#north face base camp

[duffelbagreview]

The North Face Base Camp Duffel.

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[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.

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[thescenicbout]

[trulyhblue]

Could you possibly do a Grace Clinton x Reader please based on what Alessia mentioned on her podcast about Grace being a big hugger and like a sloth ! x also love your work ❤️

Just A Hugger

Grace Clinton x Lioness! Reader

Warnings: fluff, secret but established relationship, very short!

______________________

You were sitting on one of the bean bags for the first time all camp, snuggled under an array of blankets, cuddling your phone as you stared up at the TV in front of you. The room was dark, holding refuge to more than a dozen tired athletes, all clad in their sponsored trackies and hoodies. You were among the handful that had been able to snag a bean bag before they were all full.

Alessia and Ella shared one beside you, and Niamh and Lotte planted theirs together in order to create one combined. On the lounges behind you, many of the girls lay across one another, sluggish in their endeavours to soak up some team bonding while also maintaining the silence. Beth had made you a hot chocolate, and Esme had picked the movie, which was of no complaint to anyone, considering the City girl always seemed to know best. You could hear Lauren muttering about her latest Lego creation to LJ, who was somewhat endorsed by the topic of conversation, yet scrolled aimlessly on her phone as she hummed along in agreement, since Hempo’s tangents often let on for prolonged periods.

Your feet peeked out from under the blankets, your fluffy pink socks matching with your girlfriend, who was nowhere to be seen. There was a quiet hum of chatter as the movie played, and everyone was content with the mixture as it was the first time anyone had really gotten to bond with another teammate outside of training.

The euro qualifiers were tough, and your fresh arrival to the team made it even more difficult to mould into a routine. In such high stake games, you certainly weren't looking for any significant game time, but you were a halftime sub during England’s campaign against Sweden, and you were hopeful of getting the same minutes this time against France.

You were younger than most of the girls but had been around professional football for long enough to have known them all for quite some time. You made your debut at United only a few years ago before playing for City in the Youth groups. There you met the likes of Mary, Katie and Ella, who were the first Lionesses that you had truly gotten to know. You had eventually met Grace when she came from Bristol to United, and from then, you were both sent on loan to Tottenham, where your friendship blossomed into a North London Treasure. Fans are no longer sure Grace is a United player, but their NLD golden girl. You were born and raised Manchester-bound, and you were not prepared to face the fact that you were slowly becoming among the faces of Tottenham’s affiliates. It took you a while to process the hurt that came with your loan, and at some points, you envied how quickly Grace fit in with your teammates and the game they played. But you soon moulded well as a striker, especially as your relationship with Grace consumed your everyday life.

You had moved in together as friends and slowly found your deep feelings for her embedded into your heart. The hugs during celebrations, and the post-match interviews matched with longing stares and soft compliments. Fans jumped to the joyride of how calm and collected the two of you held yourselves, especially as a duo in the games. Grace was always helping you up after badly set tackles, and you pushed her away from unnecessary quarrels with opponents. The media would pick up on the assists Grace would give you, and the spectacular goals that came as a result of your chemistry. There weren't any other two players that had this sort of combination together, and clubs were quick to realise that if they wanted one of you, the other was instantly included.

It was only half way through the season when the two of you got together. It was after your win against Arsenal, and the celebrations mixed with alcohol were quick to loosen your tongue. It was a well-kept secret between you two, except your two best friends Charli and Celine had caught on about your feelings long before you had even gotten together. The media were just enamoured by your friendship with Grace. The fans adored the affection you showed each other. There was inevitable shipping rumours, but they never held much significance.

While you liked the privacy of your relationship, Grace wanted to make it known that you were hers. It wasn't like you kept it discreet. You had shown each other the same amount of PDA before you made it official, so there was minimal change when it came to the way you interacted with each other, save for the heavy affection shown in the showers after a match, away from prying eyes. However, Grace had found herself falling more protective of you. If someone had made a false tackle on you, she’d be all over it before you had even hit the ground. It was an anger that had never presented itself beforehand, but it was sure to unleash the second you winced into the grass.

You were very reserved on the pitch. There wasn't much you got up to, and your card count was very low. Grace was much more vicious, but held accountability when it was due.

Everyone just thought that it was the end-of-season drama, where teams were making last-second challenges that would aim to help their position on the ladder.

Now, as both of your loans with Tottenham were soon to be over, Grace and you had not only made yourselves comfortable in the London atmosphere but had created special bonds with the likes of Celine with Grace and you with Charli, which made the return back a little difficult to face. You were both extremely valuable to each team, and there had been an inexplicable improvement that United wanted a piece of, though Tottenham wanted to keep. You were conflicted with the history of your home, and the alliance of your new life, which added to the stress of debuting with the England Senior Team.

You felt a familiar figure crouch beside you, placing another layer of soft blanket over your figure. With a soft kiss on your forehead, you snuggled up to Grace’s side, immediately cradling her waist with your arms, engulfing her chest with your head, and listening to her steady heartbeat.

“God, you're so warm.” She muttered, pulling your thigh over her leg, letting your weight lean against her. You let out a silent laugh as Grace wrapped her arms around your shoulders, running her hand through the nape of your hair, playing with the loose strands.

You peered down at her feet, feeling the familiar fabric of your matching socks. “Where have you been?”

Grace tucked you into her chest further, breathing in your scent as she sighed. “Talking to Sarina. She wanted to see what I was doing with Tottenham?”

You looked up, carefully calculating the mood on your girlfriend's face. “What about it?”

“Just whether we— whether I was staying.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I’d have to ask you.” Grace glanced down at you, smiling at the crease between your eyebrows. She pecked your nose, tracing your features subtly. “She said that she could see that we were dating from a mile away.”

You scoffed at that. “Bet she did.”

None of your national teammates mentioned anything, though some of the senior girls had caught on quite quickly that something had changed since the last time they had seen you in Manchester. Ella, who was usually the slowest had walked in on you two that very morning, yelping and whining over breakfast, making your face go red with embarrassment and Grace shoving Tooney over to Lessi, who, inevitably, now knows.

You had told Beth and Leah that you two had gotten close while partnered together at training. Leah had told you it was obvious, and Beth had given you a big hug before listing things she and Viv did to keep their relationship a secret before it got out.

Grace had told Mary, who told Millie, who told Rach, and soon enough pretty much everyone who cared had found out over the course of a day. They were quick to subtly congratulate you, but the attention had died down by the time dinner had past and you all were watching the somewhat indulging film Esme had put on.

You weren't keeping your relationship a secret, but neither of you found a point in letting it known. If someone asked, you’d tell them. Both of you were waiting for the media to catch on, but until then, you were content with the quietness of it all.

“I’ll go wherever you go, you know that?” Grace muttered, placing soft kisses down the coloum of your neck. You pressed your figure closer to her, sighing when her hands ran against your sides.

You held out your hand to grab hers, tracing the ridges in her knuckles. “What do you think? Tottenham or United?”

“I don't care, baby.” She spoke, peeking up from where her face hovered above your collarbone. “I would warm the bench if it meant I was with you.”

You laughed into the blankets, nudging your face into her neck. “You're a sweet talker, Clinton.”

Grace didn't deny the statement, smirking down at your cosy position against her. She wouldn't trade you for any contract offer in the world. No amount of money or years of playing football could equate to holding you in her arms.

______________

yourusername

Liked by Graceclinton, Leahwilliamson, and 98,367 others

tagged — graceclinton, alessiarusso, ellatoone

yourusername — training and socks 🧦🎀

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Comments:

user78 — if they are not in love then idk what love is

lionesses — pretty in pink! 💕

graceclinton — I love the way you look at me

graceclinton — feet on feet 🤢

^ yourusername — you love it 😙

wosofan — THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER I CAN NOT DO THIS THEY R SO CUTE

alessia — 😍

* liked by creator

user17 — im dreading the time their loan at Tottenham ends.

^ user67 — what if one of them stays at Tottenham and the other stays at United?

^ user66 — I will become violent if this happens

^ user16 — both teams will want them both. I doubt this will happen

charlottegrant — my little koala 🐨

^ yourusername — miss you char char 😣

ellatoone — less and I third wheeling

^ alessia — you’ll live tooney

^ graceclinton — double date?

^ user62 — Y/N AND GRACE CONFIRMED???????

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[wosoloml]

— second chance || emily fox x reader

[ “I messed up by breaking up with you, because ever since then, I’ve been missing you everyday.” ]

summary: After having her heart broken by Emily, the reader decided to seize the opportunity for a fresh start in her career by moving to London. Little did she know, her worst nightmare wasi about to come true. But sometimes, nightmares have a way of transforming into the sweetest of dreams.

from this request

wc: 1,744 words. | masterlist

warnings: fluff, mention of heartbreak, angst, secret flirtings, jealousy, happy end

——-

"There is no future for us. I need to leave," were the last words Emily said to me as she walked out of our apartment. Well, not our apartment anymore.

This was the last thing I expected when I came home after interviewing the local handball team, excited to share some amazing news I had received at work.

I walked in with the biggest smile on my face, and we both said at the same time, "I want to talk to you about something." Little did I know that by the end of the conversation, I’d be alone in what used to be our home.

Usually, I’m the one who shares big news first, but this time, I decided to let Emily go ahead. I thought she’d need time to process the fact that the Arsenal Football Club had offered me a position on their media team. Letting her start felt like the considerate thing to do.

What a mistake that turned out to be.

If I’m honest, I don’t even remember how I survived the first night. Curled up in my bed, crying my eyes out, and consumed by the question, "Why?"

Everything began a few years ago when we met at UNC. It started with a little crush on the athletic girl, stealing glances every time we passed each other in the hallway.

After months of back-and-forth and a lot of help from our friends Alessia and Lotte, we finally started dating. It was never easy, especially with football becoming such a big part of Emily’s life, but she always treated me like I was the girl of her dreams. I couldn’t have been happier.

Doing long-distance was a significant challenge for us. She signed her first professional contract with Racing Louisville FC, while I was just starting my first year at the sports journalism academy. But our love was always stronger—stronger than any distance or circumstances. We were supposed to be a team.

Everything became so much easier and better when she finally moved back after joining North Carolina Courage. It felt like the greatest relief.

For days after she told me she was coming back, I fell asleep and woke up with the biggest smile on my face.

Eleven months, two cats, and one apartment later, here I am—without anything. I lost the love of my life simply because she "needed to focus on her career."

We were a team, but now she preferred a solo performance.

She was even too cowardly to come here and pick up her things when I was home. The only message I got from her was:

"When does your shift start, so I know when to get my stuff?"

- EF

EF? Is she serious? We spent the last six years together, went through everything, and shared so many firsts. And the only thing she adds to her message are her initials?

It's pathetic.

---

At 9:00, I arrived at the base camp of THE Arsenal Women's Football Club for this year's training camp in Spain.

It’s been a year and a half since I made the decision to start fresh and begin a new life. A year and a half since a certain American girl broke my heart. Coming to London was the best decision I ever made.

One of my closest friends from college is here with me. Without Lessi and Lotte’s support in those early months, I don't know where I'd be. I came to London with nothing but two cats and a suitcase. Now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

"Y/N!!" I heard a familiar voice shout my name. As I turned around, I saw my favorite defender.

"Lottee, my girl!" I grinned, my smile growing wider as I pulled her into a tight hug.

"How’s my favorite girl? Ready for today’s media day? The first one during training camp in Spain?"

She chuckled. "I can’t wait to get sunburned. You know my British skin isn’t used to that much sun."

As I followed Lotte to her first media date of the day, we passed the changing room, and I suddenly heard a familiar voice. My heart stopped. This can't be real. No, it's not real—maybe I just overheard something.

"What's up, Y/N?" Lotte immediately noticed the shift in my behavior, but I tried to play it cool.

"Nothing. I just thought I heard someone's voice, but that can't be real," I replied.

She nodded, but I could sense a slight change in her mood.

I’m just paranoid. That’s it, for sure.

"Y/N? Could you possibly anchor the 'First Day at Arsenal' segment with our new signing today? It's not public yet that she transferred to London, but we wanted to take advantage of our training camp in Spain to shoot some nice scenes," the media team leader said.

I looked at him, confused. "I didn't know we got a new signing."

"Really? Everyone knows that. Especially Alessia and Lotte Wubben-Moy—they already know her from previous teams. Funny, huh?"

No. I’m just paranoid again. I know it. This cant be happening.

---

"Hey y/n".

That's it. That's the moment I’ve been scared of the whole day. No, scratch that—I've been scared of it for the last 18 months.

I haven’t heard her voice since that specific day she left me in our old apartment. I thought I’d be okay hearing my name from her lips again. God, was I wrong.

"Since when are you here?" I had to hold myself back from laughing at my own question. The first thing I asked her after she cut me out of her life was when she came to Arsenal. If someone had told me this morning that I’d say that, I would’ve laughed in their face.

"My plane from North Carolina landed this morning. It’s not official that I’ve transferred, but they decided spontaneously that I could join the girls here at camp already. I didn’t know you were working here, I promise. I would’ve told you about the transfer."

It’s over for me now. A small chuckle escaped my lips. "You would’ve told me? What would you have said to me? 'Hey, Y/N, by the way, I’m moving to the club where you work, after destroying your life a year and a half ago. Ready to ruin your new life too?' Because that’s what you’re doing right now. You’re destroying my new life. I came to London with nothing. But not with me, Emily. This time, you won’t take everything from me. This is my home."

I slightly shouted at her. She just stared at me. I’m done with her now. Turning around, I left.

---

As the days pass, I have to admit that maybe I’m not completely over her.

It all began when we both became nervous around each other during the "First Day at Arsenal" segment, and it continued with secret touches on the beach and our eyes searching for each other in a room full of teammates and staff.

It’s been difficult to admit that I still get butterflies when she’s near, and that this chapter isn’t as closed as I once thought. Am I ready to let her in again? She hurt me in a way no one else ever has, and that’s something I’ll never forget. But I just miss her, that’s all. Nothing more... or is there more?

It was our last evening in Spain, and the entire staff and team went out for drinks at a local bar. This time, my mind wasn’t occupied by a certain brunette American.

Instead, it was an Irish defender who caught my attention.

It wasn’t the first time Katie McCabe and I had spent time together outside of work. I wouldn’t exactly call it flirting, but we always had a good time laughing together. She knows how to talk to a woman, and let’s just say she’s not hard on the eyes either, so it’s a win-win situation, isn’t it?

When Katie rested her hands on my waist, it was enough to set Emily off. She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me outside. I was too stunned by her actions to even react.

"Is she your new girl?" she asked, her voice sharp. I had to hide a smirk.

"What do you mean, Emily?"

"You heard me. Is Katie McCabe your new girlfriend?" I chuckled again, maybe a bit tipsy from the drinks Katie had bought for me.

"No."

Emily didn’t believe me. I could see it in her eyes.

"Then explain to me why you’re giggling at every statement she makes and why the hell are her hands allowed on your body?"

My face grew serious. "What’s this, Emily? Are you jealous of someone who’s just being friendly? You? The one who ended this relationship, if I may remind you?"

That was it. That was the boiling point for Emily.

"I messed up by breaking up with you, because ever since then, I’ve been missing you every single day," she shouted, her voice frantic. My eyes widened, and my heart melted at her words.

Without thinking, I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers.

"Finally!" Lotte and Alessia cheered from inside the bar. Finally.

The plane landed in London. Coming back home, my hands locked with the girl I’ve always loved. This is us now—forever.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

SAVIOUR

Pairing - Emmett x fem!reader

Summary - When Emmett had the chance of seeing you in the forest, he couldn't resist but to steal you away for himself in his lonely home.

Warnings - dub con, p in v, oral both receiving, cruel treatment, rough.

Notes - accidentally deleted the original post, so here we go again.

The silver lining with this apocalypse is that Emmett would have no distress with you making a noise as he motions you to keep on moving. Your body is shivering, eyes swelling, bare feet aching from the long journey, but you don’t dare to make a sound. The fear of the death angels still being greater than a mere bearded man. 

Despite being kidnapped in broad daylight, it was a beautiful day. The beauty of this difficult situation was, Emmett could walk into your camp, holding a gun to the air with one hand, and his free hand pointing towards you without any worries. There were no negotiations in the matter, Emmett was the only one with a death wish. No followers or you all get to die an agonizing death. Because he has lost it all, but now he could have you. It was an easy guess with what the group had decided upon.

He first saw you through his scope, you and a few other group members were searching for supplies in the same area he was. Emmett became captivated by you the moment he saw you. He stalked you back to your base, there were only a dozen of you guys in an abandoned factory far north of his. He watched you for days, studied you, obsessed over you. 

There were little things Emmett knew of you, but you seemed kind, genuine, naive and you were bewitching to the human eye. Emmett just had to have you, he lived a lonely life, but you provided an opportunity for comfort, contentment, intimacy. 

Entering the factory, your eyes wander around the abandoned space. Emmett picked you up bridal style, and you slid down into his bunker, landing softly on a large pile of sandbags. 

You laid still on him for a moment, he was stroking your flustered cheek as you struggled to find steady breathing. Gently, Emmett slid out from underneath you and stood up to take off his jacket. Laying like a dead fish, you decided to stand up and hopefully bargain with the stranger. 

“Please, let me go home,” you pleaded in a whisper. You weren’t sure how safe it was to speak down here, but it had just become natural to speak at this sound. Emmett turned to you, slowly taking his bandana off, revealing his bearded, dirty face. 

Very naive of you, perhaps a bit too hopeful too, to think that he’d have a sudden change of heart now after that long walk. But you had no clue how obsessed he had become over you in such a short amount of time, and with such little knowledge of you.

“This is your home now” he replied, closing the distance between you two, he brushed your loose hair with the back of his hand. “What’s your name?” Emmett asked. With a whisper, you told him your name, it was smarter to cooperate with him, maybe gain a bit of trust? “Pretty name for a pretty girl, I’m Emmett” he whispered back, his arms wrapped around your lower back. 

You could feel his erection through the denim, his breathing was heavy yet quiet, quickly you found yourself shaking and whimpering against him. Emmett cooed you, rubbing your lower back in attempts to make yourself feel better, completely unaware that he’s the reason you feel so overwhelmed. 

“I’m going to take care of you, okay? I’ll protect you, all you have to do is please me, baby” Emmett had a small smile on his lips, he leant down and kissed your cheek, which trailed down to your neck. 

It was a good deal in his eyes, he’d protect you from the monstrosity once known as humanity and all you had to do was cheer, reassure and relieve him. It would be a romantic future in his eyes, you could read to one another, he’d search for rations and then you’d do the cooking, hold each other closely at night. 

Your sobs were silent, his facial hair brushing against your goosebumps. Emmett took off his cap and dropped it onto the sandbags. His lips hovered over yours, almost as if he was waiting for you to close the small distance. 

Grazing his lips onto yours, he slowly deepened the kiss, his hands moving onto your ass, squeezing tightly. Chest rising and falling, Emmett was groaning into your mouth through sloppy kisses. He was hungry like an animal, and you were to be an endless feast for him.  

“On your knees” Emmett ordered.

Unwillingly, you slowly dropped to your knees, his hands on his shoulders pushing you down, your arms covered your chest and you kept your eyesight away from the restrained bulge in your face. Emmett sighed, his rough hands took their time unbuckling the leather belt, he undid his fly and slid down his jeans enough to be able to see the outline of his cock through his briefs. 

Grabbing onto his bulge, Emmett stared you up and down, clicking his tongue. “Take off your top” he grumbled, combing his hand through his oily hair. Without thinking, you shook your head. Emmett grunted, quickly squatting down and wrapping his hand around your throat. Your nails dug into his hand, but he did not loosen his grip. “You’ll be a good girl, I did not go through all of this fucking effort to have you be a brat, got it?” Emmett snarled by your ear, you were trying to spit out words but failed. “Use your fucking words” his voice was dripping of irritation. 

“Y-yes” you managed to spit out. 

The hold on your throat loosened, Emmett gave a heavy sigh. “Good girl, such a good girl for me. You’re thankful for me, yeah? Saving you from them. If they really cared, they would have done something about it. They’d be willing to die for you, like I am” he spoke with dark eyes. 

It was terrifying, his look was painted with crazed feelings. Emmett stood back up and waited for you to follow his previous order. With shaking hands, you pulled your top from over your head. But that didn’t satisfy Emmett, he glared at you until you realized he wanted you to take your bra off as well. 

The cold air hardened your nipples, and Emmett studied your current appearance. There was this smug look on his face, this is exactly why he went these lengths for you. Slipping his size out of his briefs, his cock tapped your right cheek a couple of times, he was slowly masterbating right by your lips.

You didn’t expect him to be this, large. It was intimidating, being in such close range to his member. You’ve only known him for a few hours, and now he had his dick in your face. His cock was a tone darker than the rest of his skin, he had a lot of pubic hair around the base of his member, for obvious reasons. 

It was self explanatory what was expected of you, you raised your hands and stroked his big size. He let out a satisfied sigh, your hands going right down to the base and coming back up to the head. Reluctantly, your lips hovered over the tip. You could see the precum drip, you had to close your eyes to swirl your tongue around his tip, slowly going deeper down his length.      

“Ah, ah, yeah… Such a good girl” Emmett smiled, gently thrusting his member in and out of your mouth. “Nothing better for your mouth to do, then to please my cock” his eyes were lightly rolling back. 

After a couple of minutes of gentle sucking, Emmett started to force his cock into your mouth, his tip brushing against the back of your throat. You gagged against him, resisting the urge to bite down on him, he was lightly grunting, mumbling words under his breath with his jaw clenched, watching you below him as you struggled to breathe. 

Holding onto the back of his legs for support, he held the back of your head to keep you still. You could feel his cock twitching in your mouth, eyes stinging as you just tried to focus on your breathing. After what felt like an eternity of pain, he grumbled, his hips locked forward as he came in your mouth. 

Trying your hardest not to react to the salty taste, Emmett slowly pulled him out of your mouth, your jaw aching and tears running down your eyes. Gently stroking his cock, Emmett looked down to you and placed his hand softly on your heated cheek. 

“That was lovely” Emmett slowly praised you. He helped you up and picked you off the ground.“You deserve to feel special too” Emmett continued, walking down the bunker. 

Emmett laid you on the singular bed and tugged your pants and underwear off together, he pulled his soiled shirt off and crawled on top of you. He smelt lightly of body odor, his breath was hot by your ear and chest felt moist from the sweat. Elbows resting on either side of your head, he gave you a gentle kiss, you didn’t kiss him back. 

“Don’t be so stiff” Emmett grunted, quickly you kissed him back. 

His hand trailed over your inner thighs, reaching all the way up to your entrance, you hadn’t even realized how wet you had become. A wicked grin grew on him as he parted your slick lips with two fingers. 

“Ugh, is this because of me?” Emmett toyed, his finger circling around your clit, you took in a heavy breath, trying to remain content underneath your assaulter. “Don’t make me feel so special” Emmett clicked his tongue, feeling up your breast with his spare hand. 

Without letting you know, he pushed in two fingers at once, chuckling at the tight feeling against them. You bit back a cry of pain, his nails were poorly trimmed, they scraped against your soft walls as they curled inside of you, Emmett noticed your uncomfortable expression and pulled his fingers out. 

“What’s wrong baby?” Emmett asked, actually sounding concerned about you. 

“It hurts” you said honestly, a part of you wondered if you should have just lied instead. Emmett looked at his soaked nails and sighed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart, I’ll have to trim them better. Here, I have an easy solution” he winked to you as if you wanted to be in this predicament. 

Emmett whispered sweet words as he slid down the bed. He was on his knees, bent over, his beard brushing against your entrance. You shrieked at the first lick, Emmett’s head shot up and he pressed his finger to his mouth. With a heavy gulp, you dug your face into the pillow. His tongue swirled all around your lips, you were moaning against the pillow, and it still wasn’t quiet enough for Emmett’s likings, even though Emmett wants nothing more than to hear your screams, he didn’t exactly what you two to die horrible deaths before he could make you come. 

Emmett sighed and got up, you looked up to him, your eyebrows furrowed as he crawled on top of you, his exposed cock inches away from your mouth. Twirling himself around, Emmett lowered his body closer to yours, he moved his sticky member away from your mouth, allowing his balls to easily slip into your mouth. He gripped onto your thighs and pressed his head into your cunt. 

Your moans vibrated around his balls, making his cock twitch, your head was locked in between his still covered legs, the denim rubbing against your ears. It wasn’t hard for him to get you already onto the edge. His tongue was deep inside of you, being pulsated by your walls. Emmett was groaning into your cunt, your eyes all swelled up by your orgasm desperately begging to break free. With one last deep push, your cunt clenched around his tongue for dear life as your loud moans of pleasure were blocked by his balls. 

With shaking legs, your orgasm wore off, slurring with your mouth still full. Pulling his head away, his beard was soaked in your juices. Emmett sighed as he softly climbed off of you, just to turn himself back around and pin you down, hands above your head. Your eyes were tired, breathing slow and heavy as he aligned his tip with your entrance. It took you a moment to even realize that this wasn’t over yet. 

He covered your mouth with his hand as he pushed himself inside of you, it only took a couple of thrusts until he was completely inside of you, he was mumbling by your ear as his pace slowly picked up. 

“Such a good little girl for me” he smiled, his beard brushing against your flustered cheeks. “See why I had to save you? I can take care of you baby, fulfill your needs, just like you can fulfill mine” he smiled like a cheshire cat. 

You were whining against his size, you’ve never been with someone so big before, his cock was twitching inside of you. Emmett wouldn’t be able to last as long as he’d want to, it’s been so long since he’s felt such an intimate touch. But he had to be able to make you come again before he’d allow himself to explode inside of you. 

Moaning your name by your ear over and over again, he started attacking your bundle of nerves by thrusting at a quick and strong speed. You were clenching against him, eyes rolling back as you struggled to breathe, the side of his index finger pressing up against your nostrils. 

“My sweet thing needs to come again?” Emmett moaned, his mouth wide open as he stared into your teary eyes. “Come around my cock, make me feel good aye?” Emmett ordered, his finger rubbing your clit perfectly. 

Shortly after that, you followed his demand and clenched tightly around his size. It sent vibrations down his length, right to his base. With a few more heavy thrusts, he exploded right down your womb. A heavy groan echoing through the room. His head was in the crook of your neck, planting wet kisses on your skin. 

Burying his cock all the way up to your cervix, his substance coated your walls, his base blocking anything to drip out of your entrance. Emmett was groaning quietly, slowly removing his moist hand from your mouth. 

You took a deep breath, the back of your head pressing into the mattress, Emmett raised his head and gave you gentle kisses among your face as you dozed off to sleep, with him still buried inside of you. 

[lgbtiqrefugeesblog]

My names are Peter from

uganda, asylum-seekers living in Gorom Refugee Camp in Sudan but also once ever been in kakuma refugee camp in kenya but due to increased insecurities and also most was going to loose life hence my second flee to sudan.

In the East African community, Sudan's North that's where we find Gorom refugee camp with a population of almost 200,000 people, and it's with in that camp that we the queer people are living.

A refugee has the right to safe asylum and freedom of thought, of movement, and freedom from torture and degrading treatment according to united Nation.

And according to the universal declaration of human rights article 5, “No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.” We the LGBTQIA+ refugees in Sudan have for long been living out of the scope of these fundamental human rights.

On the donations that are made,by well wishers they' provide us with a food so that we don't sleep on empty stomachs. This is because we receive roughly 2 kilograms of sorghum to take each person for a month from World Food Programme.

When we go to camp hospitals, we are not treated. We are discriminated and have to end up going to private hospitals to get proper treatment as per their sexualities. The donations always support us to ensue that we get this.

Hence we have decided to speak in unison to address these and a number of other issues that have either been overlooked or misrepresented by NGO's giving a false picture of security and safety here in Gorom refugee camp. In so doing, we have been denied a safe environment resulting in avoidable injuries, loss of personal property and life. This false picture has been painted with the help of external organizations which have come bearing a tag of human rights defenders when indeed their interest has either been monitory or have simply been used to promote the absurd notion that a few material things can make death and injuries resulting from homophobia and transphobia bearable. Based on that notion promoted by these organizations, some of who have appeared alongside UNCHR while speaking to the press, they have created the narrative that, it’s is the fault of the LGBTQIA+ refugees because we are not able to hide who we are. This narrative also has implied that the LGBTQIA+ refugees are simply looking for resettlement in the fourth country. According to the UNHCR and its agents, it’s very unreasonable for the persecuted and dying refugees in Gorom refugee camp to want a safe environment outside of Sudan and kenya and that the horrors that we face on a daily basis are ok. This is a homophobic and transphobic attack on us by the very institution that purports to protect us from the same.

Therefore, we strongly refute the allegations that we are not peaceful people and that the attacks we have suffered have been provoked. We also strongly refute the claim that African refugee camps and other places are not homophobic and transphobic. We continue to struggle to understand why we find ourselves in the same homophobic camp where UNHCR and the African government had to evacuate the LGBTQIA+ refugees as recently as 2019 to protect them from homophobic attacks. We have been given a shocking impression that upholding the African encampment policy is more important than saving lives even though this policy can and has been waived in the recent past.

We are disappointed by the casual approach and the laxity which the UNHCR and its partners continue to display in the way they have responded to the attacks on LGBTQIA+ refugees in Gorom and kakuma refugee camps which have claimed lives and left many with grave physical and psychological injuries. We read with a lot of shock their inaccurate statements claiming that African camps are now hospitable to the LGBTQIA+ and that the majority of us are living in relative safety. We can confirm that this is not true and that as a whole the LGBTQIA+ group in Gorom, we continue to face attacks irrespective of which part of sudan we live in. Children, women and others in the LGBTQIA+ community continue to face unprovoked attacks, harassment and heavy discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. UNHCR’s attempt to make it look like the problem lies within the queer community itself constitutes an attack on our vulnerable community and is out of line with their primary duty to recognize and protect those that are most vulnerable. This is highly regrettable and a strong deviation from their mandate.

We have turned to activists to get basics such as medical care and food, things which should be UNHCR’S obligations. Their attempts to undermine these humanitarian efforts shows that they are not bothered about our wellbeing. As the entire LGBTQIA+ family living in hostile and homophobic African refugee camps, we reiterate asking for your advocacy and support.

lgbtiq-refugees-blogs

Please 🙏🏿 consider my humble request for support.

Your's sincerely Peter from south Sudan refugee camp.

This is our fundraiser link, please read more here and donate for our survival.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/stand-with-queer-refugees-in-africa-peters-story?utm_medium=customer&utm_source=whatsapp&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&lang=en_US

[ceilidho]

do u perchance have any ghost/soap/reader thoughts to spare 🤲

oh my god you wouldn't even believe the amount of thoughts I have about them (nsfw below the read more)

I love thinking about what the dynamic might look like depending on who initiated the relationship.

I love love love the idea of Ghost dating you (a civilian who lives off base; maybe he even keeps you tucked away in a house somewhere up north to keep you safe) and realizing that Soap has a bit of a crush on you. He talks a bit too much whenever Ghost brings you around, postures a bit in front of you, and gets VERY sketchy and flighty when Ghost tries to talk to him about you later.

He won't admit it, but it's hard seeing pictures of you (or worse, meeting you in person and getting to see with his own eyes how teeny tiny you are next to his behemoth of a CO) because anytime Soap does, his thoughts immediately jump to something nasty like "wonder how he fits his cock in her mouth" "she probably gags on it a little"

He really can't help it; it's part being cocky and competitive by nature and wanting to measure up to the guy he holds in such high esteem (Soap's had a bit of a work crush on Ghost since basically day 1 of working together; his little heart eyes when he said "Save you a seat, sir" that first mission) and part genuine attraction. And then part being just a regular guy with filth on the brain 24/7 - like sue him, he sees a gorgeous girl and a guy twice her size with his arm around her waist, he's gonna think about that when he's alone in the showers.

Ghost obviously picks up on this almost instantly.

The next time Ghost brings you up, they're setting up camp somewhere in the desert, and Soap's already red face (he tans as well as he burns) grows even hotter. It's obvious that he's got it bad for you. It's also obvious that he thinks he's being slick and keeping his crush hidden from Ghost.

Weeks in the desert are a bitch to deal with. Especially weeks spent in near constant proximity to work colleagues/friends; usually the guys are used to sneaking off to crank one out every once in awhile, but something about this particular mission makes that impossible. They're stuck in the same quarters 24/7 and Soap can't even handle hearing your name because he's so pent up and jittery. Probably hasn't jerked off in at least a week and a half.

Maybe one night, when it's just Soap and Ghost retiring for the night while Price and Gaz take over watch, and Soap's been particularly acerbic all day, frustration etched into his face, Ghost drags him by the arm down with him onto the bed. Soap's caught off balance (they're both dead on their feet; he didn't expect Ghost to suddenly tug him down beside him onto the too small cot that barely has enough room for one of them) and tries to scramble away at first, but Ghost growls at him that if he doesn't tug one out and quit making stupid calls on their mission, he'll do it for him.

(Obviously, in this 'verse, Ghost wouldn't have any problem with that. He hasn't been suppressing his feelings for Soap so much as figuring out the best way to get Soap to come around to the idea)

The thing that finally stuns Soap into silence is when Ghost pulls out his phone (which has basically 3 contacts, a handful of photos and nothing else) and opens up a bunch of your nudes. Completely gobsmacked. Immediately bricked up, sweat beading on his upper lip, eyes flicking wildly over to Ghost at his side, who's already undoing his belt and Soap feels like his heart's about to pump straight out of his chest.

"Y'gonna lay there like a fucking idiot with your mouth open or deal with that?" Ghost finally growls, pulling his own cock out (Soap stops breathing for a second at the sight; it's as big as he would've guessed, proportional, girthier than it is long, and already hard, wet at the tip because Ghost's a pretty leaky man).

He's giving him tacit permission to jerk off to his girlfriend's nudes.....obviously Soap's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His brain is fried though - he won't even acknowledge the degrees to which this whole thing is absolutely fucked, jerking off with his lieutenant to his lieutenant's girlfriend's nudes.

All he can concentrate on are the photos of you in your lacy lingerie (maybe tugging your panties to the side, flipped over on your stomach with your hips canted in the air and ass on full display) and the sound of Ghost's hand slick over his dick. It's the hottest he's ever felt in his life and he's almost worried that he's going to pass out before he can even enjoy himself properly.

[Maybe right before he comes, Ghost reaches over and wraps a big hand around Soap's balls and gives them just the slightest little squeeze, grunting in his ear to "c'mon, get it over with", and Soap near blacks out from how hard he comes]

[maeintree]

chapter i. | into the hollow

Summary: Your long-awaited vacation is cut short when Bill Randa drags you into a classified expedition. Now, you’re stuck in a room full of military personnel, a photographer, and a quiet but observant tracker, James Conrad. As Randa and Houston Brooks explain their Hollow Earth theory, you start to realize—this mission is more than it seems, and Conrad knows it too. Pairing: James Conrad x Field Medic!Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: Military themes, strong language, slow burn romance, suspense, mentions of injuries, canon-typical violence Author's Note: setting the stage for the expedition! this chapter introduces key players and builds up the tension before skull island, and it's a little short and i'm sorry! hope you enjoy nevertheless.

Masterlist | ← Previous Chapter ⋆ Next Chapter →

The room is stuffy and thick with the scent of old paper, burnt coffee, and sweat. A single oscillating fan hums from the corner, doing little to push the heat around.

The walls are lined with maps, aerial photographs, and classified documents tacked to corkboards, the kind of place where bad ideas are made to sound reasonable. 

You pause in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the faces gathered inside. Your sweater sleeve covers your nose, shielding you from the foul stench wafting through the room. Fucking smells in here. 

It sucks, you think. All these soldiers (as well as Landsat), just like you, were ready to go home—finally take a break, see their kids, and enjoy some peace after the war with Vietnam. But instead, you’re being sent off again, dragged into a mission with a bunch of maniacs convinced they'll find something on an island that will probably get them all killed.

The projector turns on, and a man starts speaking: "Hello and welcome. I'm Landsat Field Supervisor Victor Nieves." He points to a blond man at the front: "This is my colleague Steve Woodward, our data wrangler."

He continues, "Our expedition takes us to a place every nautical trade route known to man has avoided for centuries. As for our satellites show that the island is surrounded by a perpetual storm system, allowing it to remain hidden from the outside world; but with Colonel Packard's helicopter transport, we will be the first to break through to the other side." 

"We're also pleased to be joined, for the first time, by the resource exploration team led by Mr. Randa and accompanied by biologist Miss San, geologist Mr. Brooks, and Field Medic," he says your name. Heads turn toward Bill, Houston, and the biologist, while you remain at the very back, mostly unnoticed—except for Conrad, who glances back at you.

"Our focus will be on the island's surface, theirs, what lies beneath." He turns his head towards Houston, "Mr. Brooks," signaling for him to go to the front. 

"Simple really, we'll use explosives to shake the earth and create vibrations, helping us map the subsurface of the island." The projector switches to the bombing plan. "We'll fly in over the south shore and strategically drop seismic charges to better understand the earth's density."  

"You're dropping bombs?" Conrad’s British accent cuts through the room.  

Houston nods awkwardly. "...Eh, scientific instruments."  

A soldier chuckles. "You hear that, boys? We're scientists now!" Laughter follows.  

Woodward, a.k.a blond man grunts. "You guys are not scientists."  

"We'll land and set up base camp for ground excursions led by Captain Conrad." Conrad gives a slight nod. The speaker scans the room before calling out, "Major Jack Chapman."  

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp military uniform steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His thick Southern drawl carries through the room as he begins speaking.

"Once on the island, the storm’s interference will cut radio contact with the ship. We’ll be on our own." The projector clicks again.  

"Three days later, the refueling team meets us here." Chapman points to the north end of the island. "That may be our only safe departure window."  

"So, tip for everybody—don’t miss it. Please."  

The supervisor wraps it up. "Alright, back to your places. We fly in the morning. Good luck."  

You’re the first out, escaping the awful-smelling room and into the cold, salty air. The meeting was exactly what you expected—reckless plans wrapped in scientific excuses. Pulling your sweater tighter, you descend the metal stairs, boots clanking against steel. 

"Goddamn suicide mission. Why am I in this? Why, dear Lord, why?" you whisper to yourself. 

You flip through the file Randa gave you again, hoping for some kind of reassurance. The words blur together, refusing to sink in no matter how many times you read them. Everything happened too fast—too sudden for the gravity of it all to truly settle.  

Just yesterday, you had stormed into Randa’s office, furious at him for going back to the senator. And somehow, Senate Willis agreed to this insanity. Jesus Christ. Probably worried about competition, afraid the Soviets would find something first. But still—goddamn.

The ship sways gently beneath you, the deep hum of the engine vibrating through the deck. Around you, soldiers linger in small groups, their laughter and conversation blending with the distant crash of waves.

You weave through narrow corridors, the dim overhead lights flickering slightly with each shift of the vessel.

Eventually, you find your way down to a storage unit, stacked high with crates stamped with military insignias and Landsat labels. Equipment—cameras, geological tools, radios—piles upon piles of supplies meant for an expedition that feels more like an invasion. 

As you scan the room, a faint shimmer of light catches your eye from the far corner. Curious, you step closer.  

Conrad stands near a stack of crates, the small flicker of a lighter illuminating his face in the dimly lit storage bay. Shadows dance across the sharp angles of his jaw as he reads the labels, his expression unreadable. At the sound of your footsteps, he turns, brows furrowed.  

"What are you doing down here?" he asks, his voice low, steady.  

You lean against a crate, arms crossed. "I could ask you the same thing." The air smells of wood, metal, and a faint trace of oil. 

Glancing at the boxes, you feign casual curiosity. "Why does a geological mapping mission need explosives?"  

He tilts his head slightly, watching you. "You weren’t listening in class. Seismic charges for the geological survey."  

You walk past him, fingers trailing over the rough wooden crates, scanning the stenciled labels. Landsat Equipment. Seismic Survey. Your lips press together. "Uh-huh. You believe that?"  

"I didn’t say that," he replies simply.  

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shift gears. "Have you met Colonel Packard yet?"  

Conrad nods. "Yeah."  

You scoff. "The guy's wound pretty tight."  

Conrad shrugs, flicking his lighter open and shut. "Well, the man's a decorated war hero. That’s the package they come in." His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he asks, "And you? Isn’t one field medic on a jungle mission a step down for medical?"  

You narrow your eyes. "I didn’t choose to be here," you say, tone edged. Then, arching a brow, you add, "Are you doubting my credibility? Safe to say, I think I’m a damn good medic."  

He smirks faintly. "And being here doubles the small pay you have."  

You huff a quiet laugh. "Huh. Okay, Captain Conrad, what about you?" You tilt your head, challenging. "How did British Special Forces get roped into this?"  

"Just Conrad," he corrects. "I’m decommissioned."  

"Mhm."  

"They offered me money," he says as if that explains everything.  

"Ah, right. Just like the small pay you mentioned earlier." You mimic his words with a smirk, catching the slight flicker of amusement in his expression. "You don’t strike me as a mercenary."  

He meets your gaze, unreadable. "And you don’t strike me as someone who’s seen war."  

You hold his stare. "Government field medic," you clarify. "I don’t do war."  

The ship creaks, metal shifting with the waves. For a moment, silence stretches between you, something unspoken settling in the air. Then, a sharp click—a sudden flash blinds you.  

"Sorry, documentation," a voice chimes. You blink, turning to see Mason—Weaver, or whatever her name is—grinning slyly, camera in hand. "Also, both of you are being called."  

You clear your throat, glancing at Conrad before nodding toward the stairs. "You coming?"  

He hesitates, flicking his lighter one last time before pocketing it. His gaze lingers on the crates as if considering something. Then, with a small nod, he exhales.  

"Yeah."

You and Conrad barely make it a few steps toward the stairs before the sound of approaching footsteps echoes through the storage bay. The dim overhead lights flicker as the ship sways, casting long shadows over the crates.

Turning your head, you spot Bill Randa, Houston Brooks, and San Lin making their way toward you. Randa looks as intense as ever, his gaze sharp behind those thick glasses, while Houston appears more at ease, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

San Lin moves with quiet curiosity, eyes scanning the stacks of equipment.  

“There you are,” Randa says, adjusting his glasses. His voice carries that same urgency he’s had since the beginning of this mission. “We were looking for you both.”  

Conrad tucks his hands into his pockets, glancing briefly at you before replying. “Didn’t realize we had a curfew.”  

Houston chuckles under his breath as he steps past, running a hand over one of the crates. “Impressive setup, huh? Landsat really went all in.” He tilts his head at one of the labels.

Geological Survey Equipment. Seismic Imaging.

“This stuff could map the entire island in incredible detail… or, you know, do a hell of a lot more than that.”  

San Lin examines a set of carefully sealed containers, each marked with biohazard symbols and research tags. “I assume you two weren’t just down here sightseeing?” she asks, her voice calm but pointed.  

“Sightseeing’s not really my thing,” you reply, crossing your arms.  

Randa exhales, clearly uninterested in small talk. “The mission briefing is over, and I need you both focused. There’s a lot you don’t understand yet.” He turns toward the crates, pressing a palm against one as if grounding himself.

“Everything we need to confirm our theory is right here.”  

You exchange a glance with Conrad, who looks just as unconvinced as you feel. “Right,” you say, voice dry. “A theory.”  

Houston gestures toward a nearby set of steel doors at the back of the bay. “Come on, since you’re down here, might as well take a look at the other storage areas.”  

Reluctantly, you follow as he pushes the doors open, revealing another section of the ship lined with rows of metal shelves and stacked crates. Inside, floodlights hum overhead, casting a harsh white glow over the neatly organized equipment.

Maps and geological charts are pinned to a board near the entrance, displaying rough sketches of Skull Island’s terrain. A few scientists are inside, cataloging supplies—mostly radios, first aid kits, and survival gear.  

Near the back, a weapons locker sits against the wall, its steel doors secured with heavy-duty locks.

Inside the mesh barrier, you can make out the unmistakable shapes of rifles, handguns, and stacks of ammunition. Next to it, another container is marked with a bold red symbol—explosives.  

You glance at Conrad, who doesn’t seem surprised.  

“Seismic charges, huh?” you murmur, voice laced with skepticism.  

Randa ignores you, stepping further inside as if absorbing the weight of everything stored here. “We are on the brink of discovery,” he says, more to himself than anyone else.  

Houston, ever the optimist, claps a hand against one of the crates. “Let’s just hope we live long enough to see it.”  

You shiver slightly as a draft creeps in from somewhere, the cold steel walls doing little to keep out the ocean’s chill. Folding your arms, you take a slow step back toward the door.  

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s hope.”

The spare bedroom is small, barely enough space for the two cots squeezed into opposite corners. A single overhead light flickers, casting a dim yellowish glow over the metal walls. You drop your bag onto the cot closest to the wall, exhaling as you finally sit down. The air smells faintly of salt and oil, but at least it’s better than that god-awful meeting room.

Mason sets her camera bag down by her bed, stretching her arms with a tired sigh. “So,” she starts, glancing at you with a knowing smirk, “what were you and Conrad doing down there?”

You huff a quiet laugh, kicking off your boots. “Sightseeing.”

She raises a brow. “Right. Sightseeing in a dark cargo hold full of explosives and classified equipment?”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one with a lighter and a suspicious amount of curiosity,” you say, leaning back against the wall. “Conrad was already there when I showed up.”

Mason hums, clearly unconvinced but amused. “Mm-hmm. You two seemed cozy.”

You scoff. “If by ‘cozy’ you mean questioning the sanity of this mission, then yeah, sure.”

“Seriously, though,” she says, shifting to face you. “What do you think’s really going on with this mission?”

You exhale, staring at the ceiling. “Nothing good. Randa’s desperate, Packard’s got that war-hungry look in his eye, and those ‘seismic charges’ aren’t fooling anyone.”

Mason nods. “Yeah. Feels off.” She fiddles with her camera. “But at least we’ve got front-row seats.”

You watch her adjust the lens, her fingers moving with practiced ease. “You believe in all that—exposing the truth, showing people what they don’t want to see?”

She shrugs. “Someone has to.”

You smirk. “Lucky us.”

A pause lingers between you before you smirk. “Alright, journalist. If we live through this, first round’s on you.”

Mason laughs. “Deal.”

The ship groans as another wave rolls beneath it, but for the first time tonight, the tension in your chest eases just a little.

funny how she said she doesn't do sightseeing then says she does to mason.. kinda weird, anyway that was chapter one! i used most of the script from the movie itself to actually feel like you're in it. hope you enjoyed, lots of love from me! (sorry if it was too short, the chapters will be much more longer later on!)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

[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.

[frost-queen]

Cursed to be alone // part 3 (Teen!Reader & Rick Grimes)

Requested by: Anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @frogtits1

Summary: [based on Joel & Ellie's relationship] Taken in, you have a very important deciscion ahead of you. One where you could save the world. Rick finally comes to terms and goes to search for you. Determined he would find you, he comes face to face with some who might know where you are. Taken, he must survive to get you out in time. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 4 ]

A light flickered above your head. Giving you almost a headache as they have been flickering for the past hours. The room otherwise in complete darkness. You had been in this room long enough to not know if it was day or night. The clank of a handle being opened made you get up. The heavy door opening. At first a gaping dark hole till the first man appeared. Then the second. They each took on a side by the door.

Arms crossed. Then a third one entered. The woman. Her white coat reflecting against the darkened room. She entered more, gesturing for you to sit. Looking down behind you, you sat back down on the camping bed. She came kneeling before you, taking out a little flashlight. – “Can you tell me your name?” – she asked flashing the light in your eye.

It blinded you for a second as she swayed it to the side. – “Y/n Y/l/n.” – you answered as she shone in your other eye, repeating her gesture. – “Do you know where you are?” – she asked tapping your chin to open your mouth. So you did opening your mouth wide for her. She shone her flashlight in your mouth with a soft hum. Tugging her light away you closed your mouth once more.

“Somewhere South or North from Alexandria.” – you responded. – “Is that were you came from?” – she questioned. – “No.” – you let her know. She quirked her eyebrow up. – “Do you have any family?” – she said picking up your arm to observe. – “No.” – you replied. She turned and twisted your arm around for her to get a good look at it.

“How old is this one?” – she wanted to know. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at your own arm. – “Six months.” – you told her with a shrug. She hummed with a nod. She took your other arm taking a look at it. – “Do you know who I am?” – she asked curious. – “No, three months old.” – you told her seeing she was looking at another bitemark on your arm. She let go of your arm going lower. She lifted a bit of your pants up revealing your freshest wound. – “Recently.” – she spoke more to herself than asking a question. She lowered your pants again, getting slowly up.

“When you saved me, you told me you were looking for me… who are you?” – you asked when she was heading back for the door. She stopped turning back around with a smile. – “I am a scientist.” – she said. – “and you honey could save the world.” – she finished. By the entrance she faced one of the men you recognized from before they took you in. – “Keep her here for another day, just to be sure.” – she briefly glanced over her shoulder at you. You had pressed your hands between your legs, looking down.

They all left leaving you once more alone. You sighed deep looking up to the ceiling. Before you knew it your mind went to Rick and the others. Your absence all known to them by now. Slightly you wondered if they were looking for you. Perhaps Daryl was, but Rick surely not. He had made himself clear last time you saw him.

You were nothing to him and will remain nothing to him. Exhaling loud you laid down. Staring lost in front of you. Waiting the hours till you would get released from the isolation. All to be entirely save, the scientist had told you. As if your old bite marks weren’t enough to alert her you weren’t turning into a walker.

No she needed actual proof that you weren’t going to turn. Perhaps this was the best place for you to be. Away from the others so you couldn’t disappoint them more. Specially Rick as you had let him down numerous times. It wasn’t that you did it on purpose. It just appeared that doom followed you like a shadow. Always getting into trouble without even seeking it. Did the walkers perhaps liked how you smelled? Felt attracted to be near? Your head was spinning as you squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to block it all out.

Rick had geared up in silence. Sneaking out of his room and leaving the house. He still wasn’t sure what possessed him to go and search for you. Was it perhaps the guilt eating at him? Or perhaps the worriedness wanting to know where you were now. Were you save? Hurt? Dead? He felt himself go crazy without knowing the answer. Alexandria was still sleeping in when Rick left the house. He made his way over to the gate. He came to a stop sighing deep at the sight of Daryl. Daryl was holding his crossbow, leaning against the gate.

The moment he saw Rick he removed himself from against the gate. – “Finally let’s go.” – Daryl spoke opening the gate. Rick sighed loud with a shake of his head. – “I’m going alone.” – Rick insisted on walking up to him. – “No you aren’t.” – he heard from behind him. Rick exhaled deep turning around to Glenn and Michonne approaching. – “Guys listen I’m going alone.” – he pressed on. Glenn walked passed him, patting his hand on Rick’s shoulder. – “It has already been decided.” – he said. Michonne looked sternly at Rick not saying a word as she went after Glenn.

Daryl whistled loud. – “Rick! Come on!” – he called out. Rick touched his forehead brief before giving in and following the others. Daryl closed the gate behind Rick. – “Took you long enough.” – Daryl commented walking by Rick. He quickened his pace coming to a stop before Rick. – “For your sake she better not be dead.” – he poked Rick hard in the chest.

Rick took a deep breath, knowing this was all his fault. It sure as hell felt like it. The tense atmosphere hanging above their heads making it clear. Daryl to the lead with Glenn. It didn’t take them long to hear the gargling sounds of a walker. Daryl spotted it first. Laying on the ground, trying to crawl further.

Daryl took out an arrow closing in on it. The walker lifted their head up, snapping their mouth to Daryl. Squash. The swift strike of Daryl’s arrow point inside the walkers brain send it lifeless down. He took an interesting notice of the walker seeing a clear knife wound in it’s leg. – “This way.” – Daryl called out. Glenn came jogging over to his side. – “Was she here?” – he asked. Daryl hummed loud keeping a close eye on the ground.

The group went on following your trail. After a few hours walk they stumbled upon a deserted town. Glenn ran up to a walker laying down on the ground. – “Shot.” – he said. Michonne held her katana close looking carefully around. Daryl went towards the shop where the glass had been broken. The walker having clearly come from there. – “What do we do? She can be everywhere.” – Glenn pointed out, looking over at Rick. Rick’s expression was tense. – “We search every house.” – he replied. They decided to split up and search each compound for you. If you were still here.

The door opened once more as you slowly got up. A man entered lingering in the door opening. He gestured for you to come near. So you did with a bit of caution. Taking the first step out of the room felt strange. As if leaving a save place behind. Stepping into the unknown. The man guided you through a long corridor. Till you went into another room. A brightly lighted room. The lights hurt your eyes making you squeeze them till you had adjusted to the light. The scientist was also present in the room. – “How are you feeling Y/n?” – she asked looking briefly up from her clipboard.

She continued to scribble on it before handing it over to another woman. – “Okay.” – you answered taking a tentative notice of the room. The scientist approached you. She motioned for you to open your mouth. So you did as she looked inside. – “Good.” – she muttered. – “Let me show you around.” -she started moving an arm around you. You got led out of the room into another corridor. It was the first time you noticed how many people were actually here. You always thought it was just the three of them. It appeared they were numbered. Some men were moving food packages from one table to another. A girl holding a clipboard and counting with her pen.

She noticed you were staring, curling up half a smile. – “We are with quite a lot. Grew over the last year.” – she explained leading you into another room. More people in white coats walking around. – “Are… are we at a lab?” – you questioned. – “Sort of.” – she answered. The people in white coats looked at you and waved. You waved shyly back at their sudden kindness as if they had known you for ages. – “They are very pleased with your presence. We all are.” – she went on taking you by the shoulders and guiding you into another room.

It was a smaller room, simple but comforting. She sat you down. – “Y/n I have something to ask of you.” – she started off. You swallowed nervously. – “I’m sure you are well aware of the immunity in your body.” – she said making you nod. – “Well you see with you we could create a cure to save a lot of people.” – she approached gently. – “Do you want to save us from this nightmare?”

You thought back of Rick and the other. Despite the struggles you still wished a peaceful world for them. Thinking about Carl and Judy made your shudder out a breath. You pulled up your sleeve showing her your arm. – “Will my blood cure us?” – you asked her. She subtilty changed her expression lowering your arm. – “Do you consent?” – she said. The words felt dry in your mouth. If drawing your blood could make a cure, it was worth the shot.

Even now you were still thinking about Rick. Wanting him to find peace. Perhaps he would be proud of you, knowing you cured the world. It would be enough to see him smile proudly at you. You hadn’t predicted it but they became like a family to you. The only thing you had left in this dying world. If they had a chance of living peaceful you would happily grant them that. You swallowed the knot down. – “Yes.” – you answered. The scientist thanked you.

Rick sighed deep. Every empty house he had searched made his heart sink deeper. Daryl, Glenn and Michonne weren’t lucky either. They had re-grouped in the middle of the deserted town. – “She’s not here.” – Rick said moving his hands frustratingly on his head, looking around with a hint of panic. – “I told you to come sooner!” – Daryl called out. – “But no you had to mope and hold a bloody grudge!” – Daryl finished shouting his words in frustration. Rick lowered his hands. – “I know this is on me!” – he shouted back.

“Look I don’t need to feel like hell for failing her! For failing her like I have failed every other godforsaken thing I care about. I don’t need it!” – Rick yelled back in anger. Glenn glanced over to Michonne seeing Rick turn at the brink of losing his mind. Rick crouched down, rubbing his lip to prevent it from trembling. – “Rick…” – Glenn began. – “Just go home.” – Rick answered. – “I’ll find her alone.” – he got back up turning to his friends. – “I’ll bring her back, I promise.” – he said to Daryl.

Daryl scoffed loud. Michonne seemed to be the only one paying attention to her surroundings. – “Car!” – she suddenly called out making everyone snap out of it. On cue a car raced around the corner into town. Rick and the others went into hiding, watching them from a distance. They watched as three men got out. A fourth one staying in the car.

They entered a building. Rick ducked down hearing shots being fired. – “Maybe they know?” – Rick mumbled to himself. – “Rick!” – Glenn shout-whispered pulling him back down. Rick freed himself going out of hiding over to them. – “Rick!” – Glenn called out trying not to be too loud. Rick went up to the car, startling the person behind the wheels. – “The hell!” – the guy called out opening his door.

“Please have you seen a girl around here? Her name is Y/n.” – he asked practically begging him. His other friends heard the commotion walking out. Two of them holding supplies. – “On your knees!” – the first one said, pointing a gun at Rick. Rick went on his knees, keeping his hands up. – “Please… I am looking for a girl. Have you seen her?” – he asked desperately. – “I…I…I have a picture of her…” – he lowered one hand as the second guy pointed his gun at Rick too.

“It’s just a picture.” – Rick said reaching with trembling hands to his pocket. The picture got pulled out as the third guy snatched the photo from his hands. He showed to his friend. – “The girl on the left… have you seen her?” – he begged. The first one tilted his head. – “What is she to you?” – he asked with a cocky nod. – “Family…” – Rick answered finally admitting it to himself. The first one glanced over at the fourth one behind Rick. Smack. A heavy blow to the head let Rick fall down. Darkness consuming him as he was off this world.

Rick inhaled deep slowly waking up. The world around him a blur. Slowly lifting his head up, he felt the throbbing pain on his back. He blinked rapidly, rolling over yet it was too fast as it knocked another wave of headache on him. The moment he noticed another person in the room, he snapped back to reality. A woman standing in regular clothing. – “What is she to you?” – she asked. Rick blinked a few more times to get himself more awake. – “I’m looking for a girl.” – he breathed out seating himself better on the bed.

“What is she to you?” – the woman asked again. It was still fuzzy in his mind as he couldn’t follow her words yet. – “Who?” – Rick answered as the world slowly stopped spinning. – “The girl with immunity.” – the woman replied firmly. Rick was suddenly wide awake. – “You have her! Where is…” – he tried to get up but stumbled right back, sitting back down. – “She’s being prepped for surgery.” – she spoke. Rick looked confused around. – “What surgery?” – he wanted to know.

The woman took a deep breath. – “Our doctor. He thinks the cordyceps has been growing with her since her first bite.” – she told him yet Rick wouldn’t have ears for it. – “Why is she in surgery?” – Rick wondered worriedly. – “It makes normal cordyceps thinks she is cordyceps, that is why she is immune.” – she went on to explaining. – “He is going to remove it from her and multiply the cells in a lab, produce a cure… and then we can give it to everyone.” – she finished.

He furrowed his brows a bit. – “Cor… cordyceps grow inside the brain…” – he answered slowly realising what it means. The woman kept staring at him with no emotion. – “It does.” – she answered turning to take her leave. – “Find someone else.” – Rick said stopping her from fully leaving the room. – “There is no one else.” – she sighed out. – “Look we didn’t tell her, we didn’t cause her any fear.” – the woman began while Rick was shaking his head. – “There will be no pain.”

Rick started to get up anxiously worried. – “No, you take me to her immediately!” – he ordered reiving a blow to the stomach. Rick fell coughing in pain. The woman held the man who had hit Rick in place. – “Please.” – Rick begged pitiful. – “She’s just a girl…” – he added looking heartbroken at her. – “And we are just trying to survive.” – she answered. She spoke to one of her guards. – “See him out. If he does anything.” – she glanced briefly down at him. – “Shoot him.” – she finished. Rick got pulled up, escorted out of the room. He glared at her when being moved passed her.

They led Rick to the stairway going down. Rick obeyed in silence being pushed from time to time. Half down the steps he stopped. – “Hey move it!” – one of the guards said. Rick took a deep breath before spinning around and grabbing his gun. The guard was taken off guard, letting go of the gun. Rick shot at him as he stumbled back against the wall. Rick elbowed the other one sending him down. He kicked his gun away. Grabbing him by the shirt, he pulled him up. – “Where is she?” – he asked. The guy whimpered shaking his head. Rick fired twice as he stopped twitching. – “I don’t have time for this.” – he spoke stepping over the bodies.

He went back up the stairs trying to find his way to surgery. His expression went stern, gun in the ready. Going through a door he fired at some people who were packing. They never stood a chance. He went on keeping his guard up. He encountered two scientists unarmed. He shot one of them down. – “Where!” – he shouted at the second one. The second one begged him not to shoot. – “Where?” – Rick repeated louder.

He pointed in a direction, shaking on his knees. Rick fired not giving a damn about him. He saw everyone in here as a threat. Each and every one responsible for abducting you and forcing you into this. Rick continued carefully. A guy surprised him as he managed to shoot it from up close. Some blood splattering on his clothing. The guy was squirming on the floor as Rick shot at his head without looking.

Everywhere he went he left a trail of dead bodies. An alarm had gone off warning everyone of him being loose. Rick entered another room finding a wide glass window. He froze for a second seeing the operating table. There you laid. Lifeless on the table as they had put you to sleep. He watched as the doctor took a scalpel nearing it to your head. Rick came in motion entering the operating room. – “Unhook her.” – he said pointing his gun.

The doctor and two nurses got startled, holding their hands up. – “How did you get in here?” – the doctor asked. Rick’s gaze was fixated on you on the table. Something snapped inside of him, shooting the doctor in the chest. The two nurses jumped out of fright. – “Unhook her!” – he ordered pointing the gun at them. The nurses squeaked with fear unhooking you. There appeared blood where they had pulled out the needle. – “Cover that up!” – he shouted as one of the nurses quickly plastered it.

They moved back, keeping their hands up. He neared you placing his gun down. Seeing the peaceful state of you made him emotional. Thinking how they were going to operate your brain without you knowing you would never wake up. Rick carefully picked you up in his arms.

He looked at the nurses with a dead stare. They were afraid to do anything. Rick walked out, carrying you. Your arm swayed having fallen off your lap. The alarm kept ringing as he made his way further down. Having killed almost everyone gave him an advantage. – “I’m sorry.” – he whispered to you. – “I’m sorry I didn’t see it before…” – Rick went down to the front with you. – “Stop!” – a voice called out making Rick turn with you. It was the same woman from when he woke up.

“You are making a terrible mistake.” – she breathed out. – “She can cure the world. What is the life of one girl against countless others?” – she asked. Bang. She looked down as the red stain formed on her shirt. – “Everything.” – Rick replied. She looked back up at him in shock. Her eyes rolled back before she fell backwards on the ground. Rick looked briefly down at you. He then turned around stepping into the daylight.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[bvckbiter]

“Leave me behind.” – ethabaster (romantic) angst

for the request game

Alabaster stares at his boyfriend. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Ethan turns over in his bunk to face the wall, away from Alabaster. “If you really plan to defect, you better fucking leave me behind.”

“Why?”

“I’m in this for better or for worse, Bas. There’s no world where I take the easy way out.”

“The easy way—” Alabaster swallows hard as heat rises to his face. He’ll be damned if he cries in front of Ethan, even if the tears were of anger. “Ethan, if this goes on, nine-tenths of our army will be decimated by the time we win.”

“That’s the price of war.”

“Three of my siblings died today!”

“Not in vain. We rescued the Clazmonian Sow from the Hunt.”

“And that’s what they’re worth?” Alabaster’s voice crack. “A flying pig? Makes me wonder what you’d trade me in for.“

A sigh. Ethan sits up.

“Come here.” Ethan draws him in. A sob rips a path out of Alabaster’s chest as he buries his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

A few seconds is all he lets himself indulge in before Alabaster pulls away, furiously scrubbing at his eyes. "if you're really sorry, then come with us," he says heavily. "I'll lose my mind if I see any more of my siblings die. Or you."

"I can't." A strong hand tucks errant strands of hair behind his ear, rueful and loving. "Three of your siblings might've died today, General, but do you know how many other demigods have died since I joined the Army?"

Alabaster sniffles. Maybe thirty-two, thirty-three. He'd lost exact count at twenty. Keeping demigods alive as the Army moved around the North American continent without the magical protections that Camp Half-Blood offered had been incredibly difficult; not all newcomers adapted well, especially the younger ones.

He's so tired.

"We have a cause, and we have a responsibility to the corpses we stand on," continues Ethan. His hand slips down Alabaster's face, tracing his jaw before nudging the younger boy to look at him. "I can't let their deaths be in vain, even if you're willing to turn tail because some of them hit closer to home than you were prepared for."

"Do you always have to be so pragmatic?" Alabaster heaves.

"I'm not saying that I relish their deaths. There's a reason why I remember the number, and every single one of their names and faces." A trembling smile spreads on Ethan's lips. "But it's nothing that I don't expect of myself, too."

With the tidal wave of grief and the combined six hours of sleep he'd managed over the past three days, every remaining neuron in Alabaster's brain is struggling to keep firing. Too many emotions and arguments and apologies fighting its way out of his body.

It's infinitely easier to sink back into Ethan's embrace.

"I hate you," Alabaster mumbles.

"You like that I give zero fucks about openly disagreeing with you. I mean, you said so yourself when you very dramatically made your feelings for me known." Soft snickers escape them both, before Ethan's tone turns somber again. "Changed your mind?"

Their foreheads touching and fatigued breaths mingling, Alabaster traces the eyepatch strings along Ethan's temple.

"A good general doesn't leave his men behind, I guess," Alabaster answers, hoping and holding his mother's words to his aching heart as a balm.

We will be victorious, Alabaster. I'm sure of it.

---

"Child," his mother warns, Greek fire-green eyes flaring in alarm as Alabaster's discordant laughs echo around them.

"Mother," he says hysterically. "Even if I leave him here, I can't let his death be in vain."

"Think about the siblings you have left under your care."

"Ethan would've wanted this." His fist curls iron-tight around his sword, the handle of it now bound to his hand by the frayed eyepatch he'd pried off Ethan's broken body. "We regroup."

***

thanks for this req! it was extremely yummy to write 😋

this is based off an idea i had of ethan and al having kind of opposite trajectories wrt their loyalties to kronos. ethan is under no illusion that hes being a hero and this will be a bloodless fight, only turned by the excessiveness and aimlessness of kronos' violence; meanwhile al genuinely wants to be the good guy and struggles with making sacrifices even if it's for what he perceives as a good cause - right up until he's lost too much and he gets hits with the worst case of sunken cost fallacy known to man

ethan is a tad manipulative here, which is something i don't think i see that often in fanworks, but i just think that with al being Delusional™️, ethan is also kind of the og Delusional™️ even if it's to a lesser degree, so it's fun to kind of sprinkle in how one influenced the other... al had to learn his shit somewhere.

casualty numbers completely made up on the fly. im not here for statistics-scaling

[wafflesrock16]

Shakarian Viking/Soulmate AU

Remember how I said this idea wouldn't leave me? I had to write it out. Who else wants Viking berserker Shepard and Anglo-Saxon prince Garrus? Below a the cut.

Shepard watched as Jarl Anderson lowered his torch, setting the brittle branches at the base of the pyre aflame. The scent of pitch and smoke filled her nostrils, the loud crack of timber breaking the stillness of the gathered group of watchers. They stood near enough to feel the heat of the fire on their faces as it consumed the wooden structure, red tongued flames licking at the platform and the shrouded form that lay atop it. 

“He’s in Valhalla, now,” she heard Kaidan murmur. “We should all be so lucky to die in glorious battle.”

Shepard frowned. Jenkins had only been raised to the berserkers the year prior. He had never voyaged to the havens. This was to be his first raid along the Widow Sea’s frontier. He had known the risks, as did all who ventured here. Still, his death sat like a heavy stone in the pit of Shepard’s stomach.

At least he didn’t have a soulmate tethered to his spirit. There’s no one feeling hollowed out with inconsolable grief back home. The reasoning did little to staunch her guilt; if anything it only made it worse since it caused her to feel grateful she didn’t have a soulmate, either. 

Shepard sighed. She was the berserker commander. Jenkins was her responsibility. She wasn’t a wet nurse, but she ought to have kept an eye on him; at least admonished him to stay out of the trees. The silver-barked forests in this region were deadly. Old enemies with eagle eyes and rapier-like claws favored the cover the thick woods offered. 

She turned away from the funerary pyre and the low, solemn chanting that had begun as fire swallowed Jenkins mortal body. Nobody stopped her as she strode away from the conflagration, back toward the longboats. She needed a moment alone with her thoughts without guilt crowding in on her.

 The turians know we’re here—they must have spied us well before we made landfall though bleed me if I know how. Shepard found herself walking past where the dragon-headed longships had been pulled up onto the beach, lost in consideration. We outnumber them, though they have the advantage of knowing the terrain. They also have at least one skilled archer among them, even though that’s not who sent Jenkins off to Odin. 

No, a turian swordsman had done Jenkins in, and Shepard had returned the favor with her axe. It was small comfort. Humans and turians had battled for the land and wealth along the Citadel’s coast for time immemorial. There was talk of an asari negotiated peace treaty, but so far that’s all it was. Talk. Shepard wagered that nothing would come from those talks in her lifetime. And who knows how long that’ll be if we stay here?

Gravel crunched under her boots in the lengthening shadows of twilight. Shepard rounded a gentle curve in the land and came to stand on a dead tree, facing the North. The wind that whipped her fiery red hair about her face was warmer than back home. Then again, they were a long way from home, now.

She watched the dying light upon the waves, the ocean glittering like crushed diamonds. It would be dark soon. They’d need to make camp and plot their next course. Did they take the river deeper inland, as was the original plan? Or did they double back, take their chances in krogan territory where turians didn’t dare venture.

Against the crash of the breakers, Shepard missed the sound of a bowstring drawing taut. It was something else, some inexplicable tug at her heart, a susurration of unheard whispers in her ear, that caused her to suddenly duck and roll, the hidden knives she kept about her person flying into her hands. 

There was a loud thawk, as a barbed arrow embedded itself into the driftwood where she’d been standing. 

She flung a knife, gratified to hear the sound of a large body diving to the sand. She charged before the archer could restring his bow, tackling him to the ground with a savage roar. 

Eyes bluer than the center of a flame stared up at her from within a silver plated face, painted with the bold cobalt markings of Clan Vakarian. The turian’s crest of horns was cushioned by a clump of dried seaweed, tiny insects furiously buzzing about his head at the invasion. 

He flared his mandibles, exposing long, sharp, silver teeth. His jaw dropped as he took in his soon-to-be killer. Shepard sat astride his narrow waist, holding her second knife above his ridged nose, poised to strike. 

Something in those burning eyes softened. “You’re beautiful.” The rumbling subharmoinics seemed to embrace her, a vocal hug to reinforce the sincerity of his words. 

Shepard sucked in a deep breath. For the first time in years, ridiculously, tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Shut up!” She shook her head as if to dislodge his words. “I hate you!”

Her hand holding the knife quivered. In the crystalline depths of his alien eyes, she saw herself reflected back, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl, red hair framing her face. The embodiment of a valkyrie and harbinger of death. Except, I don’t want to kill him, she realized. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit you,” the turian murmured. “If I had been, you’d already be dead. I hadn’t realized you were . . . you.” He suffused the word with a mix of awe and wonder that left Shepard’s chest feeling tight. 

With a cry born as much from confusion as frustration, Shepard rolled off him. She leaped to her feet, kicking a clump of sand. “Leave,” she commanded, wiping at her treacherous eyes. 

The turian slowly rose to his degi-grade feet. Sharp claws extended from the open toes of his boots. “What if I want to stay?”

Shepard glared at him. “Why should you stay? After what your clan did to our landing party this morning and us to you, shouldn’t you be regrouping?”

Why in the frozen hells was she crying? What was it about this turian of all people that had her feeling vulnerable as a new babe? She should kill him—he’d be back tonight with more men and slit her throat in her sleep. A small voice she couldn’t name told her that he wouldn’t do that. Not him. Not ever. 

“My name is Garrus,” the turian replied instead. “There are those who call me Archangel, but . . . it’s just Garrus, for you.” 

Shepard forced herself to look at him. Really look at him. He was tall and lean, as most turians were, and covered in metallic looking plates. He wore a deep blue tabard with the Vakarian family crest stitched out in thread-of-gold across his chest. A brown leather belt with well-made leggings and fine boots completed his attire. Not some common foot soldier or hunter turned mercenary, Shepard mused. Her eyes settled on the longbow laying at Garrus’ feet. It was nearly as tall as he was and looked like it was made of black yew wood. An expensive weapon. One only someone with a high tier could afford. 

Shepard’s eyes went wide as she realized who Garrus must be. “You’re the Primarch’s son.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, a hand moving to rub the back of his neck. Shepard was no expert on turian expressions but she’d swear Garrus looked embarrassed. 

Bright blue eyes met hers. “You seem to know me and my lineage, yet I confess, I have yet to learn your name.”

Shepard hesitated a moment before discarding any notion of subterfuge. What was the point? He could have killed her and hadn’t. She could have killed him and didn’t. Besides all that, she wanted to know him. “Commander Jane Shepard,” she said. “You can call me Shepard.”

Garrus extended his hand in a human gesture of greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Shepard.” 

Shepard slipped her smaller hand into his. It was like being struck by lightning. There was a jolt, a suffusion of warmth flooding her veins, an invisible push in his direction. They collided at the same time, Garrus likewise shoved by an unseen force. 

She grasped onto his cowl, feeling like she were trapped in an undertow, liable to be swept away in the exultant rush of emotions, apt to drown in the depths of a feeling humanity blithely called ‘soulmates.’ Her skin tingled and she was hyper aware of Garrus’ proximity; the rough calluses of his three-fingered hands and prick of talons through her tunic where he held her waist. His pupils dilating and eclipsing the blue of his irises while his subvocals stuttered and a deep, percussive purr sundered in his chest. 

Shepard exhaled. “Oh.” 

Garrus lifted a shaky hand to gently brush away an errant lock of hair. “It is you,” he whispered, reverent. “You feel it too?”

She gazed up at him, feeling more a maiden than seasoned berserker. Her mouth parted to answer—

“Commander!”

Shepard pulled herself free from the whirlpool of Garrus’ presence to peer into the murky distance. “The others are looking for me,” she muttered. How long had she been gone? Sudden fear squeezed her heart as she considered what would happen if Garrus were discovered. She gave him a forceful shove. “They mustn’t see you. Go! Hurry!”

Garrus moved as though in a daze, stooping to retrieve his bow and taking a few tentative steps backward. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “I’ll come back for you, my dea.” 

Before Shepard could respond he was sprinting; a glimmer of lancing starlight through the gloam, a shape half-seen on the edge of the forest. We’ll find each other, she promised herself, even as Kaidan and Ashley came into view, helmets donned and axes at hand. What joke of the gods is it that my other half should be an ancestral foe, on ground my kin intend to soak in blue blood?

She turned towards her comrades, trying to shake off the chill that had settled over her like heavy snow with Garrus’ departure. The others would want to know what she’d been doing out here, alone in the dark. “Searching for answers,” she’d tell them. “Considering what to do next.”

She’d omit her blue eyed archer. That whatever came next, Garrus would play a major role. For now, she kept her soulmate sheltered within the confines of her rib cage, a constant companion to her own beating heart.

[mariacallous]

Classical music lovers can debate for hours over which Mozart melody has made the biggest impact. Maybe the first movement of the “Jupiter” symphony, perhaps the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute, or what about the “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” serenade? Those who know the great 18th-century Austrian composer only through the movies have an easier time of it—the sound they’ll remember best may not be music after all but the whinnying, immature, and disobedient laugh heard throughout Milos Forman’s masterpiece Amadeus.

Amadeus, commonly accepted to mean “beloved by God,” was not technically part of Mozart’s name. (He was baptized as Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, with Theophilus having a similar translation.) After his death, however, the moniker stuck as a way to venerate him. It’s perfect for the title of this movie, in which rival composer Antonio Salieri allows his jealousy over Mozart’s genius to build into a personal war against God. But expanding on some fudged truth is also in keeping with the spirit of the entire project, as the movie’s central conflict is almost entirely made up. (Even better, then, that the original trailer featured the tagline “Everything you’ve heard is true.”)

Based on a Tony-winning play by Peter Shaffer (inspired by a short 1830 play written by Alexander Pushkin, itself inspired by gossip that Salieri was somehow to blame for Mozart’s early death), Amadeus is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. As such, a new 4K restoration is screening in specialty theaters across North America in advance of a new Blu-ray release. This, plus an eventual availability on streaming, is the first time the version that people originally saw back in 1984 will be available in years. (More on that in a bit.) An upcoming British television miniseries based on Shaffer’s play is in production currently, but we’re skeptical it will have the same magic.

The film’s story is told in flashback, with an old, institutionalized Salieri (played by F. Murray Abraham) “confessing” how he murdered Mozart (Tom Hulce). We are then witness to how Salieri, court composer to Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones), has his world turned upside down when Mozart bursts onto the scene. His musical instincts are on a level no mortal can comprehend and clearly, Salieri feels, handed down directly from above. But while Mozart’s work is divine, his demeanor is coarse and bratty, which turns Salieri’s understandable envy into an existential rage.

As the winner of eight Academy Awards, including best picture, best director, and best actor for Abraham’s Salieri, Amadeus’s legacy is secure, but any excuse to get more people to see this perfect film is a good one. I can personally report that not one, not two, but three millennial friends of mine came to this movie kind of dragging their feet, watching it only out of an obligation to check every Oscar winner off their list. Each one of them was blown away with just how funny and poignant and entertaining it was.

“I thought this would be boring, not bitchy!” one pal beamed after a recent screening I hosted with Paul Zaentz at New York’s Paris Theater. That energetic spark is evident in the script but catches fire in the movie thanks to its director. Forman’s resumé is one of the best from the 20th century, but Amadeus is something special, not just because it is about a maverick artist who has to do things his way (a recurring theme in both Forman’s life and work) but because the expatriate who fled communist-era Czechoslovakia to follow his calling was able to shoot the movie in Prague and Kromeriz. As Mozart cackled in the face of propriety, so Forman was able to poke his thumb in the eyes of those who had previously censored him.

Forman was born in the town of Caslav in 1932. Both of his parents died in Nazi concentration camps. He attended a school for war orphans where he befriended future filmmaker Ivan Passer and playwright-turned-politician Vaclav Havel. He began working on documentary crews and eventually made short films of his own that blended fact and fiction, getting better material from non-actors than trained professionals. His first feature, Black Peter (1964), focused on a timid teenager, and its follow-up, Loves of a Blonde (1965), was a similarly naturalistic look at awkward romance. Its deadpan, somewhat bleak style ran counter to the splashy films coming out of Italy and France at the time. Both films are early entries to what became known as the Czech New Wave, leading to Forman’s first bona fide masterpiece, The Firemen’s Ball (1967).

While The Firemen’s Ball—Forman’s first film in color—was understood to be a grand metaphor for the inefficiency of the political system at the time, one doesn’t have to know a damn thing about Eastern Bloc history to respect it as an iconoclastic farce not dissimilar from something like South Park. It was immediately banned in Czechoslovakia, but it and Loves of a Blonde were both nominated for best foreign language film at the Oscars.

Forman was in France raising funds for his next project during the Soviet invasion of Prague in August 1968. He was fired from his Czech production company and ended up emigrating to the United States. His first Hollywood film was the 1971 counterculture farce Taking Off (in which square, bourgeois parents try to get groovy with their kids, to embarrassing effect), which led to one of the most influential movies of the 1970s, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

After the anti-authoritarian Cuckoo’s Nest—which won five Oscars, including best picture, best director, best actor for Jack Nicholson, and best actress for Louise Fletcher—came his adaptations of the musical Hair (1979) and E.L. Doctorow’s novel Ragtime (1981). With that all under his belt and his hands on the rights to Schaffer’s hot play Amadeus, Forman went back to Prague in triumph.

Amadeus is set mostly in Vienna; still, Prague, which was generally left intact after World War II, certainly looks good on camera. And Prague was also an important city for Mozart. He made two lengthy visits there and found a very welcoming audience. Indeed, he wrote Don Giovanni with the intention of premiering the opera in Prague, which he did at the Estates Theatre in 1787. And it was at the Estates Theatre where Forman filmed many of the movie’s best scenes—ones of Mozart conducting opera, filmed with the alacrity and exuberance normally reserved for an action-adventure sequence. (The use of pyrotechnics in the Don Giovanni scenes caused a lot of worry on set, what with the old theater’s interior being mostly wood.)

Shooting a Hollywood movie behind the Iron Curtain naturally had some hardships. (Fruit and fresh vegetables, rarities at the time, needed to be trucked in from West Germany.) Given Forman’s background, the eyes of the state were on them. During that recent New York screening, Zaentz, who worked as a production coordinator on the project and is also the nephew of film producer Saul Zaentz, said secret police were essentially hands-off, except for one time. During off-hours, some members of the crew would hang out and watch VHS tapes of Hollywood movies and were unaware that some of those titles had been banned. The company was soon requested to keep to only approved films.

Perhaps more poignant was when they were shooting on the Fourth of July during one of the opera scenes. The Czech crew surprised Forman and the actors during one take. Expecting to hear the music of Mozart play back from a PA system, some well-wishers instead cued up “The Star-Spangled Banner” while others unfurled an enormous American flag. Everyone stood up and sang along, except, according to Forman, the 30 or so secret police who had been dispersed among the extras.

One can easily read the moment as a victory for Forman. Alas, Mozart’s fate was a little different. Though no one knows for sure why he died at the young age of 35—other than the fact that every case of the sniffles had graver implications back in 1791—the movie shows how Mozart’s queasiness with authority shaped him as a hand-to-mouth freelancer and how his lack of a permanent position and persistent money woes were bad for his health. After Amadeus, Forman continued to make movies about troubled-yet-visionary mavericks: Andy Kaufman in Man on the Moon (1999), Francisco Goya in Goya’s Ghosts (2006), and, um, Larry Flynt in The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996).

As for the Salieri yarn? There’s no historical evidence to suggest that the two composers weren’t just colleagues. (It’s true that Mozart did have a paranoid streak and maybe did think that “the Italians” at court had it in for him.) Salieri certainly did not live in chastity out of some pledge to God in exchange for musical inspiration. Indeed, he had eight children. He was also plenty famous at the time of his death and, later in life, was a tutor to Mozart’s youngest son. Nevertheless, no one should let reality get in the way of watching this incredible movie.

This 40th anniversary rerelease is especially exciting for old-school Amadeus-heads as it restores the 160-minute theatrical cut. All one can find out there now is the “director’s cut,” which is 20 minutes longer. As Zaentz explained to me, that version came out in 2002 during the first DVD wave, when home-video distributors were loading up packages with deleted scenes. Rather than have isolated bonus chapters, Forman decided to just release the longer version instead, though never really considered it the definitive cut. However, over time it became the only version in circulation.

While the longer version has a few splendid moments (some backstage zings with Christine Ebersole as Caterina Cavalieri), it also contains one scene that I am happy to see once again excised. In it, Salieri goes a wee bit too far and humiliates Mozart’s wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge). It’s important for Salieri to be a scheming twerp but also someone who still holds your sympathy. The controversial scene only found in the director’s cut pushes him too far into the role of villain.

So sometimes edits are important! It is said that Mozart never revised, that he took dictation from God. As with so much else about the man, the truth is a little different.

[old-school-butch]

following the tent massacre, my question is, what should Palestinians do to be safe? What should women and children do to ensure their own survival? If they're told somewhere is safe only to be bombed in their tents, what hope do they have of surviving this war?

Unfortunately, very little. This is why war is so terrible - if only the people who agreed to fight were hurt then I would happily let them go at it. But when you plan for war, you are inherently accepting the deaths of so many innocents. That does not seem to weigh on leaders as heavily as it should.

There have been multiple proposals from Israel about where Gazan civilians can be safeguarded during this war but Hamas doesn't play by any normal rules. Normally, when you set up civilian areas that means that soldiers don't set up combat operations in the middle because that automatically makes it not a safe zone. Israel had proposed creating civilian safe zones in the Sinai peninsula but Egypt rejected the proposal out of fear that a) what if Israel doesn't let them return and they become Egypt's problem and b) Hamas would just follow their civilians into Egypt and start a whole other war since they already cooperate AND fight with IS jihadists based there, so Egypt would end up in a 3 way fight with terrorists and they'd much rather all this be Israel's problem.

So instead camps were setup in Rafah since Hamas' base of operations was further north. However, rockets are being fired at Tel Aviv out of Rafah now, so it's now clear that Hamas has established operations right in the middle of their civilians, putting Israel in a dilemma of how to safeguard their own civilians while removing this threat.

The only thing civilians can do in a war is be as far away as possible from combat. International law regarding combat make this obligation really clear to all combatants involved, which is why Israel is getting blasted for pursuing Hamas into Gaza. But since Hamas isn't a real government, they aren't held to the same standard and that's a problem no one has a good solution to. In the big picture, if using civilians as human shields means you get to win a war, then the terrorists really do win and we will all face non-stop terrorism because they will keep winning with this exact strategy.

But as an individual, if you know Hamas is keeping hostages near you or setting up rocket launchers next to you, your life is in immediate danger. But Hamas is not above terrorizing its own population, and women in Gaza have almost no political power so they are stuck here. Ultimately, Hamas needs to be overthrown and that can happen through Israel but it can also happen when the civilian population has had enough of a leadership that is so thirsty for violence. I mean, ideally, people might also become more wary in the future of voting bloodthirsty leaders into power but those lessons seem a long way off.

Having said all that, I don't agree with Israel's assault on Rafah. Yes Tel Aviv is under missile attack but the Iron dome protects civilians there while some re-grouping can happen to also protect civilian life. While freeing hostages was a clear goal, the theory of victory (i.e. what does it mean to 'win' or meet your objectives) to engage in this war with the goal of regime change is really tenuous. It's really not clear to me how that would happen and even whether Hamas' replacement would be any better.

I think in the face of terrorist and non-state actors, states need to re-think how wars are going to work in the future. You can't have one side that will do ANYTHING to save its civilian hostages facing another actor who appears ruthlessly willing to let their civilians die and not see that concluding this conflict is going to be bloody and prolonged. Israel hasn't really faced this kind of war before and I don't believe they are well prepared for it. For that matter, I don't think the world has a clear, successful strategy to handle terrorists and so far attempts to battle ISIS or al Queda have been similarly bloody and inconclusive. This is, of course, why these groups are spreading so rapidly - because killing civilians (your own an your opponents) until your non-terrorist opponent feels sickened at the slaughter and stops fighting you... works. The fact that Israel gets blamed for it is just icing on the cake.

One of the biggest problems with wars is that once you start them, they are very hard to stop. This is because only one side has to want war to begin it, but both sides have to want to end it. In particular, the loser has to decide they've had enough or the threat they pose to their opponent is ended. I remember watching the celebrations happening in Gaza on October 7th and wondering why these doomed people were cheering the start of war. If Hamas is literally willing to fight to the last civilian, when will they say enough?