d gone to four different families and raised hell every time, taking his anger at the world out on everything around him. Some of them tried to gently discipline him for his behavior; others were quick to jump at the opportunity to use harsher methods. Eventually, they all got tired of trying and gave up, and the system stopped placing him with new families. He went through two different boys’ homes before his disruptive behavior and aggression had him declared violent and unstable, a problem case who required something different.

Different ended up being a rugged estate in the Swiss Alps, its boundaries lined with a tall stone wall. Geralt gazed out the window as the car drove up the dirt road to the gray stone castle-like building that seemed to meld into the mountain’s face. There were pastures and fields on the other side of the dusty glass, neat rows of green crops in dark dirt and soft-looking grass being grazed on by sheep and cows. There were other buildings scattered across the grounds, some wooden, some stone, and as they got closer to the main house he saw an older boy riding a horse around a circular fenced-in paddock. The boy’s head swiveled in the direction of the car, almost like he knew he was being watched. Suddenly a bit fearful, Geralt looked away from the window and curled back into his seat.

That was the beginning of his first day at Vesemir’s estate, Kaer Morhen, a sanctuary for troubled boys. He’d been determined to get himself thrown out of there as well, but unlike anyone before him, the old man refused to give up. He didn’t try and ignore Geralt’s anger out of existence or attempt to cruelly discipline it out of him, like so many others had done; instead, he provided Geralt with an outlet to channel it into. The day Vesemir took him out into the mountains and along a rocky trail and showed him the cave-like stone hollow full of punching bags and training dummies and a rustic sparring ring was a day that changed his life. The old man showed the eight year-old how to wrap his hands to protect his knuckles and began teaching him how to properly punch and kick and otherwise attack the hanging canvas sandbag, holding it steady for him while providing critique. Geralt took to it like a duck to water, that day and every combat and weapons lesson going forward. He was the best of the boys at sparring, and he threw himself into learning swordplay with a fervor when they got around to that.

There are a lot of things he has Vesemir to thank for. His life, his skills, even his name. He doesn’t know what his mother originally called him; it’s not like she left his birth certificate with him when she abandoned him in a park. Refusing to speak to anyone led to the first family to adopt him changing his name. He was too young to remember what he used to be called once he stopped hearing it regularly, but he knew that the name they gave him didn’t sound right. Geralt had hated it, refused to answer to it. Vesemir had picked up on that a mere few days after he’d arrived at the homestead and instead of trying to force him to explain why he hadn’t responded to the multiple yells of the name that wasn’t his, had simply said to him, “You don’t like that name, boy, let’s choose you a different one.”

And the old man had begun trying out names as a stony-eyed five year-old stared at him in shock. Vesemir hadn’t seemed to care that Geralt offered no input as to which name he preferred for himself, going through the alphabet and listing off all the names he could think of that started with each letter. He’d gotten into the G’s; “George, Geoffrey, Gweld, Gilbert, Geralt. Hmm, Geralt.” It was the first time he’d repeated a name. The old man waved a hand and said, “Go do your chores, Geralt; I know you heard Hemminks calling you to come help with mucking out the stables.”

He had gone as instructed, speechless enough to not try arguing, and mouthed his new name to himself as he walked down to the stables, trying to keep a bounce out of his step. Hemminks had only yelled at him a bit for being late, arms flailing enthusiastic gestures of indignation into the air. Master Vesemir taking the boy aside himself after witnessing his disobedience had quelled most of the man’s blustering offense.

At dinner that night the old man had called Geralt to the front of the dining hall, introducing him to all the other boys by his new name. He’d returned to his seat and across the table from him the boy a couple years older than him named Eskel who seemed to want to be his friend smiled nervously. “Should I call you Geralt instead of Wolfgang then?”

He’d earned the moniker after biting a trainer and one of the nurses, being likened to the wolf the estate’s school was named after. People always gave him nicknames once they realized that he wouldn’t answer to his legally assigned one; not all of them had been as nice as Wolfgang.

Geralt found he didn’t really care what the other boy called him, and answered his question with a vague shrug. Eskel had sighed quietly, but it looked like he might have been trying not to smile.

It had been strange for a while, everyone calling him a new name, but as time went on it began to feel natural. There wasn’t a bitter tang in his mouth whenever he heard it, like with his previous name. This time, someone had put in the thought and effort to pick a name that they thought seemed to suit him. By the time he was a teenager, he’d managed to forget what his second name had been as well. Over time Eskel had gone from sometimes calling him Wolfgang to the shorter Wolf, but other people didn’t feel the need to give him nicknames anymore.

They had grown up as the years passed, of course, and against Geralt’s wishes he did truly come to consider Eskel a friend. A good friend, in fact; maybe even his best friend. They’d been through blood and shit and pain together and somehow both of them managed to survive long enough to get to the other side.

Because Vesemir’s idyllic estate was too good to be true. A home for troubled boys no one else cared about, that seemed to actually care about their well-being and treat them decently- what else could it be? It was a sticky-sweet honey trap and every one of them that fell into it was caught and would only come to realize it much too late. They’d grown strong on diets of hard labour, good food, combat training, and strange chemicals administered by doctors in the deepest of the keep’s mountainside chambers. None of them really know what they are anymore, especially Geralt, with the experimental trials he’d received that made him even faster and stronger than the others and bleached the color from his hair. Vesemir and his people believed the world would end in fire and blood, and that there would be need of warriors in the aftermath. They had taken it upon themselves to create those warriors, like the generations that had come before them, even if it meant doing terrible things to innocent children. Sometimes it chilled Geralt to look at his father-figure and see a pair of yellow eyes much like his own looking back.

He would always owe Vesemir everything, but it burned inside when he realized that even though the old man was the first to actually give a damn about him, he didn’t love Geralt enough to protect him from the horrors he knew were to come.

Once the boys were old enough and had passed the trials to prove their skills and earn their graduation medallions, they departed from the keep as young men to go and live in the world, to learn to care for what they would supposedly one day protect. It would have been a mistake, the cult letting them loose from its halls of indoctrination, if once they were done cooking it mattered for them to still believe in any of that shit. All that mattered was that they existed somewhere out there, so when the apocalypse finally came they could realize their purpose and give their lives to preserve what was left of humanity.

Geralt was eighteen when he climbed down from the mountains, legally his own man. By the time he was twenty, he’d seen enough of the world to conclude that the elders and the rest of them were chock full of shit. That was the last year he’d returned to the estate for the winter; he decided to stay away after Lambert had refused to close his mouth during Christmas Eve dinner and Geralt let himself get roped into the argument that had started about the morality of turning children into weapons via experimentation. And, having a bit too much alcohol in his blood from what was supposed to be a cheerful evening, he had actually spoken his mind for once.

           The rest of the humanity derides prophecies. Tell anyone out there you’re a warrior chosen to save mankind and they’ll laugh you out of the room and probably suggest you see a therapist. This whole thing is a doomsday cult and it’s ridiculous that anyone would still believe in this bullshit, especially once they’ve actually spent time in modern society. Monsters from fairy tales don’t exist in the real world; they’re just a story humans tell, a distraction so people can pretend they’re not the real evil. It’s too complicated out there, too vast, for any one group of people to say they’ll be able to save everyone. And it’s arrogant to think it could be us.

The stunned looks from the others almost made up for the awkward silences and angry glares he was on the receiving end of for the rest of the winter. But after that he’d decided to walk like he had talked that night; he was leaving all this bullshit behind and going to try and be a normal person and find his place in this world. He would not follow the purpose that had been decreed to and then beaten into him, but figure out what the path he could make for himself was. And that meant spending his winters elsewhere.

He floated around for a while after that, taking various jobs. Did some minimum wage stuff- retail was not his strong suit, he was bad at making nice with customers, but he made a surprisingly good waiter and found dishwashing duties to be a sometimes-soothing task. When he tired of that he tried his hand at construction work and demolition, which was therapeutic, and then logging for a bit, which was very good exercise, and eventually drifted towards using his skills for bounty hunting. After not even a month of that he decided he would rather keep far away from the police. He moved on to be a nightclub bouncer for a little while, then a bodyguard briefly. Again, the company that job brought didn’t suit him and the next place that ended up hiring him was a stable in a mid-sized town near Hamburg that, like every other place that had given him a job, was impressed by how he worded his childhood experience on his resume. They leased space to clients to board their horses, their fees covering feed and care for the animals as well. Geralt found it to be his favorite job out of all those he had tried so far; he had always loved working with the horses on the estate and hadn’t realized how much he had missed spending time with the animals.

In a stroke of luck he’d heard through the stable’s grapevine that one of their regular customers was moving overseas and selling their horse on short notice, for a fraction of what it would’ve been worth otherwise. He got the phone number for the seller and only hesitated a little bit before calling and offering to buy the horse. Years of squirreling away his paychecks finally felt like they were worth it as he ran a hand over the satin-sleek flank of a gorgeous paint mare, her coat a splattered pattern of sepia and white. For once in his life, he started to put down some of his own roots. He had a horse and an admittedly kind of shitty apartment and not much else, but it was something. It was a beginning.

He met Calanthe Riannon because she was a customer at the stables. She had a beautiful purebred stallion that she would occasionally bring to train using their equipment, another service they offered. Sometimes she would request to have her horse brushed down for her after she was done riding and the stable employees would always play rock, paper, scissors for the chance to spend time up close with such a magnificent animal.

The first round Geralt won, he worked the stallion over with efficiency but also kind hands and gentle words and the occasional apple slice snuck to him out of his apron pocket. He was giving the horse’s glossy chestnut coat a second brushing down, murmuring softly to him, when he heard someone enter the room. Glancing over, he saw Calanthe lean against the wall by the doorframe. She’d watched him all the while as he finished caring for her horse, not saying a word. As Geralt turned to leave, she’d finally spoken, but only to ask for his name. Her expression didn’t reveal whether that was a good or a bad sign.

After that, every time Calanthe came to ride she requested for Geralt to tend to her horse afterwards. More often than not she’d show up to watch part of the process, never saying much, but always seeming to be appraising him.

Geralt still managed to learn a bit about her over the next few months, though. She told him that she was a businesswoman, that her company worked in shipping and trade, and he quickly discovered that she often spoke with a scathing wit that often rode the knife’s edge of hurtful. Her attitude as she shared that she was a widow of over a decade was impartial, but love revealed cracks in her shell when she spoke of her daughter, the pride and joy of her heart, who was growing into a fine young woman.

He didn’t share much about himself in return besides that he doesn’t have any family and he enjoys getting to work with horses, but something he’d done must have made Calanthe consider him trustworthy because one day as he was guiding her horse into the trailer to travel back to his own stable, she looked at him over the stallion’s back and asked him if he would like to start giving her daughter riding lessons.

Pavetta was a lovely girl, if a bit timid, and Geralt found himself surprisingly enjoying instructing her on horseback riding. He was still giving her lessons after nearly a year, somehow, so he supposed he might actually be a decent instructor, too. Teaching people to ride horses. He wouldn’t mind making that the calling of this new rooted life. A life where his coworkers compliment his dedication to the consistency of his dye job and customers ask where he gets his crazy colored contacts. Sometimes he tells people that his hair or eyes are natural and they either laugh it off as a joke or actually believe him, saying something along the lines of dude, that’s bonkers, the world is a wild place, but either way he would usually come out the other side of the interaction feeling like a person that belonged, who could maybe have good things.

          And then it happened. The end of the world.

Eskel’s text said to contact him and included coordinates, presumably his location. Calanthe’s messages asked if Geralt was alright, offered him a safe place to stay at her estate as well as provided the address, and warned him to stay far away from her and her family if he was bitten. He wasn’t sure what that meant, yet.

Riding back towards town, he could smell the smoke and the blood on the wind before he could see it. As they grew closer and the screams and howls Geralt had already been able to hear became more audible, the horse beneath him began to grow skittish, nickering shrilly and twisting against her reins, nostrils flaring.

“Shhh, Rosie,” Geralt soothed, running his palm over the side of the mare’s neck.

They turned around a bend in the road and he could finally see the buildings at the bottom of the hill. Dark gray pillars billowed every so often into the sky, the cloudiness they created muting the late afternoon sun. The sounds and scents that drifted to Geralt’s senses were horrifying; blood, viscera, spilled gasoline, gunpowder, burning flesh, fear fear FEAR, and something he couldn’t identify that smelled earthy like mushrooms but also inexplicably wrong.

He spurred Rosie on faster and arrived with clattering hoofs into chaos. Flames licked up the side of a building from the crumpled shell of a wrecked car. People, some of them bleeding, all of them terrified, desperately ran past him. Geralt tried to weave through them but it was difficult, and after the third time his horse snorted because of someone bouncing off her side, he gave up on following the main street and turned into a side alley. Making it to another wider road that had fewer screaming, fleeing people, Geralt guided his mare onto it. For lack of a better plan, he decided to head to his apartment. He had supplies there he’d never wanted to or really thought he’d actually need, but they’d be helpful now.

The street was quickly almost eerily deserted, and Geralt found himself feeling anxious and on edge. A feeling that was soon justified, as his ears picked up the squealing of tires far in advance of the arrival of the out-of-control bus. That didn’t stop him from feeling hunted as it roared down the road after him, slowly but surely catching up; Rosie was galloping her hardest, flanks heaving beneath his legs, but whoever was driving the thing behind them had slammed the pedal to the metal. It was right on their heels, barely an arm’s length away from killing them, when the tires howled on the asphalt and the bus swerved off the road, going through a parking lot and colliding with a large truck before careening away, unbalanced. Eventually it skidded to a stop, landing on its side in front of an office building. His mare spooked badly at the commotion, stuttering to a stop and rearing up in fear so suddenly she nearly bucked him off. Geralt was struggling to stay in the saddle and get his horse back under control, trying to get her to stop dancing in circles, when they began to clamber out of the bus.

Screeching, groaning, and howling, they were shaped like human people. Yet there was no intelligence in their bloodshot eyes and to Geralt’s sensitive nose they stank of rot and fungus; not dead but sick, infested, no longer really alive.

They still had some awareness, it seemed, as one spotted him and fell into a crouch, screaming his way. It sprinted down the side of the bus, leaping into the air as it reached the edge. Maybe it would’ve actually landed on Rosie if she hadn’t skittered away, kicking out wildly at the creature. Geralt, his concentration slipping in his shock at whatever the fuck that just was, was finally thrown from the saddle. He landed back-first onto concrete, breath knocked clean from his lungs, and the thing that looked like it used to be person lunged towards him. It was on top of him in an instant, hands clawing and teeth gnashing, but even breathless Geralt was more than a match for one mindless attacker. He wrestled the thing’s jaws away from his flesh and managed to flip them so he was the one on top of it. Pinning it facedown with his knees, his legs held its arms and torso in place as he took its skull between his palms, breaking its neck with a vicious twist. The creature went limp beneath him, the last remnants of its human life draining away.

Rosie’s screaming yanked Geralt’s attention back to her. More of the things had jumped down at them from the bus; one had managed to climb onto her already and as her panicked stepping took her closer to the wrecked vehicle, another leapt onto her back. Others continued to claw their way out of the bus through open or broken windows. Several more were advancing into the street towards Geralt, crouched low and snarling. A third flung itself at the mare and Geralt hated the noises she was making as they bit and scratched at her. He could see the whites of her eyes and smell her blood as it spilled onto the street, but the only weapons he had were his hands and some of the only information he had as to what was the fuck was happening was Calanthe’s warning about bites. So he dug his fingernails into his palms hard enough to make himself bleed, and then he turned and ran. He hadn’t known if he could still cry, after they’d dripped chemicals into his eyes to change them. As heat flooded them and blurred his vision and sobs caught in his throat alongside ragged gasps of air, he learned that yes, he could.

Eventually Geralt made it back to his apartment building, covered in blood and bruises and carrying a fire axe with its blade coated in a layer of gore on top of the manufactured-red metal. The landlady lunged at him out of her office by the stairwell in the entranceway and he buried the axeblade in her trachea, watching the light fade from misted eyes as her breathing gurgled to a stop. He got up to his dingy one-bedroom without any further trouble, not even getting attacked as he fumbled the keys outside the door. Once inside he locked it behind him, and then shoved the heavy oaken bookshelf that had come with the place in front of the door as well. Feeling as secure as he was likely to, Geralt started to go about his business.

Taking the axe into the kitchen, he rinsed the blood from the blade, rubbing it over with a washcloth. Once it was clean he inspected the edge- slightly dull, which was an easy fix, with only one small nick in the blade, likely from catching on bone. Carrying it into the bedroom with him, Geralt placed the weapon on the duvet. He then pulled a heavy locked trunk out of the closet and hauled it onto the bed, leaving it there while he moved back to retrieve a pair of brown leather bags from one of the closet’s upper shelves. Unbuckling the flaps, he started packing. One of the bags was soon filled with his sturdiest clothes and a pair of comfortable hiking boots tucked in the very bottom, as well as plenty of socks. Retrieving his first aid kit from the nightstand, he added it to the bag and then grabbed both pieces of luggage, carrying them into the kitchen. The second satchel was soon full of non-perishable foods that traveled well, like trail mix and protein bars and beef jerky, with a few canned goods in there as well. Geralt also put a couple of potatoes and onions into a paper bag that he tucked away into a corner. He also slid his store-bought set of salt and pepper grinders into the bag, happy that he’d kept the caps to them so the slim cylinders were still resealable.

Satisfied with his packing so far, he went into the bathroom to take a quick shower and change out of his bloodstained clothes, having left a clean outfit aside with just that in mind. Geralt went back into the kitchen, carry his travel toiletry kit out with him to pack, along with his razor, toothbrush and toothpaste, and stick of deodorant. After he had found a pocket on the inside of the clothes bag to tuck them into, he moved around the kitchen making himself a hearty sandwich from the leftover perishable ingredients in his fridge. A towel was twisted around his hair, keeping the wet strands off his fresh clothes while simultaneously helping to squeeze it dry.

After he finished making and then eating his sandwich, Geralt unwound his hair from the towel and ran through it a couple of times with a hairbrush, yanking through the tangles with a lack of gentleness that would’ve made any observer wince at the sound it made. He finished and the white strands hung limply, still damp enough to clump together and appear stringy. The brush then went into the bag with the rest of his essential hygienic belongings. Going to one of the kitchen cabinets, Geralt pulled out a package of brownie brittle and opened it, crunching into a piece sullenly. Three meticulously nibbled out-of-existence pieces later, he admitted to himself that he was stalling. He thought about leaving the brownie brittle in the kitchen but decided to bring it with him, setting it down on the nightstand in the bedroom instead. Finally, he turned to the chest on top of the comforter.

Taking ahold of the lock, he keyed in the combination. It clicked open and he unhooked it, undoing the other two metal clasps and swinging the top of the trunk open. Inside was a collection of interesting objects, the most prominent being a long sword in a sheathe, its flat circular pommel etched with a wolf, and a black, thick-padded motorcycle jacket with numerous metal studs spaced evenly across the arms. There was a jumble of other weaponry, survival gear, and even a good number of dog-eared books. Geralt pulled out the leather jacket and unzipped an inside pocket, retrieving a chain with a disk-shaped pendant hanging from it that looked like a silver coin. It was embossed with the silhouette of a wolf. Absentmindedly dropping the leather jacket back into the trunk, Geralt cradled the necklace in his palm for a second, running his thumb over the raised metal of the design, before moving to fasten it around his neck. The pendant settled against his chest, a cool circle that slowly warmed against his skin as it sat nestled, visible in the space created by his unbuttoned black Henley.

Next he pulled the sword out and dug out a whetstone and cleaning kit from the trunk as well. Snagging the axe off the bed as an afterthought, Geralt then headed into the living room to spread things out on the coffee table. Taking a seat on the couch, he began meticulously making sure his sword was properly cleaned and sharpened, carefully testing the edge with his thumb. Once he was satisfied and had slid it back into its hard leather sheath, Geralt wiped his hands on a rag and relaxed a bit into the cushions, glancing towards the window. The sky outside was sunset orange and the sight of it caused Geralt to pause. He looked around his apartment, the furniture bathed softly in dimming amber light, and a thought came to his mind. Should he spend the night here? Get up in the morning and cook himself breakfast in the kitchen one last time, make some fried eggs and then hard boil the rest of the carton for the road? Sleep one more night in the bed that he had actually been able to consider his own for a while?

Geralt had spent his adult life trying to come back from a childhood of being told he couldn’t want things. It was the little luxuries that were the easiest to allow himself in the time he’d spent away; food cooked how he liked it, packets of brownie brittle, a memory foam mattress. In a world where very little actually wanted him dead, indulgence was low-risk. Now, it might be stupid enough to get him killed.

           Just like his childhood memories said it should be.

He didn’t think he was being stupid wanting to spend the night here, though. The building was relatively quiet around him and he had the one entrance into his apartment sufficiently blocked off; if anything did try to get in, he’d hear it long before it managed to get the door open. A good night’s sleep was probably about to become a rarity, so he might as well do his best to get something close to one in while he could. And eating healthily was likely to get a lot harder, too; he should use what he had while he had it, since the perishable foods would just rot in the kitchen anyways if no one used them soon.

Decision made, he concentrated on properly cleaning and sharpening the axe blade. The nick was deep enough that he could only make it a bit shallower in one evening; it would take another few rounds with the whetstone to wear it away completely.

Blinking, Geralt suddenly realized how dark it was becoming in the apartment. His night vision was good enough that he hadn’t accidentally cut a finger off, but there were no streetlights shining in his window, no lights from other houses. The electronic clock on the tv stand wasn’t emitting its soft glow. Of course the power was out.

Going to the closet, Geralt dug out a package of battery-powered candles he had seen on clearance and picked up on a whim. He went around the apartment, turning them on and placing one in every room. It would be enough light for him to see what he was doing, but hopefully not bright enough to attract anything or anyone’s attention. Just to be safe, Geralt went to the window to close the shades. He took a moment to look at the world outside.

With the town’s electricity dead, the only light pollution left came from the fires burning here and there. The smoke blocked some of the sky out, but where it was clear the stars glimmered through brightly. Geralt could see the constellation Orion, the three stars making up his belt rising above the buildings. The star for his sword shone brightly at his side. Geralt looked away and closed the drapes.

The rest of the evening was spent sorting through the other weapons in the trunk, determining which ones were coming with him and which out of those would need maintenance. When he got hungry enough, he started a pot of rice on the stove, feeling grateful for the apartment’s gas stove as the burner flared to life despite the power outage. Going to the fridge, Geralt pulled out a bag of fresh green beans, opening and closing the door as quickly as he could to keep the cold in. He set up a steamer on another burner, turning it on when the rice was about halfway done. Once the water was boiling and fogging up the glass lid, Geralt dumped in a Ziploc bag full of frozen dumplings he’d gotten from the freezer and left them to steam. He tossed the green beans in a pan with olive oil and salt.

His timing was a little off and not everything was done at the same time. Geralt snacked on the beans while he waited for the rest of his food to finish cooking. Once it had, he plated himself up a mound of rice and a pile of dumplings alongside the remaining vegetables. The final touch was a small bowl filled with soy sauce and a splash of it onto the rice for flavor. Geralt relished the hot food right in front of him that wafted the scents of ginger and pork and salt and tucked in to eat. For just a moment, he was able to see the illusion of an evening like any other, hunger roaring in his stomach from a long day at work and a skipped lunch rather than a tiring slog through and over corpses as his commute home. But the palms of his hands stung and his shoulders ached like they’d used to after a shift at the logging mill and that job was long in the past for him now.

Eventually Geralt finished his dinner and moved on autopilot to the kitchen sink, handwashing his plate and the pots and pans he’d cooked in. He stared at the dishes in the drainer, clean and slowly drip-drying like they were expecting to be put away in the morning, like the world wasn’t in pieces outside his window and Geralt didn’t have blood freshly staining his hands. Retreating back to the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the mattress and ate more brownie brittle, eyes gazing unfocused at the wall and jaw working a bit too hard as he chewed the dry dessert to dust.

Dammit, this wasn’t making him feel any better. All he was doing was thinking about everything he was about to lose.

Struck with the need for something productive to do, Geralt pulled out his phone. The battery was low but not dead yet, though it didn’t seem like the cell towers in the area were doing anything anymore so it was practically useless anyways, but he could still see the texts he’d already received. He pulled up the message from Eskel, squinting at the string of coordinates. The internet wouldn’t be able to help him now, so he’d have to figure this out the old-fashioned way. Standing up, he began rummaging through the trunk again and pulled out a bundle of paper maps, folded tight and bound into a stack with rubber bands. Geralt removed the bindings and shuffled through the papers, looking for and eventually finding the map of Europe that came with latitude and longitude lines printed onto it. Spreading the map out on the bed where he’d previously sat, Geralt found himself in want of more light. He pulled a metal LED flashlight out from where it had rolled to the back of the nightstand’s drawer, making a mental note to pack it to take with him as well. With a beam of light and a focused gaze, he began to find his way to Eskel’s location.

When he figured it out, Geralt huffed in frustration. Switzerland. Of course. Not directly in the mountains at least, but still too close to their childhood home for comfort. And definitely too far away to be his next destination.

His local maps weren’t buried in the old chest from his past so Geralt returned to the living room to retrieve them off the bookshelf blocking the front door. After some searching he found the street name that matched Calanthe’s address and traced out a couple of alternative routes there from his apartment with different colored highlighters. He couldn’t help but hope for a smooth ride there but he wouldn’t be surprised to encounter obstacles that would lead to a change in his plans, considering how much of a mess getting to his apartment had been.

Over the next hour or two, Geralt puttered between going about his home and looking through his belongings to make sure he had everything he wanted to take with him packed, peering over the routes drawn on the map and mumbling street names to himself, and putting sharp edges on the variety of knives he had decided to bring. Eventually, though, he had run out of reasonable things to pack and sharpened all the blades that needed it. Giving the map one last critical look, Geralt decided it was time for him to go to bed. He got his toothbrush and toothpaste out of his bag, brushed his teeth in the bathroom, moved the trunk to his bedroom floor, and stripped off his shirt before crawling between the covers. Lying in bed with his eyes closed, he kept his breathing slow and deep until he finally managed to drift off into a light sleep, haunted by uneasy dreams.

[woollyslisterblog]

1834 July Saturday 26th

Much entertained by Anna Choma interview tonight which prompted me to get another daily post up. Did rather like her evidence AL of wearing/giving blue as signifying interest in the ladies. Perhaps this shade could be the modern day signifier? (Makes a change from the lavender ribbons of the nineties -showing my age again)

Q 6:50 11 ½

her bed stock’s creaked so that the people in the adjoining room being up, I put Miss W[alker]s bedding on the floor and we had a good long kiss about three quarters hour with her- packing - breakfast at 9 to after 10 - dressed -

Anne and I out at 11:40 - went to Dérogis bought Bardon’s antique costumes of the Greeks etc two volumes quarto Bailey's histoire de l’astronomie 4 volumes quarto all for 35/. and the Dusseldorf Gallery (fine old engravings) 30/. and the maps to Anacharsis 5/. and for Ann, Michelet’s abridgment of modern history (seems very good) 1 volume broché duodecimo printed at Bruxelles 4/. then little panorama of the lake 2/. and coloured print of Swiss costumes 8/. -

back at the hotel at 12 1/4 - as the carriage came to the door and off at 12:20 from the hotel des Berges - told the master of the house I was very well satisfied - then to the bank (Hentsch’s) sent up for the money for £50 two circulars exchange 25/ 25, and sat in the carriage while it was brought - got 32 napoleons the rest in silver having still Mount Blanc in my head - delayed 20 minutes - then took up the parcel of books and off from chez Dèsrogis at 12 3/4 - pass through the goodish Ville of Carouge till 1816 belonging to Savoy and capital of the district of the same name – given by the holy alliance to Geneva – at the nice enough little ville of St Julie, now capital of Carouge , at 1:40 and showed my passport to the Sardinian carabinieres who immediately and very civilly let us pass at 2:42 at Frabe said the Postillion and at Feigère according to the Douaniers and the map - the douaniers very civil - said they were obliged to examine something, but would not look into the carriage and only just peeped into one of the Imperials while we changed horses, and we were off in 12 minutes -

excellent road along the foot of the Salève, the high singular calcerous white steppy mountain we looked upon from our windows at the hotel de Berges - the Salève very fine - the Mount de Sion a French lower mountain and all green and cultivated joins the end of it and closes the ampitheatrical valley of Geneva - from the Mount de Sion very fine views of the town Hahe - out to 3:35 began the descent of Mount de Sion and turn left round the foot of the Salève, and fine view down into Savoy - everywhere shut in in the distance by high mountains - white calcerous - the hoary rugged tops of many of them white as if streaked or covered with snow - very picturesque drive -

at Cruiselles at 4:10 picturesque village at the bottom of the valley - no post horses kept here (we left the direct road too Aix and Chambery (right) just out of Saint Julien) but luckily the diligence had arrived a little while before and without stopping to bait the horses properly we were off with them in 18 minutes, driving 3 and letting the 4th follow - we could not have stopt comfortably at the auberge at Cruiselle's - from Cruiselles the white rocky mountains rather approach one and firmly back the green wooded and cultivated hills - very picturesque beautiful drive - narrow though good road - at 5:25 after crossing the little river Fier (probably in winter a large stream) over the new wooden bridge of la Caille, stopt a few minutes at the little village of la Caille to water the horses - fine white rugged mountains seemed at a little distance en face - at 5:50 to 6:00 and afterwards the fine white rugged mountains magnificent - finally standing out like mountain headlands at sea – 6:10 find beautiful magnificent descent up the hill strewed plain, and fine views of Annecy situated at the foot of Mount St Catherine qui fait partie de la chaîne des Bauges but the lake not in sight, but the Lake hid

- at 6:47 view (near) of the nice town of Annecy with its 3 or 4 churches and fine larger castle - at 6:47 first view of the picturesque little finally mountain-locked lake - at the hotel de Genève at Annecy at 7 - walked 1/4 hour along the handsome poplar and platinus shaded Ave along the shallow reedy top of the lake - finely surrounded by mountains -

dinner at 7:05 to 8 1/2 - the public salle le manger but nobody there at first and only two guests at last - man and girl (harp and she singing) came to us at dinner - sat writing in Ann’s room while she got into bed and fell asleep at 9 3/4 and wrote of yesterday and today till 11 - very fine day F 68° at 11:05 pm

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 10/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

Rey woke up cold and aching. It hurt everywhere—her neck, her back, her feet. The back of the car was certainly large enough to sleep in, but it had been an unrestful sleep. Every little thing had made her jump last night. Every headlight that zoomed by was the blonde woman. Every torchlight flitting across the alleys of the campground was looking for her. Every time the dog barked, someone was surely approaching.

She was tired, sore, and already contemplating defeat. She had left London to escape depression. But instead of a sunglasses-and-cocktails vacation, she had found herself in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, 7,500 kilometers away from home. And top it off, she was being chased by a strange woman. Her luck was six feet under and her paranoia through the roof.

She wished that Leia Skywalker (and even Rose to a certain extent) had warned her about what she was getting herself into because she had no clue what to do now. Last night she had seriously imagined leaving the car in a garage somewhere and taking a flight from Jackson Hole to San Francisco. Ciao, stalkers and bizarre favors.

But what about BB8? Rey had taken responsibility of her. Taking her on a flight would require veterinary clearance, a doggie carrier, and all sorts of other complications that she had neither the energy nor the means for.

Her gut feeling told her that this setup had been deliberate on Leia’s part. With a dog in tow, her safest bet was by driving that car back. Unless she could abandon the dog in the woods somewhere...

BB8 chose that exact moment to nuzzle against her, begging for affection.

“You were in the loop about this, weren’t you?” sighed Rey as she scratched the dog between the ears. “You’re the dog equivalent of a honey trap, you conniving little traitor.”

But seriously—it was just a dog, not a KGB spy. She would be fine...

Rey got out of the car and stretched. “Come on, let’s go for a walk and then look for some breakfast.”

She dug out the box of cookies she bought last night and ate one, occasionally giving bits and pieces to BB8 after making sure they were chocolate-free. She let BB roam free this time, sensing that she wouldn’t try to escape from now on.

Tent folded and loaded into the car, Rey packed the rest of her things. BB8 chased an errant squirrel, helped herself to some treats, and took care of business. Rey watched the dog play in the tall grass as she continued checking her phone for messages. A while ago she had even left a voice message to Ben.

Rey here, British and susceptible. Sorry for my reaction the other day, my life is complicated. I saw your band was passing through Jackson Hole on the 5th of July. I’m in the neighborhood, I might come around. Bye.

That message would likely cost her dearly. How was she going to justify contacting Ben again after the scene she had caused at the Four Seasons? To be honest with herself, she hadn’t seen an alternative last night, sitting there on the cold ground. Her family and friends were thousands of kilometers away. Leia Skywalker had disappeared on her.

Whether she liked it or not, Ben Solo was the only person she had maintained contact with since landing, and the only person who had really done her any good without expecting anything in return. She hoped she wasn’t bothering him.

To be fair he had also called her ex and meddled in her personal life when he barely knew her, but due to the circumstances she tried her best to forgive him for that. She had wanted to turn the page on that particular incident and banish Ben Solo from her thoughts forever—before that mysterious blonde woman showed up.

Since then Rey had fretted about traveling alone, with no one to turn to in times of trouble. It’s not like she needed a protector. She just needed a friend, if only for the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t alone. That several hundred kilometers down the road, there would be someone on the other end of the line if she ran into a problem. But it was 7 AM and he hadn’t answered.

In his defense, Rey had texted him around midnight. Maybe he just hadn’t seen it yet.

“All aboard, BB8!”

The dog jumped into the back seat and started chewing methodically on her rubber duckie. The resulting (absurdly loud) squeaking noises made Rey smile.

Hitting the road again, Rey regretted not taking a bathroom break or a shower, or using the washing machines available at the entrance of the campsite. She reeked of dog, sweat, and old car. Strangely enough, it made her laugh. The woman Finn had known had always been a belle, sporting manicured nails and designer perfume. If only he could see her now—he would hardly recognize her.

Come to think of it, thinking about Finn no longer made her balk. Was she simply too tried to be angry? She was just starting down a particularly sharp turn when her phone vibrated. It took every ounce of her willpower not to stop in the middle of the highway to read that text. The Millenium Falcon reached Jackson Hole a few minutes later, and she parked in central town before scrambling for her phone.

Hello, Brit. I see you’ve found my number, Rey. I’m settling in at Jackson H this morning. I’m staying at the Lodge, 80 Scott Lane. I’m free should you want to get coffee sometime—let me know.

It was barely a kilometer away, she could practically walk there. But once again she thought about the blonde trying to break into her car. She would feel much safer parking in the security of a private hotel garage. It only took a few minutes to find the place, a magnificent Swiss chalet complete with exposed beams and stonework. She spotted the infamous black pickup in the parking area and stationed the Millennium Falcon right next to it.

Hello Ben, I found the Lodge. Still up for coffee?

His response was immediate:

You’ll find me in the lobby.

Leia rolled her eyes when another TSA agent approached her as she waited near the baggage claim at Sacramento International Airport. She had been expecting it, but the sheer number of public servants under the First Order’s thumb still managed to surprised her. From the minute she had left the house she had been coincidentally stopped at every traffic checkpoint possible. It was chilling to realize that this sprawling private organization was in some ways above the law.

She had thought about giving up more than once.

What could she do at this age, with only her brother and a handful of rebels behind her? They were up against a massive corporate empire that had the feds in their pocket. But Leia Skywalker had fought her entire life. For the military, for her honor, for the love of her husband, for her son’s education, for minorities’ rights, and for the weary and downtrodden underdogs. Therein lied her definition of the brave: those who defended the defenseless. She could never stop doing that. Leia knew that nothing short of her death would result in her silence.

Leia let the man search her without protest—like every other officer before him. She was wearing a long charcoal dress and heavy ornate bangles of both wrists. Her hair was pinned up in an elaborate braided chignon that added to her height. In her left hand, she carried a cane. It was less for walking and more for leaning on after spending long hours on her feet.

Like every other time, they let her go. He gave her suitcase back after failing to find anything suspicious—the lining was starting to wear. The object they were so eagerly looking for was no longer  in her possession. She smiled knowingly. Knowing that thousands of miles away, an English tourist was on her way.

Leia was greeted by a friendly face as she crossed the line into Arrivals. Her lawyer, Amilyn Holdo. Amilyn was a sixty-something daredevil, her greying hair dyed a striking violet. She was wearing a knee-length taupe skirt suit and violet pumps. Her smile was all dimples. She greeted Leai warmly and grabbed her suitcase.

“How are you, Leia? It sure took you a while—did they hold you up?”

“Like always, Amilyn. My health isn’t what it used to be and they wouldn’t let me go through the baggage claim. Every damn time. I’m forced to just ignore it these days. How’s the mission going?”

“We’ll discuss it in my office, you never know who’s listening. The meeting with Governor Valorum’s staff is in three hours, that gives us some time to plan.” Guiding Leia by the hand, she made her way to the taxi pickup zone.

The law offices of Amilyn Holdo were rather modest. Far from the ornate, high-vaulted, glass and steel monoliths that symbolized the American legal system in popular imagination. A room with a single window and wall to wall bookshelves laden with books and dossiers. Box after box of case files on every available surface, overflowing with papers, binders, envelopes, and notebooks with handwritten memos scrawled on every last page.

Amilyn moved a box stacked on a chair to make space for Leia to sit down. She poured a glass of water for her guest, and rummaged through a small cabinet. She handed Leia a hefty violet dossier held closed by a single strap. “FORCE America: First Order Resource and Capital Extraction”.

All traces of humor gone, the lawyer leaned forward and folded her fingers below her chin. “Tell me everything. Last I heard, you had found someone new?”

“Yes. Rose discovered the perfect candidate. It’s not like we could do it ourselves. We couldn’t use email or the postal service. And we would be spotted from a mile away if we did it in-person. I had to delegate.”

“But who is this girl? How do you know she’s not some FORCE spy?”

“Rose and Paige did a background check, it only took a few hours to clear her. We’re quite certain she’s just a broke tourist. It’s perfect really, FORCE was expecting an activist type, and there’s no way they can stop every single tourist from Colorado to California.”

Amilyn pursed her lips, visibly still unconvinced. “But you gave her the Falcon. Surely it will attract unwanted attention?”

Leia smiled. “They can take the Falcon apart piece by piece is they want, they won’t find a thing.”

“I wish I was confident about this,” she sighed. “This whole operation hinges on the element of surprise. If FORCE finds those documents before the public, we’re back to square one. And this time we won’t get a head start.”

She was interrupted when Leia placed a hand on hers, a comforting gesture. “Hope is like the sun, if you only believe in it when you see it, you’ll never make it through the night. Amilyn, this is the culmination of years of hard work. Have a little faith, they won’t win this time.”

“I hope you’re right, if we fail we won’t be able to recover and—“

“Trust me, Amilyn. This girl is very capable.”

The lawyer smiled begrudgingly, not quite uplifted by her client’s optimism. She chewed on the inside of her cheek in silence, avoiding Leia’s eyes.

“What’s eating you, Amy?”

“It’s—Kylo Ren.”

Leia’s smile faltered. Her face fell as she took a sip of water. “What about him?”

“You know he’s been tracking the Tico sisters. Ironically, that means they can keep tabs on him too...but it seems he left town a few days ago. Almost exactly the same time as the girls, Connix, Milham and the others.”

“FORCE already knew we were on the move. We planned for that. The more we scatter our agents, the more resources they spend chasing diversions instead of cracking our strategy,” Leia responded, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“Yes, I know. But Kylo has Snoke’s ear, and Hux’s attention. He knows the inner workings of our organization, he knows you and your brother. And he’s deeply involved with the Order. Are you sure he won’t see this coming?”

Leia’s shoulders sagged, as if burdened by the weight of her grief. She took a deep breath, pausing to find the right words. “Kylo is a brilliant boy. He was swayed by material wealth and prestige. He’ll understand one day. I don’t think he would dare to come after me himself.”

“And you?” Amilyn asked, “If we win, they’ll lose everything. Are you willing to put your own son in prison?”

[wasalwaysagreatpickle]

Thursday 7 August 1828

5 40/60

1

The mail not starting from our house this morning, off to the Bush at 6 1/2 – paid my fare (by the way imposed on – inconsequence of opposition, the fare reduced from 20/. [shillings] to 16/. [shillings] as confessed by the Landlord at Selkirk; but, said he, passengers forwarded from Liverpool still pay 20/. [shillings], and if a place is secured the night before, they make you pay additional (nonsense!) – they [cutely] made me pay 20/. [shillings] thinking me a stranger and that I should not find it out) – mounted behind the coachman – sat waiting above 1/4 hour, and off at 6 3/4 – 

Fine rich well-wooded country – capital road – 6 miles from Carlisle, cross the small river line and here begins Sir James Graham’s property, and extends 4 miles beyond Longtown i.e. as far as we have to go in England – 8 miles from Carlisle the nice, neat, large, old village church, the nice small village (1/2 dozen houses?), and the very pretty wood-hidden parsonage of Arthuret (reverend Fergus Graham, uncle to Sir James Graham) – 

Change horses at Longtown (good little brick town) at 7 35/60 in 4 minutes – on driving along the town, look down upon Sir James’ prettily wooded farm houses – at the end of the town pass narrow 5 arch stone bridge over the broad gravelly bedded Esk rather low just now, but a good river – cross it 4 times this ‘beautiful stage, said our coachman – at 7 3/4 turn right, and see (right distant) among fine woods croft head a largeish white house where the present Sir James lived during his father’s life – Esk close, right - at 7 55/60 (11 miles from Carlisle) apparently in front of Netherby Hall, at a considerable distance right, large white house, among fine and extensive woods – ‘beautiful place’ (said the coachman) ‘but fronts the tother way’ – 

Several stooks of barley cut, (the 1st corn cut save the oats going to Dumfries on Monday and hay in cock here, and nearer Carlisle in Swathe – at 8 two turnpikes very near together, and better than a little ditch that parts England and Scotland, and here begins the duke of Bucleugh’s property – we go 30 miles in his estate which reaches to Hawick – great many [?] houses by the way – all belong to the duke – 

At 8 10/60 very pretty, picturesque, wooded, white village of [Gannaby] (as pronounced) – good, new church little distance right – broad gravel-bedded Esk just below us right, and cross 3 arch-bridge over it – water very low now – beautiful here – at 8 25/60 little village of Car-saddle, white straw thatched and some blue slated cottages – (as prounounced) – river below – rocky bed – wooded banks, with large high 1 arch-bridge which we cross – very beautiful at a short distance (right) Glenochy castle Johnny Armstrong – square tower with the 2 high gables of the ruined roof still standing at the top – 20 minutes through a wood (some fine picturesque Swiss firs in it, with some good larches here and there – how infinitely the best of the fir-tribe and the Swiss fir!), and at 8 3/4 cross the Esk again (2 arch-bridge) pass a whiskey-distillery, and at 8 53/60 enter the neat little town of Langholm – ‘Tis certainly a ‘beautiful’ richly wooded drive from Longtown to Langholm – well satisfied to have come – 

Changing horses or watering generously take 5 minutes – off from Langholm at 8 57/60 – Langholm lodge (the duke’s shooting box – he sometimes comes to shoot) near the town, [if] the [valley] (left) – From Langholm go along Ewesdale unlived by here and there a white farm house or cottage – the Ewes (close, right) a small stream running along the foot of the green, high, rounded topped very occasionally rather heathery Lillip Hills – 

At 9 50/60 turn left into Moss fall glen – very fine and very beautiful, green glen, or pass – just wide enough for the road and the Throstleybird burn (right) – ‘tis 2 fine ranges of the Lillup hills that form this short but fine glen – at moss fall house (very neat yellow-washed – little Inn – lone house) at 10 – fine and sunshiny – the glen widens out a little here – the stables in Dumfriesshire – the house in Roxburghshire – this is the highest ground – from here the waters run different ways, and the Throstley burn ceases to run westwards, and runs Eastwardly - at 10 35/60 the Throstley burn falls into the Tiviot, and we henceforward proceed along the fine dale of Tiviot – 

At 11 1/2 stop at the Tower Inn, Hawick, a good dark-coloured stone built town – market day – a cold collation laid out in the coffee room – 3 coffee room compartments in divisions – have not met with this before – not having had an[y] breakfast, sat down determined to make the best of the 1/4 hour allowed – had it all to myself – ate 1 1/2 leg of the fowl and some good new potatoes – much the better, and on the coach again (had had the box seat from Langholm), and off at 11 3/4 – at the end of the town cross narrow 3 arch stone bridge over the broad shallow Tiviot – then hilly road over high, plain, almost unenclosed ground all the way to Selkirk – at 12 1/4 view for a while of the Eildon hills see only 2 summits (the 3rd much lower and not seen I should suppose unless from near) vide Scotland tourist 309/415, at 12 1/2 little village, and cross (1 arch-bridge) the Ale-water, a small stream – descend up upon Selkirk, surrounded by plain hills, and at 1 10/60 alight at the Inn there and leave the mail – (it would reach Edinburgh between 4 and 5?) – It seems, I have little chance of getting the 4/. returned I paid too much for my place this morn[in]g – however the landlord here very civil – goodish little darkish-coloured stone built town – 

Off at 1 40/60 for Melrose in a very uneasy though neat-looking gig – roughish old-paved road – the rather broadish shallow pretty Ettrick river below us, left – falls into the Tweed about 2 miles? below Selkirk – about 4 miles from Selkirk (left) Abbotsford, Sir Walter Scott – he built it by [degrees] – just below the house the Gala water falls into the Tweed – an irregular, old-style, castellated (label-windowed) sort of English manor-house – of dark coloured stone white corner-stones – the sort of castle-court gateway, too of white stone – curious sort of iron-rail gothic screen parts the garden from the court, yet allows it to be seen – a Tower at each of 3 of the corners of the house – 1 tower round, 1 square and 1 hexagon or octagon? – a large flag flying – the boy-driver knew not why – but ‘Sir Walter always had it flying on some days’ – walked down to the house, and looked at the outside for 5 minutes – the short approach road, a broad walk through a young plantation, rather shrubbery like at present – well wooded in the distance – [genteely] looking place – will not be seen from the road when the plantation gets up – fine valley – 1st view of Melrose abbey about 1/2 mile from Melrose – does not look well – the square tower low, too large, and smooth, and even looking – as if lately built – the rest of the ruin huddled on a heap – not at all picturesque as these seem in the distance – the red-shingle sided Eildon hills (right) fine – 

Alight at the George Inn, Melrose, at 3 10/60 – somehow feel languid, rather lightheaded, and tired? 

No motion this morning

Read the Scotland tourist – take 1/4 hour’s nap – had nodded and dozed every now and then as I came along this morning – not certainly a safe situation for so doing – go out at 4 1/2 to the abbey – a very nice woman shew it – her husband a man of genius, John Bower, had had a [draw], and could not come to me – very fine ruin – unquestionably finer than that at Elgin? – the finest far I have seen in Scotland, or anywhere? – vide Scotland tourist 306/415 et seq. – the carving ‘like lace-work’ is the curly leaf of the Scotch Kale, very beautiful on the capital of the great pillar at the head of the south side the nave – the woman asked me to her house to see her husband’s drawings – surprised to find him quite a self-taught artist – beautiful little pencil sketch (south east view – the best) of the abbey 9/. worth it – had sold almost all of any kind – bought a rough lithograph of this view, and ditto of abbotsford – 

Came back to the Inn at 6 50/60 – would wait till they baked me some [ned] cakes (of flower and cream in the frying pan) – went out again – past the good new church handsome spire, the rest like a common methodist meeting house, as usual in Scotland – the body of the church of darkish-reddish stone ditto the tower up to the roof of the building – the spire part of white stone – curious, unpleasing effect – down to the new suspension bridge built by subscription of the inhabitants – opened 26 October 1826 – about 11 1/2 yards slope up to the pillars – each pillar about 2 yards by 2 feet – height I cannot guess – the bridge over the water (between the pillars) 98 yards long – 1 3/4 yard wide – very neat thing – pillars very neat – battlemented at the top – red sandstone – walked into the picturesque little wood [?] village of Gattonside – 

Returned a different way into the town – and got back to the Inn at 7 3/4 – tea – the ned cakes very good – read Scotland tourist – speak to the landlord – send my luggage by the coach tomorrow to Jedburgh, and walk myself in order to see all by the way – settle accounts wrote out journal of today – all which had taken me till 12 – very fine day – though felt cold this morning till after Hawick – went to my room at 12 -

[bighandslittlefeet]

Hello Everyone!

So we left Sydney in Val the Van and have been on the road for six days now! It's been marvellous. We’re not sad to see the back of Sydney, serving coffees and running escape rooms can only hold your interest for so long, and I think we packed in all of the good touristy stuff in the first two weeks, so by the end of two months we were definitely hankering for something new! We’re sad to say goodbye to our friends and new work colleagues of course, but the open road beckoned, and on Sunday we set off in a freshly packed Val. We made a short stop for coffee at Four Brothers for Espresso and had a cheeky egg and bacon sarnie and then began the journey properly.

We headed south to go north, hitting up Jervis bay as we had been told by numerous folk that it was truly unmissable. It took us a good five hours to get down, owing to bad traffic on the main highway, it looked to us in passing that a lorry driver had had a serious near miss and was on the side of the road shedding tears to a police officer, meanwhile, we were all diverted down into the valley and onto the b roads. A lot of traffic wound its way through two very picturesque, but very small, seaside towns. Eventually though we made our way out of Sydney and further and further south.

Jervis bay is a nature reserve park with stunning beaches known for their high silica content which keeps them cool and makes them brilliantly white to look at. As we arrived at the park boundary we decided to buy a two day pass, after talking with a really nice park keeper who was sure that the campsites inside the park were a rip off and we’d do much better commuting in and out. So we drove in, the road becoming less and less sealed, further and further, the bush growing more and more tangled and dense. We came to the end of the road. The far end of the peninsula. The furthest beach. We did the obligatory suncreaming and made for the nearest beach. The view was stunning. A sweeping bay with white sands as far as could be seen interspersed with pockets of green and rocky outcroppings encroaching on the shore. We soon realised that this particular edge had quite a lot of rocks and weeds in the amazingly clear water and made our way back to Val, and proceeded to the other side of the headland. This beach, similar in beauty, was replete with a smattering of folks, swimming, eating, sunbathing, and so we felt more comfortable getting out togs off and jumping in. Val came with a full face mask snorkelling kit and two other normal snorkel masks and mouthpieces, so we took the opportunity, as recommended gain by friends, to do a bit of snorkelling. It was chilly water, but gloriously clear. We could see small silvery fish about a handspan in length, and a few jellies here and there. The sand quickly dropped away into the bay and we stuck to the shallows. Later, reading a pamphlet on the beach we would find that we were meant to always face the sea, as sharks were regular guests of the bays! Luckily we were spared any sightings that day!

After a short nap on the sand and a dry off in the early afternoon sunshine we made our way back out of the park. We drove to Hyams beach, another stunner, but the sun was beginning to get low on the horizon and we were starting to get peckish. We made our way to a shop to pick up foodie stuff, the plan was to make a bit of a mexican feast, poached chicken, smoky pepper mole, quac, salsa, blackened corn, and warmed mini tacos. We then made our way over to another site we had identified at bream beach. We couldn’t have done any better, well priced, on the edge of a lake and the people who greeted us were so super friendly. And the kangaroos. They lived on the site. 15 of them, just out of season, so there were some very small young ones! Very cute and very friendly. We watched the sunset with a glass of wine and had leftovers as it was too late to cook.

The next day we headed back into the park. We headed to steamer’s bay, a secluded beach a bit of a hike from the nearest parking spot. It was recommended no swimming, and as we crested the hill we could see why, the beach ran long and shallow and must have had quite a significant drop off as the swell was immense, waves taller than our heads relentlessly crashed onto the beach. We descended the steep staircase into the bay and walked the beaches length and breadth before turning back to the staircase and the walk back to Val. That night we made the feast and ate very well indeed. The next morning we set our sights on hunter valley, a location renowned for its wine and more importantly north of Sydney. We set off and broke the journey for a coffee and a bite in Wollongong, a small seaside town just south of Sydney. A lovely cafe playing Paolo Nutini, served great coffee and a bacon and egg roll - scrambled this time, not fried, and with a nice tomato relish. The BNE as they are called here, seems to the staple of cafes rather than the BLT, as in the UK. I think it is rather excellent. The time in Wollongong was rounded off with a walk up to a lighthouse and along the coast for a little stretch before once again we headed back towards Val. Some of you may know that Becca and I have a collaborative Google map on which we have been bookmarking places to see and go on this trip and we actually had one marked for this town. As we walked back through town to the car park, we passed Chicko’s a fried chicken hut - we couldn’t remember for the life of us why we had tagged it but it looked like it was doing roaring trade. We would have had some had it not been for the lovely food we had just had! And also, fried chicken mid morning seemed a little odd!

Back on the road we blasted the tunes until we climbed the foothills, into the mountains, and finally the valley. An uncanny sense of deja vu took over as it seemed we were transported into the South of France, vineyards and gateways with no fences, lined the route sporadically. Until we hit the towns which were a strange american cultural mix, I could have been in France, although driving on the wrong side of the road! We pulled into the campsite we had booked and set up camp, the temperature was cooler here, and so we shrugged on some jackets and walked across the way to a brewery. We got a tasting platter of local brewed beers, reasoning that tomorrow we could do the wines. We sat and chatted as the sun gto lower and lower in the sky and decided to have a bite to eat at the brewery. A very satisfactory fish and chips and chicken parmo later, and we were contentedly strolling back to camp for a deep sleep.

The next day we did our first campsite wash. The temperature was up so the clothes hung in the sun and were dry in no time. We were soon picked up by our tour which we had booked in Sydney a few weeks ago as a sort of early Christmas treat to ourselves. When in Rome… The tour had been recommended by a friend and was run by a winery/restaurant known as Two Fat Blokes. Julie, our van driver came picked us up at the gates of our site and warned us that today we would be drinking around a bottle and a half of wine each and so had plenty of water on hand - we rubbed our hands with glee. The other couples on the bus were Swiss and American and we picked up a trio of Irish women before making our first wine stop at Leogate. The nine of us sat at a long table outside under a shaded canopy and we were served a flight of 10 or so wines of varying styles and ages. They were all young and fruity and really quite nice. My old world sensibilities have definitely been eroded by this experience. We barreled back into the van, after a few obligatory photos of the vines with the mountains in the background, and began the drive to the next cellar door. Conversation was much more lubricated, thanks I am sure in no small part to the copious quantities of wine just imbibed on near empty stomachs, and we began to chat with the Americans, who turned out to be an Australian and an American who had been dating long distance and were here during their week together. I was asked who my team was, which I had no reply to, until Becca told me he was enquiring about football - at which point I was at even more of a loss. Grasping at straws I related how many people in the UK seemed to be interested in the NFL now, and I myself had picked up a t-shirt at a charity shop which I had been reliably informed was to do with an american sports team, but which I had bought because of its florid tie-dyed aesthetic.

The bus rounded the corner and we were suddenly in a spanish villa. An uncanny sense of deja vu washed over me again, as were were ushered through large oak doors into a high vaulted room. The dude who lead our tasting this time had a very nice pair of DMs on and was a pretty chilled and nice guy. Another flight of wines and we were soon in the van on our way to the two fat blokes pop up restaurant where we had been promised not only nine more wines to taste but also a flight of tasty cheeses to accompany them. The cheese was phenomenal. I’m proud to say the best of the cheese was imported from good ole europe! It was stunning. A real range, and all of them worked very well together on the palate. A new cheese, which I had not had before - a labna, was incredibly creamy and flavoured with a light floral tang. The smoky, the creamy, all went together with the light, the fruity, the well bodied, the red, the white, the rose, and the liqueurs that were placed before us. Placed by, frankly, our alcoholic guide, who admitted to always having at least ten of such and such a bottle on standby, and could happy put away a bottle or two of x and y wines by herself! Much respect. The tasting was made all the more hilarious by the bunch of Irish lasses who had the most amazingly over the top reactions to every cheese we had, it was either ‘the best fucking cheese I have ever tasted, oh my god, Sairosie, have you actually tried this cheese, it's incredible’ to ‘it literally tastes like, and you’ll forgive me for saying this - bird shite’. It was a hoot.

We were the first to be dropped off by the van and we settled into the van quite merrily, making our pre-planned ham and cheese toasties as our designated drunk food. But! These were no ordinary ham and cheese toasties!! As I set about making the roux to form the basis of the cheese sauce, Becca sliced the sourdough breads and began buttering every side. Soon we could begin construction. A doorstop slice of bread, a smear of the cheese sauce, a slice of edam, a few slices of chunky deli ham, a slice of edam, another smear of the mustardy cheese sauce, and finally another double buttered sourdough slice to complete the architectural marvel. Straight to a hot pan, toasted to a golden crisp on both sides, the innards, steaming and goopy. A triumph if we don’t mind saying so ourselves.

The next day we took to the road, bidding goodbye to our strange little campsite in the rolling vines of Hunter Valley. We made a stop at the two wineries we had visited prior to the two fat blokes stop and bought a couple of bottles for Christmas. We then made our way over to Nelson Bay. We spent some time durdling around on a very lovely beach and then made our way up to the headland lighthouse which had stunning views of the bay. We had a spider - an australian coke float, and shared some scones and cream. A questionable variant on the British Cream tea, to be sure. That night we found ourselves in a lovely beachside campsite next to the beach. We tried for another walk but the wind was so strong that it was like being sandblasted. We quickly gave up and turned in as the sun set. That night we found the joys of staying in a powered site, the next day all of our gear was fully charged and the fridge was lovely and cold, now flashing error signs for us as the second battery contended with watery first morning light falling on the solar panel. We set off towards Seal rocks, our next stop, having been recommended a campsite there known as Treachery Camp, by a colleague of Becca’s in Sydney. En route we decided to have lunch at the Rick stein signature restaurant. We hadn’t had any fresh fish yet and we had been looking forward to it down here. So we opted for a fancy meal to treat ourselves. We drank sparkling water on the balcony and ate spiced crab and wonderfully fried fresh fish, and bbq’d king prawns. It was fab!

Soon again we were on the road, barreling along the edge of lakes, and through winding twilight forests. Before we knew what hit us we hit the unsealed road and poor Valerie began to bounce and scream like no-ones business! We slowed to a five km/h crawl and still felt like we were sat on a giant washing machine. After a three kilometre stretch we hit the campsite and found ourselves in the midst of the remains of a festival type hangover. To top it off we were told that they didn’t assign sites we just had to find a spot ourselves. We were a little stressed and found ourselves between some trees - which we soon found out dappled our solar panel! We set out for the beach which was desolate, windy and beautiful. But alas we had no signal and had not expected being without it so couldn’t contact family to let them know we’d be off grid for two days. We didn’t feel like decamping either - only wanting to put Val through that dirt track once more when we left. We made some cracking food though, a very tasty cassoulet, and soon the rabble rousing crowd left and it became a much more young family beach vibe place. We grew more comfortable and relaxed.

We rattled our way back down the unsealed road two mornings later and were soon back on the road towards Port Macquarie. And I’ll leave you with this little tidbit of the next installment - koalas, friends and drinking - oh my.

With Love, Hugs, Spotty Signal and Low Battery Level Power Packs,

Sam and Becca

X

[stormxpadme]

​Whumptober 2022 No. 7 - Shaking Hands

2003

"You need to take a breath, kid. You're not hitting anyone like that."

"Holes in your body say, we don't have time for a breath." But Marie had no choice but to listen to her mission leader and redraw back into the shadow of their tiny hideout before she was anywhere near the cave exit, because of course, Logan was right. Trembling like this, there was no way she could take out enemies in different directions fast enough to not eat a bullet or two herself. And then both of them would have been fucked.

Marie couldn't even put it on Logan's and her unbelievably smart idea of tracking down another possibly Weapon X hideout in the middle of the Swiss Alps alone without even telling anyone where they went, in the middle of fucking winter no less, that she could barely pull her guns from the holsters on her thighs, with how unsteady her movements were. It wasn't just her reluctance about these kinds of weapons plaguing her either, especially not on a day when all of a sudden, neither Logan's nor her own powers were doing them any good and she grudgingly had to agree that the regular training with more conventional means that you needed so rarely on a team of super-powered heroes, hadn't been a part of her training for the X-Men half as unnecessary as originally thought. If there was any chance to get the two of them out of here and get help for her unexpectedly indisposed leader and best friend, it was the bullets in those two magazines. That was what was scaring her. For years now, she'd wished for more responsibility in this team, for getting the chance to prove she could pull her weight like anyone else on it, and now that it was suddenly up to her to save not only her own ass from becoming a lab rat for those very same bastards who had already made Logan's life a living hell all these years passed … Suddenly, she wished she'd never got up in the morning. She couldn't fuck this up. She couldn't … But keeping on imagining like a broken record in her head what would happen, to both of them, if she failed to stop their enemies before they could reach their improvised shelter here, certainly didn't do her nerves any good. "Your hands ever shake? If you say from adrenaline now, I'll shoot you, and something that hurts and will not regrow too quickly." With an unhappy sigh, her movements increasingly agitated, she knelt down next to her mission leader again to pull those damn bandages around his arms and chest tighter, swallowing thickly when she saw the uneven rocky ground under his curled-up body wet and dark red in the bad afternoon lighting falling in through the entrance.

  Last time she'd seen Logan in such a bad condition had been right before the whole universe had almost gone down the drain. And this time, she couldn't hope for his healing factor to kick in any second and him being back on his feet within a couple of minutes. Not as long as these strange kinds of dangerous bullets their enemies had got him with upon their arrival that for some reason stopped his powers cold, were in his flesh and guts. "I still think I should try to dig them out."

  "Not a good idea, kid." Logan shoved her hand back with an alarmingly weak movement when she fumbled with the knot around one of the tourniquets. "Even if you can reach them all with that butter knife of yours that you carry there? Won't do us any good. It's Carbonadium."

  "How do you know?" Marie wrapped her arms tightly around her own body, shuddering both from the growing coldness of immobility and the memory of what she'd read about that very special substance in certain U.G.E.R. files that was able to damage even a feral's healing factor so badly. But none of them had ever come in contact with it before, luckily.

  Logan could still come up with that cynical half-grin of his, in spite of writhing from a new torturous cramp every now and then and most of his chopped breaths ending in growls. "Because I can't remember ever being in so much pain. Some of those bullets splintered. There's no way you can get all this shit out before I bleed out, kid. You're on your own this time. Take these motherfuckers out while there's still time. From everything delightful Wade keeps telling me about our time with these people, they'll love to get their hands on you, and that ain't gonna be pretty. Would love to spare you that."

  "Why did you bring me here then?" It wasn't a reproach, at least not aimed at him, mostly at herself. Apparently, she wasn't half as ready for this life and this work as she'd thought if she already lost her nerve at the first sight of a hopeless situation she had to face on her own.

  Logan shrugged, but that hurt in a shoulder so shattered, the mere sight of it made Marie's stomach turn. He winced, his skin wet with sweat, red with fever wherever the tears in his uniform revealed it. At that rate, he wouldn't be lasting long. "You wanted to come." And Logan, from the day they'd met, had always been one of the few people in her life who granted her the freedom of making her own decisions.

  Marie was long a part of the team, so there was no more reason for him to babysit her, besides, the two liked each other just fine, and going alone on one of his Weapon X hunts would have even been more disastrous. It had been a logical choice, and giving up at the first sight of difficulty was never one. "Oh, fuck this. Fine, I'm going. Here, take that." She put said dagger down next to her friend's body, in easy reach. Remy's gift for her on the day of her long overdue official welcoming ceremony on that very team. "If you hear that I didn’t make it, try cutting those fucking things out yourself. I don't want you back on their table either, you know."

  "They're not here yet. Wait. Sit. You're still shaking. Now." Logan still had enough energy left for harsh orders, especially when Marie was only one eye-roll away from an objection. "Not like that. Legs crossed. Hands on your knees, palm up. Close your eyes."

  "You're not seriously trying to calm me down with yoga, Logan." For a moment, she didn't know if she should laugh or cry. She had a quip on her tongue about the not-exactly-polite answers she'd given Jean whenever Jean had tried to interest her into that whole esoteric mental control crap back then, but then Marie remembered Jean was dead and had left Logan alone in this damn life and school to deal with rookie asses like Marie's, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe from that well-known feeling like a punch of a brutal fist right into her own guts.

  If Logan could guess what she was thinking, he didn't let it distract him, because of course, he wouldn't even get distracted bleeding his damn life out on the top of some lonely glacier with the most incompetent team partner possible by his side. But for once, he sounded unusually sincere for his usual sardonic self. "Not Yoga. Meditation. Usually helps me. Instinct control and all. Or what do you think it is I'm doing at ass o'clock in the morning in the woods every day? I'm not that much of an exhibitionist."

  "You're not putting pictures in my head that are helping." Marie grimaced but finally closed her eyes when Logan motioned her to again because they were running out of time, and if there was even a slightest chance, she could get that fluttering of threatening panic inside of her under control before that battle was calling, it was her duty, taking it.

  "I'm not putting anything." There was a worryingly drag starting to sound through Logan's words. The effects of that damn bullets were growing worse. They better both hoped that the emergency signal they'd sent right after escaping to this cave had made its way through the shitty reception in this area and that help would be here soon. "That's your job right now. What I want you to do now is remember something that pisses you off. One specific image, something you usually suppress. Recall it in every detail, focus only on that. Then tell me what you see."

  Though Marie wasn't entirely sure how such an uncontrolled, dangerous notion that usually left her only blind with the heat inside her soul and her cells, should help not act like a goddamn beginner anymore, Logan was one of the few people in her life she trusted unconditionally. And at this point, they didn't have much to lose. She thought it would be Phoenix, coming to her mind first, a city in flames, ten thousands deaths, Logan being brought home from another trip to Alkali Lake with his arms – robbed of their Adamantium protection by Magneto not too long before that day – a ruin of shattered flesh and bones. Or the Scapels-moon, all those vicious words of that alien bitch, all the pain, on the in- and outside that her teammates had gone through … It turned out, to her surprise, violence, and loss wasn't the thing enraging her most.

  She found she could still see that embarrassed, cowardly look on her ex-boyfriend's face in every detail when he'd told the X-Men he would leave right after Alkali Lake. Would leave her. Because he'd been lying, because he was weak, because he had told Marie she wouldn't be too much for him, had given her hope for months only to fuck off to someone in whose pants he could have got so much easier then. "Bobby. I see Bobby." The ice in her voice was an easy match to those deadly surroundings of clear blue and white out there. When she opened her eyes again and looked at her hands where they had turned into hard fists, she couldn't see the slightest tremor anymore.

  "Good." Though she could hear that her mission leader was fighting to keep his own eyes open at this point, there was a tone of deep pride in his deep voice that Marie would have shot a thousand, not just three assholes in the head for. "Now you take all that you feel right now and load those Glocks with it. Get your ass out there and give 'em hell, kid. And try not to take a bullet yourself. I'm really not in a good condition right now for you to drain me empty."

  "Deal. No dying on me here either while I'm gone, okay?" With a small grin, she bent down to press a brief kiss to his hair, tasting, and smelling copper and cigars.

  There were no promises on either side because neither of them liked false hopes, but he was still smiling when he watched her leave.

  By the time Marie came back, with two shallow grazes on her arm and hip but not a milligram of metal in her flesh, Logan was still awake and even lucid enough to mock her about wasting almost both magazines before finally making the headshots. In the distance, they could hear the relieving, well-known hum of the Blackbird's engine.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Monday 30 June 1834

4 ¾

10 ¾

Two kisses last night before getting into my own bed. Fine morning F62° at 5 ¾ - asked for the book of the maitre de poste and in spite of his telling me it was not worth while wrote as following ‘Le 29 Juin 1834, Madame Lister, dame Anglaise, allant de Paris à Geneva, se plaint de l’insolence du postilion Michel, allemand qui l’a conduit de St Laurent jusqu’a Morey’. Off from Morey at 6 18 - very fine ascent from M- along the narrow beautiful gorge - cheval du report from Poligny to Montrond, Champignole [Champagnole] to St. Laurent, St. L- to Morey or Morez, but only had it from M- to Rousses [Les Rousses] - from 6 40 to 7 walked up  the mountain - very fine green wooded rocky gorge - at Rousses [Les Rousses] at 7 47 - nice little post house and Inn (might sleep there very well) opposite Douane – shewed the 3 passports but nothing said about our baggage – care not what we take out – would be particular enough about what we brought in – breakfast at 9 – before and after wrote our yesterday – Rousses [Les Rousses] a small but good village off at 10 7-  at 10 20 got out and walked 10 minutes up the hill – then in 5 or 6 minutes more pass the road (left) leading to the new Swiss road along the lake to Geneva – the postboy said the distance was the same as the road we were going and many travellers now went that way - But why hurry down to Switzerland and the flat road along its lake, in preface to lingering along the Jura, and enjoying the matchless 1st view of the Leman waters?  at 11 ¼ enter the fine winding deep valley which leads to La Vattaye [La Vattay] at 11 57 – a single house (la poste) very nice bedrooms, good-house -  might have slept and eaten there very comfortably – 24 minutes here. Miss W- all the while on the pot has very often two motions a day she was sickish and peewee as usual but Noyau afterwards in the carriage did her good - La V- beautifully situated in little high-situated plain embossed in fir forest and high hoary fir-sprinkled rocks - still winding along the same fine valley (vide line 6 above) till 12 ¾ when on reaching the top of the pass, the rich plain, the lake (or rather the Rhone from soon after its quitting the lake) with its magnificent screen of mountains and Mont Blanc, burst upon our view - the celebrity of this view is deserved - I don’t remember having ever seen a finer - in 5 minutes the drag was put on, and the postboy had also tied fast the wheel with ropes, and we began the descent which lasted till 2 26 when having passed thro’ the main part of the town of Gex, we had one steepish street and then disencumbered the wheel and 4 minutes  afterwards stopt at la poste (at the far end of the town) a nice little Inn where, so nice was the garden at the back, and so fine the air, and the view, and so comfortable the bedroom we were in, we thought we could spend a few quiet days very well -  A- being ready for something to eat, had a nice (cold) picked trout and lay down all the while (1/2 hour) - Gex a goodish little country town – no inquiry about passport. Off again at 3 - fine rich plain - very good road but so flat, could see nothing but the trees and hedges and yellow corn (only observed 3 or 4 patches of vine) close alongside, except the mountain and Mont Black ½ way up the horizon - fine wheat dead ripe - at Ferney [Ferney-Voltaire] (Voltaire’s chateau) at 3 50 - one of the women servants shewed us his chamber - nothing particular except a  sort of mausolée to his memory in the fire-place - a brick-floored, 2 windows, nice enough, not large room opening into the hall or salle à manger where V- used to entertain his friends - 3 or 4 minutes sufficient for seeing this - then saw the gardens - the fine view of Mt. B- finer said the man (aetatis 71 but looking much younger the son of V-‘s gardener) then the view people go for to the little height above, the village of the great Sacconex [Le Grand-Saconnex] - and saw the hornbeam

SH:7/ML/E/17/0049

 avenue (the trees planted quite close, 6 or 8 in. distant and meeting at the top - from 3 to 4 yards wide?) Voltaire used to walk in, and where his cabinet d’étude was (in the garden) when he to be out of the way, and the Elm (fine tall, straight, large Elm) he planted - it was when the cabinet d’étude was that stood the mausolée or moment that bare the inscriptions to his memory - erected by comte de Beudet and destroyed in the night by some people, 8 or 9 years ago, du temps Charles X and suspected to be Jesuits - on the death of V- (made a marquis by the King of Prussia) his heirs sold the village chateau and all property to Cte. Beudet (aetatis now 86) to whose family the property had belonged before V- bought it - V- pulled down the  old chateau and built the present house - the gardener told at full length the story of the désagrément between V- and Gibbon and G-‘s imprudence in getting to see him and their being reconciled and afterwards friends - on V-‘s finding that G- had succeeded by stratagem, he sent his servant after him to ask for 12 sols for having seen the bête - G- gave 24 sols, said he had paid for twice, and would come again the next day - (he had before written some pretty complimentary verses) so V- overcome received him en ami the next day, asked a party to meet him and they were good friends ever afterwards - after seeing the gardener went to the old gardener’s house - saw V-s cane, [cap.] 3 little silver inkstands and book of seals, given to the gardener (when V- went to Paris the last time) because he was then the errand boy and went to the post - this book curious - under each seal (in V-‘s writing) the name and sometimes place of the owner with occasional short remarks - such as ‘fou de Lyon’ etc put together these seals and remarks that the boy might know which letters would be received and which not - for all the above things including the manuscript account of V- last journey written by his secretary our English general Cockburn offered £150 in vain - the gardener’s children (2 married daughters? or 1 son and a daughter?) may dispose of these things as they like - they are the old man’s living while he does live, tho’ he is and always has been C.te de Beudet’s service - Off from Ferney [Ferney-Voltaire] at 4 ¾ - had been 55 minutes there – Miss W- bought a lithograph of the chamber and chateau 3/. and little bust of V- made of the garden earth and baked, probably at the neighbouring pottery just out of Ferney [Ferney-Voltaire] - for 1/. - offered the man a 5 fr. piece - saw he did not think it enough and gave a 2 fr. piece more for which he thanked me - F- a near good village - the French Swiss boundary is somewhere just out of Ferney [Ferney-Voltaire] - stopt at 5 10 at the police at the Great Saconnex, a good village or little town? And shew my English foreign office passport determined to put the other 2 away – shewed passport again on entering Geneva – left it, and they gave me a ticket to be signed by me before receiving back my passport – all this particularity in consequence of the late affair at Lyons - Alighted at the large, new, handsome hotel des Bergues at 5 40 – bargained for apartment au 1er.  a little salon and 3 single bedded room all looking on to the Rhone and a room for George at 12/. a day -dinner and vin order for 2 selves 8/. and breakfast (for [ditto] not including strawberries) 2/. servants at 8/. a day for the 2 - much better off than I expected, but the man (just come here from Thun) saw that I knew what I was about - very handsome                            (bridge angle a strong abutment against the current) just opposite us finished only 6 weeks ago - buildings along the Quai all new and arcaded and handsome the town quite changed in this quarter - new and very handsome - beautiful view over the water and the mountains from our windows - dinner at 7 ¾ - very good – sat talking over dessert and bottle of Lunel of which however I only took ½ a wine glass, better pleased with very weak vin ordinaire and water - before dinner we had been to the Post Office and got our letters (3 for A-) and 1 for me dated Thursday 19 June,3 pages and directed from Paris ‘Geneve’ and wrote on  the back ‘parti à Geneve en Swisse poste restante’ ends,  from my aunt Shibden – better account of herself – begs us not to hurry home – all going on well in and outdoors – my father pretty well ditto Marian -  Miss W- of Cliff Hill takes it ill A- never told her of coming abroad tho’ it had been publically talked of so long – what a nonsense! 2 of A-‘s letters from her sister – her eyes still bad – to be confined the beginning of October -  one from Washington – Mr Lamplugh Hird will give for 3 years £60 for Lidgate and 17DW and SW. £20 a year for the remainder of the land – Mr H- likely to be a permanent tenant – wants alternations for which SW would allow £40 –advises the agreeing – thinks the place would be well let - to pay p.c. for furniture on the valuation of an appraisement A- and I do not want the H-s and do not accept the terms offered. Ten minutes with her tonight she was tired said I was long about it that I gave her no dinky dinky that is seminal flow and I excused myself and came away to my own bed. Very fine day F70° at 10 ¾ pm

all the way from Poligny, where began the ascent of the Jura, the chalets of stone, neat, pretty little white buildings (cottage establishing) far too spruce and good to be as picturesque as the Swiss.

Miss W- thought I meant to go to the top of the Mt. Blanc and she certainly would go with me - the old gardener said 2 English gentlemen were lost in the attempt last year.

[junker-town]

NFL Panic Index 2019: Tom Brady’s backup is a rookie with zero experience

Greg M. Cooper-USA TODAY Sports

We also check in on Zeke and the Cowboys, Kyler Murray’s rookie outlook, Jimmy G’s comeback chances, and (gulp) the Bears’ kicker situation.

This is it. No, not the Kenny Loggins song, cowritten by Michael McDonald. Right now, at this very moment, is the height of NFL optimism. The new season is approaching. Every team is on equal footing. There is still hope for all 32 fanbases.

Here’s where the but — no, not the E.U. song featured in the film School Daze — comes in. There is also a lot uncertainty, those nagging thoughts in the back of your mind that keep you awake at night. Maybe an entire offseason of buildup will fail to meet expectations. Maybe your team will do nothing but disappoint.

So let’s talk about it. What SHOULD you be worrying about at the outset of the 2019 season, and what can you just shrug off?

The Patriots don’t have a known commodity as their backup QB anymore

If Tom Brady gets hurt in 2019, things could go very, very wrong for the Patriots. Here’s what New England’s current quarterback depth chart looks like:

a 42-year-old with 309 career NFL games and 10,964 NFL passes under his belt

a 23-year-old rookie from Auburn with 0 career NFL games and 0 NFL passes

end of list

The Pats’ decision to release Brian Hoyer means the league’s oldest non-kicker is now being backed by a player whose only pro experience came in the preseason. Jarrett Stidham’s solid exhibition performance was enough to push New England into a two-man quarterback room when final cuts came down.

Hoyer was rumored to have been waiting on a roster spot to open up before rejoining the Pats, a la Demaryius Thomas. Any plans to re-sign Hoyer were promptly dashed, though, when the Colts offered him a three-year, $12 million deal to back up another former Patriots draftee, Jacoby Brissett.

Losing Hoyer robs New England of a high-floor, low-ceiling passer who has served as one of the league’s better backups over the past decade. He was also a strong locker room presence and a support system for Brady. In his place steps Stidham, a fourth-round pick whose efficiency dropped every year after his 2015 debut with Baylor.

While the rookie underwhelmed in his transition from playing Big 12 defenses to SEC ones, his preseason gave New England reason for confidence. He completed nearly 68 percent of his passes while throwing four touchdowns and just one interception, and his 8.1 yards per attempt average was a full half-yard higher than his senior year at Auburn. If he can keep that up, he might just be the next diamond Bill Belichick has dug out of the mid-rounds of the draft.

Or he could be the next Ryan Mallett or Kevin O’Connell.

Panic index: Brady had thrown three career passes before taking over for Drew Bledsoe in 2001. Matt Cassel had thrown 72 passes in the prior seven years — at USC and with New England — before leading the Pats to 11 wins in 2008. Brissett and Jimmy Garoppolo each turned out pretty well.

Besides, Touchdown Tom hasn’t missed a start since his Deflategate suspension and hasn’t missed a game to injury since Cassel played his way into a (NSFW) K-Swiss endorsement deal. New England’s gonna be fine.

What’s going on with Zeke and the Cowboys?

Ezekiel Elliott finished the 2018 season with 1,434 rushing yards and 567 receiving yards. Those 2,001 yards from scrimmage accounted for 36.4 percent of the Cowboys’ total offensive production.

Now Elliott’s status is in doubt, at least for Week 1. If he doesn’t suit up, Dallas is going to have to fill those numbers on offense without him.

Elliott is holding out from the team in hopes of getting a contract extension. That’s not an easy pursuit for running backs, but right now, things are looking up that he’ll get a deal done before Week 1.

Even if he does, the question becomes how game-ready Elliott will be. Despite Jason Garrett being adamant that Zeke can pick up where he left off, that’s easier said than done, especially after he missed all preseason. Two years ago, Le’Veon Bell followed a similar path. He returned to the Steelers before their season opener, and then rushed for just 32 yards on 10 carries against the Browns. It took Bell until Week 4 to find any sort of groove.

If Elliott doesn’t sign a new contract or isn’t at his peak performance, the Cowboys will have to turn to a rookie. Tony Pollard was drafted in the fourth round of the 2019 NFL Draft and had a grand total of 15 carries in preseason.

Panic index: While he didn’t see much action, Pollard looked damn good in his limited time in preseason. He averaged 5.6 yards per carry and ran through four Rams defenders on a 14-yard touchdown.

Still, the Cowboys could be in real trouble without Elliott or with a rusty Elliott. He’s a workhorse back who’s averaged 21.7 rushing attempts per game in his NFL career. Pollard only topped 10 carries in a game twice during his career at Memphis and never once got to 20 rushing attempts.

The Dallas offense is largely built around Elliott. Matchups against the Giants, Washington, and the Dolphins in the first three weeks are easy enough that the Cowboys could start 3-0 without him. But a significant dropoff from Elliott to Pollard should be expected and could cause Dallas to stumble out the gates.

Kyler Murray sure looks like he’s in for a long rookie season

Turning around a struggling Cardinals franchise is no one-year task. If Kliff Kingsbury is going to silence doubters he’ll have to present evidence his air raid offense can work in the NFL. That all begins with the No. 1 pick in the 2019 draft — and it might be a struggle.

Kyler Murray suffered through an up-and-down preseason in his introduction to the league. He started with a 6-of-7 passing performance for only 44 yards in a Week 1 win against the Chargers, then bottomed out a week later by completing only 3 of 8 passes and taking an avoidable sack in the end zone in a loss to the Raiders. Though he rebounded the following week (14 of 21 for 137 yards), his 5.4 yards per preseason attempt was the lowest number from any of the Cardinals four quarterbacks during the exhibition circuit.

Murray doesn’t exactly have the tools he’ll need to thrive, either. Arizona’s offensive line remains a work of progress and was responsible for 52 sacks last year. Then-rookie Josh Rosen took the worst of those lapses, getting swallowed up on more than 10 percent of his dropbacks.

While Larry Fitzgerald remains the linchpin that holds the receiving corps together, he’s not surrounded by proven talent. Christian Kirk will have to make a big leap after a promising rookie season and will be playing with his third starting quarterback as a pro. Second-round pick Andy Isabella has dealt with injuries and struggled in limited preseason action. Hakeem Butler, who looked like a fourth-round steal back in April, was ineffective in training camp and will miss the season due to a broken hand. David Johnson, one of the league’s best receiving tailbacks, has been so thoroughly beaten down by the Cardinals experience that no one’s quite sure what he’ll bring to the table in 2019.

Still, Murray possesses an indefinable playmaking quality that made Oklahoma greater than the sum of its parts last fall. If he can do the same after a rocky preseason, he’ll make Kingsbury — and the Cardinals — look like geniuses.

Panic index: 2019 is a lost year for Arizona no matter what. As long as Murray doesn’t pick up the kind of bad habits that can derail his career and shows some kind of growth, Kingsbury can breathe easy. For one year, at least.

Jimmy Garoppolo might not bounce back in 2019

Even though Jimmy Garoppolo has been in the league since the 2014 season, no one really knows who he is as a player. The vast majority of his time in New England was spent sitting behind Tom Brady, which shouldn’t be held against him.

Since he was traded to the 49ers during the 2017 season, there have been two different versions of Garoppolo that we’ve seen. He was stellar in the final five games of that season, posting a QB rating of 80.7. That mark would’ve ranked first in the NFL if he had enough qualifying snaps.

His 2018 season wasn’t off to as great a start before he tore his ACL in Week 3. His yards per attempt dropped from 8.8 in 2017 to 8.1 in 2018 and his QB rating plummeted to 26.9 — that would’ve ranked second to last in the NFL (above Josh Rosen) if he had played enough snaps.

Garoppolo’s 2019 preseason was inconsistent, to say the least. He had a practice in which he threw five straight interceptions and then completed just 1 of 6 passes for zero yards and an interception in his preseason debut against the Denver Broncos. However, he bounced back in a strong way against the Chiefs, throwing for 188 yards and a touchdown in about a half of game action.

Panic index: There isn’t too much to be concerned about yet with Garoppolo. He might be a bit shaky to start off the regular season, but he’s a great fit for Kyle Shanahan’s offense. He has the poise, accuracy, and athleticism to be a playmaker for the 49ers. He just needs to stay on the field.

The Bears kicker is ... (checks notes) ... Eddy Pineiro

It wasn’t long ago that fans of the Chicago Bears were talking about the potential of solving all of their kicker woes with a trade for Robbie Gould. Gould, now with the San Francisco 49ers after spending the bulk of his career in Chicago, wanted out. More than that, he wanted to go back to Chicago with his family.

Many felt it was only a matter of time before the 49ers traded Gould to the Bears, who happened to be searching for a reliable kicker after Cody Parkey’s missed field goal was the catalyst for their early exit from the playoffs. Fast forward to now and Gould is (seemingly) happily still with the 49ers and the Bears are starting the season with a guy who has never attempted a kick in the regular season: Eddy Pineiro.

More than that, they’re proceeding after one of the weirdest, sometimes-problematic, and oddly secretive kicker battles ever, as detailed by Sports Illustrated. That competition included intense golf-inspired analytics, oddly nebulous coaching points, far too many people, and a coach who seemed obsessed to the point of concern with Parkey’s miss in the playoffs.

And this is all on top of Parkey himself being a fine kicker who probably would have beaten out all nine of the guys in the competition.

Panic index: The Bears will hardly be the first team in history to enter the season with a young, unproven kicker. But they are a high-profile team, so if things go awry, they go awry in a very big way, as they did in the playoffs last year. There is plenty of reason to worry, but hey, at least Pineiro looked good in the preseason, going 8-for-9 on field goals with a 58-yarder.

[buggyexplorer-blog]

Guisborough Woods

Welcome again to Buggy Adventures. Wow, they seem to be coming thick and fast! Well this particular blog brings to you a nice short 4.5 mile circular in Guisborough Woods. So if you don’t have much time but fancy squeezing in a nice walk and with 550 feet of elevation gain, so it gets the blood pumping, then this is a good one.

I have also discovered how to add photos to my blog, I’m getting so tech savvy these days and courtesy of Strava I will add a route map at the start of each blog.  There are one or two pictures added to my two previous blogs, so please feel free to scroll down and re-visit.

Joining us today on our Buggy Adventures is Thomas’s Grandad - my Dad, Keith and Lily the poodle. Growing up I was an only child and to be honest, I loved it. Not having to share my CD’s, no squabbling over which sibling gets the bigger bedroom, or battling over who got the keys to my Dad’s Renault 5 once I was of driving age! So having a dog constantly in the family was my equivalent of a sibling. Misty, our wonderful family pooch, was a miniature poodle with attitude. He really thought he was head of the family and quite frankly, he was! Misty often covered two or three times the distance than we did on our family hikes. Then we had Louis, a white standard poodle who was such a handsome devil and he knew it too. Louis also loved his walks in the woods and hills of Guisborough with my parents. My Dad often shared his love of photography with Louis by going out on early morning walks in the woods in an attempt to photograph the perfect sunrise. Sadly we lost lovely Louis last year just before Christmas and it's fair to say the whole family was devastated. I still miss him so much to this day. My poor Dad was lost without his loyal companion and despite my parents saying that they weren't going to get another dog it was evident that there was a void. Lily was the perfect dog for my parents. A three year old miniature rescue poodle who had not had a very nice life so far and had been used purely for breeding. Now though she has been given the life she deserves with my Mum and Dad. Actually looking like a poodle now after some serious grooming, I was amazed at how well behaved she was off the lead on our hike. So, Leela, Thomas, my Dad, Lily and the Buggy Explorer set off on a walk all together.

We entered the Guisborough Woods at the top of the Pine Hills housing estate off Lyndale.  All of the road names on the Pine Hills estate are named afer dales such as Farndale, Weardale and Rosedale.  The path from Lyndale goes down a short but steep hill where it meets up with the old Middlesbrough and Guisborough railway line.  Oh how Guisborough could now do with a train service to Middlesbrough, I think that it would be very well supported and would certainly take a lot of cars off the road.  Cut backs are not only happening now as they obviously played a part in 1964, the last time a train operated on this line.  Much of the old line is now walkways or built on, so no chance of it being re-opened.

Once at the old line we turned right and walked in the direction of the briliant Branch Walkway Cafe at the Guisborough Forest and Walkway Visitors Centre.  If you are on the look out for a full monty breakfast, than you need not look any further than the Branch Walkway Cafe.  Just don’t expect to be able to eat for 24 hours after and make sure you are hungry, really hungry.  Their rocky roads are pretty special too.  Anyway, as my Mum was preparing a lovely family meal for later in the day we avoided temptation by taking a left turn into the woods just before we got the the cafe.  We immediately turned right and walked uphill past the adventure playground on our right amongst the trees.  Thomas will love it here when he is older.

As we walked the views opened up to our right looking over Pinchinthorpe and the fields between Guisborough and Nunthorpe.  In the distance you can see towards Flatts Lane and the Eston Hills with the busy A171 road linking Middlesbrough to Guisborough inbetween.  Along this path we passed a few walkers one of whom had a dog which seemed to show some interest in Lily and decided for a good few yards that he no longer wanted to wallk with his owner and tried to tag along with us!  Lily is not that type of girl though and she did not show one bit of interest in her new admirer and the dog finaly gave up and walked back in the oposite direction towards his owner who by now was out of sight!

We followed the path for its entirety and it came to a head at a concrete road which snakes its way uphill through the trees to Bousdale Farm.  This concrete road was always a killer when I rode up it on my mountain bike years ago and guess what? Its a killer when pushing a three wheeled offroad baby buggy too!  After one or two rest stops we all made it to the top at Bousdale Farm where we all decided on a rest and drink stop while taking in the views and a few photos.

Bousdale Farm has renovated some outbuildings turning them into holiday cottages and what a setting it is in.  Within easy reach of Guisborough and the surounding area it has a feel of remoteness with some outstanding views of the hills.  There were some very friendly goats in a field here and one of them was eager to make friends, or perhaps he just wanted whatever food we had on us.  Since we were only on a short hike all we had were a couple of snickers bars and a bottle of water, so Billy the goat went disappointed!

We walked through the yard and through a gate into fields and we got a spectacular view of that mountain again, Roseberry Topping.  It certainly dominates and you can see why it is nicknamed the Cleveland Matterhorn as it does share a distinct resemblance with its much bigger namesake.  The summit once resembled a sugar loaf. Then in 1912 Roseberry Topping changed forever when the Western side of the hill collapsed, mainly due to alum and ironstone mining but also because of a geological fault.  Apparently Guisborough is one of the more likely places in the country to have an earthquake, not that I have ever noticed!  Due to the sheer West face following the collapse the Topping has since been compared to its big Swiss cousin.

So once through the first field we entered another via a metal gate and keeping to the left hand edge of the field we walked through to another metal gate and turned left to go up to the wooden gate oposite.  Back onto well maintained paths we turned left and walked back into the Guisborough Forest.  From here on it was easy pushing with the buggy rolling over well maintained fire track roads after the uneven tracks in the fields that we had just come through. 

We carried on walking downhill and after a little while we turned almost back on oursleves to extend the walk a little.  The paths zigzag their way through the woods and you can walk for hours without ever being more than a couple of miles from where you started!  As we dropped lower towards the end of the walk we enjoyed a little break by a bench with a lovely view across rapeseed fields near to Home Farm on the Hutton Village Road.  We admired the yellow carpet that spread out infront of us while munching on funsized Aldi Racer bars, which is basically a Snickers but half the price, as is everything at Aldi!

We finished the hike by walking along the track going past Home Farm and the idylic barn conversions with their spectactular views of the surrounding countryside and onto the Hutton Village road, where we parked the car on our last walk.  We walked onto the Avenue and the final few minutes rolling back to my parents where a hearty meal awaited us.

A lovely way to spend a couple of hours in the local countryside.

Look out for the next Buggy Adventures blog where our very good friends Maggie and Joe join us for a hike which challenges the buggy’s capabilities in the heart of my favourite part of the country.

Boldly going where no buggy has gone before...........