#north everest face

[p-redux]

I say he is in Nepal, either at base camp, or less likely, scaling Everest. Your opinion on this theory?

Hi, Anon, as I said in a previous post, I have a slight obsession with all things Mount Everest, have read the books, watched the movies, the TV series, and every year when it's the push for the summit in May, I follow climbers on Instagram, and watch their treks up to the highest mountain on Earth. Soooo, I do have some knowledge on this subject. Here's my take...

I know Sam has said in interviews that one of his bucket list items is climbing Mount Everest. And he was supposed to star in that Everest movie. The thing is, climbing to the SUMMIT of Mount Everest is only done in May, usually mid May due to weather constraints. And the prep dictates you have to start 2 months before to acclimate to the high altitude. I'll talk more about that down below. IF you are able to spend the two months in either Nepal for climbing from the South side of Everest, or Tibet (controlled by China) for climbing from the North side of Everest, you will be climbing to almost 29,032 feet, 8,849 meters. This is literally the altitude that jet planes fly once they reach cruising altitude. Sam has this pesky thing called a contract to finish out the remaining seasons of Outlander. I highly doubt his Outlander contract, and the insurance company associated with it, would allow him to take such a risk. Every year, people DIE climbing up or on the way back down from the summit. And some people don't die, but they get severe frostbite and lose fingers, toes, tips of noses. It's not for the faint of heart, and it's not for handsome actors who need to keep their beautiful appendages intact for filming Outlander. Unless the writers can work on a storyline involving Jamie Fraser missing a few, um, things.

Having said that, it IS possible Sam could trek to Mount Everest BASE CAMP. This is the area at the base of the mountain that all climbers go to to prepare to climb higher up, and eventually to the summit. BUT, some people who aren't making summit bids, simply make Base Camp their one and only destination. And that may be a compromise Sam makes with Outlander producers. Base Camp is still REALLY, REALLY high. It's at 17,598 feet, 5,364 meters. Sam isn't putting himself in too much risk at Base Camp...unless there's an avalanche. Sadly, there have been avalanches there and many people have died, as a result, the last one being in 2015.

Everest Base Camp in Nepal is trekked either for the Summit bid season February to May, with all summit bids happening in May. OR, it is trekked JUST for the Base Camp in late September to November. We are now in November, so it IS possible. 👇

BUT, you don't simply hop on a plane and get plopped down at Base Camp's 17,000 feet altitude. You could quite literally die from High Altitude Cerebral Edema and or High Altitude Pulmonary Edema due to the low oxygen levels. Soooo, IF Sam wanted to trek to Mount Everest Base Camp in Nepal, he would have to start acclimating at least two weeks before. All travelers going from Nepal's capital, Kathmandu at an elevation of 4,344 feet stay there for a few days, and then they do a 14 day trek up the mountains, to allow their bodies to acclimate to the altitude and the lower oxygen levels. 👇

Sam would have to allow himself at LEAST 3 WEEKS to make the Everest Base Camp trek. 2 weeks to climb there and acclimate, and then you want to spend at least a week there camping and just being there. Then you have to allow time for the return climb back down. This isn't a weekend excursion.

As for whether Sam is actually trying to climb to Mount Everest SUMMIT. That would be a definite NO. Not only from an Outlander insurance and contract issue, but also because it's not summit climbing season. 👇

And for people who want to climb to the Summit, they have to make a 2 MONTH commitment. The summit climb entails the two weeks to climb to Base Camp. And then at least 6 weeks, climbing up and down from each of the higher camps. I think there are at least 4 camps that climbers stay at, higher and higher on the mountain, until they reach the Summit. 👇

So, if a climber wants to go for a Summit bid, which is always in mid-May, they would have to start in mid-March and literally be on Mount Everest at the various camps the whole two months. It's a huge commitment. Most companies charge around $40,000 for the whole expedition. The reputable ones assign each climber a Sherpa to guide you. The Sherpas are natives to the area and they are expert climbers who are born in the area, therefore their bodies are completely acclimated to the high altitude. The expedition companies hire them to help climbers up the mountain. They set all the safety ropes, set up the camps, make the meals, and deal with the inevitable emergencies along the way. No one should climb without a Sherpa. Also, most companies will only take on a climber for a Summit bid if they can show previous experience in climbing at high altitude and have summitted a few of the highest peaks on Earth. That's not Sam. So, if anything, Sam would probably only be allowed to climb to Base Camp.

As you can see, I'm really, really into all things Everest and could keep writing all day hahaha. But, I'll stop here. I hope that was helpful info, Anon.

[freshthoughts2020]

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Don't Want the Heroine || Ruggie Bucchi

You get isekai’d into what could only be described as an affront to literature, as the second male lead.

So you decide to cut all ties with the heroine and live a peaceful (wealthy) life with your secretary, Ruggie Bucchi. Except life doesn't go as planned as you get more chaos than you signed up for

Series Masterlist

You knew you were in for a ride the moment your so-called "friends" forced you to read the lowest-rated web novel of the year as punishment for losing a bet. And not just any bad web novel—no, this was the Mount Everest of literary disasters. A true champion of trash.

Some reviews said their IQ points dropped by atleast 20 points. Others swore their vision blurred after reading it. One particularly scathing reviewer said, “This book is responsible for my grandma’s untimely passing. She read it and gave up on life.”

So, armed with a drink (or three), you settled in to read. And oh, you were not ready.

The heroine is engaged to the Second Male Lead, a duke with infinite money, charisma, and love to give. He’s the human equivalent of a weighted blanket. And what does she do? She cheats on him with the Male Lead, Duke of the North, who is basically a human icicle.

The Male Lead, by the way, has the personality of a damp rock. His dialogue alternates between monosyllabic grunts and poetic nonsense like, “You remind me of a cloudy winter’s moon.” Sir, what does that even mean?

The villainess? Not even a villainess. Just the duke’s childhood best friend, who’s labeled as "mean to the heroine" because she has the audacity to call out her cheating. Somehow, this makes her evil.

Then there’s the business subplot. The heroine convinces the Second Male Lead to invest in a clearly terrible idea. He pours his entire fortune into it because she fluttered her eyelashes at him, and surprise, it fails. He loses his estate, his reputation, everything.

And does she apologize? Nope. She runs off with the Male Lead to frolic in snowy landscapes while the Second Male Lead becomes a “villain” and, of course, dies tragically.

And Ruggie. Poor, loyal Ruggie. The second male lead believed in him, gave him a job, and supported his family. Ruggie sticks by him until the bitter end, only to die too because this author hates happiness.

You finish the book in stunned silence. “What the actual hell?” you whisper, clutching your head. “Who gave this author access to the internet? Who greenlit this abomination?”

You need to breathe. You grab your coat and storm outside, still ranting under your breath. “If I ever meet the author of this garbage, I’m fighting them on sight. This is a hate crime. This book probably caused global warming. It—”

Suddenly, there’s a low rumble. You glance up, and your blood runs cold.

It’s a rogue truck. Carrying a full mariachi band. And it’s heading straight for you.

“Are you serious right now?” you shout at the universe.

The last thing you hear is a trumpet playing a very off-key version of Despacito before impact.

Your final thought as darkness takes you: I better not get isekai’d.

You wake up in an unfamiliar room, and for a blissful, fleeting moment, you think, Maybe the mariachi band killed me for good. Maybe I'm in heaven.

But then you see the gilded furniture, the obnoxiously large bed, and a wardrobe so stuffed with capes that you feel personally attacked. The truth hits you like a slap in the face: I got isekai’d. Of course. Because the universe hates me.

Then, you see the mirror. And what stares back at you isn’t your face. Oh no. It’s his face. The face of the poor, tragic Second Male Lead. The man destined to be scammed, betrayed, and emotionally wrecked by the most obnoxious heroine in existence.

You scream internally. Then externally. For a while.

You stumble out of the room, still in a haze of existential despair, and there’s Ruggie. Your loyal secretary, who looks like he’s had years shaved off his lifespan dealing with this nonsense.

“Good morning, boss.” Ruggie says, giving you a half-smirk. “Heroine’s asking about that investment again. You wanna reconsider?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Cancel it. Pull out everything.”

Ruggie freezes. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you repeat. Then, because you’re feeling generous (and also guilt-ridden because you know what’s coming for this man), you add, “Take 20% for yourself and your grandma. Put the rest back in the bank.”

Ruggie’s jaw drops. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

He stares at you for a second, then breaks into a grin so wide it could blind the sun. “Finally! I’ve been waiting years for you to wake up!”

Next, you sit down to write.

The first letter is to the heroine’s family: Dear Sirs, I regret to inform you that I am breaking off the engagement with your daughter, as she has the personality of a wet towel. Kind regards, Duke Idiot.

The second letter is to the Emperor: Your Imperial Majesty, please annul my engagement before I have a nervous breakdown. I am begging you. Also, I can bake cookies. Let me know if you’d like some. Yours in desperation, Duke Idiot.

By the time you’re done, you’re sweating, but it’s a cathartic kind of sweat. The kind that comes from breaking free of your chains—or in this case, an incredibly stupid plot.

Ruggie walks back in, still riding the high of not having to bankroll the heroine’s disastrous ideas. “What’s with the letters?”

“I’m saving myself,” you say dramatically.

He snorts. “Took you long enough.”

The first thing you do after finishing your letters is write one more—to the villainess.

It’s short and to the point: Come over. ASAP. I’m done enabling the heroine. Engagement's over.

When she arrives, it’s with the energy of someone who just won the lottery. She squeals, shakes you so hard you see stars, and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “FINALLY! You’ve woken up from the dumbest coma in history!”

You’re rubbing your temples and trying not to pass out from the intensity. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Now stop shaking me or I’m going to puke on these ridiculously expensive boots.”

She laughs, but finally lets go, sitting across from you as you explain your plan to stop everything from becoming an unhinged dumpster fire. You’re mid-sentence when it happens.

First, the door bursts open, and the heroine comes storming in like a banshee, crying, screaming, and flailing.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” she shrieks, tears flowing down her cheeks like she’s auditioning for a telenovela.

“Do what?” you deadpan. “Not ruin my life for you? Sorry, I’m on a self-care journey.”

Before she can retort, there’s a second, even louder commotion. You look up, and it’s the Emperor himself. The actual Emperor.

“Oh, wonderful,” you mutter.

The Emperor strides in, looking equal parts amused and concerned. “I heard about your engagement breaking off. Thought you might’ve been possessed. I had to see this circus for myself.”

He’s barely seated when—because the universe hates you—the heroine drags in him: the Male Lead, aka the Duke of the North, aka Brick-Wall-With-a-Sword.

“This is unfair,” the heroine sobs, dramatically clutching the Male Lead’s arm. “He can’t do this to me! You’ll defend me, won’t you?”

The Duke grunts like a sentient tree stump. You guess that’s his version of “yes.”

What happens next is a symphony of chaos.

The heroine screams about betrayal. The Duke grunts out periodic agreements, like a caveman backup singer. The villainess is shrieking threats of peeling their skin off and making it into a fashionable handbag. You’re yelling at everyone to shut up, but no one listens.

Meanwhile, Ruggie peeks in, takes one look at the situation, and immediately decides he’s not paid enough for this. But, because he’s Ruggie, he grabs tea and cookies for the Emperor, who is thriving.

The Emperor pats the seat next to him. “Ruggie, my boy, sit. This is better than court drama. I wish the Empress could see this.”

They sip tea and munch on cookies while you slowly lose your mind.

Finally, you manage to silence the room. You glare at the heroine, who’s still sniffling like you personally ripped up her diary.

“It’s not your choice,” you say flatly. “I don’t like you anymore. Get over it.”

Her jaw drops. The Duke of the North lets out an indignant grunt.

You turn to him. “And you. Take her and leave before I dump water on her and she melts like the wicked witch she is.”

The villainess, not one to miss a petty opportunity, sticks her tongue out at them. You don’t stop her.

The Emperor finally finishes cackling and waves a hand. “Alright, alright. Annulment granted. Good luck cleaning up this mess.”

You turn to Ruggie, and without a word, you both high-five. It’s a perfect, satisfying smack.

The first thing you do after all the chaos is roll up your sleeves and confront the mess that was once "your" beautiful mansion. It’s cluttered with an assortment of hideous gowns, gaudy trinkets, and utterly pointless items the heroine insisted you buy.

A gold fan catches your eye—not because you like it, but because Ruggie is staring at it with the intensity of a starving man at a buffet.

“Take it,” you sigh, fondly exasperated.

Ruggie lights up like you’ve just handed him a winning lottery ticket. He mock salutes you and declares, “My eternal loyalty to you, my lord!” with the kind of dramatic flair that would make the villainess proud.

You almost laugh, but then you remember how fiercely loyal he is. You soften, ruffle his hair, and say, “Just promise me, if you ever get the chance, you’ll run for the hills.”

He frowns, mock offended. “What? And leave your kitchen un-raided? Never! You’re stuck with me.”

Your smile grows wider as you shake your head. “Fine, fine. Stay, then. But only if you keep making coffee the way I like.”

Later, as you’re tossing a truly horrifying pink lace monstrosity into the donation pile, the villainess strolls in like she owns the place.

“You know,” she says, eyeing the mess with an amused smirk, “we should throw a party.”

“A party?” you echo, already suspicious.

“Yes, a party!” she pauses, a wicked gleam in her eye, “To celebrate your freedom from Miss Overinflated Ego and her personal brick wall.”

You bark out a laugh, unable to help yourself. “You know what? Why not? Let’s celebrate. I deserve it.”

The villainess claps her hands in delight. “Perfect! I’ll handle the guest list.”

And, because she’s the villainess and can’t resist stirring the pot, she makes sure to send invitations to everyone: the heroine, the male lead, the Emperor, the Empress, and even the crown prince and the princess.

“It’s always nice to add a dash of drama,” she says, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

You just shake your head. “You’re unhinged, you know that?”

“And you’re just figuring this out?” she quips, already halfway out the door.

As she leaves, you sigh and glance at Ruggie, who’s now holding an ornate vase like he’s trying to figure out if it’s worth pawning.

“This party’s going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Ruggie grins. “Oh, absolutely. But hey, at least it’ll be entertaining.”

The rustling in the dead of night was faint, almost like the sound of a guilty conscience, but louder and significantly more annoying. Naturally, you reached for your sword, because what kind of noble sleeps without a weapon under their pillow? Amateurs, that’s who.

Tiptoeing through your dark mansion, you followed the suspicious noise, squinting in confusion as it led you... to the kitchen. The kitchen. Not the vaults, not the study with all the expensive heirlooms, but the place where snacks lived.

You paused in disbelief. Who the hell raids a kitchen? Am I getting robbed by a starving possum?

Creeping closer, you peered around the doorframe, sword raised and ready for battle, only to find—

“Ruggie,” you said flatly, and he jumped so hard he nearly hit the ceiling.

“GAH—! Don’t sneak up on people with a sword, you psychopath!” he yelped, clutching his chest like he was the victim here.

“I wasn’t sneaking, you were sneaking! In my kitchen!” you shot back, lowering your weapon.

Ruggie froze mid-cookie bite, looking every bit like a raccoon caught rifling through a trash can. “...Uh, you weren’t using this stuff?” he said, gesturing at the counter full of pilfered baked goods.

You rolled your eyes and plopped onto the floor next to him, plucking the cookie right out of his hand and taking a bite. “Well, I’m using it now.”

“Hey! That’s mine!” he protested, clutching the rest of his stash protectively.

“Is it, though? Is it really?” you countered, grinning as you chewed. He gasped dramatically, as if you’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

“Wow. Unbelievable. First you almost skewer me like I’m some thief in the night—”

“You are a thief in the night.”

“—and now you’re stealing my snacks?! You’re a menace.”

You laughed, getting up to grab some milk, because who raids a kitchen at 2 a.m. and doesn’t have milk with their cookies? While your back was turned, Ruggie sat there blinking, flustered as hell.

He’d been expecting a lecture, or at least some sarcastic comment about his “hyena instincts,” but you’d just… joined him. Like it was normal. Like you hadn’t caught him mid-cookie heist.

When you returned with two glasses of milk, you sat back down and offered him one. “You could’ve just asked, you know. I would’ve had the cook make you something.”

Ruggie stared at the glass, then at you, his ears twitching slightly. “...Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” he said with a grin, but it lacked his usual confidence.

“Fair enough,” you said, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. The two of you sat there in companionable silence, munching on cookies like a pair of delinquents at a midnight picnic.

And while you were busy enjoying your snack, Ruggie was busy trying not to spontaneously combust. The way you were so chill about catching him red-handed, the way you shared your stolen spoils without a second thought—it wasn’t fair. You treated him like an equal, like a friend, and he liked it far more than he should.

Later, when you finally left, yawning and telling him to “try not to eat the entire kitchen,” Ruggie just sat there for a while, staring at the empty glass of milk like it had all the answers.

He was doomed. So, so doomed.

The state of your estate’s finances is beyond a joke—it’s a full-blown circus, complete with clown shoes and a unicycle on fire. You’re sitting at your desk late into the night with Ruggie by your side, trying to untangle the mess left behind by the original second male lead’s truly impressive levels of idiocy.

“Why,” you groan, slamming your head onto the table, “is 12% of the regional budget allocated to the heroine’s imported perfume?”

Ruggie snorts, peeking over your shoulder at the ledger. “Wait, what? Oh, no, this gets better. Look here—3% for ‘heroine’s nails.’”

You stare at him, unblinking, as your soul slowly leaves your body. “Her. Nails.”

“Oh, but my favorite,” Ruggie says, barely suppressing his laughter, “is this one: monthly support sent to the male lead’s territory. Why? The man’s got a literal fortress of gold up north. What kind of simp were you?”

“A professional simp,” you reply dryly, shaking your head in disgust. “I’m cutting all of this. Every last drop. No more perfume fund, no more nail allowance, and definitely no more donations to the male lead’s Scrooge McDuck vault.”

By the time you’re done, the heroine’s absurd luxuries have been replaced with something actually useful. The funds are reallocated to schools for commoners, infrastructure, and most importantly, your own staff.

When you announce the changes, the staff look at you like you’ve descended from the heavens. One of the maids starts tearing up when she hears about her raise. The head butler—usually so reserved—bows so deeply you think his back might give out.

You should feel accomplished, but the ledger on your desk is still screaming chaos incarnate, and you’re barely halfway through.

It’s nearly midnight when Ruggie silently slides a cup of coffee onto the desk in front of you. He pats your shoulder, his usual teasing smile replaced with something softer.

“You’re doing good, boss,” he says quietly, almost like he’s trying not to spook you.

You’re too sleep-deprived to respond with your usual wit. Instead, you lean into his touch without thinking, resting your head against his side. Your arms wrap around his middle in a tired hug.

Ruggie freezes, a hand hovering awkwardly over your head like he’s not sure what to do. After a moment, he gives in, patting your head gently.

“You okay there?” he asks, voice tinged with a rare gentleness.

“Exhausted,” you mumble, not bothering to move.

You don’t notice the way Ruggie’s ears twitch, or how his grin softens into something almost shy.

“Well, get some rest when you can,” he murmurs, still patting your head like he’s afraid to stop.

You don’t see it, but he looks utterly smitten, like you’ve just handed him the world on a silver platter.

It’s supposed to be a quick shopping trip—in and out, you told yourself. Just something small to thank Ruggie for all his hard work. You’re scanning the shelves, debating between a sleek gold pen and a bottle of spiced honey, when you hear a low, amused voice behind you.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the drama queen himself.”

You turn to find Leona, Grand Duke of Sleep Deprivation, lounging against the nearest shelf like he’s modeling for a Royalty Weekly cover.

“Leona,” you say. “What are you doing here? Buying Cheka another excuse to follow you around?”

He scoffs. “As if. I’m just here for—” He pauses, like he can’t bring himself to admit the truth. “…Supplies.”

“Supplies?” you echo, grinning. “You mean you’re buying Cheka a treat because you’re a softie and love him?”

Leona glares, but his cheeks betray him by flushing. “Keep running your mouth and see what happens.”

You laugh, elbowing him lightly. “Relax, I think it’s cute. A Grand Duke doting on his nephew? Adorable.”

You bumped into Jack not long after, and the three of you somehow ended up making a day of it, wandering between stalls and laughing at Leona’s muttered commentary about overpriced trinkets and Jack’s earnest attempts to justify why buying locally was a good investment.

Then you saw it—a brooch glinting in the sunlight, its design simple yet elegant. It wasn’t flashy, but it reminded you of Ruggie—sharp, understated, and unexpectedly striking. Without hesitation, you bought it.

By the time you returned to your estate and handed the gift to Ruggie, you were grinning ear to ear, excited to see his reaction. He unwrapped it carefully, his eyes widening as he held the brooch up to the light.

“This… is for me?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

“Of course,” you said, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “You’ve done so much. It’s just a small thank-you.”

Ruggie turned the brooch over in his hands before looking back at you. “Can you… pin it on me?”

You blinked. “Uh, sure.”

You moved closer, carefully attaching the brooch to his lapel while hyper-focusing on not stabbing your fingers. Meanwhile, Ruggie was not focused on the brooch.

No, his attention was entirely on you—on the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way your lips pursed slightly as you worked. His chest felt tight, and he was starting to wonder if this was what it felt like to lose all sense of self-preservation.

You finally stepped back, admiring your handiwork. “There. Looks good.”

Ruggie just nodded, his throat too dry to say anything coherent. He could still feel the ghost of your touch against his chest, and it was taking everything in him not to burst into flames on the spot.

You didn’t notice his predicament, thankfully. “Well, back to work,” you said brightly, walking off.

As soon as you were out of sight, Ruggie let out a shaky breath and muttered to himself, “I’m so doomed.”

The villainess was already three glasses of wine in and laughing so hard at her own audacity, she could barely stand. “A rented lion!” she cackled, pointing dramatically at the majestic creature pacing near the garden fountains. “For the aesthetic!”

You, on the other hand, were seriously contemplating your life choices. The massive banner that screamed INDEPENDENCE DAY was hanging crookedly over the ballroom, and the air was thick with the unmistakable aroma of petty vengeance.

“I can’t believe you actually rented a lion,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

“Oh, please,” the villainess scoffed, swirling her wine like she was the protagonist of a soap opera. “This is art. You think I’m going to let those clowns think they’ve won?”

To her credit, the guests were loving it. The Emperor himself had already burst into laughter upon arrival and was gleefully elbowing the Empress, who seemed equally entertained. The Crown Prince looked ready to dig his own grave, while the Princess had stationed herself with a perfect view, sipping wine and munching on what you suspected was popcorn.

Things were going well. Too well.

The heroine and her brick wall—er, male lead—were nowhere in sight, and for the first time in your newly isekai’d existence, you allowed yourself to relax. You leaned against the wine table, sipping from your glass while watching Ruggie shamelessly stuff his pockets with sweets.

“You know, I would save you some for later,” you began, raising a brow, “at this rate, you’re going to look like a human vending machine.”

Ruggie grinned, unapologetic. “Hey, free food’s free food. You’re lucky I haven’t swiped the centerpiece yet.”

You were about to retort when the sound of clicking heels sent a chill down your spine.

The heroine had arrived.

And, oh. Oh no.

She was wearing a dress so hideous, it was almost a work of art—a monstrous blend of every fashion crime known to mankind. Glitter? Check. Feathers? Double check. A color palette that looked like someone microwaved a rainbow? You bet.

Trailing behind her was the male lead, as stoic and emotionless as ever. You half-expected someone to prop a potted plant next to him just to see if anyone could tell the difference.

The heroine took one look at the massive INDEPENDENCE DAY banner and visibly trembled with rage. For a second, you thought she was going to scream, but instead, she plastered on a disturbingly sweet smile and marched straight over to you.

“Good evening,” she greeted, her voice dripping with false politeness.

You stared at her, torn between running for your life and bursting out laughing. Before you could respond, you caught sight of the Emperor out of the corner of your eye. He was openly pointing at you now, whispering something to the Empress, who was struggling to contain her laughter.

The villainess chose this exact moment to loudly announce, “Thank you all for coming to celebrate the Duke's independence from the worst fate in history!”

The heroine’s smile twitched. You swore you heard her teeth crack under the pressure.

You were just starting to think you might survive the evening when it happened.

The male lead, previously silent, suddenly stomped forward, grabbed a glove from his pocket, and chucked it square at your face.

“Are you kidding me?” you blurted, rubbing your nose.

“I challenge you to a duel,” he growled, his first full sentence of the night.

The room went silent. Somewhere in the back, the Emperor let out a delighted laugh. The villainess looked ready to commit several felonies.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, face-palming. “I guess I have to do it now.”

As the ballroom descended into chaos, Ruggie shot you a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“You better not get hurt,” he hissed under his breath, clinging to your sleeve like a particularly annoyed cat. “I swear, if you let that walking brick wall land even one hit on you—”

“Relax, Ruggie,” you said, patting his hand. “Not only will I win, I’ll make him crawl back and return every penny I sent to his estate.”

Ruggie didn’t look convinced, but he let go, muttering something about how this whole thing was “stupid as hell.”

What you didn’t see was the way his eyes softened as he watched you step forward, or how his hands clenched into fists as the male lead unsheathed his sword.

All Ruggie knew was that he hated this—hated the way the heroine acted like she still owned you, hated the way the male lead had the audacity to challenge you, and most of all, hated the knot of fear twisting in his chest.

He refused to think about why.

The moment the male lead flung his glove at you, the atmosphere in the ballroom turned tense with excitement—or in the Emperor’s case, barely restrained glee. But just as you were resigning yourself to this absurd duel, Leona sauntered over, looking as though this entire situation was a personal insult to his time.

“Real swords? For this?” Leona gestured lazily at the male lead, his lip curling in a smirk. “You’re wasting everyone’s energy. Let’s not pretend this is anything more than a glorified temper tantrum.”

The male lead bristled but didn’t dare argue against the Grand Duke. “Then… wooden swords, if you insist,” he muttered, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

You tried to stifle a laugh as Leona smirked and clapped you on the shoulder. “You’re welcome, herbivore. Try not to embarrass yourself.”

By the time you all reached the garden, the tension had more or less deflated, and the Emperor had officially declared this the greatest event of the year. He was lounging on a cushioned seat with a glass of wine, while the Princess had claimed the spot next to him, now munching on a small pie she’d somehow procured.

The male lead, as always, had the charisma of a doorstop, stomping forward with all the grace of a falling tree. You picked up your wooden sword, internally thanking the heavens that Leona had stepped in because you weren’t in the mood to lose a limb for someone this dumb.

But just as the male lead was taking his place, he suddenly slipped.

There was a resounding thud as he fell face-first onto the ground.

“...No way,” you muttered, blinking in disbelief.

The heroine shrieked, rushing to his side. “My love! Are you hurt? Speak to me!”

He didn’t. Because the man fainted. From falling.

You froze, staring at the unmoving figure on the ground. The villainess was trying—and failing—not to burst into hysterics, while Leona let out a bark of laughter so loud it startled the lion still lounging by the fountain.

“Seriously?” you said aloud, half to yourself, half to the universe. You weren’t sure if you were horrified, embarrassed, or just... done.

You crouched down to help the heroine lift the unconscious man, despite every fiber of your being screaming not to. “Fine,” you grumbled. “Let’s get him to the carriage.”

As you heaved him up, you happened to catch a glimpse of Ruggie, standing casually by the garden path with his arms crossed. He had an innocent expression on his face—too innocent. And then, just as the heroine fussed over her fainted fiancé, you saw it: Ruggie’s foot subtly nudging a small marble out of sight, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You froze mid-step.

“...Ruggie.”

He blinked at you, all wide-eyed innocence. “Yeah, boss?”

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you loaded the male lead into the carriage with the heroine trailing after him. When you turned back, Ruggie was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Once you were out of earshot of the heroine, you flicked him on the forehead.

“Oi!” he yelped, rubbing the spot with a pout. “What was that for?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you said, crossing your arms. “Why’d you do it?”

Ruggie grinned again, completely unapologetic. “Well, I am your right-hand man, aren’t I? Gotta look out for you.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “One day, your schemes are going to get us both killed.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s a small price to pay for seeing that guy face-plant into the dirt.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, shaking your head as you waved him off. “Fine. Just… no more schemes, okay?”

“No promises, boss.”

The morning was unnervingly quiet. No bustling sounds of Ruggie banging on your door, no sly remarks about how you were sleeping in like royalty—just silence. For a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

It wasn’t until you asked the head butler about his whereabouts that the unsettling calm made sense.

“He is unwell,” the butler said with a somber tone. “He has a fever and requested the day off to rest.”

Ruggie… sick? Something about that didn’t sit right with you.

You found yourself standing in front of his door with a tray of soup in hand. The thought of someone as vibrant and energetic as Ruggie being bedridden made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to address. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

Ruggie looked wrecked. His usually sharp eyes were glazed over, and his hair was messier than usual, plastered to his forehead with sweat. His gaze met yours hazily, and the way his lips curled into the faintest semblance of a smile sent a pang through your chest.

“Boss?” he croaked out, voice scratchy.

You didn’t answer right away, just moving to his bedside and placing the tray on the table. “You look terrible,” you said softly, helping him sit up. “Eat this.”

It took some coaxing, but eventually, he let you spoon-feed him. He was quiet for once, too tired to banter, but the way he leaned into your touch as you adjusted his blanket spoke volumes.

When the soup was finished, you fussed over him—checking his temperature, brushing his hair out of his face, making sure he was comfortable.

And then, without warning, Ruggie slumped forward, his head resting on your shoulder. You stiffened in surprise, but before you could ask if he was okay, his hand gripped your sleeve weakly.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His words were slurred with exhaustion, but there was a vulnerability in them that made your heart clench.

You didn’t have the heart to refuse. Carefully, you adjusted him so he was lying more comfortably, his head still resting against your shoulder as you held him close.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered into his ear, voice softer than you thought yourself capable of. “Not until you want me to.”

When Ruggie woke up in the evening, the first thing he noticed was that he was warm and oddly comfortable. The second thing he noticed was you.

You were still holding him, sitting beside him with your back against the headboard. Your eyes were closed, head tilted slightly, but it was clear you hadn’t left his side.

Ruggie’s face turned an impressive shade of red as he tried to process the fact that it wasn’t a fever dream. He had clung to you, and you had stayed.

You stirred as he moved slightly, your eyes fluttering open. “You’re awake,” you said, voice soft and laced with sleep. “Feeling better?”

Ruggie nodded, his cheeks still burning. “Yeah… uh, thanks for… y’know. All this.”

You smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s nothing. Just… don’t get used to it, okay?”

He let out a weak chuckle, though his heart was racing. “Right. Won’t happen again.”

You stood up, suddenly eager to escape the room. “Rest up,” you said, heading for the door. “Don’t make me come back.”

As soon as the door shut behind you, Ruggie buried his face in his hands, groaning. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, still hear the soft way you’d whispered that you’d stay as long as he wanted. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and he didn’t know what to do with the newfound realization that he was in way too deep.

Meanwhile, you were in your own room, face buried in your pillow as you screamed silently. Your heart was fluttering uncontrollably, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how warm he felt against you, or the way he’d looked at you so trustingly.

“What was that?” you mumbled into your pillow, kicking your legs in frustration. “What is this? Why does it feel like this?”

The questions swirled in your mind, unresolved, until you eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion, still clutching your pillow like it could answer the million questions in your heart.

The aftermath of The Incident—as you had now dubbed it in the privacy of your screaming brain—was unbearable. If you thought working with Ruggie before had its awkward moments (like the time you accidentally said, “Goodnight, love you,” at the end of a meeting), it was nothing compared to the soul-crushing embarrassment you now lived in.

The atmosphere between you and Ruggie had changed. It wasn’t just awkward—it was the kind of awkward that could suffocate an entire room. If awkwardness could be weaponized, you and Ruggie would have already leveled three kingdoms.

Every time his hand brushed yours when passing papers, your brain short-circuited like a faulty crystal ball. Every time he brought you coffee, your chest felt warm and fuzzy, and not in the “cozy” way, but in the “I think I’m having a heart attack” way.

Just being in the same room as him turned your once-functional body into a mess of sweaty palms and wildly beating heartbeats. When did the genre of this book change from fantasy to survival horror?

And Ruggie? Oh, he wasn’t doing any better. In fact, he might have been worse.

This man had survived the slums, terrifying loan sharks, and whatever unholy concoction the heroine called “breakfast,” but this? This was a new level of torment. Every time you smiled at him, he wanted to kiss you so badly he thought his brain might explode.

Every time you thanked him for doing something as basic as his job, he had to clench his fists to stop himself from blurting out, “Marry me right now, I’ll sign a prenup, I don’t care.”

The worst part? He knew this was a one-way ticket to Heartbreak City. You were a duke—practically royalty. He was… a secretary. A secretary with zero noble lineage and a past so humble it made the word “humble” look luxurious.

His job description did not include being in love with his employer, and yet, here he was, a walking violation of the workplace etiquette handbook.

So, Ruggie pined. He pined so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t sprouted roots. He burned quietly, like a cheap candle from a market stall that melted down into a pathetic puddle of wax.

And you? You weren’t doing much better. Every night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and whisper-yelling at yourself. “Why am I like this? Why is he like this? What is happening to me? Am I dying?”

Ruggie, on the other hand, stayed awake at night dramatically sighing into his pillow. “Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered to no one in particular, clutching the imaginary vision of your face. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

The tension was so thick that even the staff noticed. The head butler had started placing bets with the gardener and the knights about who would crack first. The maids whispered conspiratorially about how long it would take before the Duke accidentally proposed during a budget meeting. The chef had taken to leaving heart-shaped biscuits in the break room just to mess with you both.

You both thought you were suffering in silence.

You weren’t.

Everyone knew. Everyone knew. And everyone was waiting for the day this slow-burn disaster finally combusted.

The garden party had started so peacefully. You’d been standing off to the side, sipping on juice and chatting with Jack and Leona, trying to ignore the usual nonsense that came with these noble gatherings. For a blissful five minutes, everything was… fine.

And then chaos erupted.

One second, you were laughing at one of Leona’s grumbled comments about the Emperor's ridiculous hat. The next, you spotted the male lead grabbing Ruggie by the collar, his expression an infuriating mixture of smugness and anger.

You didn’t think you’d ever moved so fast in your life.

Leona and Jack followed closely as you stormed across the garden, your juice long forgotten, your mind set on one thing: getting Ruggie out of that pompous idiot’s grip.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the male lead’s hand and yanked it off Ruggie with more force than strictly necessary. Your other hand automatically went to Ruggie’s shoulder, checking on him. His cheeks were flushed—whether from embarrassment, anger, or both—and he looked like he was about to say something, probably telling you to let it go. But you weren’t in the mood to let anything go.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the polite chatter of the party.

The male lead opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out, the heroine appeared, her voice grating like nails on a chalkboard.

“He needs to learn his place,” she said, crossing her arms with an air of entitlement so thick it made your teeth grind. “He’s just a secretary. He refused to fetch drinks for us. He only works for you.”

The sheer audacity of her words made your blood boil. Your hands shook, and you barely noticed Jack placing a calming hand on one of them—or the fact that your other hand had already reached for the hilt of your sword.

“I’ll show you knowing your place,” you muttered, and started to unsheathe your sword.

Jack, ever the voice of reason, gave your arm a small squeeze and shook his head, silently pleading with you to reconsider committing murder at a garden party. For now.

And that’s when it hit you.

Your fury wasn’t just about the insult. It wasn’t just about the entitlement or the injustice of the situation. It was because they’d grabbed him. Ruggie.

You’d been in love with him all along, hadn’t you? And it wasn’t the quiet kind of love, either—it was the fiery, all-consuming kind that made you want to burn the world down for him.

You turned back to Ruggie, who was standing there looking flustered but defiant, his mouth set in a line of determination even as his ears betrayed his embarrassment by twitching slightly.

You did what any sane person would do in that moment.

You grabbed him by the arm, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Right there.

In front of everyone.

There was a stunned silence for a split second before the garden party exploded into chaos. The Emperor clapped like an overexcited seal, practically shouting his delight. The princess squealed, delightedly whispering to her ladies-in-waiting, who were fanning themselves with excitement. Leona looked entirely unsurprised, like he’d been waiting for this nonsense to resolve itself for months.

Ruggie, meanwhile, stood frozen in place, his face as red as the roses lining the garden, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air like he had no idea what to do with them.

Before he could recover enough to say anything, you turned to the heroine, your voice cold and commanding.

“He’s my lover,” you declared, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I will personally write an official complaint to your family for your insult.”

The heroine’s jaw dropped. The male lead looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. The villainess, who had somehow materialized out of thin air to watch the drama, cackled so hard she spilled wine all over her gown.

You didn’t care. You wrapped an arm around Ruggie’s waist and turned on your heel, marching out of the garden with your still-dazed secretary in tow.

By the time you reached a quiet corner of the estate, Ruggie finally seemed to snap out of it. “What… What was that?” he asked, his voice half a squeak, his face still bright red.

“That,” you said, your voice softening as you looked at him, “was me making it clear to everyone that I’m not letting you go. Ever.”

Ruggie stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find the words, but none were coming. You couldn’t help but grin.

“Take your time,” you teased. “But just so you know, you’re stuck with me now. Hope you’re okay with that.”

He laughed weakly, shaking his head. “Stuck with you? Boss, I think you’ve got it backward. I’m not going anywhere.”

Later that evening, you found yourself in the quiet glow of your study, seated across from Ruggie. He was fidgeting, avoiding your gaze, his usual sharp wit dulled by the tension hanging between you. You had dragged him here after the chaos of the garden party, determined to finally clear the air.

He finally looked at you, and it was like something cracked open in his expression—raw, vulnerable, terrified. “Boss,” he started, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “you don’t… you don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” you asked, leaning forward, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his hand trembling slightly. “You’re… you. You’re a duke, you’re incredible, you’re—” He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “And I’m me. I’ve spent my whole life scraping by, looking out for myself. I’m not… someone people keep. I’m not someone people love.”

“Ruggie—”

“No, listen.” He ran a hand through his hair, his words tumbling out in a rush. “You think you love me now, but you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not enough. That I can’t give you what someone else could. And it’s gonna—” His voice cracked. “It’s gonna shatter me if I let myself believe this could work, and then you leave.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him, the weight of his fears laid bare. This cunning, resilient hyena, who could outwit anyone and charm his way out of anything, was utterly lost when it came to your love.

“I’m not going to leave,” you said firmly, standing and walking over to him.

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You say that now—”

You grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at you. “Ruggie,” you said, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings, “do you have any idea how much I ache for you?”

His breath hitched, his eyes wide as he stared at you like you’d just spoken a language he didn’t understand.

“You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cunning as hell. And you’ve been utterly blind to the fact that I’ve been completely in love with you this entire time,” you continued, your voice rising slightly. “You’ve got this idea in your head that you’re not enough, but you are. You’ve been my priority for a long time now, and there’s no one who could ever match me like you do.”

He tried to pull away, but you didn’t let him. Instead, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, desperate and full of all the love you hadn’t been able to put into words.

For a moment, he froze. Then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and he kissed you back like you were the only thing keeping him alive. It wasn’t graceful—Ruggie never did anything by halves. It was messy and raw and so full of affection it made your knees weak.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his breath on your skin.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you,” you whispered. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m yours, Ruggie. Completely.”

His laugh was watery, breaking slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Probably,” you said, smiling through the tears that threatened to spill over.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You mean it?”

“With everything I am.”

His lips quirked into a shaky smile before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming. When he pulled back, he let out a breathless laugh, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“I’m never gonna stop teasing you about this,” he said, his voice trembling but light.

“You’d better not,” you replied, grinning at him.

And for the first time, you saw it—the way he looked at you, like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

The Empress swept into your estate like a regal hurricane, her entourage trailing behind her like obedient leaves in the wind. You barely had time to register her arrival before she was striding up to you, her heels clicking with authority.

“Duke,” she greeted you, her smile warm but her eyes glinting with mischief. “We need to talk.”

Oh no. Those were words that could make even the bravest soul break into a sweat.

She dragged you into a private corner of the drawing room, her grip iron despite the delicate lace gloves she wore. Once you were sufficiently isolated from prying ears, she fixed you with a conspiratorial grin.

“So,” she began, leaning in like she was about to share the kingdom’s deepest secrets. “When’s the wedding?”

You blinked. “...Your Majesty?”

She pouted like a child denied dessert. “Don’t play coy. The whole court saw your little garden party performance. The kiss? The declaration of love? The scandal! It was delightful.” She clasped her hands together dreamily. “I give it five stars. Now, when are you making it official?”

You stared at her, feeling like you’d just been hit by a runaway carriage. “We just confessed to each other two days ago.”

“And?”

“And?!” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “Your Majesty, we’ve barely had time to process our feelings, let alone plan a wedding!”

She sighed, clearly unimpressed with your lack of urgency. “Fine, I’ll give you time. But don’t take too long. The court thrives on drama, and you’re the main event right now.”

Before you could respond to that absurdity, she straightened, her expression shifting from playful to businesslike. “Now, on to more pressing matters. I came here to ask if you’d like to file a formal complaint against the heroine.”

“Oh, you know,” she said airily, inspecting her nails. “For the garden party incident, her persistent attempts to undermine your relationship, the time she cheated on you, and, oh yes, the money laundering."

If you were a better person, perhaps you’d have been moved to forgiveness. Maybe you’d have found it in your heart to let bygones be bygones. But alas, you were not that person.

“I want to sue her to the last penny,” you said, your voice flat but resolute.

The Empress’s smile was nothing short of gleeful. “Excellent. Trial will be held next week. My son, the Crown Prince, will preside over the case.”

“Wait,” you said, frowning. “The Crown Prince? Isn’t that a bit—”

“Messy?” She finished for you, her grin widening. “Of course it is. But what’s politics without a little chaos? Besides, he could use the practice.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering how your life had spiraled into such madness.

The Empress patted your shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Duke. I’m sure you’ll win. And if not, well, at least the trial will be the most entertaining thing the court has seen in decades.”

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving you standing there, wondering how suing your ex-fiancée had somehow become a royal spectacle.

The trial was absurd. It had all the seriousness of a court proceeding mixed with the dramatic flair of a poorly written soap opera.

Every time the prince asked the heroine a simple question—“Did you steal the money?”—she would dissolve into a sobbing mess, dramatically wailing about how she “never meant for this to happen.” And every time, the male lead would grunt sympathetically, rubbing her back like a mother comforting a toddler who scraped their knee.

It would’ve been almost sweet if they weren’t both complete imbeciles and if the male lead didn’t still have a massive bump on his forehead from his earlier slip-and-faint incident. The man looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a marble and lost. Spectacularly.

You, sitting there in the gallery, were one sob away from walking out. The princess, who was co-presiding with her brother, looked two seconds away from leaning over and smashing her gavel just to make the crying stop.

Finally, the prince, clearly regretting every life choice that led him here, pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to you. “Do you want the money back?” he asked, his voice deadpan.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you said, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. “And also the money I sent to the male lead… on the heroine’s insistence.”

The princess blinked. “You gave him money? Why?”

“Because I’m an idiot with too much patience,” you muttered, throwing a pointed glare at the heroine. She sniffled, clearly offended that you didn’t love being conned like a fool.

The prince let out a deep sigh, the kind that said he was done. “Fine. You win. Everything will be returned to you. This trial is over.”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, interrupted only by the heroine’s gasp. “That’s it?! You’re just taking their side?” she cried, clutching the male lead’s arm like a lifeline.

“I am taking the side of my own sanity,” the prince snapped, slamming his gavel down. “You, will be assigned to community service for your insensitive comments.”

“Community… service?” she squeaked.

“Yes. Community service. Volunteering, cleaning up public spaces, helping out—actual work for people who aren’t you. It’ll be good for your character,” the princess said, smiling sweetly, which only made it worse.

“And as for you,” the prince continued, turning to the male lead, “you’re being sent on probation. In the North. Until further notice.”

The male lead blinked, his hand frozen mid-rub on the heroine’s back. “I have to go back to the North?”

“Yes. It’s cold, it’s boring, and it’s far away. Enjoy.”

By the time the trial ended, you were practically skipping out of the courtroom, feeling vindicated and maybe a little petty. The heroine, meanwhile, was still sobbing, the male lead looked like he wanted to protest but didn’t have the brain cells to formulate a counterargument, and the prince was rubbing his temples like he’d aged ten years in one afternoon.

Justice? Achieved. And it was glorious.

Ruggie had always been good at acting like nothing flustered him. It was practically a survival skill at this point—quick with a joke, quicker with an excuse, and faster than anyone else when it came to running away from situations he didn’t want to deal with.

But despite your confessions, despite the months that had passed, he still treated you more like a boss than a lover. You didn’t mind, not really—he made sure you were fed, handled your schedule with cutthroat efficiency, and somehow managed to keep both the court and your enemies at bay with nothing but charm and underhanded tactics.

The problem was, he still blushed like a maiden whenever you so much as held his hand.

It was hilarious.

The first time you kissed his cheek in front of some nobles, he nearly choked on air and then tried to play it off like you’d just hit him with an unexpected tactical strike.

The second time, you whispered something sweet in his ear, and he almost dropped the stack of documents he was carrying—almost. His reflexes were too sharp for that, but he still shot you a look like you’d personally thrown him off a cliff.

So naturally, when you cornered him in your office one day and asked, "Ruggie, do you wanna marry me?"—you were prepared for some kind of reaction.

You weren’t prepared for absolute silence.

His ears twitched. His tail flicked. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked like a man staring directly into the sun and realizing, all too late, that he had nowhere to hide.

Your heart sank. You weren’t sure what answer you’d expected, but hesitation wasn’t it.

“…Never mind,” you said, pulling back, smoothing over the moment like it was just another conversation. “Take your time.” And because he still looked like you’d asked him to solve advanced calculus on the spot, you reached up, pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and whispered, "I'll see you at dinner."

Then you left, because you weren’t cruel enough to make him answer right away.

Dinner was… tense.

Not outwardly, no—Ruggie still stole extra servings off your plate, still flicked a pea at you when he thought no one was looking, still made a sharp comment about how the nobles were painfully useless for people who wore so much gold.

But his ears kept twitching. His tail was restless. And when you finally—gently—asked, "Alright, what's up?" he looked at you like you’d caught him stealing from your vault.

Then, slowly, he pulled out a ring.

Not just any ring. It was old, worn with time, but polished with care. A deep blue stone sat in the center, catching the light like the sky before a storm.

Ruggie took a breath, then said, "It’s my grandma’s. Been in the family forever." He hesitated, then pushed it towards you, still not quite meeting your eyes. "I want you to have it."

You stared. Your chest tightened. "Ruggie—"

He shifted, ears flattening. "I only hesitated ‘cause—‘cause I didn’t know if you’d even want it. Y’know. Since you got all this—" He gestured vaguely to your wealth, to the ridiculous palace you lived in, to everything he wasn’t.

That was possibly the dumbest thing you’d ever heard.

You slid the ring on immediately.

Then, with zero warning, you grabbed him by the waist, spun him around like you were sweeping him off his feet (because you were), and kissed him.

The yelp he let out was glorious.

“Oi—what the hell—”

“You absolute idiot,” you whispered against his lips, grinning. “You think I’d ever say no to you?”

He was so red. You’d never let him live this down.

But after a moment, he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Guess I'm stuck with ya now, huh?"

"You're the one who proposed, Ruggie," you pointed out, smirking.

"...Tch. You asked me first!"

"And you made me wait."

Ruggie groaned dramatically, but there was no real annoyance in it—just affection.

Hand in hand, still bickering, still laughing, you walked back to your office.

This time, engaged.

Jack was the first to react.

The moment the words left your mouth—"We're engaged."—he nearly knocked over his drink in his rush to stand. "Congratulations!" he said, voice full of genuine warmth, his tail wagging just slightly despite his usual composed demeanor.

Ruggie, ever the smug little menace, leaned back in his chair, lazily draping an arm over yours like this wasn’t the most important announcement of his life. “’Course we are,” he said, grinning. “I mean, who else could put up with him, right?”

The casual act might’ve been more convincing if he hadn’t kept sneaking little glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The Empress, meanwhile, was beyond pleased.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” she declared, practically vibrating with excitement. “Naturally, I shall officiate.”

“Excuse me?” The Emperor raised a brow. “Why do you get to officiate?”

“I called it first, obviously,” she said, as if this was an unquestionable truth of the universe.

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is if I win.”

The room watched in fascinated silence as the rulers of the entire empire prepared to settle this with the most sacred of duels: rock, paper, scissors.

The battle was tense. The atmosphere, electric. The stakes, higher than ever.

And in the end—

“Ha! Paper beats rock!” The Empress shot her husband a triumphant look, eyes gleaming. “Looks like I win, darling.”

The Emperor sighed, but he took the loss with grace, muttering something about “marrying them off in spirit” while the rest of the room moved on like this wasn’t the most absurd thing to witness at a royal event.

The princess wasted no time.

She practically lunged across the table, grabbing your hands with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you invite me to the wedding party? Please? Please? I’ll be so good, I promise.”

“…You’re literally a princess,” you said, raising a brow. “You could just be in the wedding party.”

“Yes, but it’s more fun if you invite me yourself.”

The prince, the only normal one here, merely gave you a polite smile and a firm pat on the back—a little too firm. Ruggie snickered when you nearly stumbled forward.

Leona, of course, was the least surprised out of everyone. He just gave you a lazy grin and said, “’Bout time.”

Typical.

And as you sat there, hand in hand with Ruggie, surrounded by friends (and also an unreasonably competitive royal couple), you had a thought.

Reading that trash novel was the best thing you could've ever done.

Complete Masterlist ; Series Masterlist

It's been a while since I did one of these, who do y'all wanna see next in this series?

[reallyreallyreallytrying]

there's probably so many cool vintage north face jackets in that one mount everest crevasse that everyone dies in. but the living may not get them...

[bcacstuff]

Exploring the Hunku - By Jake Norton (part 1)

I guess part of me has always been an explorer.

No, not that kind of capital "E" Explorer - I haven’t discovered new lands, walked off the map, completed bold first ascents or any of that headline-grabbing stuff. But, I’ve been fortunate enough in my travels and adventures to wander off the beaten path somewhat, to explore terrain that, if not new to the world, is new to me, unfamiliar in all ways, be it on Everest’s North Face, the slopes of Gurla Mandhata, my own back yard, or elsewhere.

Our venture up the Hunku Khola from Chheskam to Kongme Dingma was just such an exploration. Sam and I and our team were not in uncharted waters; if we’re being honest, there is little in Nepal outside the extreme alpine realm that has not seen the feet of a herder or the staff of wandering ascetic over the ages. No, the Hunku is well known to the Kulung Rai and other locals, but not so to the outside world. I know of only a handful of people who have been up there before, one being Tim Macartney-snape, and if you know him and his history he’s not one for following the known path. So on December 6, we headed off into the somewhat unknown.

Sunset at camp 1 on the Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail at the Mangan Khola.

Sam hikes up through lush forests of the Hunku Valley.

Our amazing team taking a breather.

New ways to traverse cliffside trails.

Steep and slick but full of beauty.

The new trail - dubbed by the excited community of Mahakulung as the Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail - follows the Hunku Khola as it roars through a narrow canyon of its own creation. Unlike many treks in the Nepal Himalaya - and quite different than its nearby neighbor, Khumbu - this trail ambles through dense jungle, towering forests of East Himalayan Fir (Abies spectabilis), Musure Katus (Himalayan beech, Castanopsis tribuloides), Bull oak (Quercus lamellosa), Himalayan birch (Betula utilis), and rhododendron (both falconeri and arboreum). It’s a misty place as well, with afternoon cloud wafting up the valley, enshrouding the landscape in mystical ether turning to ethereal ice during the night.

While the Hunku finds its source up high in the melting ice of the Hunku Glacier on Baruntse and the alpine lakes of Seto Pokhari and Paanch Pokhari, its power is fed downstream by countless tributaries large and small, azure cascades coming down from numerous unnamed 5,000 meter peaks and larger, named ones like Naulekh and Mera. Thankfully, the municipalities of Mahakulung (Gudel, Bung, and Chheskam) built bridges across most, ranging from simple trusses to deluxe covered bridges and simple sticks-on-rocks for yet others still.

Sam shows his excitement at finding scat of a large leopard on the trail.

Bamboo tickets and high peaks.

A new bridge on day 3 crossing a tributary to the Hunku Khola. Bridges were built by locals from Mahakulung.

A new suspension bridge crosses the Hunku Khola on day 4.

Chilly mornings.

The boys on a break. Left to right: Sam Heughan, Tshering Dorje Sherpa, Gopal Magar, Karka Kulung Rai, and Jhanak Karki.

Sam crosses a less-modern - and fully iced - bridge on the upper Hunku Khola.

Porters crossing an old wooden bridge on the Hunku Khola.

Our trail - choked at times with bamboo or slick with mud, glazed with ice - meandered along the Hunku’s path. Folded as they are, the Himalaya do not lend themselves to easy trails, however, and the Muddhi-Kongmedingma is no exception: a straight line from Point A to Point B is rarely possible, with Ridge C and Valley D more often standing in the way. While most days the trail had a net gain of about 1500 vertical feet, we’d easily double that with ups and downs along the way.

But, that’s not to say days were hard; they were, taken all together, about perfect. Much of that is thanks to our team, and wonderfully motley crew of folks helping schlep our gear and prepare meals and keep us company along the way. And, this being the first real commercial trip up the valley, we never knew with certainty where the next flat ground would be found and if it would have water nearby. So, some days were cut short, some were stretched longer. Vagaries of the valley forced the abandonment of one acclimatization day at Watelma Chaur, but to little consquence: we were nimble, Sam was strong, our team able.

Six days of fairly magical, mystical trekking took us through climatic zones from forest to alpine, through sun and snow and ice, mornings of frost to afternoons of heat and frigid nights tempered by a blazing fire. We found scat from jungle cats (Asiatic wildcat? Maybe, but quite doubtful.) and leopards (common or snow, we do not know), enjoyed unspoiled nature at its best, and barely a trace of humanity - not a lodge, not a house, not a helicopter or plane. The only person outside our team we encountered until Khumbu was a resourceful Sherpa named Gelu from near Bung who heard of our affinity for both jhway kathe (raksi heated and adorned with sauteed fenugreek) and tongba (fermented millet prepared as a delicious hot drink) and decided we were a good business proposition, hauling several liters of both in his doko up valley. (Note, his instincts proved remarkably correct.)

Jhanak Karki, skull shaman.

Keeping warm by the fire at camp on day 4.

Misty morning majesty.

Fresh snow helped make day 5 on the Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail even more stunning.

Steep and slippery demands creativity.

Sam enjoys a cold head shower along the trail.

Sun, shadow, and cloud play on the shoulders of Naulekh.

Sunset at our tiny cliff camp on the Hunku Khola.

Eventually, we emerged from the forest some 2500 feet below Kongme Dingma and entered the subalpine zone. Here, along with incresingly majestic views of Naulekh and Peak 41 and Chamlang and more, we bushwhacked for an hour through sprawling hillsides of sunpati (dwarf rhododendron, or Rhododendron anthopogon), which is used in most incense from South Asia. So strong and fresh, every step released a burst of aroma making the whole valley akin to walking around Bodhanath during times of prayer. Amazing.

And then, the pain began.

Not bad pain, but certainly some, the hurt of altitude and the cold that comes along with it, the toll extracted physiologically, penance for the privilege of the high country. And, like a first marathon or a first drunk, it hits the uninitiated hardest. We made it to Kongme Dingma, a small, vacant settlement at 15,750 feet, windswept and austere beneath the towering giants of Peak 41, Naulekh, and Chamlang. For Sam and Jhanak, each step of the last 3000+ feet was an altitude record, and inevitably the night brought with it headache and lassitude, the hallmarks up here. But, they fired back with their own hallmarks - grit and positivity.

We spent the night sheltering from demonic, 60 mph wind gusts under Gelu’s tarp-roofed hut. Dung-seasoned dust whipped about as we ate dal bhat, played cards with the team, laughed and talked and smiled and knew that this too would pass, tomorrow would dawn another day.

Altitude is a fickle thing, each person’s specific physiology responding differently to it. Until you’ve been up high, it’s generally a mystery as to how you’ll do, how your body will adapt - or not - to the dearth of oxygen. Some do well, some less so, but most will get it sorted out if given time and tools. Time is the keystone, as the body is working overtime to produce red blood cells and increase hypoxic efficiency; thus, a day off, an active rest day, at Kongme Dingma was essential to let the body do its thing.

Sam taking it all in as we leave the forest and enter the alpine.

Chamlang - the sentinel of the Hunku - was hidden for days but finally shows itself in the upper valley.

Gelu, our friend and beverage purveyor, stops for a tea and dal bhat break on the trail.

Sam Heughan taking it all in high on the Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail.

Enjoying the views high on the Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail.

(more in part 2 of this article)

[trashytoastboi]

🍄 Trafalgar Law Masterlist 🍄

Part 1

🍄 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Kid x S/O – Reacting to them crying in front of them for the first time

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Kid, Ace x S/O who is afraid of thunder and being comforted during a heavy storm

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Kid, Luffy reacting to seeing their timid S/O angry for the first time

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Zoro, Katakuri reacting to a messy kitchen when S/O tried to cook for them

🍄 Fluff Alphabet: Law, Kid, X-Drake – C, P, Y

🍄 Fluff Alphabet: Law, Katakuri – O, L, V

🍄 SFW & NSFW Headcanons: Law, Katakuri x S/O

🍄 Headcanons: Zoro, Ace, Law, Shanks - Reacting to their S/O baking a cake for them

🍄 Scenarios: Law, Ace, Zoro x Drunk! Reader - “Teach me how to kiss?”

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Kid, X-Drake - Reacting to their crew throwing them a surprise party

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Zoro, Ace x F! Keyblade Wielder

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Zoro, Marco, Katakuri x S/O who is afraid of physical intimacy due to past trauma

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Zoro, Luffy x Crewmate who has a tendency to wander off

🍄 Headcanons: Killer, Law, Sanji x Small! S/O

🍄 Scenarios: Zoro, Law, Ace x Small! S/O discovering their S/O has a massive bounty

🍄 Headcanons: Law, X-Drake, Zoro reacting to their S/O confessing they used to be a bounty hunter

🍄 Headcanons: Roommate Au! X-Drake and Trafalgar Law as Roommates; Noir Detective AU! X-Drake and Trafalgar Law as partners.

🍄 Headcanons: Bodyguard AU! Ace, Sabo, Law

🍄 Headcanons: Bodyguard AU! Ace, Law, Shanks

🍄 NSFW Headcanons – Trafalgar Law and fingering

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Kid, Zoro, Ace – Reaction to their S/O cosplaying as them.

🍄 Scenario: Modern AU! x L’ascension – Law! x Reader who climbs Mount Everest for him.

🍄 NSFW Scenario: Law with Shy! F! S/O who wants to try some light bondage.

🍄 Headcanons: College AU! X-Drake and Law

🍄 Headcanons: Vivi, Kid, Law – Reaction to their partner telling them they are Asexual

🍄Headcanons: Jealous Law

🍄 Short Headcanons: Law, Kid, Ace - Reaction to their S/O burping

🍄Headcanons: Zoro, Kid, Law, Luffy - with a S/O who has a Buster sword

🍄 Headcanons: Sanji, Law, Kid, Killer - First kiss

🍄 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Kid - Reacting to their F! S/O suddenly crying because of how much she loves him

🍄 Headcanons: Ace, Luffy, Law, X-Drake – With extremely kind, caring and protective S/O

🍄 Headcanons: Modern AU! Law teaching Rosinante (Corazon) how to use technology

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Ace, Katakuri, Robin, Zoro – Reacting to their crush that is super wary about sleeping around other people but is fine with them

🍄 Headcanons: Roadtrip AU! Kid x Law – Road trip

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Kid, Sanji – Reaction to their S/O getting compliments and being approached in public for their looks

🍄 Headcanons: Sanji, Law, Zoro - With S/O who is afraid of wind

🍄 Headcanons: X-Drake, Law, Zoro – At an amusement park with their S/O

🍄 Headcanons: Sanji, Zoro, Law, Sabo – Meeting F! Nobody (Kingdom Hearts)

🍄 Scenario: Law x F! S/O – Alternative tickle torture for a missing hat

🍄 Headcanons: SFW and NSFW – Law and facial hair

🍄 Headcanons: Marco, Ace, Law – Reaction to finding their calm and quiet S/O bashing someone’s face through a wall

🍄 NSFW Scenario: Dom! Law x Easily flustered Sub! F! S/O – Floorshow

🍄 Headcanons: Crocodile, Luffy, Law, Kid with Short! Male! S/O who collapses with a fever due to carelessness for his health

🍄 Headcanons: North Blue Boys – Sanji, Law, Hawkins, Drake at a sleep over

🍄 Headcanons: Ace, Law, X-Drake – with F! Reader who sings to express her feelings and they accidentally discover her crush via song

🍄 Headcanons: Zoro, Ace, Law, Kid – with a S/O who sleeps with their eyes open

🍄 Scenario: Modern AU x Mafia AU. Mafia Law x F! Artist – One Final Portrait

🍄 Scenario:Modern AU! x Mafia AU! Mafia! Law X F! Artist Part 2 - A dangerous attraction

🍄 Headcanons: Adoption AU! Donquixote Rosinante and Trafalgar Law

🍄 Headcanons: Marco, Ace, Law – with a S/O who possess a demon devil fruit

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Zoro, Robin – with Tiny! S/O who has a devil fruit with Number 5’s (Umbrella Academy) ability

🍄 Scenario: Modern AU! x Spy AU! – Spy! Law with F! Mind Reader - A Thoughtful Coincidence

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Zoro, Luffy - #11. Making the other laugh & #28. Threesome

🍄 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Sanji x F! Crush that says easily misunderstood things.

🍄 Scenario: Law x Reader - #19. I can’t sleep, can I stay here?

🍄Short Scenario: Law x Tiny! S/O - #1 Could I borrow your jacket/clothing?

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Hawkins, Sanji, X-Drake at a Sora convention

🍄 Scenario: Law x F! S/O – Unusual happenings upon the Polar Tang

🍄 Headcanons: #37. Hostclub AU – Law, X-Drake, Kid

🍄 NSFW Headcanons: Dom! Law x Shy! F! S/O – Secretly loves and wants to try bondage when she accidentally tells Law

🍄 Headcanons: Modern AU! Sabo, X-Drake, Law as celebrities

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Whitebeard, Gol D. Roger, Crocodile, Shanks – Crossing paths with an extremely strong girl and them falling in love

🍄 Headcanons: Law, Whitebeard, Gol D. Roger, Crocodile, Shanks with F! S/O who is very curious and ends up in dangerous situations

🍄 Headcanons: Luffy, Ace, Zoro, Law – Meeting Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Goofy

🍄 Short Scenarios: X-Drake #3. You’re endearing when you’re half asleep; Law #4. I’ll stay up with you; Hawkins #5. Can I hold your hand?

🍄 NSFW Headcanons: Doflamingo, Crocodile, Law, Smoker - #26. Aphrodisiac

🍄 Scenario: Law x F! S/O #19. I can’t sleep, can I stay here?

🍄 Short Scenario: Yandere! Law x S/O - #6. Possessiveness

🍄 NSFW Headcanons: Ace, Zoro, Mihawk, Sabo, Law – Reacting to S/O being brought to tears of pleasure

🍄 NSFW Headcanons - Ace, Sabo, Zoro, Law with S/O who uses their safeword

🍄 Scenario: Law x S/O - Explaining Hakuna Matata to a stressed out Law

🍄 Headcanons Law, Luffy, Zoro, Ace x S/O that loves horror

🍄 Headcanons: Sabo, Law, X-Drake with S/O who is afraid of the dark

🍄 Short Scenarios: Dad! Kid, Dad! Law, Dad! Zoro, Dad! Crocodile with extremely shy daughter who has the tendency to hide away

🍄 Scenario: Law + Zoro x F! Keyblade wielder – A Matter of Heart

🍄 NSFW Headcanons: Law, Sanji, Zoro

🍄 Scenario: Law x S/O – The Law That Broke the Camels Back

🍄 Headcanons: Rosinante (Corazon) and Law planning to prank Doflamingo

🍄 Scenario: Modern AU x Mafia AU – Mafia Boss! Law x F! Spy! – Never Play the King of Hearts

🍄 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Zoro, Sanji x S/O – Hinting at some intimate time together with a S/O that misunderstands their meaning

🍄 Headcanons: Modern AU! x College AU! – Law, Bepo, Shachi, Penguin and Reader – Playing Among Us

🍄 Headcanons: Sabo, Law, Katakuri x S/O who can manipulate memories

🍄 Headcanons: Law x Love Sick! Yandere-ish F! Reader

🍄 Headcanons: Kid, Zoro, Law, Sabo x F! S/O who has a cursed flower in her right eye

🍄 Scenario: Modern AU! x Vampire AU! - Vampire! Law x F! Reader – Nocturna Fatalis

🍄 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Zoro, Sanji x S/O – Who is very honest with their thoughts and feelings

🍄 Headcanons: Yandere! Zoro, Yandere! Ace, Yandere! Law, Yandere! Sanji x S/O

🍄 Scenario: Law x F! S/O – The Scales of Punishment Are Always Tipped In Your Favour.

🍄 Headcanons: Zoro, Ace, Law, Sabo x S/O who is unusual and mysterious

🍄 Headcanons: X-Drake, Law, Kid x S/O – Reacting to their S/O cutting their long hair to them during a fight

🍄 NSFW Scenario: Law x F! S/O - How Many Laws Are Too Many?

🍄 Headcanons: Law and the Heart Pirates meeting Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, Tigger and Eeyore.

🍄 NSFW Headcanons: Benn, Law, Ace, Mihawk x Virgin! S/O

🍄 NSFW Scenario: Law x Shy! F! S/O - A Touch of Rough

🍄 Scenario: Law x Crush! Reader – Sunset

🍄 Headcanons: Modern AU! – North Blue Boys (Sanji, Law, X-Drake, Hawkins) sharing a house.

🍄 Headcanons: Law x emotionally sensitive S/O

🍄 Headcanons: Luffy, Smoker, Doflamingo, Law – Meeting young Xehanort (Kingdom Hearts)

🍄 Headcanons: Sabo, X-Drake, Law x S/O who used to be a Cipher-Pol Agent

🍄 NSFW Scenario: Sadistic Dom! Law x F! Shy Sub! S/O – In Need of Discipline

[strongafmummytourney]

ROUND 1

CONTENDER 1: BEECHEY ISLAND MUMMIES

Also known as: Franklin Expedition Mummies, John Shaw Torrington, John Hartnell, William Braine Age(s): 19-20 (Torrington), 25 (Hartnell), 32 (Braine) Location: Beechey Island/Iluvialuit, Nunavut, Canada Means of Mummification: Burial in permafrost Notable features: Preserved soft tissues and cartilage including eyes, nose, lips, and internal organs. Hair preserved with color intact. Clothes preserved.

CONTENDER 2: GEORGE HERBERT LEIGH-MALLORY

Age: 37 Location: Mount Everest's North Face, Tibet Means of Mummification: Subzero mountain temperatures and dry air Notable features: Known for his incredible posterior in life and in death. Some climbing gear intact.

[joeinct]

The North Face of Everest By Moonlight with Star Tracks, Photo by Marion L. Patterson, 1981

[the-olympics-olympics]

Weird Olympic Moments Tournament

To celebrate (?) the Paris 2024 Olympic Games starting in a few weeks, I thought I'd run another Olympic-themed poll tournament. This time, we're diving into history and getting to know some of the stranger, lesser-known stories of the Games.

Polls will run for a week, and the tournament should last until around early September if I'm doing my math right. The first polls will begin Monday, July 15th.

At the end, we'll award a gold, silver, and bronze to the top three.

After many hours on Wikipedia and the IOC website, here's the list of moments I came up with:

Horse vaulting

Pigeon racing

Sarajevo venues damaged in war

Mayor of Montreal says "The Olympics can no more lose money than a man can have a baby," then proceeds to host one of the most financially disastrous Games in history

George Eyser wins six medals after being run over by a train

Solo synchronized swimming

Crowd gets pooped on by 25,000 pigeons

Flame is taken to top of Mount Everest

Margaret Abbot dies without knowing she made history as the first US woman to win gold

Brazilian team has to sell coffee to afford the trip to Los Angeles

A teenager's "dumb idea" becomes Olympic tradition (athletes marching together in closing ceremony)

St. Louis experiments with "purposeful dehydration", denies water to marathon runners

Kanakuri Shizō takes 54 years to finish his race

Mt. Vesuvius moves the Olympics to London

They stop doing the Olympic salute for some reason

IOC President compares a terrorist attack to a vote to ban a racist country

The Olympics goes 88 years without letting women run marathons

Olympic flame transmitted via satellite

Northern Rhodesia declares independence during Olympics, changes name to Zambia

Vancouver 2010 cauldron malfunction

Montreal 1976 stadium is finally paid off in 2006

The curse of the Beijing 2008 mascots

Everest climbers get gold medals

Sochi snowflake malfunction

They hold the Olympics in 1906, then later say it doesn't count

Colorado kicks the Olympics out

Flame hidden from view after anti-gay law

Summer Olympics held during Winter

Haiti and Liechtenstein discover they had the same flag

Riot at the 1924 rugby match

McDonald's gives out more Big Macs than they expected

Chamonix 1924 retroactively named the Winter Olympics

Doves burned during cauldron lighting

Torchbearer takes olympic flame down a ski jump

Medals made of e-waste

Shooter aims for wrong target, loses gold

Olympic torch passed on International Space Station

Alien addresses crowd

Figure skating debuts at Summer Olympics

Olympics held on two different continents

Rio organizers lose key to stadium gate

Baron de Coubertin wins a gold medal under false identity

1960 winter games held in city named for an ethnic slur

Obstacle Swimming

North Korea considered to co-host 1988

Housing complex for American soldiers during the occupation of Japan becomes the Olympic village

Torch design changed mid-relay

Cauldron lit by flaming arrow

Last three seconds of basketball final replayed three times until results changed

St. Louis threatens to hold their own Olympics if they don't get named host city

Fatso the Fat-Arsed Wombat

Balloon racing

Delirious man carried over finish line by coaches, wins marathon

Summer Olympics held in November and December

Olympics postponed for COVID

Blue screen of death appears during opening ceremony

Marathon runner attacked by priest

Guy kicks referee in the face and (maybe) ends up on a stamp

Jet pack flies over stadium

Centennial games not awarded to a very confident Athens

LA 84 gets in trouble for commercializing the torch relay

Olympic flame relit with cigarette lighter

Rower stops for ducks

Nazi propaganda becomes Olympic tradition (torch relay)

Did I miss a great weird moment? Send it to me in an ask and I might do a round 2 or something!

I chose the moments based on my own personal bias (lol)

Heads up that there is one that involves the death of animals, but I will tag any polls with that #tw animal death

Please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything else tagged, and how to tag it!

Also, a disclaimer that I'm tired and scatterbrained and I work full time, so if this gets a little disorganized I apologize. Shouldn't be too bad though.

Let the games begin, and whatnot

@tournament-announcer :)

[genderlessjacky]

ANOTHER ONE!!! @slumbrr-r

Two variations because I couldn't choose which one 🥹 anyways the new chapter released how are we feeling chat

Facts about my sillies down below because there are coming with EVERY one of these I make (because it's the only time I get to share them </3 no doodles this time though, I am working on a few)

(also warning, a LOT of yapping)

ages : Shrimpo (14-16) , Toots (10-12) , Holmes (mid 30's but has back pain of someone in their late 40s someone get him ibuprofen)

Shrimpo has a genuinely horrid sense of direction like Roronoa Zoro levels, he can build a robot arm for his dad but gun to his head he CANNOT follow a map with very clear instructions , I'm 99% sure he stills needs to do the hand thing to tell from left to right , if you ask him 'where is north' he points upwards . He also has TERRIBLE aim , like sure he can aim a punch to someone's face but if you're talking about shooting , just give it to a blind toon they will shoot more accurately

Toots has a very high pain tolerance because of her augmented ability, which is a bad thing actually because at times she would be like "yippee I didn't get injuried :)" and she has a stab wound on her left leg and she gets constant infections because of this , her immune system is a war veteran

She also like to climb toons / she's very clingy, like hopping on people's shoulders, hanging on their arm ectect, she mostly does it to her own family but she sometimes can't break the habit with other toons .

The difference between Toots and Shrimpos separation anxiety is that he tries to act chill about being alone before spiralling 30 minutes later and toots just clings onto people subconsciously and is VERY vocal about not wanting to be alone , but both don't know why they feel like this

Toots eats like she just got out of a 50 year prison sentence and Holmes eats slower then a snail attempting climbing to Mount Everest and probably succeeding (either chatting with other toons, reading his research notes ectect) . Shrimpo is the only normal eater among them

Holmes is probably banned from caffeine by brisktea personally . He also has horrid chickenscratch handwriting , like his notes are only for him to see and nobody else . His pair of goggles are for aesthetic purposes, moments when he needs to actually use it he has one one-eye-goggle tucked in his coat

Toots and Shrimpo have a dipper-mabel sibling dynamic (or Leo and Donnie from Rottmnt if you get the reference) but if Dipper was a bit more punch happy and Mabel started biting people

Holmes would actually be long DEAD if he didn't find toots and Shrimpo to snap him out of his grief turned research obsession, along with toots and Shrimpo too like if Holmes didn't save them they would also be twisted in the first 2 weeks (also they probably were at the outside for 3ish almost 4 years before getting recruited to Gardenview)

I took a lot of inspiration from the stan siblings for Holmes , like he has Ford's voice and energy but definitely Stanley's language and his personality if he was a bit more tired

Shrimpo is friends with a Goob , a Finn , a Gigi and a brightney from the production team (I'll draw them soon I swear 🥹)

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Part 2 of our adventure in the Hunku Valley on the new Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail from Chheskam to Kongme Dingma. Great memories from an amazing adventure with Sam Heughan, Jhanak Karki, Samdibu Rai, Tshering Dorjee Sherpa, and a great crew of friends, old and new.

Exploring the Hunku

by JAKE NORTON

December 2024

I guess part of me has always been an explorer. No, not that kind of capital "E" Explorer - I haven’t discovered new lands, walked off the map, completed bold first ascents or any of that headline-grabbing stuff. But, I’ve been fortunate enough in my travels and adventures to wander off the beaten path somewhat, […]

ESSAYS & INSPIRATION, MOUNTAINS & ADVENTURE, TRAVEL

Muddhi-Kongme Dingma Trail,Nepal

I guess part of me has always been an explorer.

No, not that kind of capital "E" Explorer - I haven’t discovered new lands, walked off the map, completed bold first ascents or any of that headline-grabbing stuff. But, I’ve been fortunate enough in my travels and adventures to wander off the beaten path somewhat, to explore terrain that, if not new to the world, is new to me, unfamiliar in all ways, be it on Everest’s North Face, the slopes of Gurla Mandhata, my own back yard, or elsewhere.

Our venture up the Hunku Khola from Chheskam to Kongme Dingma was just such an exploration. Sam and I and our team were not in uncharted waters; if we’re being honest, there is little in Nepal outside the extreme alpine realm that has not seen the feet of a herder or the staff of wandering ascetic over the ages. No, the Hunku is well known to the Kulung Rai and other locals, but not so to the outside world. I know of only a handful of people who have been up there before, one being Tim Macartney-snape, and if you know him and his history he’s not one for following the known path. So on December 6, we headed off into the somewhat unknown.

The new trail - dubbed by the excited community of Mahakulung as the Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail - follows the Hunku Khola as it roars through a narrow canyon of its own creation. Unlike many treks in the Nepal Himalaya - and quite different than its nearby neighbor, Khumbu - this trail ambles through dense jungle, towering forests of East Himalayan Fir (Abies spectabilis), Musure Katus (Himalayan beech, Castanopsis tribuloides), Bull oak (Quercus lamellosa), Himalayan birch (Betula utilis), and rhododendron (both falconeri and arboreum). It’s a misty place as well, with afternoon cloud wafting up the valley, enshrouding the landscape in mystical ether turning to ethereal ice during the night.

While the Hunku finds its source up high in the melting ice of the Hunku Glacier on Baruntse and the alpine lakes of Seto Pokhari and Paanch Pokhari, its power is fed downstream by countless tributaries large and small, azure cascades coming down from numerous unnamed 5,000 meter peaks and larger, named ones like Naulekh and Mera. Thankfully, the municipalities of Mahakulung (Gudel, Bung, and Chheskam) built bridges across most, ranging from simple trusses to deluxe covered bridges and simple sticks-on-rocks for yet others still.

Our trail - choked at times with bamboo or slick with mud, glazed with ice - meandered along the Hunku’s path. Folded as they are, the Himalaya do not lend themselves to easy trails, however, and the Muddhi-Kongmedingma is no exception: a straight line from Point A to Point B is rarely possible, with Ridge C and Valley D more often standing in the way. While most days the trail had a net gain of about 1500 vertical feet, we’d easily double that with ups and downs along the way.

But, that’s not to say days were hard; they were, taken all together, about perfect. Much of that is thanks to our team, and wonderfully motley crew of folks helping schlep our gear and prepare meals and keep us company along the way. And, this being the first real commercial trip up the valley, we never knew with certainty where the next flat ground would be found and if it would have water nearby. So, some days were cut short, some were stretched longer. Vagaries of the valley forced the abandonment of one acclimatization day at Watelma Chaur, but to little consquence: we were nimble, Sam was strong, our team able

Six days of fairly magical, mystical trekking took us through climatic zones from forest to alpine, through sun and snow and ice, mornings of frost to afternoons of heat and frigid nights tempered by a blazing fire. We found scat from jungle cats (Asiatic wildcat? Maybe, but quite doubtful.) and leopards (common or snow, we do not know), enjoyed unspoiled nature at its best, and barely a trace of humanity - not a lodge, not a house, not a helicopter or plane. The only person outside our team we encountered until Khumbu was a resourceful Sherpa named Gelu from near Bung who heard of our affinity for both jhway kathe (raksi heated and adorned with sauteed fenugreek) and tongba (fermented millet prepared as a delicious hot drink) and decided we were a good business proposition, hauling several liters of both in his doko up valley. (Note, his instincts proved remarkably correct.)

Eventually, we emerged from the forest some 2500 feet below Kongme Dingma and entered the subalpine zone. Here, along with incresingly majestic views of Naulekh and Peak 41 and Chamlang and more, we bushwhacked for an hour through sprawling hillsides of sunpati (dwarf rhododendron, or Rhododendron anthopogon), which is used in most incense from South Asia. So strong and fresh, every step released a burst of aroma making the whole valley akin to walking around Bodhanath during times of prayer. Amazing.

And then, the pain began.

Not bad pain, but certainly some, the hurt of altitude and the cold that comes along with it, the toll extracted physiologically, penance for the privilege of the high country. And, like a first marathon or a first drunk, it hits the uninitiated hardest. We made it to Kongme Dingma, a small, vacant settlement at 15,750 feet, windswept and austere beneath the towering giants of Peak 41, Naulekh, and Chamlang. For Sam and Jhanak, each step of the last 3000+ feet was an altitude record, and inevitably the night brought with it headache and lassitude, the hallmarks up here. But, they fired back with their own hallmarks - grit and positivity.

We spent the night sheltering from demonic, 60 mph wind gusts under Gelu’s tarp-roofed hut. Dung-seasoned dust whipped about as we ate dal bhat, played cards with the team, laughed and talked and smiled and knew that this too would pass, tomorrow would dawn another day.

Altitude is a fickle thing, each person’s specific physiology responding differently to it. Until you’ve been up high, it’s generally a mystery as to how you’ll do, how your body will adapt - or not - to the dearth of oxygen. Some do well, some less so, but most will get it sorted out if given time and tools. Time is the keystone, as the body is working overtime to produce red blood cells and increase hypoxic efficiency; thus, a day off, an active rest day, at Kongme Dingma was essential to let the body do its thing.

Winds abated, and we spent a stunning day alternating between rest and relaxation, fueling up with copious water and calories, handwashing clothes in icy streams and ourselves as well if we could stand it. Sam, Tshering, and I also spent a couple hours playing on a nearby ice flow, fixing a rope and practicing Sam’s technique with crampons and ice ax, ascending a line and rappelling the same. As expected, he was a natural, making it all seem like old hat, cruising up and down with a smile and confidence seasoned precisely with the right amount of fear and respect for the terrain waiting days ahead on the Amphu Laptsa.

And with that, Part 1 of our trek - the new trail from Chheskam to Kongme Dingma, the Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail - was finished. The next day we’d enter the alpine, trekking along an established, but seldom used, trail through alpine lakes under serrated behemoths, then up and over the high Amphu Laptsa pass and into the Khumbu. The days before were, as I’d hoped, spectacular, replete with everything a trek in the Himalaya can deliver (but often does not): scenery, solitude, adventure, great company, and memories galore. And, of course, some exploration.

Moonrise over Chamlang from Kongme Dingma.

As mentioned above, we didn’t chart new territory, make a daring first ascent, or add new data to the geographic lexicon. But, we did explore, all of us. We explored areas that were new to us, new to most. We explored new ways to help the villages of Mahalulung - and the thousands of souls who live there - develop and establish sustainable trekking and the income that goes with it. And, perhaps most saliently, we explored ourselves, pushing our own boundaries even just a little, probing the possible, exiting comfort zones and finding joy through hardship, toil, laughter, and camaraderie. Like TS Eliot wrote in Little Gidding back in the last century, an ode less to Magellanic exploration and more to that of the personal:

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, remembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning…

- TS Eliot, Little Gidding excerpt from "Four Quartets"

Stay tuned for Part 3 of this story - the Hunku alpine zone, Amphu Laptsa, and Khumbu - coming soon.

📸 @mountainworld IG

Posted 30th December 2024

@ imahalfemptykindofgirl -I hope so too; he is a talented writer. I want Jake to make it clear. He is a climber, photographer, and filmmaker who is well-acquainted with Nepal. He originated the idea and is sharing his experiences by writing field reports of the trek on his blog. If someone thinking of doing something on their own, without Jake, he will not be able to overcome it.

[stxrsniolo]

no idea if ur up for writing this kinda dynamic, but what would hockey player!Matt think if he heard exchange student!Reader mimic his accent and attitude?

oh em gee, i really wanted to be asked these things, let me elaborate a little.

the sun was blazing down on the school field, and the smell of grass was thick in the air as everyone from coach ferguson's gym class was catching their breath after a run that felt like it went on forever. matt, with his hockey player stamina, was barely breaking a sweat, while y/n, who was more about pokemon than running, was still puffing like she'd just climbed mount everest in her vans.

"ya gotta ditch those vans in gym class, y/n. they ain't gonna make ya run any fastah, ya know?" matt teased, his boston accent as thick as the summer air, the 'r's practically disappearing from his words.

y/n, with a playful smirk, decided to give his accent a whirl, her argentinian background adding an extra layer of fun to her mimicry. "oh, sawry, i didn't catch that with ya wicked hahd boston accent, could ya say it again?" she exaggerated, rolling her 'r's in a way that made her sound like she was from the north end, not buenos aires.

matt's face lit up with a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "oh, you think you're wicked funny, huh? " he chortled, his accent so pronounced you could almost see the 'r's flying off. "you're gonna get yaself in trouble, messin' with a true bostonian like me."

y/n burst into laughter, her cheeks flushing from both the run and the playful mockery. "i'm just sayin', it's like ya speakin' a whole otha language ova here," she continued, her imitation now sounding like she'd been raised on the mean streets of dorchester.

matt shook his head, laughing, "alright, ya got me, ya got me," he admitted, his voice lowering to a teasing whisper, "but only 'cause ya look wicked cute when ya're all outta breath and pretendin' to be from southie."

y/n blushed, her mimicry game faltering for a moment under his compliment. "maybe i should stick to my own accent then, since it seems to be workin' for me," she retorted, the playful banter making the air between them feel charged with something fun and flirty.

[mapsontheweb]

Mountains in the Contiguous U.S. by Rise Above Surroundings / Jut

by u/Gigitoe

Jut is an indicator I developed to quantify how sharply/impressively a mountain rises above its surroundings, factoring in both height and steepness. A mountain with a jut of X rises as sharply/impressively as a vertical cliff of height X. Roughly speaking, the higher the jut, the "bigger" and more imposing a mountain appears.

Some things to note:

Jut hotspots (places with the most impressive mountains) include the Cascade Range, North Cascades, Glacier National Park, Grand Teton National Park, Yosemite National Park & Central/Southern Sierra, and Mount San Jacinto. The highest jut in the lower 48 is measured atop Mount Rainier (jut = 1312 m), a massive stratovolcano in the Cascade Range of Washington.

Even though the Colorado Rockies have a high elevation, they have a lower jut than some other mountain ranges in the West, as they rise from a high plateau. The Grand Canyon in Arizona has similar local rise as the highest peaks of the Colorado Rockies, despite having a much lower elevation.

A point with a jut of 10 – 100 m is perhaps more aptly described as a hill. Points with a jut below 10 m do not rise significantly above their surroundings, so they were not included.

Mountains in the rest of the world can have a significantly higher jut. The Matterhorn in the Swiss Alps has a jut of 1451 m. Aconcagua in the Andes of Argentina has a jut of 1827 m. Mount Everest has a jut of 2211 m. The North Peak of Denali in Alaska has a jut of 2549 m. Annapurna Fang in Nepal, the apex of the biggest mountain face on the planet, has a jut of 3395 m, the highest in the world.

This visualization was made possible with Google Earth Engine, MERIT DEM, GeoNames, and QGIS.

[brandwhorestarscream]

Tfe skyfire x starscream

I'm actually gonna draw from some previous source material we've made up here, and say that the bitties in question are the jettwins. They're not Skyfire's sparklings, but he's the one that steps up to raise them.

The seekers are all on the run and, if I'm being honest, have probably vacated the entire North American continent. GHOST isn't an international organization, after all, and flight makes travelling and escape so much easier than groundbound mecha like Tarantulas, for example. They've gone somewhere that's pretty much unreachable by humans: the highest point on the planet. Mt. Everest. The temperatures are nothing compared to deep space flight, and there's plenty of wind and solar energy for them to harness to get an energon synthesizer going.

They've been living on the dl for months and building up an actual base for themselves at the peak, when Starscream's newly rigged together scanners pick up a very peculiar signal under the melting ice caps of earth's poles. Looks like a cybertronian cache of sorts! They head out immediately, before anyone else can snipe the findings. Who knows what it could be? It could be incredibly useful, be it medical supplies or something that might be able to get them permanently off this Primus forsaken rock.

You know what happens here. They find Skyfire in cryosleep beneath the ice: with everything on this planet thawing, they were finally able to get an actual read on him despite being here for so long. Starscream is... god. There's so many emotions at once he doesn't even know what to call it. He's relieved, he's overjoyed, he's terrified, he's angry. They excavate him in a hurry and search for any equipment he may have lost at the time of the crash, but it's all beyond repair.

Skyfire is incredibly disoriented. He's so confused, he's so dizzy and his audials are ringing incessantly and why does Starscresm look so different? For him, it's only been a couple kliks since he got the warning that there was a critical failure in his systems and then he was falling. He blacked out, and now he's here. He's so sore though, and none of his systems are functioning properly, and Starscream is damn near hysterical that it's clear he's missed a lot. They get him back to their little camp, get him some energon, let him rest and decompress. The twins are handed off to Skywarp and Nova so the two reunited lovebirds can have a chance to talk. Starscream tells Skyfire the full story, not overwhelming him with details but all the main points. What happened after his disappearance, the whole mess with the war, earth's revolving circus of pitslag, GHOST, and finally... the bitties.

Skyfire doesn't even mind that they aren't his. Starscream suffered so much carrying them, having them forced on him, but is doing everything in his power to love and raise them properly. Sky's an overgrown lovesick puppy and adores Starscream for all that he is, and he falls in love with the twins the first moment he gets to hold them. They're so tiny compared to him, but so wiggly and curious. They're attempting to climb all over him, nomming on his fingers and poking at his face with their tiny baby hands, giggling and chirping as they clamber up on his head because Look How High!!!!! He passes the infant vibe check with ease and the sparklings are immediately smitten with them. Skyfire fondly remarks that they're beautiful, just like their carrier, and quietly mentions that... he knows it's been awhile, but if Starscream will still have him, he'd love to still be with him. Starscream just smiles and calls him an idiot: as if he'd let him get away!

Skyfire is such an incredible sire to his adopted sparklings. Literally the best they ever could have ended up with. Loves them like his own, so attentive and sweet and patient. He honestly coddles them even more than Starscream does, and has such a hard time telling them no 🤭 he hasn't built up an immunity to puppy dog eyes yet, so he's always sneaking them extra treats. He loves to hold them, they fit so perfectly in his arms, he's always volunteering to hold them for naptime rather than laying them down in their little crib. Starscream is happier than Skywarp and Nova have seen him in a long time, and the whole group of them are a perfect happy little family 💖

[bcacstuff]

From Outlander to intrepid hiker to whisky distiller, Sarah Tucker meets a warrior spirit in actor and entrepreneur Sam Heughan…

There is something of the poet adventurer in Sam Heughan, the actor best known for his eleven-year tenure as the handsome Jacobite warrior Jamie Fraser in the series Outlander, who meets and falls in love with time-travelling 20th-century nurse Claire Beauchamp, played by Caitriona Balfe.

Meeting him, albeit over a zoom call, I get the feeling this is a man who never sits still, is eternally curious about life, has boundless intellectual as well as physical energy – a  doer who enjoys getting his hands dirty.

“I don’t think Fraser would like me,” Heughan commented recently, “He would consider me a stupid actor.”  I disagree.  When Heughan speaks about his life, and work, he shows a keen sense of purpose, practicality and determination. He shows a wit and versatility which makes him resourceful. All qualities of which Jamie Fraser would approve.

Heughan’s deep-rooted passion for Scotland and all things Scottish is evident in how his face lights up when he describes the mysterious landscapes he has encountered while working on Outlander and Men in Kilts.  The images he conjures are visceral.

“My uncle, for a time, lived on the Isle of Eigg, and there’s a group of Islands, Muck, Mull, Rum, really interestingly-named places, lying south of Skye. My family would visit every summer; catch a ferry across to the Isle of Eigg and see the landscape completely differently. Once we hit the North Sea, I would feel like an explorer. The Ferry was the only way to get around before the [English] military built the roads. The clans controlled the ocean.”

From the standing stones of Clanais on the Isle of Lewis, where Outlander was filmed to the Schiehallion, one of Scotland’s most popular munros, he seems bewitched by the legends as much as the energy surrounding these places

Although he admits the final chapter on Outlander left a void in his schedule (the crew became like a family, the wrap party was held outdoors with bagpipes and a ceilidh), in December he will be in Nepal, trekking up Everest to Base Camp (the hard way) with acclaimed mountaineer Jake Norton. He met Norton while preparing for a role in a film about the explorers Stanley Irvine (1902 – 1924) and George Mallory (1886 – 1924), whose ill-fated attempt on Everest has gone down in history. Norton was on the team that found Mallory’s remains in 1999. Irvine’s partial remains were only found earlier this year.

“We will be trekking through a lesser-known valley that no one has ever been to before, which will mean reaching a 19,000-foot ridge and rappelling down into the valley, so that will be quite an experience. I’m terrified, but I have a great respect for that mountain. I am not doing this for television or film – I am just doing this for myself.”

Heughan’s voice is as smooth as his whisky. His latest venture is his multi-award-winning whisky and gin, ‘The Sassenach’, the Gaelic word for ‘outsider’. He feels he is an outsider to the industry, but the idea behind the name seems to have emerged from his mother, who is an English artist and was called ‘Sassenach’ when she arrived in New Galloway, and in Outlander, Jamie Fraser calls his wife Sassenach as s term of endearment. “The name is very special to me,” he tells me.

“Five years back, I travelled a lot, and I remember being in a bar in London.  It was a Scottish celebration of some sort – St Andrews Day or perhaps Burns Night. There was a single malt on the bar’s top shelf, and as soon as I tasted it, it reminded me of Scotland. I have an emotional reaction to it, but with other spirits, less so. It made me feel quite homesick. It is Scotland in a bottle…it is personality in a bottle.”

Watching Heughan talk about the whisky, the research which goes into it, the foibles of flavour, which leaving it outdoors, or adding water or ice to it, has on the ABV (alcohol content), it is clear he enjoys learning about the alchemy of the blending possibly even more than he does enjoy drinking the final product. He talks of the influence of the terroir and water, how he likes the taste to weigh heavy on the palate, and the influence of Asian whisky on the final blend with its balance of butterscotch, honey, crab apple, rhubarb, which reminds him of picking the fruit from his mother’s garden.

Something of the ghost of Jamie Fraser has lingered in this entrepreneur. As Heughan admits himself, he has been playing someone else for eleven years, and observing him talk about Scotland and The Sassenach brand, he appears to have captured some of that warrior spirit. Or perhaps, it is the other way round, and he injected his own spirit into the character.

Sam Heughan reached Everest based camp on Friday 20th December.

[kaiyves-backup]

When they spotted it, there was no mistaking what they were looking at: a boot melting out of the ice. As they drew closer, they could tell the cracked leather was old and worn, and the sole was studded and bracketed with the diamond-patterned steel hobnails of a bygone era of climbing.  

In September, on the broad expanse of the Central Rongbuk Glacier, below the north face of Mount Everest, a National Geographic documentary team that included the photographer and director Jimmy Chin, along with filmmakers and climbers Erich Roepke and Mark Fisher, examined the boot more closely. Inside, they discovered a foot, remains that they instantly recognized as belonging to Andrew Comyn Irvine, or Sandy, as he was known, who vanished 100 years ago with the famed climber George Mallory. 

“I lifted up the sock,” Chin says, describing the moment, “and there’s a red label that has A.C. IRVINE stitched into it.” Chin says he and his companions recognized the significance of the moment in unison. “We were all literally running in circles dropping F-bombs.” 

Irvine and Mallory were last seen on June 8, 1924, while attempting to become the first people to reach the top of the world’s highest peak. The question of whether they had summited has endured as the greatest climbing mystery of all time. If Irvine and Mallory succeeded, their feat would have come some 29 years before Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary finally conquered Everest.  

Mallory’s remains were located in 1999, while the whereabouts of Irvine’s were unknown. “It's the first real evidence of where Sandy ended up,” says Chin of the discovery. “A lot of theories have been put out there.” He hopes the discovery helps explain what happened on the mountain in 1924, and brings some closure to Irvine’s relatives who revere him still. “When someone disappears and there’s no evidence of what happened to them, it can be really challenging for families. And just having some definitive information of where Sandy might’ve ended up is certainly [helpful], and also a big clue for the climbing community as to what happened.”