microfill: could you please write and/or post five sentences of the Pairing from the Fic i'm not allowed to ask for (hint: it rhymes with steak baiting).
Listen you lil shit I know what you’re getting at and Imma give it to you but I will FIGHT YOU I s2g, have some steak baiting which is actually fake dating
out an exasperated breath. “The Ilkun view romantic relationships as the most
sacred of bonds. If we inform the Ilkun they are incorrect, a potential
alliance may be horribly jeopardized.”
relationship?” Shiro asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
you saved witnessed your bond while you two fought together. They have
pronounced you both as arena vurur,
sacred partners of the highest honour,” Allura explained. Shiro’s understanding
blindsided him. Oh. Oh no. Allura’s
expression softened. “Shiro, they wish to build this alliance upon the love
between the two of you.”
“That - it’s
not like that,” Shiro said immediately, a blush spreading quick over his
cheeks. Allura sighed. “I – Keith wouldn’t – it was a misunderstanding on their
are already uncertain of an alliance alongside us, simply because of the
destruction wrought by the Galra.” Allura tapped her fingers against her cheek.
“I do not wish to forge falsehoods, but for negotiations to move forward in our
favour, a charade may be asked of the two of you.”
Shiro said, “I won’t put Keith in a situation he doesn’t want.”
gently, “And you? Would you be willing in this situation?”
June 11th Gae and I took a guided walk at Tablelands in Gros Morne National Park. The table top itself are bits (many kilometers long and wide) of mantle exposed after tectonic plates overlapped and erosion took off most of the crust.
Here’s the guide talking geology and plants, which are few due to the lack of potassium, nitrogen and phosphorus in the mantle.
Alpine plants dot the lower elevations of the Tablelands, this one looks like moss, but isn’t, and has up to a 4 foot tap root.
Grey moss looks dead, but the addition of moisture kicks off photosynthesis in seconds.
Boardwalks protect the boggy portions of the trail, which support many carnivorous plants.
The majority of the mantle is Peridotite, but cracks were filled and developed into serpentine, whose surface is shown here.
The location and views were unique and beautiful, bringing a passel of photography buffs with high end equipment for a seminar.
After our first hike, we went to the interpretive center nearby, which had lots of staff to answer questions and excellent displays. We decided to hike up the hill behind the center so Gae could reach her 10k step goal for the day.
Splashes of color and texture lined the hillside trail.
We took the Lookout Trail to the top of the hill, which was pretty exhausting for both of us, but the views were spectacular.
A lone traveler at the lookout kindly caught a great shot of our sweaty climber look;-)
Spring color came in small but brilliant doses.
Delicate and bright maple leaf starts.
In the evening I decided to try some iceberg ice in Drambuie, my first! All I could think of was the way rice krispies are supposed to act… Snap, Krackle, Pop. It never cracked in to parts, just popped in the liquid all the way to nothing… cool! Oh… the Drambuie wasn’t bad either;-)
We stopped at Waters Edge RV park near Bonne Bay for the night.
June 12th we continued north through the park, picking up walks and hikes along the way.
We stopped to walk a short trail to Southeast Brook Falls, quickly leaving the area before road improvement blasting started in 15 minutes.
We stopped in rock harbor to get some fresh water, and toured Lobster Cove Head Lighthouse nearby. The wind was frigid off the ocean, and it apparently never stops.
Along the Bakers Brook Falls trail we ran across a bench that had been delivered in the snow… the easy way:-)
A small pond nearly glowed azure under the clear skies.
The steps to the falls viewpoint were greatly appreciated.
The recent rains had the stepped falls roaring.
Bright yellow flowers lined much of the wetter parts of the trail, which had several boardwalks that were kilometers long.
We camped at Berry Hill campground to take advantage of the showers after a day of hiking.
June 13th we headed to hike the Western Brook trail.
I only spotted a few stunted trees sporting delicate cone flowers.
We decided to forgo the $60 boat ride up the lake at the end of the trail, both for cost and lack of reservations, but the views were still gorgeous.
A trail extension to snug harbor required fording a deep, fast, river… not for us.
We continued north to the ferry terminal to Labrador, where we stayed at a town-run RV park so we could clean ourselves and our laundry before taking the ferry.
June 14th we caught the ferry to Labrador.
Here we are in line, ready to drive into the hold via the front door.
We drove to Red Bay, with plans to check it out and head back to catch a return ferry we’d reserved the following day.
The Basque whaling town had 2 excellent museums and a few icebergs in its bay.
An old shipwreck at the mouth of the bay helped archeologists find the wrecked Spanish galleon that provided so much interesting history and artifacts to the museum.
I discovered the brakes were going to the floor as we attempted to leave for our return to the ferry. Looking closely, the driver side brake line had been rubbed so thin the fluid started squirting out under pressure. I panicked as usual, and we had no luck using the phone lent to us by the generous people at the Whalers Restaurant near one of the museums to contact a repair shop.
June 15th, I attempted to patch the line, but the high pressures and lack of anything that would stick to the line led me to failure. Gae, meanwhile, contacted AAA, and arranged for a tow to a shop 15 miles away. We took a walk while waiting for the afternoon tow.
Sleds like this litter the landscape and are used in the winter to haul wood and other material across the area.
This black lichen decorated many large boulders scattered along the trail we took.
Here I am getting dirty with a fruitless repair.
We met a nice bicyclist, Virginia, who’d travelled from St. Catherine near Niagra Falls… we were impressed!
Coastal Motors in Forteau, arrived to save our bacon around 3 in the afternoon, having ordered express delivery of the part in hope of fixing it on the 16th.
We spent the night parked behind their shop. June 16th the part arrived late, and turned out to be for a ‘99 Dodge Ram 3500 truck, which, of course, had completely different connection formats! They were able to sneak in an order for the correct part before the parts place in St. John’s closed. The expected arrival wasn’t until Tuesday, the 20th, so we tucked in for the weekend in Forteau. Akash Gunput, the parts man at Coastal Motors, brought us to his home so we would shower in the evening. We were thrilled to visit and meet his whole family.
June 17th was windy, but not raining, so we took our bikes for a ride to Point Amour Lighthouse, 9 miles away.
Here’s Gae at the point with icebergs behind her. The ride was tough on the pothole ridden highway.
June 18th we stayed close to the van in anticipation of a dinner date with Akash and his family. Again Akash picked us up, and we enjoyed visiting some more and a wonderful dinner prepared by Preety, his wife.
Here his handsome family after a great meal, including Priyanshu, Preety, Akash and Yashveen. Their generosity was hugely appreciated:-)
It’s June 19th and I’m updating this blog, while Gae takes a walk to get her 10K steps. It’s windy and raining and cold again, and we are so thankful Coastal Motors has set us up with an electrical connection while we wait for our part.
At some point in the long night he’d dozed off on the couch, but he’s awakened by the same lights.
For days they’ve been circling the lake further out, past where Lockport used to be. Now they’re almost overhead, glaring down on the roof of a deserted house just a half-mile down the road.
And then he hears the engines. He remembers the last time, that endless scream, the ice cracking under their feet. It won’t happen again.
He takes the stairs to the basement two at a time and crouches beside Scully’s mattress.
“They’re coming,” he says, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Scully. Scully.” He shakes her hard and she blinks at him, then comes suddenly awake.
“You have to go,” he says. “It’s time.”
She moves through the shadows to where Will is sleeping. He hears her whispering, hears the mattress squeaking as she kneels on it.
And then she turns to him. “He’s gone,” she breathes.
Without a second’s hesitation Mulder runs upstairs to the back room, searching the horizon for his son’s silhouette. He’s not there, he’s not anywhere – and the bag Mulder packed for him is gone.
“Where did he go?” Scully from behind him, somewhere near the front door. “Mulder, where did he go?”
He’s shaking his head, trying to clear it. It’s impossible. There must have been some sign, something that happened over the last days or weeks, some clue. But he can’t remember, not anything. The last conversation he had with his son was about how sick they both were of black beans. Please don’t let that be the last thing I said to my son, Mulder thinks, desperate, and he doesn’t know who he’s praying to.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “He took your gun.”
“I didn’t hear him leave,” Mulder says. His voice seems to echo in the empty house, in the dark. He’s turning over couch cushions and pulling books off the shelves when he sees it: a page from Scully’s notebook, torn out and tucked underneath a glass of water on the coffee table. He yanks it out, collapsing to the couch as he squints to read it in the dark.
“What the fuck,” he says, disbelieving.
Scully takes it from his hands. Her blue eyes bright, exactly the same shade as Will’s, as she scans the letter. It doesn’t take long. Will didn’t bother to write much.
Mulder had run away from home once, when he was around Will’s age. In his backpack he’d stuffed two pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, and not nearly enough underwear; he put his dog-eared copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and a picture of his sister in the front pocket. He’d made it as far as the ferry terminal, where a bunch of his neighbors pleasantly inquired where he was going, with a clear undercurrent of because we’ll tell your parents if we need to. So instead he snuck through his best friend’s bedroom window and spent the night on her floor.
Now, all these years later, he remembers his mother’s face when he came back the next morning. Mascara smudged around her bloodshot eyes; crescent moons on her palms from twelve hours clenching her fists. She thought she had lost him, too. He hadn’t even left a note.
Mulder finally believes in karma.
“It’s the middle of the night. He can’t have gotten far.” Scully says it with such confidence that Mulder almost believes her. “We can catch up to him. We can take the bikes, they won’t make any more noise than we will on foot.”
But Mulder doesn’t move. Scully puts the note back down on the table. She says, “Come on.”
He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, feet flat on the floor in front of him. He rests his head on his hand.
“I told you,” he says, his voice muffled.
“That’s bullshit, Mulder. You know I can’t let you—“
“It’s not up to you.” He looks up at her then. “They’re here, Scully. It’s too late. If we run, they’ll catch us.”
She says his name again, one more time, and her voice breaks on the second syllable. He stands and gathers her to him, his chin on the top of her head.
“Let me keep you safe,” he whispers, jaw gritted, and it sounds like begging. “You have to find him. He’s alone, Scully. I can hold them off. You have to go. You have to.”
He is begging. He’s not better than that, has never been better than that.
Scully shudders. Against the fabric of his shirt she whispers, “I didn’t want it to end like this.”
“I know.” He pulls away just far enough to kiss her, just once. “It’ll be okay, Scully.”
The sound of engines, getting closer.
“You have to go,” he says. “Find Will. Find Skinner. I’ll follow you when it’s safe.”
Her eyes are shining and they both know he’s a liar. He takes her bag from the door and feels for the weight of her pistol inside, the extra ammunition he packed. He hopes Will took some, too, but there’s nothing he can do about that now. She puts the backpack on and it dwarfs her frame.
Scully, who has always been made of steel and lately she’s tempered herself into a weapon, and he loves her and loves her and she is so brave and if this is the last time he ever sees her, he’ll remember this.
“I love you,” she says.
The lights sweep through the room, across the planes of her face. He is not afraid.
As you fiddle with your camera, the elevator dings open. Yoongi nudges you in by the small of your back, hitting the button for the ground floor as the doors close behind. By then, you’ve got your camera up and recording.
“Reporter Yoongi, give us an update on the current state of things,” you tease. Yoongi backs up and leans into a corner, worn and weary from the flight.
“We just dumped our stuff in the apartment and… we’re going to eat. Y/N’s been complaining the entire bus ride from the airport to the city. We’re gonna go check out this famous fish cake restaurant for lunch and just walk around town. Maybe hop on a tourist bus while we’re at it. Back to you, Anchor.”
We went to NYC yesterday to hang out with Andrew’s dad and had a great day until we got back to the parking lot at the Staten Island ferry terminal and saw it closed 20 minutes before we got back and we couldn’t rent a sketchy-ass hotel room without a bathroom because we didn’t have $80 cash on us so we went back to Manhattan and I took NJ Transit back to Hamilton and bummed a ride off a friend at midnight because the dogs were alone for 14 hours while Andrew stayed at his dad’s place to drive my car back in the morning.
- The little coffee shop in Bay 5 is playing “Someone Like You” by Adele. You never hear it start over, but it never seems to end
- All of the tickets have nouns on them to differentiate boarding times. “Bear” “Scallop” “Manatee”. You look at your ticket. It says your name
The ferry docks and you see people disembark. The last person leaves and you ask to board. They say there’s one more passenger to leave. There’s always one more passenger
The complimentary wifi works in the terminal, but never on the ships. You log on again, you accept the terms and conditions again. You accept the terms and conditions again. You accept. You accept. You accept.
Announcements are spoken over the PA. “Would the owner of the grey honda please turn off your alarm.” “Would the owner of black toyota please move your vehicle, you’re blocking a fire exit.” “Would the owner of the red subaru please stop screaming.”
The life jackets are under your seat. The life jackets are in the compartment over your head. The life jackets are in that strange hole in the wall. Go ahead, reach in and see.
The business desks are all occupied by young white men in casual button ups. All of their laptop screens are blank
You reach your destination after an hour and a half on the water. The ferry terminal looks eerily familiar. You are home.
I can’t believe I’m so thirsty I wrote this. Please,,, let me die,,,
Title: ??? Haven’t thought of one yet Chaper: 1 Words: 2,458 Nanu/fem!reader
When you lose your job in Celadon City, you decide to make use of a timeshare you bought in the Alolan region before you’re forced to sell it. What you weren’t expecting was a deserted town, a bunch of creepy looking pokemon, and the assistance of a certain cynical man.