#Like a tourist in Istanbul

[ryuatewater]

Shhhh

Constantinople

Shhhh

hhh im reminds me of that one song

[norikuna]

SALVATORE — jujutsu kaisen x reader minors dni

prologue. → going on summer vacations with the jjk men and things get a little...hotter?

pairings. satoru gojo x afab!reader / suguru geto x afab!reader / nanami kento x afab!reader / choso kamo x afab!reader / ryomen sukuna x afab!reader / toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings+. non-sorcerer/jujutsu au, from the back, exhíbitíonism, mild food play, ríding, máting press, creámpíe, against the wall, oral (f. receiving), fíngeríng, hey even in a cave! reader is called good girl, princess, baby, darling, my love.

word count. 4.1k! song inspiration. salvatore — lana del rey

a/n. update #1 writing this fic had me looking up shit on wikipedia pages abt cities around the world, had me checking meteorology maps...tried to choose cities i've been to but i was still racking my brains. update #2 btw whenever i write smut like this i'm filled with outstanding self awareness and minor shame but thats the fun of it 😭 this is day no.3 of me trying to rewrite this all from scratch update #3 day 4! fawkkkk i wanna go on holiday too now. lmao if i was in the sukuna one, i would have been mad as hell, istanbul is stunning <3

mp3. everything looks better from above my king, like aqua marine, ocean's blue

TOJI FUSHIGURO — all the lights in miami begin to gleam 📍 miami, america

"o-oh, fuck. think she's really tellin' me to keep going like this, don'tcha think?"

your boyfriend is mean when he's like this. sharp, jade eyes narrowed as they take in the sight of your puffy folds swallowing him up over and over as he's stuffing himself into your sticky walls. and if you turn your head away, from where you're smashed against the pillow, you can see the floor-to-wall ceilings of the high-rise penthouse that offers an uninterrupted view of miami's glittering skyline.

"how - how, did you even get this place, hah, toji?" it's a wonder you can even get a coherent sentence out right now, your guts are practically being stuffed with inches of your boyfriend's veiny cock, and it's leaving you, well, delirious.

but with humble credit and thanks to what you can assume is your own nasty grip, toji's not faring much better either. his brawny frame is practically shuddering, and while you can't see his face in this position, you're certain that a sharp canine has sunk into his lip, and his breath is coming out in hulking groans.

"heh, you're n-not meant to ask questions like that, princess? gotta, ohhh, gotta keep some business s-secrets up my sleeve, huh?" and he's practically a beast right now, handling you on all fours of this king-sized bed, draped in silk sheets the colour of red wine, "just a reward for a-, haah, a job well done."

any job well done from toji was most likely something illegal, but you can't even bring yourself to care, not when there's a bucket of chilled champagne on the glass table to your left, and certainly not when his fat cock is smearing right through you, leaving a coil in your abdomen that only he can unravel.

you whine, feeling the fat tip of his cock practically rummage and make a home in your cunt, "toji, wan' more," and you're pushing the plush of your ass against his pumping hips, and you hear his sharp intake of breath.

a rough hand has snaked underneath you, creating a small gap between you and the bunched-up fabric on the bed, and his callous fingertips are now circling sloppy, messy circles over your clit, leaving you bucking in his hold.

"n-now, stay still, princess. not done with you yet."

SUGURU GETO — ciao, amore. soft ice-creams. 📍 amalfi coast, italy

you're not sure how long you've been trembling under suguru's mouth, but it must have been an eternity under the ministrations of his tongue.

the sun has been blazing high, casting a golden glow over this part of the private beach, hidden away from the towns bustling with tourists like yourselves who had descended upon the coast for the summer.

soft waves lapped in ebbing waves, the rhythm breaking the perfect stillness of the afternoon, in this wooden cabana, separated from the terracotta villas.

and no, your mind was nowhere near admiring the turquoise waters of the ocean, but rather your lover's mouth practically exploring every inch of your cunt like this.

the tapered tip of his tongue had long been probing around your fluttering pussy, taking in every last drop of your pearlescent luster that was practically dripping over his chin.

not to mention the absolutely sticky and languid trails of melting ice-cream, each biting cream drop that fell on your hot swollen folds getting promptly cleaned up by the one who was enjoying this sweet game.

"shhh! don't wanna get kicked off this beach, do ya, pretty?"

and suguru looks positively devious, his violet eyes gleaming with crude intent. his black hair is a tangled mess, long locks falling victim to your clawing nails that tumble carelessly over his bare back, kissed by the sun and glowing with a soft, rosy pink hue.

and when he smiles, the sunlight catches onto his lips, making the slick on his mouth sparkle and wink up at you.

"been - it's been an entire hour by now, can't you just let me cum," you huff, closing the plush of your thighs around his ears, boxing him in.

geto flashes you a mischievous grin, running a slow finger through your sopping folds, and lightly brushing over your entrance as you mewl again.

"where would the fun in that be, pretty?" he murmurs, "love seeing how wet this cunt gets for me, need to let me have my fun."

what a devil. clearly, getting under your skin is a sport for him.

you're hardly given a moment to breathe before he's jostling two thick digits right into the thick of it once more, in and out, in and then out, as his thumb find its home on the slope of your bare mound again.

"besides, we can take it slow for 'nother hour, can't we?" and now suguru's toying with your clit, and his teeth lean down to graze the swollen, throbbing bud, "gotta see just how much you can beg for me."

NANAMI KENTO — catch me if you can, working on my tan 📍 gold coast, australia

"w-wait, darling," nanami shudders under your touch, under your fresh set of nails raking small patterns over his neck, "anyone could just walk past here, y'know."

you curl your lip, before pressing your mouth in an open mouthed kiss to his stretched neck, warm and flushed.

you can feel the galloping thrum of his pulse beneath your lips, the heat almost intoxicating, mingling with the faint tang of the pool water's chlorine, and the scent of banksia and frangipanis in the air.

you can also feel his thick cock dragging through your walls, as you ram the weight of your hips over and over again. it seems like the shimmering skyline of surfer's paradise was just what nanami needed, after months of work, and you're determined to make the most of your time here.

he's got you bouncing practically like a ragdoll, heavy balls swinging up and smacking your skin in what little space remains between the two of you, and he's panting into your chest, "whatd'ya gonna do if someone sees?"

"mhm, don' care, no-one's here, nanami."

his broad arms loop around you in the pool chair, as you straddle the sizeable bulge that's making a tent in his briefs, "nasty, sometimes, aren'tcha?"

you smile, as your husband's large hands roam over your back, making you arch your back into his touch — as he deftly pulls at the tight knot holding your damp bikini top together.

"ah, don't get shy now. let me see these," and you can only nod hazily as he lets your tits spill out, and press up against his bare, chiselled torso, "wanted this so bad, just a minute ago, yeah?"

"s-still want this," and for good measure, you grind your hips down over his cock with even more pressure, feeling him jolt with a quiet 'fuck!' underneath you.

"haah, that's not fair, darling," and he's crashing his weeping, curved tip so far into you, that you're certain you're seeing stars on the saltwater horizon, "what happened to playing nice?"

you know you should be weary of the flicker of challenge that glints in his stern brown eyes, softened by the haze of your squelching cunt, "do y-your worst, otherwise what? can't keep up?"

a cocky smile curves over his mouth, and that's the wave of satisfaction you were looking for, hoping that he'd take the bait.

he leans further back in the pool chair, now with an arm wrapped lazily around your gyrating hips, but you can feel his grip tighten, stealing the humid air right out from under you, "we'll see who can't play nice when you're begging for my cock to fill you up."

CHOSO KAMO — all the lights are sparkling for you, it seems 📍santorini, greece

"hey, shh, shhh..."

choso's voice is a low rumble as he glides his thick, leaking tip down your slick core, and you shiver as the cool ocean breeze mixes with the warm slick gathering between your bodies, "w-wow, you're doing so good, handling it so well, my love."

you must have made a good choice, choosing this suite. one carved seamlessly into the tan-rock of one of the island's famous caves. and well, your sweet boyfriend has been fucking you so incredibly that you feel your eyes start to water, blear away from the pretty blue and terracotta accents on the mantelpiece.

his girthy cock sinking into you send shivers to your pussy that leave you fluttering and squeezing around him tighter, clenching around the veins as he sinks even deeper, so the thickened head is practically kissing your cervix, and filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

"d-does it feel good for you too, cho?” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the soft choppy strands that fall around his shoulders, "this...this is what you wanted, right, baby?"

the pale mauve of his lips curves into a faint smile, and despite the sharpness of his thrusts making a home in your gummy walls, there's a tenderness in his shadowed, hazel eyes as his palm glides down your torso, cupping your tits gently, "w-would go anywhere in the world, if it was with you."

and he's looking at you with such love that you just cannot help but believe him when he says, no, shudders out a "you're so beautiful."

the sound of the water lapping against the rocks below fills the room, mixing with your soft whimpers, as the slow roll of choso's hips leave your puffy folds weeping. the thick, throbbing head of his cock brushes against your g-spot, right there, and you moan, lost in the sensation.

"god, y-you’re so good at this," he breathes into your ear, his voice hoarse and strained, and suddenly far more shaky, "ah - could do this forever."

"w-will you?" you whisper, eyes fluttering as you lose yourself in what is surely ropes of stringy white cum painting you lovingly inside, "wan' feel you all the time, cho."

choso's misty, flushed gaze locks onto yours, filled with a heat that makes your heart race, and fireworks shoot through your abdomen, "think you're g-gonna be my wife someday, yeah?"

you bite your lip, a shy smile painting your face despite the way that he's practically jostling inch after inch into your pussy, pressing into you like a vice, "really mean t-that, cho?"

"ahh, 'course i do," he shudders, brushing a thumb down the swan-arch of your neck, "now, hold onto me."

RYOMEN SUKUNA — dying by the hand of a foreign man, happily 📍istanbul, turkey

"huhh, oh my god! you're an animal," you huff at your fiancé, who's currently sprawled on the plush bed underneath your straddling thighs, under the sheer curtains that billow softly in the warm breeze from the open latticework windows.

and right now, sukuna looks like a mess.

and it brings you a great deal of satisfaction to see your usually composed and aloof fiancé so undone and disheveled, as he grins up at you — the black markings on his face creasing with the movement.

his rosy-pink hair is a tangled heap, but you can't resist running your fingers through the short, tousled spikes.

and his lips, which have been marking you up consistently for the past ten minutes, gleam glossy and full, as his crimson eyes lock onto yours with the smug satisfaction of a cat who's gotten its way.

he'd barely waited a mere minute after the two of you had arrived back to your hostel's room, from a whirlwind tour of the sultanahmet district, before he had pounced on you, and had practically tore your long skirt off.

you don't quite think it's worth mentioning that you've been pawing equally at your boyfriend in the same time as well, pulling his thick and lengthy shaft out of the confines of his boxers, and swiping a thumb over the angrily-gleaming tip.

"d-didn't even take a second to think about all the places we just saw? the history lessons, and - sukuna, were you even listening?"

by now, you're fighting back heaving shivers at the way the pads of his calloused fingers run under your top.

"hah! yeah, yeah. history and all that," he murmurs, low and amused, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, his lips now resuming their previous task of snapping at your torso, letting pretty berry-red marks beam.

you roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at the corners of your own glossy mouth, "y-you're impossible," and you try not to squirm as his forefinger and thumb on each hand pinch at a nipple under your top, "don' even know why i bothered bring this...this camera around. the guide said that these sights were o-once, oh fuck, sukuna, get a grip, said the sights were once-in-a-lifetime b-breathtaking."

"breathtaking, huh?" sukuna shifts closer to you, scooting you further over his wide lap, and his voice has dropped to a low and sultry whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, and leaves you aching, "i think you're breathtaking. wan' explore this," and here, he snaps at the elastic band of your lace panties, "instead."

"and besides, i was listening," and now, he's patting his sculpted, exposed thighs behind the plush of your ass on him, "the guide said that this city straddles two continents."

he's emphasising his words with a deliberate tap, clearly hoping you'd catch the awful word-play.

"say something like that again, and i'm booking the next flight home."

"hah, so now you hate it when i am cultured."

by now, his two rough hands kneading at you has left you...airless. thick heat has been pooling in your core, and you just can't help but let out a soft whimper, "sukuna…only wanted y-you to focus."

he shakes his messy head, laughter rumbling deep in his chest, under thick pectoral muscles, "no can do, brat. you’re my focus now. done enough sightseeing outside today, wanna do something inside."

"you’re impossible!" but you gasp as he skims a thumb over your cloying, dewy clit, making you jolt.

you know he must be in a rare, mellowed mood because he breathes, "impossibly in love with you," and it's quiet, teasing as the heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, "now tell me how much you want this, and maybe i'll think about giving you a different type of lesson."

franky, by now you want nothing more than to be filled with heavy, hot inches that curl into you, sloshing their way to the most sensitive spot of all, and sukuna must see that on your face.

"i -," you begin, but the words falter as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, and the weeping tip of his cock taps against the wet pool staining your underwear darkly translucent.

"just say it, brat. tell me how bad you want it, i'll even be nice this time," he urges, his voice a sultry purr, "just gon' give it to you as you ask, yeah?"

"wan' you in me, 'kuna," you finally admit, breathless, "i want you so much it hurts."

"good girl," he mutters, his eyes darkening with desire. "now you're getting the right idea."

you sigh, content, but then still your rocking hips suddenly, "but after this, we're still going out to the bazaar for dinner."

"for fuck's sake."

GOJO SATORU — like a boss, you sang jazz and blues 📍paris, france

you're not quite sure where exactly you should be training your ears, whether you should be listening to the sultry notes of a saxophone that wrap around the plush velvet booth where you and gojo are seated.

or the thick, clingy swish of his fingers practically bullying themselves in and out of your pussy. the air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars that make you wrinkle your nose, and fine whiskey (that makes gojo wrinkle his nose) and the sweet tang of your own slick, privately, just for the two of you.

your boyfriend sits close to you, his left hand tight on your waist, and the other working a fine instrument, bunching up underneath your ysl silk dress.

"baby, look at how your perfect cunt's talkin' to me," he's whispering, and you can hear the sheer glee in his voice, his breath hot against your ear.

meanwhile, your jaw is slack and you're doing your best to not meet his touch with a sultry, rhythmic grind of your own hips, but the knot is quickening and tightening within you.

but gojo just smiles, and you can see the blue in his eyes darken underneath his sunglasses that have slipped slightly down the slope of his nose, "but can't have everyone hearing this melody, can we? might think you were the main fuckin' attraction for the night and not -" he cocks his head to the quartet serenading the paris night sky, and the other patrons of this filthy wealthy club.

you just sink your teeth into your painted lip, suppressing a whine as he curls three fingers within you, reeling you entirely pliant and having you lean against his broad chest under his jacket, "b-but satoru, 'm getting close."

he's being awful, you think. and when he had pulled his hand out earlier, it had been entirely coated in a ribbon of your arousal, the slow syrup beginning to run down his slender digit, but he had parted his lips and let not a drop go to waste on his tongue.

the music is swelling, it's a jazzy crescendo that fills the air, and your gaze hazes and wonders, focusing on the open window where the eiffel tower stands ablaze in lights. soft gasps are escaping your lips, when gojo starts slamming his fingers up and up further, right up to his glossy knuckle, clearly searching for your g-spot.

and you are so glad that this booth is turned away from the rest of the club's patrons, for if they saw you, it would be no secret as to what exactly was going on underneath your gown.

"focus on me, love. just focus on how you're soaking me."

he's pressing his fingers impossibly deeper, stroking your walls in a way that make it impossible to think of anything else but him.

"gojo, please…" you breathed, struggling to keep your voice low, "what if someone sees?"

he laughs, pressing his mouth to your neck, and you know he's inhaling the new scent that you had picked up at the luxury flagship stores earlier, his treat.

"let them. paid good enough money to get in here," and now he's getting more insistent, practically ravishing your aching pussy now, "besides, they wanna say anything about it? i'll cut out their tongue."

"p-pretty sure that's, mmph, i'm sure that's i-illegal, 'toru."

"don't want your pretty head thinking about anything else right now, 'kay?" and god, it's one of life's greatest works, how he just knows how to work his magic like this, and the way that he's pinching, rolling and twirling his fingers has you convinced that the holy six-eyes technique, passed down in the sacred tradition of the gojo clan, is being put to nasty work.

sure enough, a little spark! there, and a bigger zap! against your clit practically confirms your suspicions, as does the unearthly glow you catch in gojo's wide eyes, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards a precipice, panting open-mouthed against him.

"dirty girl, you don’t want to make a scene, do you?" he says this like he was not the one who pulled you into this booth, and palmed his way up your slip-dress. like he's not the one who tore into your lace panties, and shoved them into his pocket.

"it feels so good, satoru,” you babble, barely able to contain yourself, as he scissors his fingers wide, nudging your walls apart, "i can’t — "

"then don't," he interrupted, his voice low and commanding, "just let it happen. i want to hear you, i wanna hear her too, but only if you can keep it down."

you nodded, breathless, watching as waiters in impeccable black-and-white attire glide between the tables, carrying trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and glasses of dom pérignon.

"good girl," he murmured, his fingers curling just right, pushing you closer to that exquisite precipice, "now, be quiet and enjoy the moment."

just as he pinches your clit, you feel everything around fall away in shattering starfall. bolts of lightning shoot and splash through your lungs, stilling your heart, leaving your cunt pulsing with a life of its own, fluttering against satoru's fingers which still haven't stopped.

it's only then you realise that the band has stopped playing, and the other patrons of the clubs are leaning out of their seats, slapping their hands together in fervount applause.

but you can only stare, dazed and boneless from the remnants of an excellent fucking orgasm, as gojo leans in, just over the shell of your ear.

"how about we go back to the hotel room? wanna see an encore?"

[poptheweasel]

Turkish Delight

——————————————

Cory quickly realised he’d made a mistake.

He just couldn’t help it. Cory was enjoying an evening coffee at one of those small classic neighbourhood coffeehouses in Istanbul, the kind frequented mostly by aged locals, not young tourists like him. He felt and looked out of place, sure, but it was fine. Sitting at a far corner of the cosy establishment, no one bothered him and he bothered no one. It took him a little while, but Cory was just starting to feel at ease.

And then he entered. Clearly a regular, judging by the way he swaggered in and interacted with the owner and other customers. But he stood out among the others in that he wasn’t old like the rest of them; in fact, he and Cory seemed to be the only men under 40. He sat at a table at the other end of the place, placing him on Cory’s line of sight.

Cory was immediately captivated by this stranger, not fully understanding why. Maybe it was because the guy contrasted so strongly with himself. Not that Cory wasn’t attractive — of course he was — but something about the man transfixed him. “Fuck, he’s hot,” Cory thought. Maybe it was the gleaming light brown eyes to Cory’s own icy blue, or the meticulously-groomed heavy stubble the guy sported that accentuated his sharp jawline; maybe it was his athletic physique, his well-defined body betrayed by a shirt that was clearly a size too small, or maybe it was how hairy he was, the dark hair very conspicuously thickly covering his sturdy legs and arms offering a stark contrast to Cory’s blond hairs barely visible from a distance… Whatever the case, Cory just couldn’t take his eyes off that Turkish guy. He wanted him, to feel him, to taste him, and imagined all sorts of scenarios.

That’s when Cory realised: he was shamelessly ogling the man. Snapping out of his reverie, he noticed the hairy hunk staring right back at him, completely emotionless. Shit. Flushed and embarrassed, Cory hurriedly paid for his coffee and left, all the while the man continuously and intently observed his every move. Just as he exited, the guy whom he mentally violated also got up to follow him.

His cheeks still ruddy and warm from the unfortunate encounter a while ago, Cory briskly made his way through the labyrinthine streets of the hilly city, desperate to return to his accommodation. The Turkish guy wasn’t too far behind him; Cory meanwhile sensed he was being pursued so he quickened his pace. In an attempt to throw him off the trail, Cory turned a corner into a quiet narrow alleyway flanked by an empty lot and vacant buildings.

Right then, a deep voice called out from behind Cory.

“Hey, you.”

Cory froze, his face drained of the redness. He stood in silence, not knowing whether to respond or run away. He was terrified and felt faint. Only the fresh cool evening maritime breeze kept him on his wobbly knees as he shuddered, half because of the chill, half because he feared what would happen next. Ultimately, after a tense while which felt like an eternity, Cory turned around to see the man approaching him. Although Cory still was scared, he weirdly felt an emergent sense of excitement as well.

Soon, Cory stood facing the Turk. A dimly-lit streetlight was the only source of illumination through which Cory could better appreciate the figure before him. He noticed how the guy was even more hirsute than he realised, with chest hair spilling over his too-tight shirt. Cory’s cock twitched.

“I saw you look earlier,” the guy drily said, maintaining intense eye contact with Cory.

“Ye… No! I mean, yeah, I was…” Cory stammered sheepishly. Fuck, why was he getting turned on all of a sudden?

“Like what you see?”

Cory gulped and nodded. His knees were about to give in when the hunk suddenly grabbed Cory by the shoulders with his hairy meaty hands and yanked him close to give him a forceful yet passionate sloppy kiss. Cory was taken aback and screamed internally, but at the same time, he liked what was happening. Wasn’t this what he wanted in the first place? He didn’t resist the surprising advances; he simply couldn’t resist. He reciprocated, their tongues roaming each other’s mouths. As the Turk continued to shove his tongue in him, Cory felt like putty — he’d let the guy do anything to him, he’d be happy to be used by this gorgeous hairy man in whatever way.

The man’s stubble scratched and tickled Cory’s soft skin around his lips moistened by the wet kisses. Cory felt strong itching sensations in the same area. He normally kept himself clean-shaven, mainly because he could only manage to grow some wispy hairs on his face. As the Turkish guy momentarily pulled away from the kiss though, the area around Cory’s mouth was substantially darker than it was just a minute ago, the beard growth process being accelerated. Cory ignored the itch and continued making out.

After a while of spit-heavy lip-locking, the Turk pulled down his shorts and grabbed Cory by the shoulders, pushing him down to his knees. Cory, at eye level with the guy’s cut 8-inch cock, was completely mesmerised by the sight and especially the scent; the pubes were so dense, they trapped and collected all the musky sweat and oozing precum. The smell was rather pungent but Cory didn’t mind at all. If anything, the odour had a simultaneously captivating and relaxing effect on him and he felt compelled to inhale it more.

Cory piggishly sniffed the ridiculously hairy crotch, even licking the beads of moisture off individual strands of pubes. While doing so, the hair on his temple grazed the guy’s leaking member, some of the precum sticking onto his blond hair. His hair absorbed the pre almost instantly and began to darken, the change in colour spreading from where the precum had been smeared. The hair on Cory’s scalp lost its sandy hue but retained its sheen, turning browner and darker as the pigmentation spread from the roots to the tips. His face still buried in the thick pubes, Cory felt the man jerk himself, squeezing out more pre from his throbbing cock. “Suck,” he commanded. Cory swiftly obliged.

Cory was dazed; the public setting, the man’s body and scent, his own eagerness… all that was happening was wilder than anything he’d ever dreamt of. After admiring the juicy rod bobbing up and down in front of him, Cory closed his eyes and got to work, savouring the taste of the musky cock with a faint taste of piss. He took the whole length in his mouth and down his throat, blowing to the best of his abilities. He eagerly lapped up the copious amounts of pre from the Turk’s slick pulsating member, coating his tongue.

The more he sucked and swallowed, the more hairs grew on his face. The itch intensified above and below Cory’s lips, little needle-like black hairs pushing out from his smooth skin and multiplying below his nose and on his chin. The beginnings of a luscious beard then steadily migrated outwards, short pointed hairs breaking out all over Cory’s cheeks and linking with his tapered sideburns. By now, Cory had grown a remarkable designer stubble which grew in thicker by the minute and slowly crept down his chin. At the same time, his face took on a slight tan, darkening independently of the hair growth that took over the whole lower half of his face. Cory’s jaw looked more rugged too, becoming more square and masculine.

Cory carried on blowing his new acquaintance, completely oblivious to the changes affecting him. “You like?” asked the man. “Mmhrrrgggmm,” Cory could only nod and let out a gurgled hum of approval to affirm. The Turkish guy then forcefully rammed his cock down Cory’s throat, making him gag. Just as he did, Cory’s Adam’s apple jutted out more prominently. He opened his wet eyes to look up at the hunk; as he blinked away the tears, his blue eyes lost their iciness as the colour shifted from a cold blue to a warmer mixture of green and brown with flecks of gold. With his new hazel eyes, Cory saw the guy with a smirk on his face for the first time.

Cory’s body continued to change. He felt bulkier, the clothes he wore starting to strain against the muscles growing on his formerly slim frame. He also felt so much warmer despite the breeze; he felt heat radiating all throughout his body from the pit of his stomach and was sweating profusely as a result. He also felt his whole body itching uncomfortably by now. Watching the Turk strip and bare his gloriously hairy body, Cory did the same — he certainly wasn’t as hairy as the guy. Yet. The hair growing on Cory’s face continued to travel down, prickly hairs sprouting on his neck, past his collarbones and on his chest. Cory initially only had a faint patch of barely-visible hair right at the centre of his chest, but as the hairs darkened and thickened, they fanned out towards his pits, forming whirling patterns around his nipples and covering his whole chest with stubbly black hair, like a freshly-mowed lawn. The prickly sensation migrated south to his midriff, a trail of nascent coarse hairs sprouting from his chest down to his navel and then his crotch. From there, the newly-formed treasure trail widened and began to spread outwards in all directions, hairs multiplying rapidly until Cory’s whole torso was blanketed in a field of short hair which connected his stubble and still-sparse pubes.

After a few minutes of Cory sucking, slurping and gagging on the fat Turkish cock, the guy made him stop. Cory reluctantly agreed. The guy then grabbed Cory by his wavy, shiny black hair and got him up back on his feet. Cory was in a state of utter bliss, drunk on pre and musk, drooling uncontrollably. The Turk lifted his arm, exposing his smelly pit completely covered in tangled wiry hairs. The dark hairs were so incredibly dense and tightly-spaced that Cory thought he was staring into the void. “Sniff and lick,” he told Cory. Who was Cory to say no? He stumbled forward, faceplanting right in the sweaty jungle of pit hairs. The pit musk was surely at least ten times as potent as the musk from crotch! The pungent scent was overwhelming; it burned Cory’s nostrils, and yet his cock throbbed even harder, dripping pre all over. What would have been torture felt more like heaven to Cory. He grunted as he took a deep whiff of the rank musk and licked the matted hairy mess soaking wet with sweat. It was absolutely acrid, and the sharp sourness also scalded his throat, making him cough. Cory was immobilised though, his head held in place in the Turk’s reeking hirsute pit; he let out muffled moans, struggling to breathe. Inhaling the musk and gulping down obscene quantities of rancid sweat accelerated Cory’s changes.

Cory’s body ached all over as he increased in size, growing a few inches and gaining muscle mass. His muscles pulsated and expanded; it really looked as if someone was blowing air into him. His chicken legs inflated to become sturdy trunks, with hard thighs and bulging calves. His arms too grew larger, the veins protruding, his forearms thickening along with his biceps and triceps which doubled in size. Cory’s shoulders and chest broadened, providing him with a more robust, rugged physique. His abs also became prominent, the tight muscles emerging with several popping sounds. Cory was granted a temporary reprieve from piggishly eating out the Turk’s pit, leaving him to gasp for fresh air. The guy then tugged sharply on Cory’s nipples, making him let out a simultaneous yelp and low moan. As if some mechanism had been activated, Cory’s pecs ballooned and jutted out forward, his nipples looking thicker, longer and juicier than the goose-pimple ones he had before. Along with his pecs, his ass also expanded; what was once fairly flat and sad-looking was now globular, the firm cheeks jiggling with every move.

Cory’s puppeteer shoved Cory back into his other, equally hairy and musky pit. With his face buried in the nasty armpit, Cory panted and grunted as the intoxicating scent continued to work its magic. Cory’s brows became wider and bushier. The stubble on his face grew darker and thicker, the hairs coarsening and lengthening as well as multiplying in greater numbers. Starting from under his nose, more hairs poked out to give him a moustache which covered his whole upper lip. The hairs on his chin grew out in all directions, growing unruly and tangling up as Cory rubbed his face in the Turk’s manly pit. His cheeks underwent the same treatment, thick beard hairs pushing out from the follicles and cascading down, following Cory’s rugged jawline and covering the entire area of his face below his nose, the new bushy growth connecting with the moustache and the hairs below his lips. The growth continued to give Cory an incredibly thick medium-length beard that he’d only ever dreamt of having, now coated with a layer of musky sweat and Cory’s own saliva owing to his ravenous worshipping of the Turkish man’s pits. The man held Cory firmly in place, as if to cure the scent onto him.

This second explosion of hair travelled down Cory’s heaving body. Where the first wave of hair growth resulted in hairs which looked trimmed, the wiry, curly growth this time gave him a natural look, the hirsuteness of a man who had never shaved in his life, possibly unable to, due to how densely and much the hair grew. Coarse hairs burrowed their way out of Cory’s shoulders, leaving a forest of curly fur surrounding his neck, and flowed down his swollen upper arms and to his forearms, forming whirls and wave-like patterns, the wild, dense growth of black hair obscuring the view of the skin underneath — his arms looked as if they were wrapped in steel wool. Cory’s hands cracked and popped as they grew meatier and burlier, his fingers rough and calloused and speckled with thick hairs, giving him an almost beastly appearance.

The rapid growth of hair continued unabated, Cory feeling an intense itch under his arms. Soon, dark pinpricks appeared in his shaven pits, increasing exponentially. From those black dots, long wiry hairs shot out, growing thicker and longer, seemingly watered and fed by the sweat that had accumulated in his pits all this time. Radiating from the centre of the pits, the hairs blanketed a larger area, connecting with the hairs on Cory’s chest. Much like the Turk’s pits, Cory’s pit hair grew unwieldy and matted, the strands twisted and twirled from both the growth and the dampness. The moisture trapped under the massive tufts of pit hair emanated a smell. Indeed, accompanying the growing hairs was a stink, the same kind of rank smell that Cory had been inhaling for some time now, which grew increasingly more powerful as the fur grew in. Cory’s chest hair also began to lengthen at the same time, the hairs coiling out and curling and bunching up. Any remaining empty space was filled with thick wiry hair springing out in rapid succession. The amount of hair was grotesque; the eruption of wiry black hairs created a rug of fur on Cory’s toned body, completely enveloping his torso such that his pecs and abs were hardly visible at all, only his engorged nipples barely poking out from the dense field of hair.

Together with the massive hair growth and coupled with the increased pigmentation in his hairs, the light tan which had developed on his face also migrated down. Cory’s pale complexion on his face was already completely replaced by a natural tan, a light sun-kissed brown. The colour seeped down his neck, his back, his shoulders, like someone had dumped a bucket of oil on Cory. The dim orange streetlight made his tan appear darker, what little bits of skin peeking out through the dense hair glistening with the light reflecting off the sweat. Soon, all of Cory’s skin was a luscious earthy tone, not that much of it was visible under all the fur carpeting his whole body.

Cory’s raunchy pit sweat guzzling was interrupted when the Turk made him turn around and stand facing the wall of the vacant building. “Ass out,” the guy ordered. Cory immediately obeyed, panting like a dog that’s had too much sun. He was excited by the prospect of getting railed by this hot Turkish hunk, not having realised all the changes that affected him. Beads of precum dribbled out of Cory’s aching cock, which in the meantime had also darkened to match the rest of his complexion. His balls, larger than before, also churned. Cory felt the Turk holding him from behind, grinding his wet slick cock against Cory’s ass crack filling with hair. “Ready?” asked the man. “Fuck yes,” Cory responded. The guy spat right onto Cory’s tight puckering hole. Wiry black hairs blossomed around the pink ring, spreading out alongside the hairs growing on his crack. The light dusting of hair on his bouncy glutes was swiftly overtaken by curly dark hairs.

The Turk slowly inserted his cock lubed up with Cory’s saliva and his own precum into Cory’s inviting hairy hole, making Cory emit low moans and animalistic grunts sounding deeper than the previous ones. The man thrust in and out of Cory in a rhythmic fashion, Cory’s hole wrapping around his cock, basically milking him of his pre. With every thrust and pound and depositing of the Turkish guy’s precum in him, Cory changed further. His furry mounds ballooned even more. Pound. Fuzz grew in from the area of his coccyx and crept up the entire length of his spine, connecting with the thick curly hairs on his shoulders. Pound. The same fuzz then fanned out from the backbone, coating the lower back and colonising the previously hairless area of the shoulder blades. Pound. The wispy hairs on his whole back turned darker, growing longer and thicker, thousands of individual strands unfurling as they burrowed out of Cory’s smooth skin with great strength, leaving him with an impenetrable pelt of fur on his back. Pound. The wiry hairs erupted in greater quantities on his legs and snaked down, growing all over and wrapping around his thighs and calves and shins. Pound. The midnight black hairs on Cory’s legs thickened considerably that they were now visible from a distance, in stark contrast to before when he still had barely-visible light hairs against his pale white skin.

The pounding increased in speed, the Turk’s hairy low-hanging golf ball-sized balls slamming and smacking sonorously against Cory’s voluptuous hairy ass, also making his balls increase in size to those of tennis balls. Each frenzied slap caused Cory’s bush to fill in and spread beyond its confines at the base of his penis. He had previously kept his crotch trimmed, but that was history now; his pubes more closely resembled black fur due to how dense and tightly-packed it was. It was impossible to see the skin underneath the bush which had basically spread to the navel and also around Cory’s hips, even having crawled a little bit up his shaft. The wild, unkempt matted fur on his groin, much like the coarse tufts of hair under his arms, collected both musk and moisture, rendering it damp and especially pungent. It was only this time that Cory realised how much he reeked, with his arms outstretched to prop himself against the wall as he was fucked by his dream man. He didn’t care that he stunk; no, it turned him on, even. His dick responded accordingly, pulsating painfully — as the Turkish guy continued to thrust rigorously, Cory’s leaking cock grew larger incrementally, as did his balls which were engulfed in wiry hairs, and Cory produced more and more pre which trickled down his shaft and onto his extremely tangled mess of a bush, stinking it up even more.

Very little of Cory as he once was at the coffeehouse remained. At this point, he resembled an extremely hairy, beefy Turkish man, handsome and masculine, oozing testosterone out of every pore, blessed with the perfect manly genes such that luscious fur carpeted his body front and back, head to toe. After a few more thrusts and plunging and poking, the Turk erupted with one drawn-out growl and heavy panting and flooded Cory’s insides with his hot, sticky seed, depositing load after load in him. On Cory’s part, he too was close to cumming. As his cock reached a fully erect length of at least 9 inches, his foreskin retracted down his pulsing shaft and vanished altogether, leaving him with a newly-cut slab of meat. Cory blasted — hands-free — at the same time as the other Turk, leaving a puddle of splooge on the ground and painting a fair bit of the wall he propped himself up against. As he came, so came out the last vestiges of his former whiteness, his balls now filling and churning with Turkish cum.

The guy pulled out of Cory with a shlorp, cum dribbling out of Cory’s manhandled hairy hole and clinging onto the thick curly hairs on Cory’s ass and legs. Both men were breathing heavily, completely spent. They momentarily stood in silence punctuated by the sounds of buzzing insects and the occasional evening breeze. The other Turkish man, now slightly smaller in build than Cory, pulled Cory close for a kiss, gently and tenderly this time, not minding the pre and drool that had stuck and dried onto Cory’s majestic bushy beard.

“What’s your name?” the guy asked, thumbing Cory’s still-hard protruding nipples. Cory opened his mouth to respond but he hesitated. He suddenly realised he didn’t remember his name — what was his name? What a strange thing to forget! He knew it started with a C… no! It wasn’t a C, silly him. It started with a K, of course, and there was an R in there. K… Kor…? Ker…

“Kerem,” he finally answered. Yes, Kerem; that was his name, the name that he’d obviously had all his life. He’d always lived in Istanbul, hadn’t he? He liked the sea and the hills, his native culture, and the men, especially the men — those hirsute and masculine like him, of course — how happy is he who calls himself a Turk!

“I’m Semih,” said the other man who had followed Kerem all the way from the coffeehouse in the hopes of having fun with him. He certainly did get lucky, even out in public like this. “Evimde bir kez daha?”

“Peki, kanka.” Kerem was so ready for round two with Semih.

—————————————————

Hi all, decided to upload something original for a change. Kudos to @hairyjocktf for the encouragement!

[clinicse]

DCİDENTALCLİNİC - DEVASA+ (2)

When it comes to achieving a radiant smile, dental crowns in Turkey are becoming an increasingly popular choice for patients seeking exceptional dental care at competitive prices. With advanced techniques and skilled professionals, Turkey has emerged as a hub for dental tourism, drawing individuals from around the globe. This blog post will explore the diverse options available for dental crowns, alongside essential treatments like endodontics in Antalya and other parts of Turkey. 

Dental crowns turkey

When it comes to restoring damaged teeth, dental crowns Turkey have become increasingly popular among both locals and tourists. These crowns not only enhance the appearance of your smile but also provide essential support to weakened teeth. By choosing Turkey for your dental needs, you may find high-quality treatments at a fraction of the cost compared to other countries.

One of the primary reasons many opt for dental crowns in Turkey is the availability of advanced technology and experienced dentists. Many clinics in popular cities like Istanbul and Antalya use the latest techniques and materials to ensure patient safety and satisfaction. This combination of affordability and quality has positioned Turkey as a leading destination for dental tourism.

Moreover, the dental crown procedures typically involve a seamless experience: from initial consultations to the final placements. Most clinics offer tailored packages that include not just the crowns but also accommodation and transportation, making the entire process convenient for overseas patients. This makes Turkey an attractive choice for those seeking effective dental solutions.

Endodontics antalya

Endodontics is a specialized branch of dentistry that focuses on the diagnosis, treatment, and management of dental pulp and the surrounding tissues. In Antalya, numerous dental clinics offer advanced endodontic procedures to address various dental issues, ensuring that patients achieve optimal oral health.

Choosing an endodontist  Antalya provides you with access to innovative techniques and technologies. These professionals are well-trained in procedures such as root canal therapy, which can help save a tooth that is severely infected or damaged. Patients can expect a comfortable experience with modern anesthesia methods and post-treatment care.

Many dental practices in Antalya also emphasize the importance of preventative care in endodontics. Regular check-ups and timely interventions can prevent more serious issues down the line, promoting long-lasting dental health. Whether you require a routine examination or a complex procedure, Antalya offers a wealth of options to meet your endodontic needs.

Endodontics turkey

Endodontics Turkey is a rapidly growing field, where advanced techniques and technologies are used to treat dental conditions affecting the tooth pulp. Patients seeking quality care often turn to Turkey because of its affordable prices and high standards of dental services.

In Turkey, endodontic treatments are performed by skilled professionals who utilize state-of-the-art equipment. This includes digital imaging and modern sterilization techniques, ensuring safety and efficacy during procedures such as root canals.

Choosing endodontics in Turkey not only provides access to expert dental care but also offers an opportunity to explore the beautiful country while getting treatment. Many dental clinics in Turkey cater to international patients, providing personalized treatment pl

Teeth whitining antalya

When it comes to achieving a radiant smile, teeth whitening Antalya has become increasingly popular. Many people seek this cosmetic treatment to enhance their overall appearance and boost their confidence. The beautiful resort city of Antalya offers a variety of dental clinics that specialize in effective teeth whitening procedures.

Apart from the professional services available, patients can expect to find a blend of modern techniques and advanced technology devoted to teeth whitening. Options include in-office treatments that provide quick results and at-home kits that allow for gradual whitening. Both methods can be customized to fit individual needs and preferences.

In addition to aesthetic benefits, teeth whitening can also contribute to better oral hygiene. A brighter smile often encourages patients to maintain their dental care routine, as they become more conscious of their overall appearance. With the picturesque backdrop of Antalya, many find this dental journey to be a rewarding experience.

[bcacstuff]

Sunrise somewhere near the east coast of Brazil.

I’m not sure what time it is, or really where I am. Somewhere near the coast of Brazil, I know that; sometime during my birthday - I know that, too. I've flown past the Hindu Kush Himalaya, Pamirs, Caucasus, and Atlas Mountains, and will soon cross the Andes. I'm headed to Chile to meet my family after a long time away. A blessing, to be sure, and made even more sweet coming as it is on the heels of an incredible adventure in Nepal.

I’ve spent much of the 12 hours since Istanbul sorting through photos, visual portals into experience far away yet close at hand, pixel-born reminders of a trip, a trail, impact and experience and immersion.

I’m never quite sure how to share tales of any adventure, less so one with such meaning (to me at least) as this past one. The standard travelogue seems too mundane, too pedantic, to capture it all. Some deep and philosophical tome equally missing the mark.

So, perhaps neither, maybe some of both, a hope of struck balance, or at minimum translation of time and place and experience and people. And not all at once: Like any expedition, these things must be savored, a bit at a time, building and percolating and settling and expanding yet again. So, first, the beginning…

Me on the Kongma La back in 1993, wondering about remote valleys less-trodden than Khumbu.

I guess it was about 31 years ago - December 1993 - that Stuart Sloat and I bashed our way across the lower Khumbu Glacier from Lobuche and, laden with heavy packs, made our way to the Kongma La. We had no map, just a vague point from locals and the knowledge that there was a lake up there somewhere. We found only a puddle and a frigid night, but awoke to a splendid sunrise and the Star Wars zaps of sun-warmed ice cracking, alerting us to the real lake on the east side of the pass (as opposed to our mud wallow on the west). Glorious views, backlit Lhotse and Nuptse and countless more unknowns behind, peak on peak and valley on valley leading who knows where. I knew someday, maybe, I’d get into those valleys, wander the paths away from it all.

Thirty years later, I sat in a teahouse in Chheskam, the northern triumvirate of Mahakulung, with Jhanak Karki and Harka Kulung Rai, talking about opportunity over a steaming mug of tongba. We had just trekked parts of the Mundum Trail from Phedi over Silicho to Mahakulung visiting dZi Foundation work and communities; and then we went up above, following the Hunku Khola just enough to get a taste, an idea of what may lay above. The townspeople and government were excited as we were, having had the same idea for years: create a trail up the Hunku, connecting Chheskam to Kongme Dingma and the quite-popular Mera Peak trek.

It was all possible, all doable, but like the proverbial tree falling silently in the woods, this new trail would be all for naught if no word got out about it. But, I had an idea, and it seemed possible.

Two months before, I shared coffee in a small cafe in Glasgow with Sam Heughan. We’d “met” months earlier on Zoom calls for an ill-fated film project, and then I stalked him down in Scotland; he was, as is his manner, kind enough to indulge me rather than call the cops. I mentioned this idea, going to Everest Basecamp, but doing it the back way, the hard way, the way no one would know or understand or really care about, but the way that would be far deeper, more profound, more meaningful and purposeful and fun. He was game, but I needed to see some of it, understand it more, before committing to guiding anyone up there.

Tongba steaming and heads spinning, Jhanak, Harka, and I knew now it was doable. A route possible, something that promised to bring meaningful tourism and tourist dollars to this long-forgotten part of Nepal, so close to Khumbu and yet utterly left out of the economic boon of the Everest economy. Now I just had to convince Sam.

Trekking to Basecamp is not for the faint of heart, even doing it the standard way from Lukla up the Khumbu Valley. There’s long days, cold nights, high altitudes and dry air and new foods and more. It kicks people’s butts with glee. But this route? It promised much more: camping rather than lodges; an unknown trail through unknown country (How steep would it be? How long each day? Would we find water where we needed it, flat ground?); a 19,000-foot, semi-technical pass to cross into Khumbu; and more.

As I thought and hoped, though, Sam took little convincing. An adventurous soul with a heart of gold, he was excited immediately about it all and was on board. And, to be honest, my little coffeeshop meeting was both to suss out his interest and let him meet me (and judge me) in person, but also, more importantly, to feel him out. Guiding for me is not simply an economic thing, transactional, but about time and people and experience. I’ve done too many “off-the-shelf” trips in the past to have zero tolerance for sharing the mountains with people whose goals and values are misaligned with mine. It took but minutes with Sam to know our worlds, while vastly different, were built upon similar ideas and ideals and approaches.

And so, on December 3, we met in Kathmandu, a year’s planning finally coming together.

Unfortunately for Sam, I don’t really believe in the sugar-coated version of Nepal; fancy hotels and windowed views of life are little more than television with smell. I want people to see the real Nepal, wander the back streets, immerse in the smoky incense of dawn on cobbled streets, bells chiming and dogs barking, ambling through the visceral reality that is Pashupatinath, taking in the respite of Bodhanath, embracing the comforting chaos of alleys and backways of Lalitpur.

Sam rose to it all, never flustered or bothered, always interested and engaged and inquisitive. We had but 24 hours in the Valley, but Sam saw and did and digested a lot.

And then we were off, an Altitude Air B-3 piloted expertly by Moreno whipping us up and out of Kathmandu, through the clenching smog of the city to sprawling views of the Himalaya: the Ganesh and Langtang ranges, on to Dorje Lhakpa and Gauri Shankar as we fluttered high over Kavre Palanchok. Then the jumbled jags of Rolwaling and behind, finally, the Everest range, giants piercing the morning sky, Cho Oyu, Nuptse, Lhotse, Everest. Makalu behind, hiding a bit, masked by multitudes, a distant Kangchenjunga almost a mirage eastward.

Before long, some 40 minutes, the show was over, the reality about to begin. We dropped down, our mark Chheskam, a small village clutching the flat ground hundreds of meters above the Hunku Khola, a river raging and carving down from above. Moreno, Swiss to the core, politely but abruptly ushered us out with our duffels and, counting fuel minutes, was off in a jiffy.

We were here, and town was ready.

Going into this trip, I knew Chheskam was excited. A new trail represents economic possibility for the village, the chance to not just be small pawns in the bigger Khumbu trekking economy, but rather to capture some of that themselves, to control it, to reap the benefits and build it out in a way that fits and flourishes.

I guess, though, I didn’t know how excited: We were met at the chopper by many, locals and officials, all adorning us with kathas and warm welcomes. We then walked around the village, Sam getting to see firsthand the impact of dZi Foundation’s work here, projects like one house-one tap, one house-one toilet, kitchen gardens, and more resulting in a very self-sufficient, healthy, clean, place with relative prosperity. Thanks to Jhanak’s connections, we met the oldest man in town as he demonstrated traditional weaving of nettle fabric, sipped raksi in our friend Prashanta’s house, and briefly sat with wedding guests tipsy from revelry. And then we were summoned to the local school for a bigger gathering.

Our team ready to leave Chheskam for the Hunku Khola valley and the new Muddhi-Kongme Dingma trail.

It was huge, much of the town was gathered, hundred of school children, the local government officials, and more, all in the school grounds. We were run through the welcome gauntlet of ceremonial recognition, our necks strung with dozens of kathas and marigold garlands before being treated to local cultural dances and speeches of excitement and gratitude and welcome. Gratitude and ceremony are big in Nepal, and it was strong enough in Chheskam to feel a bit awkward: after all, Sam and I and our team were here just to walk up the valley. We had no guarantees of success - for us or for the future trail. But, the point I think was far bigger than either of us, any of us; the celebration on that day was one of excitement for the future, of possibility, of potential signified by the two of us being willing, caring enough, to come and do this and see where it leads, literally and figuratively.

Thirty-one years before I stared off into these valleys, selfishly hoping that one day I’d wander them, filling my personal cup with some adventure. It took a long time, and was beyond gratifying to finally be here, but doing so with great people, a great team, and a goal beyond anything personal.

[mammonscheeks]

demon brothers + dateables as destinations in the human world

✎ a/n: these are my opinions! i'm south and west asian, so i am most knowlegeable about those countries, please correct me if i've said anything incorrect!

LUCIFER

new york city, usa. he likes the cold, industrial corporate feel of nyc. it helps him avoid his feelings.

anywhere in germany. he likes their no-nonsense culture and unspoken social rules.

MAMMON

las vegas, nevada, usa. he always begs mc to take him there. the flashy lights and casinos are right up his alley.

dubai, uae. he loves the luxurious feel of it, and how its the center of celebrity gatherings, vacations, and parties.

LEVIATHAN

tokyo, japan (especially the akihabara/electronic district). he's always updated on pop culture and the newest technology/games.

seychelles island, africa. he likes swimming, but not socializing on the beach. that's why he likes isolated islands.

SATAN

london, england. he's interested in their medival history and seeing the places that inspired novels like harry potter and the sherlock holmes franchise.

cat island in japan, or any mediterranean country where cats freely roam.

ASMODEUS

paris, france. he'd love paris fashion week. he also just seems french to me, idk.

seoul, south korea. he'd adore seoul's culture, everything from the modern sappy kdramas to traditional dresses, like hanbok. he would bring an empty suitcase to stuff it with beauty products.

BEELZEBUB

mumbai, india. this metropolitan city in india offers so many different kinds of food. he would love to eat his way through the city, if not the entire country.

every city in mexico. he'd try the regional cuisine, but also hang out at the beach with his brothers and mc (so cute).

BELPHEGOR

cairo, egypt. he was once fascinated with humans, and often watched them build civilizations from heaven when he was an angel. he would enjoy the historical wonders of egypt.

reykjavic, iceland. idk why he just gives me iceland vibes. life there can be slow and cold, and it often gets less light than other countries.

DIAVOLO

transylvania, romania. he loves its breathtaking castles and culture, and is intrigued with all the pop culture references of vampires.

petra, jordan. this is a significant place in abrahamic religions, known for being haunted by demons, or jinn. diavolo would be fascinated by this history, whether its actually haunted or not. i know he'd eat up those scary ghost tours (insert fic about that here) and even probably try and scare a few tourist groups, despite barbatos advising him against it.

BARBATOS

istanbul, turkiye. istanbul has well-maintained structures from the byzantine empire, the ottoman empire, and even "newer and hip" neighborhoods. barbatos, being able to see the past and future, would appreciate the blend of it all here, like he's walking through time.

kathmandu, nepal. he'd enjoy the peace of monasteries and mountains, which are as old as the earth itself.

SIMEON

tuscany, italy. he'd enjoy the vast fields, heavenly sunsets, small towns and historic churches. he would find tuscany a peaceful place to write, but appreciates the community feel of small italian towns. would definitely be so friendly he'd get invited to eat dinner at a random family's house.

thessaloniki, greece. he would absolutely love seeing all the greek orthodox churches there, with their blue and white colors and dome roofs. he is just amused to see the religious structures humans have created. he'd also probably be interested in greek mythology, even though he's an angel.

LUKE

cape town, south africa. he would be so excited to see penguins at the beach and would enjoy the burst of color south africa offers. he'd also enjoy the modern bakeries and desserts in south africa.

lyon, france. the country is known for desserts. luke would probably take a baking class there to learn how to bake more things.

SOLOMON

salem, or just any small town in massachusetts. as a sorcerer, he's intrigued with their history of "witch hunting" and the paranormal.

lalibela, ethiopia. being old, he's intrigued with how ancient cities like lalibela have changed since biblical times. he also probably enjoys learning about different cultural practices and what they have in common with his sorcery. he also wants to learn how to cook more dishes from different countries, but fails miserably

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part twelve] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex (18+ mdni)

word count: 3.5k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

The flight from Naples to Tokyo took fourteen hours, not including the two-and-a-half-hour layover in Istanbul, meaning you had sixteen and a half hours to sit in awkward tension-filled silence next to Jisung. The tension was one-sided, of course, but it was still agonizing to endure.

You had been able to push your anxiety aside during your last day in Italy because it had been so busy. There had been a power outage in the middle of the night, causing everyone to oversleep and miss the ferry for one of your tours that morning. It had been a scramble to get back on schedule and do as much as possible with the time you had left. The boys had been hungover and their parents were tired of wrangling them. You had dozens of photos on your camera roll of Jisung and Felix bickering when they were supposed to be posing for a nice picture, and even more of Minho flicking them off. 

But now you were stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to use distraction as a means to escape. You tried reading your book, but found yourself unable to concentrate on the words on the page. After staring at the same paragraph for over fifteen minutes Jisung noticed and asked if you were okay and you finally decided to call it quits. 

You almost wished the Hans hadn’t scheduled in a day and a half to adjust to the time zone change. You’d rather exhaust yourself with the nonstop tourist bullshit than have to cope with the reality that you had gotten off to thoughts about your best friend’s brother. Not to mention living with the secret that the same best friend’s brother had kissed you not long before that. 

If Jisung noticed anything was off, he didn’t mention it. He probably chalked it up to lack of sleep, or perhaps was too tired himself to care. 

“Which one of us do you think will be randomly selected in customs today?” Felix asked, stretching his arms above his head. 

You were standing in the aisle waiting to deplane, placing bets on who’d get searched by border agents this time. Somehow each time you traveled to a new place one of you was always chosen to get pat down or have your carry-on searched. Minho had yet to be the lucky winner, and you suspected it had something to do with his celebrity status. 

“Y/n,” Minho answered easily. “She has the U.S. passport.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like Korea has a squeaky clean record with Japan.”

“Okay, but it’s the other way around for us. At least we didn’t-”

“Bro, you can’t say the b word on a plane,” Felix interrupted.

“Even when the plane’s on the ground?”

Jisung shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Whatever,” Minho continued. “It’s definitely going to be y/n.”

-

“Would you mind stepping out of line, ma’am?” 

You sighed, not even bothering to look back at the boys. You already knew they were grinning like idiots and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. The agent ushered you to the side behind a glass partition, but not before you heard another agent repeat the same question to one of the Hans. You smiled to yourself, happy not to be the only one singled out.

Behind the privacy screen another agent greeted you and asked you to take your sweatshirt off, explaining that it was too baggy and needed to be checked. You saw other people in baggy clothes who weren’t getting pulled out of line, but assumed they didn’t have the red flag of “U.S. Citizen” printed on their identification that would be cause for any additional suspicion. You complied with the agent’s request and pulled your sweatshirt off for them to further inspect.

You were glad you’d worn a sports bra beneath your sweatshirt because you usually didn’t wear anything underneath them. As soon as your head was out of the pullover you immediately met by Minho’s polite smile. 

He averted his eyes as soon as he saw you, pausing his conversation with the official to mumble a quiet ‘sorry’ to you as he was shown to the spot next to yours. 

You zoned out as they spoke, only aware of him again when he started unbuckling his belt. You caught his eye this time. 

“Forgot to take it off,” he explained.

“Sweatshirt’s too loose.”

You both faced forward as the customs officials proceeded through the motions. You were stuck standing there half-naked with your arms wrapped around your chest self-consciously while an agent pat Minho’s legs down. 

“Dad said we can meet them at baggage claim,” Minho said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “They went on without us.”

“Okay,” you squeaked back in response. 

You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still made you nervous to be alone with Minho. Jisung was like a safety blanket, or a buffer between you and him and without him you were afraid it would be painfully awkward. 

The woman handed you your sweatshirt back and you had to wait for Minho outside of the screening area. He joined you a minute or so later.

“They find any dirt on you?” you asked from where you were leaning against the wall across from the exit. 

“Nope, you?”

“Yeah, actually I’m in custody right now. Can’t believe you missed the handcuffs.”

“Man, what’d they get you for?” 

“Identity theft,” you sighed. 

“Damn, that’s a bummer,” Minho replied, false sympathy rolling off his words. 

He cocked his head in the direction the rest of his family had went, indicating that you should get going, and held out a hand to pull you upright. You took it hesitantly and let him help you. 

“I was actually hoping you could bail me out?” you went on, continuing with the bit. 

Minho made a sound through his teeth and grimaced. “I’m kinda broke right now.”

“Aren’t you a famous dancer?”

“Sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re definitely the guy!”

“You’re thinking of Choi Minho,” he insisted.

“Remember that IOU you gave me? I’m cashing it in now.”

“That’s not how it works!” 

You laughed. “No, but if I ever actually get arrested I’m using my IOU to get you to bail me out of jail.”

“I don’t think that a kiss and getting bailed out of prison are comparable, but I didn’t put any conditions on that postcard, did I?”

“Nope!” You smiled happily.

“Well that���s on me, so…”

You took the shuttle together to the other side of the airport where the rest of the Hans were waiting and finally found them with all of your luggage at the furthest carousel from the entrance. 

“It’s about time!” Felix yelled over the crowd as soon as he saw you. 

Jisung grinned when he saw you and you couldn’t help but grin back. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively and you relaxed into his shoulder, relieved to be with him again. It hadn’t dawned on you until that moment just how attached you were, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because the other Hans were all looking at you expectantly.

“Did everything go okay?” Nikki asked. 

Minho nodded. “They made y/n strip, but it was uneventful otherwise.”

You pursed your lips, cheeks burning. “It was just my sweatshirt!” you hissed to Jisung. 

“Yeah, but you never wear anything under your sweatshirts!” Jisung hissed back.

“I had a bra on this time.”

“Oh, so it was just another night at the bar for you?” You wrestled yourself out of Jisung’s grasp at that and glared. “Am I wrong?”

Jisung’s dad cut in before you could respond. He had a habit of calling “family meetings” in the middle of public spaces to finalize plans and get everybody on the same page, which was always an experience. 

“Alright, gather up, gang!” he said, beckoning you all closer. “So we’ll be staying at… this hotel,” he explained and turned his phone around to show you the name of it. “And the thing is, we have two rooms to share between the six of us. One for your mother and I, and another for you four.”

“What?” Jisung asked. “You’re going to make us stay with them?”

“I thought we were getting three rooms like every other time,” Minho chimed in.

“We were meant to, but I made a mistake when booking it,” Dom clarified.

“How?”

“The entire website was in Japanese, Jisung. I don’t know Japanese!”

“Dad, Google has a translate webpage option!” Felix groaned.

“Well no one told me that while I was booking this entire trip by myself!”

You traded a look with Minho, who looked just as panicked as you felt. But it would only be for a week. You would find a way to manage. You didn’t really have any other option.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Jisung tried, forcing a smile.

“That’s the spirit!” Dom cheered. “We’ll make it work.”

-

“Ji and I will take the bunk beds.”

The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Jisung’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel… cozy.

Felix and Minho traded looks with each other.

“Kidding.”

The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.

“If I ever have to share a bed with Minho again it’ll be too soon,” Felix sighed.

“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Minho scoffed.

“I’m taller than you.”

“That’s only because you’re wearing boots.”

“Whatever,” Felix grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.

Minho slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.

“You always get the top bunk,” Felix whined.

“Yeah, because I’m older.”

“That’s not fair!”

“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Jisung explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.

“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hans.

“You’re right,” Jisung agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. We used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”

“All boys… I don’t know how your mom did it.”

“None of us do.”

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Felix muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.

“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Jisung shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”

“You don’t know them like I do,” Jisung warned.

“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”

Jisung snorted. “Wishful thinking.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”

“I’ll go after you,” Jisung replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jisung growled against your lips.

“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Felix!” Jisung and Minho shouted, Minho going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.

“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”

“Felix.” To your surprise, it was Minho who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Felix took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Jisung was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.

“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Jisung, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.

You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.

The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for… other reasons.

Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.

You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Jisung’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.

It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Jisung, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Felix was already fast asleep, but Minho and Jisung were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.

Jisung was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.

He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.

Minho didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.

At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.

You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Jisung’s brothers.

It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Jisung and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other’s arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Jisung were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.

To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Jisung spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.

The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Jisung.

Can you come here rq? I need help lol.

Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Minho stiffened in his bed.

You rolled back the door and found Jisung standing in his boxers next to the tub.

“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”

“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.

“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”

Jisung’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.

“Not all of them,” he admitted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”

Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”

“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.

“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”

Jisung just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.

“That was fast.”

You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Minho. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”

God damn it, Jisung.

“Why do you ask?”

Minho shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.

“Glad he has you for that.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?

The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-

“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

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[missameliep]

Title: Once Upon a Summer - Part 2

Book: Desire & Decorum AU Pairing: Prince Hamid x Elizabeth Foredale (OC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: ~5.2k

Summary: Once upon a summertime, eleven-year-old Elizabeth befriended a boy at a beach. Returning to England in a rush, she didn't even say goodbye to her friend Hamid, and had little hope to ever see him again. What would happen if fate brought them together four years later? This is how their story goes...

A/N: No warnings. Just fluff. Turkish words are translated in the notes in the end.

August, 2001. 

From the airplane, Elizabeth’s eyes contemplated the lands bellow but fixed at the sight of the turquoise blue ocean. Her heart soared. Even in the company of her stepmother Henrietta, it seemed impossible to be unhappy in a dreamlike place like this. 

Her father had once more kept the promise, and the 11-year-old girl was beyond excited. 

Trying to reconcile work and vacation, it was Vincent's idea the family spent time at a resort at the Turkish Riviera while he attended business meetings at Istanbul, and later would join them at the weekend. Hopefully everything will go as planned. In his absence, there are plenty of activities to keep Elizabeth entertained and her stepmother off her back. 

Despite planning to spend most of her time at the beach – which would be a lot, considering the expected daily 12 hours of sunlight –, she made sure to research about the history, touristic attractions, and culinary to have the best experience ever with her father and the boys. Her eagerness to share those details were met with similar enthusiasm only by her father. They bought a Travel guide and a Turkish phrase book for tourists and she read them during the flight, memorising the most helpful ones, like “thank you” and “please”, even though her stepmother insisted it was pointless since everybody at the resort must speak at least rudimentary English.  

“It’d be rude if they didn’t,” she remarked at last, and huffed an exasperated breath when Elizabeth didn’t put the book away. 

Fanning herself on the short walk to the car, but refusing to take off her white blazer, Henrietta exclaimed to Elizabeth’s and Harry’s amusement, “Of all places, Vincent sent us straight to this furnace... How can anyone survive in such a horrible place!” 

On the drive from the airport to the resort, tired of the woman’s complains about the hot weather, Harry’s annoyance with the long hours travelled and Edmund’s sulking for some undisclosed reason she suspects might be a girl, Elizabeth put on the headphone and turned on the music on the mp3 player. Nely Furtado’s I’m like a bird starts playing and she smiles. 

Rolling down the window, Elizabeth inhaled the sea salty breeze and closed her eyes for a moment.  

The sea has always been Elizabeth’s happy place.  

Her earliest childhood memories are from walking at Ipanema’s finest sand and building sandcastles by the water with her mother. Once or twice her father was in the picture, and her mother would be smiling at him. Growing up near the ocean turned it into a reference and going to the beach her favourite pastime. Whenever her feet touched the warm sand and her skin submerged into the cold Atlantic waters, life was good. At the beach it was easier to forget the burden of being a spare daughter of an Earl who lived across the world from her or feeling out of place, not British enough but not entirely Brazilian either. 

When she was 9 years old, her mother announced they would move to England to be closer to her father, and she cried for two days until her eyelids were puffy and there were no more tears to shed. One could imagine her sadness was because she didn’t love her father nor wanted to be near him and her half-brother, but that was not the case; what truly saddened her was the fact the nearest beach was hours away of the county by car and the family didn’t fancy the sea like she did.  

“My little mermaid”, her father called her then, understanding her concerns, and promised at least for a few weeks every summer they would travel to be close to the sea. And so far, he kept this promise.  

Even if he could not keep the other promises made, or say no to his wife. 

This year, Henrietta threatened to forbid the boys to come along if Elizabeth’s mother accompanied her, which everybody knew would mean cancelling the trip. 

“Elizabeth is old enough to take care of herself, and you’re her father! Why is that woman even coming? Unless it’s for your enjoyment!” the woman shouted in her father's study at Edgewater, and he eventually yielded; Elizabeth wished he didn’t.  

Being away from her mother in a foreign country, even for a few weeks, would be hard. 

After the first days of glorious sun, the weekend came, but her father didn’t.  

A week after their arrival and the second time he rescheduled his flight, Elizabeth was too tired of avoiding fights with Henrietta and the malicious remarks about her appearance and manners. If her presence was so unwelcome, why would the countess deny her any opportunity to enjoy herself getting to know the region outside the limits of the resort and its private beach?    

“It’s your father’s duty, not mine,” the words were uttered with the intention to hurt her one morning during breakfast. “If he ever comes, he can take you wherever you want...” 

Without a responsible adult, she couldn’t join most of the external activities; however, this minor detail wouldn’t stop her, like Briar remarked when they were chatting online that evening. Out of spite, she decided to venture on her own and visit some of the places she was eager to see, risking a punishment later.

Early in the morning, knowing Henrietta would spend the day at the hotel’s spa, she left a note at the desk saying she would be at the beach.

Backpack stuffed with her books, two water bottles, an apple and a few dates, Turkish bread and cheese collected from the breakfast table, the Mp3 player, she sneaked out of the resort to visit the city of Fethiye and the Lycian rock tombs. It would be an adventure. 

It was a long walk to get to the city, but it was lovely seeing the beach and tourists outside the resort. At a small shop, she bought herself a pistachio ice-cream, then walked up hill to reach one of the famous tombs.  

Reaching the top, the visitors were rewarded with an amazing view of the city. When she picked up the camera, for a moment, she wished Harry or Edmund had tagged along, but both hated waking up early and hot weather. Not to mention the risk of Harry ratting on her, even if unintentionally. She took a few pictures to show them later and drank the remaining water in one of the bottles, rushing to get away from the monument as soon as a few adults started questioning if she was alone.

The sun was high in the sky on the way down, and her stomach started growling. Reaching the main promenade, while looking for a place to sit down and eat, she was startled by a screeching sound right behind her. 

Whirling around, she caught a glimpse of a young boy with a bright blue t-shirt riding a bicycle on the pavement right before he swerved to the right, almost running straight into her. Failing to redirect the bike, he collapsed a few metres ahead, right on the street. The traffic could not be called heavy, but wasn’t insignificant either, and it wouldn’t take long for a vehicle to get to him.   

Her hand covered her mouth, muffling a panicked scream; and she ran to help him back on the pavement. 

When she reached him, the boy, who was about her age, touched his knee, hissed and mumbled words in Turkish she couldn’t understand. There were no visible bruises in his face or arms, and it eased her a little. Her first instinct was to just grab him by the shoulders and pull him back, but she probably shouldn’t, even if she had the strenght to do it. 

Heart hammering in her chest, the only words in Turkish she remembered from the pocketbook inside her backpack were “merhaba”[1] and “Türkçe bilmiyorum”[2], neither helpful in this situation. 

Instead, she waved her hands. The first car swerved to avoid them, but the second coming in their direction managed to stop and halt the traffic in that lane.

“Get up before a car hit you,” she cried, and judging by his wide-eyed expression, he didn’t comprehend a word.  

Regardless of the lack of understanding in his part, she kneeled and asked for permission to help him, slowly speaking in English everything she was doing, like picking up his bike to move it to the pavement, to give him time to get up on his own. When he remained frozen on the asphalt, with those big dark eyes staring at her like a deer before being hit by a car, she offered a hand. “Come on.” 

By the time he got up by himself, a few passersby had rushed to check on him.

First, he thanked her in English. After he did, a smile curled his lips and dimpled his warm brown cheeks. It was bizarre to say the least that he’d smile after falling from the bike. 

“You were so fast,” she cried, unable to control the volume of her voice or the pace of her heart. “Are you hurt? I was so scared a car would hit you!”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he said, and motioned to the persons around them, indicating he was alright and they soon walked away, and the traffic resumed in the previously obstructed lane.

Turning around to face her, he spoke with accented but perfectly understandable English, “I got distracted for a second by the new ice-cream shop there. I love ice-cream.” He pointed at a store at the other side of the street. “Sorry for almost running you over. Are you hurt?” 

“I’m okay. Just a little… startled.” 

“I can see that. If I had money now, I would buy you an ice-cream. It always makes me feel better. I think it’s because babam1 always bought me one when I got hurt,” he sighed and leaned against the bike. “Do you like ice-cream? Because if you do, you’ll love bici bici[3]. Have you tried?” He spoke quickly, a melodic monologue, and she had no idea what bici bici was, and it somehow seemed a safer answer to simply shook her head.  

Smiling at her, he offered a hand. “My name is Hamid.” 

“Lizzy,” she told him the nickname her friends use, finding it more appropriate than the name she came to associate with etiquette and the Queen, and her smile vanished when she noticed his scrapped palms. “You’re hurt.” 

He touched his hand with a thumb and clicked his tongue. “It’s just a scratch.” 

“It’s bleeding.” Kneeling, she put her backpack down and took the remaining water bottle. “Sorry, I only have water,” she said and asked for one of his hands. She poured the water, letting it remove the dirty of the street. 

While she focused on the task, Hamid kept looking at her, with an unabashed smile. 

“Where are you from?” he asked, while she poured the water on his other hand. 

“England.”

“No offense, but you don’t sound British” 

She looked up and refrained from laughing. 

“And how do they sound like?” 

“Like this stuffy teacher I had in school,” he replied, and started speaking random words with a heavy accent like he were a Bond villain, and she supposed he was mimicking said teacher. “You’re lucky you don’t sound like that!” 

“Not all Brits speak the same way, there are different dialects, you know…” 

“I didn’t know that!” he admitted while looking at his palms. “Which dialect do you speak?” 

She laughed. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

“I can’t help it, I’m very curious, and I love making new friends.”  

The word friend was misused in her opinion, considering the fact he is a local boy and she is a tourist due to stay another 12 days, and they would never see each other again. But his expression was so welcoming, and the idea of having a friend – even if on a temporary arrangement – to go to the beach with and walk around the city sounded somehow appealing due to her current loneliness. And a much easier deal to a shy girl like herself since he was offering. 

Hanging her backpack on one shoulder, she shoved her hands inside the pockets of her shorts and contemplated the idea of having a picnic.  

“So, Hamid, before you attempted to trample me, I was going to have a snack,” she said softly, “if you’re not doing anything, I can share with you. It’s not much… but…”  

“Sure!” Holding the handlebars of his blue bike without touching his palms, he started walking and called over his shoulder. “Come on, Lizzy, I know the perfect place.” 

The boy was lively and cheerful, just a few inches taller than her. His skin was a tanned warm brown, much lighter than her mother’s, and his hair straight and black, with longer locks in the front that almost covered his dark expressive eyebrows. His eyes were also of a very dark shade of brown, almost black as his pupils. Like the pearls of her grandmother’s necklace, his teeth were perfectly lined and shiny, and whenever he smiled, two dimples formed on the sides of his face; Elizabeth thought that was a lovely thing. 

Following him down a secondary street, she noticed several scratches in the bicycle’s painting, a scab in his elbow and a few healed scars on his knees, not to mention the thorn on the side of his black and white shorts. Perhaps, falling off his bike was not an unusual occurrence, and something kids in Türkiye and England have in common.  

Hamid did most of the talking and asked several questions without barely giving her time to answer; most of them amused her, while she diverted every single one concerning her family or lodging details, obeying the security protocols taught ever since she came to England. 

“How old are you, Liz?” 

“11.” 

“I’m 11 too! I’ll be twelve on December. When is your birthday?” 

“July.” 

“We’re here.” He vaguely gesticulated, and walked through lines of tables and chairs towards the entrance of colourful restaurants and a fish market.  

Hamid was greeted by some of the waiters and men on their way.  

“Do you like fish?” he asked her, and she nodded.

Then he sprinted towards an older man with grey hair and thick black eyebrows, who effusively greeted him. The boy kissed the man’s hand and touched it to his forehead, in what she assumed was a sign of respect to the elderly. Smiling, they talked for a while, and the man nodded towards her, huffled his hair and they gesticulated, calling another man inside the restaurant. When both men disappeared inside, Hamid leaned his bike against the wall of the restaurant and ran back to where she was watching the scene with curiosity. 

Walking ahead, he guided her to one of the tables.  

“We can have what you brought, and something that I’ll bring.”  

“I thought you didn’t have any money.” 

“I don’t.”  

She smiled and nodded to the direction the man had been standing a moment before. “Is that your father?” 

“No, babam is at Istanbul. Working. Annem is there with him. That one over there is Cemal Bey, he’s a good friend of Dedem and his wife is the best cook in the country... Please don’t tell Hala Fatma I said that,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. 

“And people will just give you food?” 

“Sometimes, if I ask them nicely. And I told my English friend wanted to try the best Turkish food in the country… few people resist being complimented like that.” 

“Clever.” 

The tip of his tongue peeked between his teeth when he smiled at her. “But I admit Cemal Bey being a good friend of Dedem and knowing me since I was a baby helped.” 

She chuckled and took the snacks from her backpack, under Hamid’s attentive supervision.  

“I was expecting something like crisps and Doritos...” 

“Disappointed?” 

“A little,” he replied with a frown. “If you have any candy, I beg you share with me. Halam won’t let me eat anything that isn’t healthy!” 

Elizabeth chuckled and offered him a date. “This is the sweetest thing I’ve got with me...” 

Sighing, he accepted it with a sorrowful look, and she smiled. 

“Dedem and Fatma, who are they?” 

“Dedem is grandfather,” he said gnawing on a date. “Hala Fatma is babam’s younger sister, my aunt. I’m staying with her and my cousins this month.” 

They shared the bread and cheese; and despite her initial protest, Hamid poured some olive oil on a piece of bread and made her try it. When she did, she hummed in delight and asked some more cheese. “That’s too good! I could eat my weight in this cheese...” 

While she took another bite of the bread, Hamid’s expression turned serious. 

“I need to ask: are you a runaway girl?” 

“Excuse me?” she asked, almost chocking on the bread. “Why would you think that?” 

“I just watched X-Men, and you being here alone in a city you’ve never been before with a backpack gives me major Rogue vibes…” 

“I’m just sightseeing,” she shrugged his concern, “not escaping my mutant powers or anything really.” 

“You never mentioned your family…” He lowered his voice, so only she could hear him, “If you’re in trouble, there are good people here who can help.” 

“I’m fine. Really. Dad is at Istanbul working. Like yours. And mum couldn’t come to this trip…” she paused and refrained from sharing with a strange boy the dramas of her family. “So, I’m staying at a hotel with my stepmother and my brothers.” 

“Hmmm… I see… evil stepmother!” 

“I never said that!” 

“You didn’t deny it either,” he pointed out with a mischievous grin. "What about the brothers? Are they as jealous as Cinderella’s sisters?” 

“Harry can be jealous at times,” she laughed covering her mouth with a hand, and looked away. “They’re okay. We get along well, but they don’t fancy going to the beach as much as I do… or being outside when it’s hot. Edmund got sunburned on our second day here.” 

“What a bummer...” 

“He’s better now, but refuses to leave his room... And with the pretence of keeping him company, Harry stays with Edmund... So, they play videogames day and night!” 

“You don’t like videogames?” 

“I like videogames; what I don’t get it is why would anyone prefer any game over this?” She waved both hands in a circle around them. “It’s such a perfect day for an adventure! I love the salty sea breeze! Just this morning I walked around the city, and not only had the best pistachio ice-cream ever but was taught about some place called Antep and the story of this man’s family and pistachio. Okay, I didn’t understand most of what he was saying but it was amazing anyway. And when I said Teşekkür ederim[3] he explained that was too formal and taught me Sağ olun[4]. Did I say it correctly?” 

“Yes, perfectly. I can teach you words too.”  

“Then I went uphill, saw these ruins and –” 

“What about meeting me?” with a mocking pout, he asked.

“Usually near accidents are not my favourite parts of any trip.” 

“Near is better than actual accidents.” 

“You’re right,” she laughed. 

“And what’s still missing on your perfect day list?” 

She hummed in consideration and her eyes flicked in the direction of the marina, even though they couldn’t see the boats from where they were seated. 

“I wanted to go in one of those boats and spend the day at the sea, visiting the islands, but Henrietta gets seasick – or so she says it. And Edmund keeps saying we should wait for dad, or something terrible might happen because we’re kids, the world is a terrible place, and we’ll probably be stranded at sea…or drown. Basically, something horrible will happen.”  

“Wow! That’s –” Hamid paused, searching for a word and settled with “disturbing...” 

Cemal bey called Hamid, who sprinted to get a plate with breaded fish, chips, garlic sauce and the biggest olives she’s ever seen. They ate in silence, and Hamid kept gazing at her for some reason. An ear-to-ear grin on his face. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He shook his head, but she kept wiping her mouth and chin with a napkin, just in case.  

Hamid picked the chips with his fingers and tucked into his mouth, and she did the same.

If her grandmother saw her eating this much in public and using her hands, there would be a lot of chiding. For a moment, she hesitated, her hand hovered over the fork, but then she considered how far from home she is and the advantages of being unknown here. Grinning, she used her hands again. The chips tasted even better while disregarding etiquette. 

After the meal, Hamid offered to take her back to the hotel, which she decline since she having so much fun with him; since he didn’t need to go home before sunset, they decided to walk around some more.

Sitting on his bike, he patted the tube and offered a lift and to carry her backpack, even though it was much lighter without the water and food. Putting her backpack on his back, she took the offered seat. 

Chatting all the while, they rode for several minutes until arriving at the marina, where he locked his bike to a lamp pole at the entrance.  

“Race you there,” Hamid shouted from over his shoulder, already sprinting at full speed. 

“That’s unfair,” she cried back, running after him, “I don’t even know where we’re going!” 

She caught up to him, or maybe he let her get closer and they ran side by side until the middle of the marina, to a point where sailboats and yachts were on either side of them. It wasn’t bustling as earlier hours of the days, and few people were working on boats, cleaning them or just walking around.

Hamid indicated an empty spot, and they sat down, letting their feet dangle from the edge and above the water. She looked around with a wide smile, following with her eyes the seagulls flying close to one of the boats, trying to steal someone's lunch.

“I’d love to spend time at the sea, to travel for many days and see many ports... How exciting it must be! Imagine all one could learn. The languages. And the food. I could get something from each place, a treasure, to remind me later from all I’ve seen...” 

“Like a pirate?” 

“No, not like a pirate!” 

“Why not? They have cool clothes and songs.” 

“I couldn’t be a criminal!” she laughed.  

“We could be pirates together!”  

He jumped to his feet with a roar, twirled and climbed into a boat. “Ahoy! Pull the anchor!” he said with his best pirate impression, one eye closed and a hand cutting the air in rapid movements. “Let’s trouble the water. Avast ye! And sail against the tides!” 

Elizabeth laughed and he extended his hand, inviting her to climb it too. 

“Hamid, we can’t do that...” She looked around for anybody who could be watching them. “We could get in trouble...” 

“Don’t worry. It’s Dedem’s boat.” 

He offered a hand and helped her get into the boat. They walked to the bow pretending to be on a pirate ship. The deck gentle swaying beneath their feet as they staged a mock sword fight. 

“Dedem always took me and my cousins with him to the sea,” Hamid said later, when they sat down by the railings to watch the seagulls fighting over food, “and he taught us to sail and fish. Babam and Amca Ozan would join us too, if they were not working...” 

They watched the boats returning to the marina, spoke about movies and Hamid shared many stories of his family and his five sisters.  

“Five sisters?” she asked, “For real?” 

“Is it really the strangest thing?” 

“That was rude. Sorry.” 

“You apologise a lot,” he remarked, “Why’s that?” 

She pondered at the question for a moment, not knowing what to say, and just shrugged. 

Hamid didn’t ask anything else about it, and the conversation shifted to other topics. Whenever he asked about the hotel her family was staying, she diverted and talked about something else. The last thing she needed was Henrietta coming to spoil their fun. 

Leaning against the railing, Hamid pointed at all his favourite places, even if it was impossible to see some of them from the boat.   

“Let’s go,” he said and pulled her by the hand.  

A moment later they were back on the bike. Speeding up, the breeze blew their hair, and she laughed; when they reached the beach, Hamid plopped down the sand, breathless and with beads of sweat between his brows, tip of his nose and over his lips. 

“Hey! I bet I can beat you to that rock,” she dared. 

He used one hand to shield his eyes from the sun and look at her, “Can’t you see? I’m dead.” 

“Afraid of losing?” 

“You pedal next time then,” he muttered. 

“Deal.” 

Disrobing to her bathing suit, she sprinted to the water, skipping waves; Hamid removed only his t-shirt to follow her and cursed when the salty seawater caused his bruises to sting, and she couldn’t stifle a laugh.  

She got to the rock first and helped him climb it to sit beside her.  

When the sun started its descent to the sea, the sky turned pink like her favourite roses at Edgewater’s garden, and the clouds looming over the horizon were painted in gold. It was beautiful sight, but also a reminder she lost track of time. She must return to the hotel before it gets too dark. 

“I should go.”  

Elizabeth hopped to the shore and put on the shorts and t-shirt, and picked up the backpack. 

“Liz,” he called behind her, shortening her nickname, and wiped the water from his eyes. “Can we meet tomorrow? I can bring Faiza’s bike, and we ride together.” 

She nodded and they agreed to meet at 9 o’clock sharp at that same place. Putting on the sneakers, she ran towards the pavement, but spared a last look over her shoulder. Hamid waved at her, a wide smile curling his lips while his gaze followed her.  

In the end, meeting Hamid turned out to be her favourite part of the day. 

September, 2005. 

Loud as flocks of parakeets at sunset, the buzz of students going out of the sports court dimmed down the closer she got to the library.

Away from the noise and prying eyes, Elizabeth fished the mobile from the backpack, and almost dropped it to the ground, only then realizing her hands were shaking. Her heart was not doing any better, beating as fast as if she’d been running. She sat on the ground, under an old tree and leaned her back against the rough trunk. The crown of the tree shadowed that part of the grass and the breeze was cool, soothing the redness of her face.

When she managed to make the call, Briar barely said “hi” and Elizabeth started ranting. 

“Can you believe this? He thinks I’m cute but doesn’t remember me! At all!” she repeated, and Briar squealed.  

“Briar!” Elizabeth cried.  

“Wait! He thinks you’re cute? How do you know? Who told you?” 

“He did when he came to talk to me after the game. He called me gorgeous or something... I wasn’t paying attention –” 

Briar let an even higher-pitched squeal, and Elizabeth moved the mobile away from her ear. 

“He came to you and said that? I’m dying! That’s even better!” 

“How’s that better?” 

“I don’t know. Did you tell him who you are?” 

“I – No! I freaked out!” Elizabeth rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “I assumed he knew. Like why else would he be looking at me during the game or come to talk to me?” 

“Because he thinks you’re gorgeous, silly!” she said in a sing-song voice. 

“I’m mortified. I was super casual with him... How could he not know? I look the same!” 

“You certainly do not. Your hair looks amazing now without any of those stripy pink highlights --” 

“It was red.” 

“It was so not!” Briar snorted with laughter, “I'm grateful now my mother forbade me to dye my hair when I asked!” 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the remark. Her hair is definitely styled better now, and the rainbow coloured highlights from those days remained only in the pictures.

“It's been 4 years, innit? You lost quite a few pounds, you can fill a bikini top now in case you haven’t noticed. And you two met in a total different country! Don’t forget that, Lizzy.”  

Elizabeth’s eagerness to rebuke died down a little. It’s has been a long time. Her chin tilted up to look at a bird chirping at the bough of the tree and she sighed.  

“I just thought that friendship was special to both of us. I had zero trouble reconizing him.”  

“In his defense, you’ve been secretly crushing on him for 4 years –” 

“I was not crushing!” 

“Are we lying to each other now? I know you keep pictures of him on your drawer –” 

“Those are souvenirs from the trip! And I’m on some of those pictures too. And so are Ed and Harry.” 

“I'm just saying it isn’t that weird he didn't reconize you...” 

“I suppose...” she replied, her tone too despondent.

“You can still be sad or disappointed...” 

“But I should be happy, right? He's here.” 

“I would, if I were you.” Elizabeth could picture Briar's genuine smile even without seeing her face. “Even more so if the boy I was crushing thought I was gorgeous!”

“Stop it,” Elizabeth pleaded, covering a warm cheek with a hand.

Briar laughed loudly, then whispered on the phone, “You can finally see if this idealised version of a boy you met years ago stands the test of time…” 

“What do you mean?”

“You never consider dating anyone because boys can't compete with him, now you have him so you can either date him or move on.” 

Elizabeth sighed, and it carried all the exhaustion just the persons closest to her knew about.

“I don't think so... You know I have more important matters to focus. I can't get distracted by boys. Not now.”  

“But don't you think you deserve a break from all that crap? Some happiness? I believe you do. And the universe seems to agree with me. Or it wouldn't just throw him back to you, woult it?” 

Elizabeth listened to her friend while observing other students, two girls rushed with hands intertwined, smiling at each other. 

“You’re living at the same country and are old enough to actually fall in love and date. Just enjoy it. Tell him. Don’t tell him. It's your choice. But you should get to know him now, maybe you'll be running away from him after a ten minutes conversation because he's grown-up to become a wanker.” 

“You’re right,” Elizabeth said, her words coated by a chuckle. “And if he's still the same, we can be friends again.” 

“Oh, my god! It just crossed my mind now how perfect this whole story will be to tell in your wedding! –” 

“Wedding?” Elizabeth echoed, but Briar didn’t even acknowledge her words, still rambling about the pictures in her drawer.

“– the pictures! We need copies. Tons of copies. Just in case. Childhood friends. Lovely!” Briar was speaking quickly and incessantly. 

“I’m fifteen!” Elizabeth protested, “We talked once. And I kind of run away...” 

“Next time, you stay, Lizzy.” 

Notes:

[1] merhaba – means “hello”

[2] Türkçe bilmiyorum – translates as “I don’t speak Turkish.”

[3] bici bici – it’s a dessert, typical of southern Turkey and the Mediterranean region, especially consumed in the summer. Bici bici is prepared with crushed ice, starch, and syrup.

[4] Teşekkür ederim – translates as “thank you”

[5] Sağ olun – it’s an informal way of saying “thank you”

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

I’m not sure what time it is, or really where I am. Somewhere near the coast of Brazil, I know that; sometime during my birthday - I know that, too. I've flown past the Hindu Kush Himalaya, Pamirs, Caucasus, and Atlas Mountains, and will soon cross the Andes. I'm headed to Chile to meet my family after a long time away. A blessing, to be sure, and made even more sweet coming as it is on the heels of an incredible adventure in Nepal.

I’ve spent much of the 12 hours since Istanbul sorting through photos, visual portals into experience far away yet close at hand, pixel-born reminders of a trip, a trail, impact and experience and immersion.

I’m never quite sure how to share tales of any adventure, less so one with such meaning (to me at least) as this past one. The standard travelogue seems too mundane, too pedantic, to capture it all. Some deep and philosophical tome equally missing the mark.

So, perhaps neither, maybe some of both, a hope of struck balance, or at minimum translation of time and place and experience and people. And not all at once: Like any expedition, these things must be savored, a bit at a time, building and percolating and settling and expanding yet again. So, first, the beginning…

I guess it was about 31 years ago - December 1993 - that Stuart Sloat and I bashed our way across the lower Khumbu Glacier from Lobuche and, laden with heavy packs, made our way to the Kongma La. We had no map, just a vague point from locals and the knowledge that there was a lake up there somewhere. We found only a puddle and a frigid night, but awoke to a splendid sunrise and the Star Wars zaps of sun-warmed ice cracking, alerting us to the real lake on the east side of the pass (as opposed to our mud wallow on the west). Glorious views, backlit Lhotse and Nuptse and countless more unknowns behind, peak on peak and valley on valley leading who knows where. I knew someday, maybe, I’d get into those valleys, wander the paths away from it all.

Thirty years later, I sat in a teahouse in Chheskam, the northern triumvirate of Mahakulung, with Jhanak Karki and Harka Kulung Rai, talking about opportunity over a steaming mug of tongba. We had just trekked parts of the Mundum Trail from Phedi over Silicho to Mahakulung visiting dZi Foundation work and communities; and then we went up above, following the Hunku Khola just enough to get a taste, an idea of what may lay above. The townspeople and government were excited as we were, having had the same idea for years: create a trail up the Hunku, connecting Chheskam to Kongme Dingma and the quite-popular Mera Peak trek.

It was all possible, all doable, but like the proverbial tree falling silently in the woods, this new trail would be all for naught if no word got out about it. But, I had an idea, and it seemed possible.

Two months before, I shared coffee in a small cafe in Glasgow with Sam Heughan. We’d “met” months earlier on Zoom calls for an ill-fated film project, and then I stalked him down in Scotland; he was, as is his manner, kind enough to indulge me rather than call the cops. I mentioned this idea, going to Everest Basecamp, but doing it the back way, the hard way, the way no one would know or understand or really care about, but the way that would be far deeper, more profound, more meaningful and purposeful and fun. He was game, but I needed to see some of it, understand it more, before committing to guiding anyone up there.

Tongba steaming and heads spinning, Jhanak, Harka, and I knew now it was doable. A route possible, something that promised to bring meaningful tourism and tourist dollars to this long-forgotten part of Nepal, so close to Khumbu and yet utterly left out of the economic boon of the Everest economy. Now I just had to convince Sam.

Trekking to Basecamp is not for the faint of heart, even doing it the standard way from Lukla up the Khumbu Valley. There’s long days, cold nights, high altitudes and dry air and new foods and more. It kicks people’s butts with glee. But this route? It promised much more: camping rather than lodges; an unknown trail through unknown country (How steep would it be? How long each day? Would we find water where we needed it, flat ground?); a 19,000-foot, semi-technical pass to cross into Khumbu; and more.

As I thought and hoped, though, Sam took little convincing. An adventurous soul with a heart of gold, he was excited immediately about it all and was on board. And, to be honest, my little coffeeshop meeting was both to suss out his interest and let him meet me (and judge me) in person, but also, more importantly, to feel him out. Guiding for me is not simply an economic thing, transactional, but about time and people and experience. I’ve done too many “off-the-shelf” trips in the past to have zero tolerance for sharing the mountains with people whose goals and values are misaligned with mine. It took but minutes with Sam to know our worlds, while vastly different, were built upon similar ideas and ideals and approaches.

And so, on December 3, we met in Kathmandu, a year’s planning finally coming together.

Unfortunately for Sam, I don’t really believe in the sugar-coated version of Nepal; fancy hotels and windowed views of life are little more than television with smell. I want people to see the real Nepal, wander the back streets, immerse in the smoky incense of dawn on cobbled streets, bells chiming and dogs barking, ambling through the visceral reality that is Pashupatinath, taking in the respite of Bodhanath, embracing the comforting chaos of alleys and backways of Lalitpur.

Sam rose to it all, never flustered or bothered, always interested and engaged and inquisitive. We had but 24 hours in the Valley, but Sam saw and did and digested a lot.

And then we were off, an Altitude Air B-3 piloted expertly by Moreno whipping us up and out of Kathmandu, through the clenching smog of the city to sprawling views of the Himalaya: the Ganesh and Langtang ranges, on to Dorje Lhakpa and Gauri Shankar as we fluttered high over Kavre Palanchok. Then the jumbled jags of Rolwaling and behind, finally, the Everest range, giants piercing the morning sky, Cho Oyu, Nuptse, Lhotse, Everest. Makalu behind, hiding a bit, masked by multitudes, a distant Kangchenjunga almost a mirage eastward.

Before long, some 40 minutes, the show was over, the reality about to begin. We dropped down, our mark Chheskam, a small village clutching the flat ground hundreds of meters above the Hunku Khola, a river raging and carving down from above. Moreno, Swiss to the core, politely but abruptly ushered us out with our duffels and, counting fuel minutes, was off in a jiffy.

We were here, and town was ready.

Going into this trip, I knew Chheskam was excited. A new trail represents economic possibility for the village, the chance to not just be small pawns in the bigger Khumbu trekking economy, but rather to capture some of that themselves, to control it, to reap the benefits and build it out in a way that fits and flourishes.

I guess, though, I didn’t know how excited: We were met at the chopper by many, locals and officials, all adorning us with kathas and warm welcomes. We then walked around the village, Sam getting to see firsthand the impact of dZi Foundation’s work here, projects like one house-one tap, one house-one toilet, kitchen gardens, and more resulting in a very self-sufficient, healthy, clean, place with relative prosperity. Thanks to Jhanak’s connections, we met the oldest man in town as he demonstrated traditional weaving of nettle fabric, sipped raksi in our friend Prashanta’s house, and briefly sat with wedding guests tipsy from revelry. And then we were summoned to the local school for a bigger gathering.

It was huge, much of the town was gathered, hundred of school children, the local government officials, and more, all in the school grounds. We were run through the welcome gauntlet of ceremonial recognition, our necks strung with dozens of kathas and marigold garlands before being treated to local cultural dances and speeches of excitement and gratitude and welcome. Gratitude and ceremony are big in Nepal, and it was strong enough in Chheskam to feel a bit awkward: after all, Sam and I and our team were here just to walk up the valley. We had no guarantees of success - for us or for the future trail. But, the point I think was far bigger than either of us, any of us; the celebration on that day was one of excitement for the future, of possibility, of potential signified by the two of us being willing, caring enough, to come and do this and see where it leads, literally and figuratively.

Thirty-one years before I stared off into these valleys, selfishly hoping that one day I’d wander them, filling my personal cup with some adventure. It took a long time, and was beyond gratifying to finally be here, but doing so with great people, a great team, and a goal beyond anything personal.

🗻

MOUNTAINS & ADVENTURE

Nepal

[https://jakenorton.com/reflections-on-hunku/]

————————————————————————-

Is it an expensive trip to do and SH paid for this? Yes. Everest is an expensive dream to climb or trek, the days of “doing it on the cheap” are pretty much over. There are costs for team organisers, guides, sherpas, and porters, including, several permits and fees you must pay to the Nepalese government to trek to Everest Base Camp. The experienced guides (and thus expensive) are used by teams on Everest. A trek to Everest Base Camp demands extremely experienced guides for unfamiliar regions on par with the best available. No one ever became a mountain guide to accumulate wealth and JN knows that and Jake helped Sam’s adventure and worked well. But, this is a journey with fundamental lessons of life that should have the opportunity to learn. It will be worth it. But be prepared before you go and don’t be surprised to come back to a different person. It WILL affect you, whether you expect, or even want it to, or not.

I expected SH to come back having learned how small and unimportant we all are. How we are all so very much interconnected. Time in Nepal teaches you that. It makes you see life from a whole new perspective. And the Nepali people teach it to you through their humility. However, after seeing his commercial agenda included during the trek to Everest Base Camp, He couldn’t help showing that nothing changed for him.

So, What lessons did Sam learn during his two weeks around Everest? If he truly understands the significance of this trip, he should prioritise helping the dZi Foundation as his charity partner in 2025 in the rural communities of eastern Nepal instead of focusing solely on his business agenda. This would demonstrate whether his ideas and values align with those of Jake Norton, who served as a guide and mentor during this journey and is ambassador for @dzifoundation. Norton has supported this cause for years, and his wife is the Executive Director of dZi. However, this collaboration remains to be seen.

It's clear if Sam wants to exploit this trip, he won't be able to do it alone. He will need to collaborate and work with Jake Norton, the person who came up with the idea for this trip. Norton is an excellent writer and, above all, He’s expert on Everest. 🗻

Posted 23rd December 2024

@pinkblizzardgladiator He changed the idea. He said this Nepal trekking was just for him, now he'll involve his Peakers for a virtual trek of his adventure. What'll he gain with this?

[minidonia]

I spent a day exploring Istanbul like a tourist, and it was amazing! I visited so many museums, and the highlight of my day was finally seeing The Tortoise Trainer. I’d been wanting to see it for so long, and it definitely lived up to my expectations.

All that exploring made me pretty hungry, so I made sure to stop and treat myself to some great food along the way. It was a nice reminder of how much this city has to offer, no matter how many times you visit.

[nkjemisin]

Hi there! I wanted to hear your opinion about this specific, and common obstacle authors might face. What do you think about writing places you've never been in or barely; and by extension, writing about its people, communities you've never really met, or not often? I'd like for my story to be set in NYC, and the people there, to feel real, but I wonder how legitimate I am with only research (can't travel there atm unfortunately). Love your work and eager to read more of Great Cities. Take care!

Well, I had to deal with this in writing the Great Cities quite a bit, so I can't tell you how to do it, but I can at least tell you how I dealt with it. Never been to São Paulo, for example, or Hong Kong or Istanbul or several of the cities that I "characterized" in the story. Some of that was because I was dealing with a lot of other stuff while working on TCWB (my mom had just died, buying my first home and moving, etc.) and didn't have time for research travel like I usually do, and for TWWM I stopped traveling due to covid. So I had to wing it.

I would say that a lot depends on how much you intend to use the location you're writing about. If it's just background, then you can do a surprising amount with remote observation and research. I used a lot of Google Street View, for example. I popped into Reddit threads for those cities and asked questions -- which is always a little fraught with Reddit, but people were mostly pleased to talk about their towns. I also picked up the Not For Tourists guides for a few cities. Basic info about any city is pretty readily available all over the place.

(Writing about communities is a different story, particularly if those are marginalized communities of some flavor. I always recommend starting with Writing the Other, if you're writing outside your own identity... and even if you're writing your own. It's helpful for reducing stereotypes and replicating exploitative traditions, period.)

If you're using a setting for a whole chapter or something, though, you need to either go there, get locals to talk to you about the place, or -- ideally -- both. In my case that meant talking to friends as well as paying several "expert readers" (like, a person born and raised in Istanbul) to read segments of my writing and offer critical advice. I even needed expert readers for NYC-related stuff -- the chapter of TWWM where Brooklyn goes to court, for example. I know nothing about the city's legal system or even which court is right for which kind of proceeding (we have A LOT of courts, both in the city and the boroughs).

You also need to be okay with making minor mistakes. Recognize that it really isn't possible for any one person to know everything, or even most things, about a city with a population of millions and which effectively sprawls across three different states. I've lived in NYC on and off all my life, and I still got several things wrong when I wrote the Great Cities. I read books and went on tours and learned things about my own city that I've never heard before. While I could and did walk right out my front door and have conversations with people who've lived here all their lives, sometimes there were mistakes in stuff they told me, and only research caught some (not all) of those. I feel like I got the stuff that mattered right, however -- the attitudes, the language, the power dynamics, the way parts of NYC absolutely love to talk shit about other parts of NYC, but will square up in solidarity the instant an outsider tries the same thing.

If your story is about the city, though? Set here? You really need to not just visit but live here for a while. There's nuance you're just not going to get from research or even talking to people. For some things, there's no substitute for experience.

Anyway, hope that helps.

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

The 90s song ever - ROUND 2!

Guess who's back?

SIDE A1

When You Sleep vs Barbie Girl Firestarter vs Born Slippy Sabotage vs I Want It That Way Losing My Religion vs Stratford-On-Guy Freak On A Leash vs Doll Parts Bulls On Parade vs All Star The Distance vs I Could Fall In Love Bitch vs End Of The Road Sour Times vs 1979 Sunburn vs Wakko's America Around The World vs Nothing Compares 2 U Pepper vs Law & Order Theme Black Hole Sun vs Unfinished Sympathy No Rain vs Free Your Mind The X-Files Theme vs Fear Of The Dark Deceptacon vs The Tourist

SIDE A2

Beetlebum vs River Of Deceit Hunger Strike vs Bills, Bills, Bills Doo Wop (That Thing) vs Tearin' Up My Heart Everybody (Backstreet's Back) vs Boombastic Yakko's World vs Amish Paradise Basket Case vs Dagger Rebel Girl vs Hallelujah Only Happy When It Rains vs U Can't Touch This Cornflake Girl vs Don't Walk Away The Boy Is Mine vs Juicy Buddy Holly vs Pony All I Wanna Do vs Santeria Birdhouse In Your Soul vs Brain Stew/Jaded Kiss Me vs Black Bullet With Butterfly Wings vs Tank! (Everything I Do) I Do It For You vs Friday I'm In Love

SIDE B1

Everlong vs California Love Glory Box vs Livin' la Vida Loca What's Up vs Personal Jesus Glycerine vs Semi-Charmed Life Amor Prohibido vs Rhythm Of The Night Heart Shaped Box vs Insane In The Brain Tornado Of Souls vs My Own Summer Californication vs No Scrubs Bitter Sweet Symohony vs Waterfalls Army Of Me vs Self Esteem Under The Bridge vs No More Tears Pure Morning vs Lump Girls and Boys vs Waking Up You Oughta Know vs Your Woman Cannonball vs Even Flow Tubthumping vs I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

SIDE B2

Closer vs Loser

Wannabe vs Kiss From A Rose

Killing In The Name vs Ordinary World

Estoy Aquí vs I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone

Criminal vs Enjoy The Silence

This Is Halloween vs I Will Always Love You

Istanbul (Not Constantinople) vs Virtual Insanity

No Diggity vs Common People

Gangsta's Paradise vs What Is Love

Linger vs Venus As A Boy

Macarena vs Violet

...Baby One More Time vs Creep

The Kids Aren't Alright vs Bruise Violet

Killing Me Softly With His Song vs Jump Around

Don't Speak vs Dreams

Smells Like Teen Spirit vs Poison

Round 1 results // playlist with all the songs // join ColosseumCord

Past tournaments: #most attractive 90s musician // #90s album battle royale

Other music poll blogs: @the-80s-music-colosseum @the-70s-music-colosseum @60s-musician-tournament @80s-music-tourney @siblings-in-music-bracket @opera-music-tourney @70s-music-tourney @bestalbumsincethe80stournament @best-of-basslines @bestalbumcovertournament @80salttournament

Admin's main where I regularly lose my mind over bands, cars, and sci-fi - @goodmotorfinger

[gemsofgreece]

Now stfu. Thanks :)

Oh wow. I kinda expected, you know, a page in an encyclopedia or any other page with educative content about Greece or geography in general, but you come proudly with a random Turkey vs Greece article by a David dude.

Honey. You will find anything spelled out on the Internet, including actual mistakes. That's why we check our sources. In fact, this article has many other mistakes as well.

False. Turkey gets more tourists than Greece.

False. The Turkish Republic is exactly 100 years old and the Ottoman Empire lasted about 600 years.

Where to start with this one... If Greece is famous for anything, that's not its urban locations.

Mistake #1: Aya Sofya is not famous because of its minarets and Mistake #2: Ephesus was built in the 10th Century BC, so its heyday or point in time it should be referred with was at least 900 years before the Golden Age of the Roman Empire. Although granted, a lot for its preservation was done in the Roman era.

OMG American mistake #18361986: Greece is NOT a tropical country and HAS ZERO tropical islands

Built by WHOM of WHAT? Perhaps David meant King Antiochus I Theos of Commagen, check an actual source for once

David is straight out pulling facts out of his ass, isn't he

"The major cities like Istanbul and Santorini" the guy is either trolling or hasn't stepped one foot in Greece ever. Santorini is a tiny island and its "major city" Fira has 1,600 residents LMAO my grandparents' godforsaken village has more than that

The guy does a super delicate trolling, I give him that. The guy says things like oceans and tropical and major city of Santorini but has also come across Slav-Macedonian. Amazing combo. David is a man of contrasts. For the record, I haven't come across it and I have lived all my life here. I mean, it exists but you have to struggle to find its speakers and they are all bilingual anyway.

Overall David, that international traveller, does not really mean bad... apart from this????

That was very professional there. But even though he says this, he proceeds to say equally good stuff about both countries, I 'd say. The article is a confusing text by a confused man. But that's not the point. The point is his myriad of inaccuracies and mistakes (as called out in several of the comments), some very typical of Americans, like mistaking Greece for a tropical destination or confusing oceans and seas.

Which brings us to you @libbyhaiku .

I believe, very politely, I added in the tags of that damn post this:

That really set you off. You sent me an ask, telling me to fact check in google... what... whether the country of which I am a native has seas or oceans?

And I did! Even though I don't need to fact check whether Greece has oceans. And once again every website of any actual integrity, apart from the David dude, repeats this over and over. Greece has seas. Which I told you.

Furthermore, @jamy-libations searched for it on their own accord, and to my understanding they are not Greek or native Greeks, they told you and you responded as you responded to me.

I wonder, did you tell them to shut the fuck up too in your message?

So, here's the answer. You and David are making a very typical American mistake, or maybe its not a mistake within your very own borders, which is that because the USA is surrounded by oceans, you think ocean is the standard generic term for sea.

In fact, the word ocean can be used in two ways: either as THE Ocean, which is the entire body of saltwater of the earth and derives as a concept from the Greek mythology, just like the very word derives from Greek so I know well what it means, or to describe the five major bodies of water: the Pacific, the Atlantic, the Arctic, the Indian and the Southern ocean.

Greece, unlike the USA, is surrounded by neither. Greece is surrounded by the Mediterranean Sea and its adjacent smaller seas like the Ionian, the Aegean, the Libyan, the Cretan, the Myrtoan, the Ikarian, the Karpathian Seas. While the Mediterranean Sea is connected to the Atlantic Ocean through the very narrow strait of Gibraltar, it is so enclosed by land and it exchanges so little water with the Atlantic that it is both traditionally and scientifically considered its own body of water, a Sea, and not just a general area of the Atlantic Ocean.

Here's to explain to you the difference between an ocean and a sea by an actually serious source.

Here is a map of the Mediterranean Basin. As you see, it is almost entirely enclosed and it does not earn the status of being an ocean, let alone containing a multitude of them. Greece is also in the far end of the Mediterranean, as apart from the Atlantic as possible. None of the countries in the Mediterranean Basin have access to an ocean or oceanS, apart from Spain, France and Morocco, as evident here.

Now, I would honestly have not cared or written so much if you didn't throw a tandrum for a tiny tag in a post I reblogged in a positive manner. Unfortunately, you chose the asshole way.

And since we're at it that photo was actually taken in the Italian....... oceans

and it's edited... but whatever, we have this species too.

[424151998]

I am in Athens and tomorrow I am going to Tbilisi

Athens is cool at first I was scared and kept thinking I was gonna get pick pocketed but it’s actually extremely chill here. I’ve been wearing the same outfit the whole time tracksuit pants and cardigan and hoodie with the addition of fleece and long sleeve and two puffer jackets and scarf wrapped around my head today and gloves coz it was like 10 degrees lol soooo not that bad but it felt hellish to me it’s gonna get sooooo much worse and I’m scared

Ummm yeah having withdrawals too so I’ve been sleeping a lot and feeling irritable but I’m optimistic that I’ll be feeling more normal soon

I didn’t go to any of the ancient ruins coz they cost money so I just saw them from a distance

Just tonnes of walking and eating

Food:

Tis theatrou to steki twice now…first time was better..first time I was like 😍 marinated anchovies and vegetables in vinegar and garlic and bread and saganaki w lots of lemon 😍 second time we got like an omelette which was average and meatballs which were boring and such a bad choice by me hmm kinda just like eating bread with little accompaniments rather than bigger dishes, cheap place

Went to some place max’s friend recommended that had vinyl records as placemats and we had this amazing soup with ceviche but after that dish it wasn’t as yum it was like a big stir fry type thing and that’s just not really my thing but max really enjoyed it and also some coconut rice thing which again meh I don’t really care but that’s just vegetarian food I’m so meh but also again I am in a state of withdrawal so maybe I’m just pretty anhedonic. We did get a little carafe of wine which was soooooo good and also some digestif after I forget what it was called but similar to ouzo super strong and when we got home I passed out I felt so drunk

We went to Atlantikos this like tourist famous fish restaurant for lunch and it was good yeh idk max was really into it we had squid and it was fine idk I think we ordered badly coz I was jealous looking at some of the other tables

We had giros at o kavourras which was so effing yum

We’ve also had a couple falafel wraps

I keep waking up super early it’s funny coz my sleeping pattern is so fucked up in Melbourne it’s like super normal here I wake up at 7am like 🤩and then have to wait til midday for max to wake up but anyway yeah it’s crazy I’m like early bird here but for some reason I don’t wanna leave the apartment without max I could probs go walk around and get a coffee but I’ve just been chilling on my phone and reading my kindle hmmmm until like 1pm when we leave the apartment , after about 5000 steps im fucking done and Need to rest before I can keep going..

Currently in bed and gonna go back out at some point idk I have these Greek cigarettes I might have one later but only one

Step count:

Wednesday: 12,299

Thursday: 12,719

Friday: 11,367

Saturday: 21,146

Sunday: 5,785

Monday (so far, will update): 8,521

Umm what else I keep having insane nightmares which is disturbing but I’m Hoping it’s just my brain cleansing itself …nd max says I’m grinding my teeth heaps so maybe I’ll get teeth grinding Botox when we get to Istanbul but idk

Lol

Ummm ok that’s all

Oh yeah and I’m obsessed with how easy it is to get thru the metro gates like soo amazing and not scary like they just stay open if u put your hand in front of them unlike the myki gates that feel like they’re gonna fully slam my pelvis

[seomastersstuff1]

Turkey's Hidden Gems: Off-the-Beaten-Path Destinations

When people think of Turkey, the bustling streets of Istanbul, the fairy chimneys of Cappadocia, and the ancient city of Ephesus often come to mind. However, Turkey is a treasure trove of lesser-known destinations that offer just as much beauty and intrigue. For those looking to explore beyond the typical tourist trail, here are five hidden gems that will make your journey unforgettable. Whether you're searching for unique places to visit in Turkey or seeking serene beaches in Turkey, these destinations promise to deliver exceptional experiences.

Assos (Behramkale

Nestled on the northern Aegean coast, Assos is a quaint village that boasts a rich history and stunning views. The ancient ruins of the Temple of Athena sit atop a hill, offering panoramic views of the Aegean Sea. Wander through the cobbled streets of the old town, visit the picturesque harbor, and relax on the secluded beaches. Assos is perfect for those seeking a peaceful retreat with a touch of antiquity. The serene atmosphere of Assos is complemented by its historical significance. Aristotle founded a philosophy school here, adding to the intellectual allure of the town. Today, visitors can explore the remnants of this ancient city, including the acropolis and the necropolis. The village itself is a blend of traditional stone houses and modern amenities, making it a comfortable yet authentic experience. The nearby Assos Park Hotel offers a great place to stay, combining modern comforts with stunning views of the Aegean.

Amasya

Amasya, located in northern Turkey, is a city steeped in history and surrounded by natural beauty. The city is famous for its Ottoman-era houses that cling to the cliffs along the Yeşilırmak River. The rock tombs of the Pontic kings carved into the hillsides add to the city's mystical allure. Stroll along the river, explore the ancient castle, and enjoy the scenic landscapes that make Amasya a true hidden gem. The charm of Amasya lies in its harmonious blend of nature and history. The Harsena Castle provides breathtaking views of the city and the river below. The city's architecture, with its traditional wooden houses and historic buildings, offers a glimpse into Turkey's past. The Amasya Museum is another must-visit, housing artifacts from different eras, including the Hittites and the Ottomans. Amasya's unique landscape, with its lush green valleys and rocky hills, makes it a perfect destination for nature lovers and history buffs alike.

Mardin

Perched on a hill overlooking the Mesopotamian plains, Mardin is a city that showcases the harmonious blend of various cultures and religions. Its unique stone architecture, narrow winding streets, and historic buildings make it a captivating destination. Visit the ancient Deyrulzafaran Monastery, explore the old bazaar, and take in the stunning views from the hilltop. Mardin's rich cultural tapestry and architectural beauty are sure to leave a lasting impression. Mardin's Old Town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and for good reason. The city's stone houses and winding alleyways are a photographer's dream. The Great Mosque of Mardin, with its beautiful minaret, is a testament to the city's Islamic heritage. Meanwhile, the Kasımiye Medrese, an ancient Islamic school, offers insight into the region's educational history. Mardin's blend of cultures is also evident in its cuisine, which combines Turkish, Arabic, and Kurdish flavors. Visitors should not miss the chance to try local specialties like kibbeh and stuffed grape leaves.

Patara

For those looking for pristine beaches in Turkey, Patara is a must-visit. Located on the southwestern coast, Patara is home to one of the longest sandy beaches in the country. The beach is part of a national park, ensuring its natural beauty remains unspoiled. Besides the stunning coastline, Patara is also known for its ancient ruins, including the well-preserved Roman theater and the impressive Lycian tombs. The combination of history and natural beauty makes Patara a hidden paradise. Patara Beach stretches over 18 kilometers, making it a haven for beach lovers. The shallow waters are perfect for swimming, while the surrounding dunes add to the beach's otherworldly charm. The nearby ruins of the ancient city of Patara provide a fascinating glimpse into the past. Visitors can explore the Roman baths, the grand arch, and the ancient lighthouse. The area is also a protected nesting site for loggerhead turtles, adding an element of wildlife conservation to your visit. For accommodation, the nearby town of Gelemiş offers several cozy guesthouses and small hotels.

Şirince

Tucked away in the hills near the ancient city of Ephesus, Şirince is a charming village renowned for its traditional architecture and scenic surroundings. The village is famous for its wine production, and visitors can sample a variety of local wines in the cozy wine houses. Stroll through the cobblestone streets, visit the local market, and enjoy the stunning views of the rolling hills covered in olive and peach trees. Şirince's tranquil ambiance and picturesque setting make it a perfect escape from the hustle and bustle. Şirince's charm lies in its simplicity and beauty. The village's Greek-style houses and narrow streets give it a unique character. The local market offers a variety of handmade goods, from olive oil soaps to intricate jewelry. The village is also known for its homemade fruit wines, which can be sampled at several local wineries. The peaceful surroundings and welcoming locals make Şirince a delightful place to unwind. Nearby, the ruins of Ephesus provide an excellent day trip for history enthusiasts.

Conclusion Turkey's hidden gems offer a diverse range of experiences that cater to all types of travelers. From ancient ruins and historic towns to pristine beaches and picturesque villages, these off-the-beaten-path destinations showcase the country's rich cultural heritage and natural beauty. Whether you're exploring the ancient ruins of Assos, wandering the historic streets of Amasya, or relaxing on the serene beaches of Patara, these hidden gems promise unforgettable memories. So, the next time you're planning a trip, consider venturing beyond the well-trodden path and discover the lesser-known places to visit in Turkey.

[meetinginsamarra]

Rest

for today’s prompt “Rest” by @notjustamumj

@lisbeth-kk @calaisreno @raina-at

You’ve all been so fast with filling today’s prompt! I reblogged them all around noon and had not written a single word for this. So much for increasing pressure... To be fair, I’ve completed chapter 4 of my casefic WIP and have already written for 2 hours this day. And nearly another one for this ficlet.

----

Rest

Sherlock as good as stumbled out of the train. He had gotten several hours of distance between himself and Tarek Saleh’s henchman in Istanbul after taking the first available train that left from Pendik station this night.

He was exhausted, bone-tired and his body was aching everywhere. The broken ankle throbbed with the fires of hell and yelled at him every time it had to support Sherlock’s body weight.

Still, he felt lucky that he had escaped the weapon dealer at all. Sherlock had successfully avoided to get shot, to break his neck, to get shot again and to get crushed by heavy rubbish bags.

People on the train had looked at him suspiciously. He had stood out like a sore thumb, crammed into the farthest possible corner of the non-subdivided passenger compartment. He knew that he looked like rubbish and smelled like he had taken a bath in it.

Which he literally had. His escape by getting literally dumped into the hopper of a bin lorry had been a close call, Saleh’s goons had already come very close to the skip where Sherlock had hidden.

Apparently, the stench of rotten food had soaked too deep into his skin and hair to be scrubbed away by the quick wash he had gotten in the dumpsite’s maintanance building. He had discarded his soiled clothes and stole one of the grey boiler suits but he still reeked.

His battered face and wild hair did nothing to make him presentable and he had no cap to hide the disaster. Also, his broken finger was set with an – in lack of a better word – interesting construction made of ice lolly sticks and duct tape.

Sherlock desperately needed to get access to his emergency funds, get medical supplies for his wounds, get new clothes, get practically everything else he needed to carry on hunting down Moriarty’s web.

But first of all, he needed to sleep. In the half delirious state he was in, he was prone to making mistakes and mistakes meant certain death.

Sherlock hobbled out of the Antalya’s busy train station and caught a bus that would bring him to the coast where all the tourist hotels were located. It would be quiet there this time of the year and Sherlock planned on breaking into one of the uncharitable concrete blocks that housed dozens of holiday flats.

Getting access without getting caught was tedious but he managed by using the last dregs of strength he could muster.

The flat was cold and dark with the shutters firmly closed. It smelled damp and dusty but to Sherlock it seemed like heaven. He sighed with relief when he discovered that the water had not been turned off. The shower was cold but refreshing nonetheless and he used the small rest of a forgotten bottle of shower gel to clean himself. He tore down the curtains in the living room area, using one as a towel and wrapping himself firmly in the other one. It would be enough to keep him warm and then, finally, he could let himself fall onto the bare mattress of the king-size bed.

Tomorrow, he would think about tomorrow. He had survived today, yet another day to keep John safe. But now he would rest.

---

This could be placed at the end of chapter 13 in my Whumptober fic “Learn My Scars” when Sherlock tells John about what had happened to him in Istanbul.