#ray beech

[giasesshoumaru]

"Okay, where are you going?"

"They need help, man."

"No, no, you do that, man, and you're out of the band for good."

"Then, I guess, you know, I'll find another band."

"Man, don't walk away from me." - Ray Beech and Scott Pickett (Lemonade Mouth)

[exocynraku]

milkweed and her million children and husbands that look suspiciously similar

[bogpetri]

100-Year-Old Beech Tree at Dusk

[augustusaugustus]

14.78 Sucking Eggs

An elderly woman is burgled and Don pulls out all the stops to help her, dragging a bemused Jim along. Guest starring the amazing Liz Smith and the episode wouldn��t have worked nearly as well without her.

[bcacstuff]

Exploring the Hunku - By Jake Norton (part 1)

I guess part of me has always been an explorer.

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

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

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

Sam hikes up through lush forests of the Hunku Valley.

Our amazing team taking a breather.

New ways to traverse cliffside trails.

Steep and slick but full of beauty.

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

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

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

Bamboo tickets and high peaks.

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

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

Chilly mornings.

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

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

Porters crossing an old wooden bridge on the Hunku Khola.

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

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

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

Jhanak Karki, skull shaman.

Keeping warm by the fire at camp on day 4.

Misty morning majesty.

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

Steep and slippery demands creativity.

Sam enjoys a cold head shower along the trail.

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

Sunset at our tiny cliff camp on the Hunku Khola.

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

And then, the pain began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoying the views high on the Muddhi-Kongmedingma Trail.

(more in part 2 of this article)

[lady-of-tearshed]

Eris Vanserra x OC!Hope

Summary: Eris has a secret meeting with his mate, though it seems he's not the one to be having secret meetings...

Word count: 2k

A/N: Tieflings are based on DnD.

Warnings: Mention of arousal, mention of a toxic family dynamic, angst

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears 💕

Walking quietly in Autumn Court was nearly an impossible task, for anyone, even for the most skilled warriors. A dry dead leaf, a random stick, everything in this Court’s environment was a threat to give off your position, a real challenge.

Except for Eris.

His boots were like feathers, his footsteps as silent as a cool breeze. He made sure that with every step he took, the rustling of the pine needles and crispy leaves under his sole would be muffled by the dampness of the soil.This part of the forest was familiar to him, as it was his usual hunting grounds. But today, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one hunting, no. And that other hunter was a complete fool, a complete stranger to discretion. 

A fool whom he had fallen desperately, pathetically, unreasonably head over heels for.

He smirked when he finally got a glimpse of the tiefling. Of Hope, his Hope. He had followed her down for hours now, tracking each one of her imprints on the ground, and following every draft of her ambrosial fragrance. She was beautiful. No, beautiful wasn’t sufficient to describe the bewitching sight of her, standing there, stretching her gracious hands towards a tree branch, only a few feets away from him. He was only a few steps away from touching and tasting you. 

But he stayed there for a while, admiring her from a distance, watching how her fingers worked around the tiny, yet stubbornly tough and spiky, pod a beech nut. As if she had suddenly been burnt by his gaze, her brown eyes shot up to meet his warm amber ones. Eris' breath hitched when he caught the glimpse of the mesmerizing golden hues shining in her eyes, caused by the sun rays filtering through her long eyelashes. The tiefling’s lips curled upwards, revealing a radiant smile, a smile that could light up his darkest days instantly. 

“I just arrived,” He lied, even though he knew very well that his attempt was unsuccessful since you could easily hear how his heart thrummed faster beneath his chest. “Is that so?” Hope taunted, devilishly biting  her lip as she approached him, every step she took was making his whole soul shake with excitement. She stopped inches away from him, their breath dancing in little white clouds in the raw weather of the afternoon. It was the closest the two have been in weeks. Hours, days, and weeks had felt so atrociously long since Eris had met her, since the Mother had judged him worthy enough to grant him her heart, to tie his soul, his entire being with yours.  

Eris parted his lips softly, his eyes fixed on her fingers as they pushed the kernel in his mouth. He playfully bit the tip of her finger, the faint bitterness of the pine sap that coated her digit made him quickly free her from his teeth, preferring to munch on her tasty offering instead. She had worked so hard to peel the nut from its shell. Eris hummed in approval once he first sank his teeth in the kernel. The nut felt smooth on his tongue, and tasted  surprisingly good despite the astringency.  

His fingers reached for her hair, untangling gently some wild strands of hair as she popped a nut in her mouth as well. “Tasty?” She asked, enjoying the simplicity of the moment, of sharing her favorite snack with her mate as the sun bathed them in warmth despite the cold weather. “Mhm,” He confirmed, his fingers moved up to the curved horns that molded the shape of her scalp. He admired every detail on them, letting their ridges rub against his skin. He poked the slightly sharp tip of her left horn in his thumb. She was a beauty. A rare, undervalued creature. 

The world has always been horrible to their kind. Especially his Court. Beron has been horrible to the tieflings, still was. His father had played with their undying loyalty, and turned them into living shields to shatter once turned into soldiers. No wonder why it took her so long to accept the bond, to accept Eris, to understand that he wasn’t his father. That he would never, ever hurt her. That he would sacrifice the world, his happiness, his very own life even, in order to keep her safe. 

Hope saw how his eyes turned cold, distant, how the wildfire that usually shone in his eyes when she was around smothered. His hand fell to her hip, and she cupped his jaw, feeling it twitch, as if he was in an internal fight, which wasn’t unusual for Eris. His mind was always fighting demons. “Why am I always the messenger of bad news,” Eris grumbled, his eyes squeezing shut as he debated how he’d drop the news to her. 

There was no good way to announce to his lover that his coward of a father once again decided to suck more Tithe out of these poor, kind-hearted people. He tried to figure out how to break the news of his father’s unreasonable Tithe augmentation, simply caused by the hatred of the High Lord for Autumn’s farmers, which was majorly composed of lesser Faes, like Tieflings. 

“It's the Tithe again, isn't it?” Eris' breath hitched at the sight of his lover's face turning ever so slightly tensed. He nodded, and he opened his mouth to apologize for something he had no control of, for a decision that wasn't his, but she cut him off. “It's alright,” Hope continued, her eyes shining with determination, “I'll tell my people. We'll figure it out.” 

Eris fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with pure, raw anger. It wasn't alright. They shouldn't have to figure it out. If only his father could see these people like he did. If only Beron could open his eyes to his Court, and become a better ruler.  But Eris knew deep down that his father was a lost cause. That Beron Vanserra was, and always have been a monster. Always will be.

Rain started to platter on the leaves, and landed on his skin. The soft noises and the coldness of the droplets on his skin calmed him down little by little. Hope uncured his fists, and held them in hers. “You shouldn't have to figure it out,” His brows furrowed, his pupils dilating as he continued talking, voice low, “Maybe I'm no better than him after all. I'm not doing anything to-” 

“That is not true!” Hope flicked his nose, cutting him off mid sentence. She threw an accusatory finger at him, making him feel like a child being scolded all over again. “What about the school getting miraculously renovated? And the new tools that our farmers found the other day in the barn?” Eris' cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink. He didn't think she would've caught him doing that to help her and the other tieflings.

“You're taking so many risks for us, Eris. And that's what keeps us going, hope,” She brushed her knuckles on his cheek, the tiny raindrops formed paths with every movement of her fingers. “The hope that one day, Beron’s crown shall rest atop of your head,” 

Eris took her hand in his, his lips kissed her fingers gently. They were warm, as if he was trying to chase the cold off her fingers with his love. “Will you dance with me now, my love?” Hope whispered, the soft rain was thrumming on the leaves above them, creating the most enchanting melody. 

They danced, and danced, until their feet were painfully sore, and their clothes completely drenched. Eris was now cradling Hope in his arms, her cold nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck, seeking for some heat. Her blond locks were a shade darker now because of the rain, and Eris pressed his cheek against them, enjoying the tickling sensation it left on his skin. He was walking deliberately slowly down the path leading to her village, to her home. 

But she was his home.

Hope lifted her face out of her warm shelter when she felt Eris' sadness through their bond. Her eyes dove into her mate’s, only to find his warm embers irises already staring down at her. His feet had stopped moving, and his arms tightened around her as they now stood only a few meters away from their parting spot. Reluctantly, he settled Hope down on her aching feets, and tucked away her messy hair behind her ears. 

Words weren't always necessary between the two of them. They understood one another better than themselves at times. Eris could feel her reluctance to part with him thrumming on her side of the bond too, and he swallowed down, his throat bobbing under the weight of the emotions he tried to tuck away. “When will I see you again?” She asked, although she knew the answer would always be the same, so long as Beron’s lives. “I don't know.” He muttered, his voice the exact description of monotony, although sadness could be heard through his words too. 

The tiefling tugged the collar of his irresistible black shirt, the fancy golden embroidery feeling nice in her grip. She pulled him until her back was pressed against a tree, his hands caging her frame. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes, and she closed her eyes, a silent request for a kiss. She waited one, two seconds, then opened her eyes slowly when she didn't feel his lips devouring her whole as he would usually have wasted no time to do so. 

Eris was staring behind the tree she was pressed on, lips parted, eyes wide. Hope turned her head to peek over the tree trunk behind her back to see what was the cause of her mate's surprise. She scoffed, “Oh my, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,”  and playfully hit Eris on the chest, making him growl in annoyance. “He should be more careful, stupid teenagers,” He grumbled. “You’re not one to talk, Eris Vanserra!” 

Cauldron could boil and fry him, he loved the way his name sounded coming from your lips. His body felt like it had been set ablaze, and he chased her lips as if they were the sole remedy to cool his blazing feelings. But it wasn’t. The softness of her lips on his only fueled the burning passion he had for his lovely Tiefling. 

“I am being very careful, my precious little goldfinch,” He said, still panting as he rested his forehead against hers, his lips still itching with need of wandering on every inch of your skin. The fabric of his pants was painfully, tightly pressed against his hardness, he could feel his cock twitching, begging to be set free and given some attention. “That is why I am going to stay right here, and watch you walk away until I’m sure you’re home safely,” Smt cute “Then, I’ll discretely warn my audacious and reckless little brother to be more careful before attending that awfully long and boring dinner surrounded by at least five other brothers that wish me dead.”

Her eyes saddened, but he quickly brushed that pained look off her face with a last kiss on the tip of her pointed nose. “Don’t be sad. I'm alright,” He held her tight in his arms, his cheek pressed against her cold horn as he kept his emotions in check. He filled his lungs with her scent one last time, then slowly stepped away. He gestured with his chin the path leading out of the forest, to her village, indicating to her that it was time for her to go. “Go, before I get too tempted to capture you and lock us up somewhere for the rest of our ridiculously long existence,” She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders as if to say that she wouldn’t object to the idea. 

Eris rolled his shoulders back as he watched her take the first few steps away from him, the first steps were always the hardest. “Hey,” She called from behind her shoulder, before walking out of the woods, “I love you.” Eris' cheeks turned bright red, and he didn’t care about hiding it from her. “And your love is the beacon of my heart,” He confessed, his voice soft, but loud enough for her only to hear through the howling wind. She blew him a kiss, and jogged away while he stood there, staring at her until she reached her tiny cabin safely, as promised. 

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria

[writerdreamxs]

WELCOME TO MY BLOG ! fearless era.

in which you know a little about me and make requests for short stories to me and I turn your dreams into realities. after all, I am a writer of dreams. 💐

first, introductions: my name is clarice, but you can call me clary.

I'm brazilian, so obviously english is not my first language, so there may be some errors in the imagines.

I love taylor swift (my favorite album is fearless, but I think you get the idea :) and one direction, as well as lana del rey, artic monkeys, among many other artists.

I love romcoms, whether films or books, clichés, sun, spring, roses, dogs and I am a person who really likes to talk.

my mbti is enfp, - at least that's what i think, at the moment! - and I have a sanguine temperament.

and I DON'T write smut.

below I will put a list of the characters and fandoms that I mainly write about, but if you want to request something different, feel free.

masterlist. 🌤️

BRIDGERTON 🐝

colin bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, anthony bridgerton, gregory bridgerton, simon basset.

FORMULA ONE. 🏁

all of the grid, but mainly, lando norris, oscar piastri, george russell and max verstappen.

FOOTBALL PLAYERS ⚽

richarlison, rodrygo goes, jude bellingham, vini jr, pedri, gavi, and all of the real madrid team.

HARRY POTTER (golden era)🪄

harry potter, draco malfoy, blaise zabini, fred and george weasley, ron weasley, oliver wood, charlie weasley.

HARRY POTTER (marauders era) 🕰️

remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, peter pettigrew, regulus black, severus snape.

THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA 🦁

peter pevensie, edmund pevensie, caspian.

CELEBRITIES 🍾

timothée chalamet, josh hutcherson, louis partridge, andrew garfield, william moseley, tom holland, ben barnes, archie renaux, cameron boyce ✝.

RANDOM 🩷

trodrick heffley, peter parker 1 and 3, matteo balsano, simon alavrez, ramiro ponce, gaston perida, gabo moretti, lorenzo guevara, dede duarte, willy wonka, chad denforth (hsm), will turner (potc) legolas greenleaf (lor), laurie laurence, supa strikas, luke ross (jessie), carmen sandiego characters, zach mitchell (jw), jurassic world: camp cretaceous caracthers, carlos de vil, jay ja'far, harry hook, ray beech, charlie delgado, aurek, jim hawkins, jack frost, ever after high characters, scooby doo characters, hiccup, the greatest showman, dick grayson and wally west (young justice) .

🦋 well, that's it my sweeties and I hope you liked me and send your requests. 💗

WRITERDREAMXS ©, 2024. 📖

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

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

Exploring the Hunku

by JAKE NORTON

December 2024

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

ESSAYS & INSPIRATION, MOUNTAINS & ADVENTURE, TRAVEL

Muddhi-Kongme Dingma Trail,Nepal

I guess part of me has always been an explorer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, the pain began.

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

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

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

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

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

Moonrise over Chamlang from Kongme Dingma.

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

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, remembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning…

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

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

📸 @mountainworld IG

Posted 30th December 2024

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

[meadowlarkx]

elvenkings

Fic for @sindarweek day 2: Locations | AO3

Afterwards, they went back. No tale contains this part: no one set it down. Few set out: Oropher, his tall, gangly son, and a handful of others. A small cluster of green shoots. Spring was returning to the forest, and it smelled sweet, like unfurling leaves and old rot melting. They were very careful. They moved and slept in the trees, wishing their foliage fuller and missing Melian’s temperate cradle. But at the rushing Esgalduin, before Menegroth’s bashed-in mouth, there were no boughs to make the going safer.

“Finrod’s brother,” one said, weeping, “wished his mortal’s beauty to live on unmarred in his memory.”

Oropher looked searchingly at his son. Should we not have come back? the look asked. Should I not have brought you back?

Thranduil shook his head. He was serious-faced, with an edge of temper and a merry wit that darted free at times like a bird startled from a branch. No humor glinted in his gaze now. He was named for the spring, but perhaps it had been this kind of spring. “We had to,” he said simply. “Pass me a lantern:” and he crossed the stone bridge and went inside.

Ringing silence, orchestral silence, the tremor of the air from breath and speech shimmering up the vaulted halls roofed by gleaming roots, through the wide proud galleries with their pillars fashioned like beech-trees. No robbers or kinslayers had made lair of this place. Still they trod softly, reverently, until in the garden with its fountain gone quiet—not the throne room—Medlithor sang out clarion a love-song of Daeron’s, and briefly illuminated the dark like lightning.

Three of Nimloth’s gowns for the little princess. Torn tapestries—gleaming silver. A great book of heraldry, and another of sketches, plans for uncarved statuary. Daeron’s prized notes nowhere to be found. A chest of Oropher’s things, still fastened shut, guiltily perfect. A zither broken and unsinging. The dark space where the bodies had been heaped and burnt atop the frozen ground by their enemies. White bones of a few they had missed. The tree-roots embracing them, the new moss blanketing them. Circles ever widening outward, months late seeking children who would never be found.

Somber return, days in the making. Thranduil sat on a pier and watched the silt swirl and mingle with the clear salt of the ocean. Something tugged in his young breast: he could not name it. It was not sea-longing.

“It was very fine. The floor was fashioned like a vast ocean, sweeping out—oh!—with bright fishes, and strange sea-weeds like purple flowers, and amongst them, stars.” Evranin’s hands fluttered like birds, even when she was not at her stitching. “You used to hop from one spotted ray to the next.”

Elwing nodded dubiously.

“You remember it, don’t you, my girl? I know you do.”

“I think so,” Elwing said.

“Your great-grandfather planned it. He was the first to make the journey across the Sea, and he returned with a beautiful light in his eyes: they glowed in the endless dusk under the starlight.”

Elwing flinched.

“Not thus, sweet,” Evranin said, “like auntie Idril’s. ‘Twas a shine like the dawn, though of course, we knew no dawn then.”

Elwing looked confused, then squinted her eyes like two clenched fists, as though trying to work out a time before sunlight. Evranin thought this very Bëorian of her. At last, satisfied, she gave a little nod of approval.

“He loved the Sea: your great-grandfather. He and his brother meant to cross and live by the shore on the other side—where the fish leapt in the colorful shallows, and the stars’ reflection could yet be seen.”

“But he did not,” Elwing interrupted, frowning. She knew this part, and meant not to be appeased.

“He loved your great-grandmother more, and the woods’ green smell underfoot in the summer. But his brother—your great-great-uncle—did cross over, and he built a fair city for our people by the water. When you look west, my dear, think of all your family waiting to meet you. We live on the shore now, just as they do.”

“I don’t remember the floor of that gallery,” Elwing said quietly. “But I remember the music of the fountains through the room, and Naneth dancing with Ada. There were nightingales in his hair.”

If you looked carefully, as Bilbo was wont to do, you could see the places where the tapestry in Elrond’s library had been repaired. It nearly covered one complete wall of the hexagonal room, confidently draping languid and liquid across space where more books and scrolls could have been squirreled away. Its colors seemed to shift, unearthly, and the weave was finer than any Bilbo had seen—which made the repairs, neat as they were, quite obvious. The image was one of a shadow-crowded forest of brambles and feathery boughs, and in the foreground dark, shimmering water. Shapes were awakening beneath the stars in the twilight by the water’s edge, stretching up glistening bodies and dancing and drawing one another in to embrace. At one corner the winding border had been singed and the damage had not been mended. Still, it was very beautiful. Nearby, upon a varnished wooden stand, a book sat partly open, with thin, cracked pages of birch-paper. It was full of sigils, but Bilbo, despite making a study of Elf-lore, recognized none of them.

“Nor do I know most of them,” Elrond said, when asked. “It is far older than I, and a gift from Oropher from long ago, ere he left eastwards. See, though. Here is Beleg’s seal, and Mablung’s: the marchwardens from Túrin’s unhappy tale.” Bilbo exclaimed over these a while, and then asked: “What about the tapestry?”

“Melian the Maia wove it in the Elder Days.” He did not need to add: I thought it should be admired.

They had argued bitterly on the day the gift was made. It was vanishingly rare to see Elrond angry, but Oropher had managed it.

“Name me not king. I have chosen my king, and I am his herald. Leave it, I have begged of you. I won't ask again."

“And in what world am I to be named lord, while Elwing’s son bears no title? While our prince—”

“You might stay!” Elrond said rather wildly.

“And you might come with us—to oak and elm, the deep forest, people of our own ways—”

“I have made my choice.”

Silence fell between them, a silence of set jaws and brittle gazes. It was from an excess of care that they crossed wills.

“You are so like Lúthien,” Oropher said at last. Pride was soft in his voice. “Nay, your mother in her lordship. You are so like all of them.”

Elrond did not know what he meant.

“Accept these at least. They are your own inheritance. How I wish we had been able to offer you more.” Oropher said nothing else, but Elrond heard in his inmost heart all he meant, and opening his own heart he offered him forgiveness for the harsh words freshly spoken and for the old aches, the beaded necklace of orphans upon orphans, the bruise-tender childhood, the sunken continent, the houseless shades of the dead that crowded like moths: all the wounds still bleeding, and in which Oropher was faultless.

When Amon Lanc grew too dangerous, Thranduil knew what had to be done. Harried and unmerry was the Wood-elves’ journey northwards through the forest’s tree-paths. They took from the hill only what they could carry. Those of Thranduil’s people whom he met on the way—for many lived simply in the trees throughout Greenwood with their companions and children, and had joined themselves to no great settlement—spoke with him in troubled voices, though on the nights his following gathered around their small talans wine flowed and songs were sung.

“We need to make fast a stronghold,” he said. “Underground: a place of stone.”

“Better to go through the trees quickly! to travel lightly!”

“And if there is nowhere left that the Shadow has not touched?”

These Elves shook their heads and he read their thinking: we have always dwelt in this forest. But Thranduil’s heart misgave him, insisting the direst hour was still to come, and that he ready all his scattered people a sanctuary in advance of that hour.

Kingship did not rest easily on this son of Oropher. He had not been born to it, and he had meant never to find it. He preferred swimming the forest’s rivers and downing the sweet nectar of more summery lands to difficult counsels and deference, however warmly they were offered him. Very often since his father’s death, the way did not seem clear.

It was clear in this moment. He felt Elu Thingol’s hand cool upon his shoulder, as surely as if the king sojourned with him in the dappled wood and spoke as he had at the height of his wisdom. He saw in his mind’s eye the bridge that would cross the running water, the enchanted door, the roots that would be sung into high ceilings, the beech-carved pillars, the golden lamplight.

__________

From The Silmarillion: "But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea."

[ilaw-at-panitik]

[Y]our love and the one I profess for my country have melted into one... Could I forget you? [...] I called upon your name. I thought I could see you in the mist that rose from the depths of the valleys, I thought I could hear your voice in the whispering of the leaves, and when the folk songs the peasants sang as they returned from their work would reach me from afar, they only seemed to harmonize with my own interior voices, which sang for you and gave reality to my illusions and dreams. Sometimes I would lose myself on mountain paths, and night, which falls slowly there, would find me still wandering, searching for the trail among the pines, beech, and oak. Then, if the rays of the moon floated down through the openings in the thick canopy, I thought I could see you in the heart of the forest, like a vague, loving shadow, shimmering among the light and the darkness of the thicket. And if perchance I could distinguish the varying warbles of the nightingale, I thought it was because I could see you, and you were its muse. Did I think about you? The passion of my love for you not only brought life to their mists but color to their ice.

José Rizal, from "Noli Me Tangere" tr to English by Harold Augenbraum (First Published, 1887)

[kimberly40]

Circa 1960’s- The Ray Hicks House on Beech Mountain, North Carolina.

*On May 25, 2021, the house that was previously the longtime home of legendary storyteller Ray Hicks was destroyed in a fire. Ray Hicks became famous for telling “Jack Tales”. His house was located at 218 Old Mountain Road, Beech Mountain. It was a great loss to the community.

(Source: Barbara McDermitt Recordings, Archives of Appalachia, East Tennessee State University)

[giasesshoumaru]

"Nice costumes! Oh, you're not wearing any?" - Ray Beech to Lemonade Mouth (Lemonade Mouth)

[aslam-rp]

New Year Eve Roleplay: Characters aur Background (Updated with Muslim Boss's Charm)

Characters: Shivam Verma, Riya Rai, Amit, Nikita Singh, Baby, aur Babli Jee apne apne husbands aur boyfriends ke saath. Ek aur important angle – ek Hindu ladki aur Muslim Boss ke beech chhupa hua affair, jo is party ke dauraan aur bhi intense ho jata hai. Boss ek intelligent, mysterious aur charming shaks hai, jo har cheez apne control mein rakhta hai.

Setting: Ek luxurious resort jaha ek grand New Year party ho rahi hai. Guests ne special fee dekar party join ki hai, lekin sab kuch "Boss" ke rules ke hisaab se hota hai. Boss ka asli naam koi nahi jaanta, aur log uska sirf awaaz aur uski baat karne ka unique andaaz sunte hain.

Scene 1: DJ Night (30th December)

30 December ki raat dhamakedar DJ night hoti hai. Guests loud music aur drinks ke saath enjoy karte hain. Boss ki awaaz speakers se gujti hai:

"Aaj raat sirf maza karna hai, lekin maza kabhi bhi limits cross karke nahi hona chahiye. Main sab dekh raha hoon."

Is beech Hindu ladki ke upar Boss ki khaas nazar hoti hai. Woh usse subtly impress karta hai – kabhi apni baaton se, toh kabhi apne controlling yet respectful personality ke saath. Dono ke beech ek subtle tension aur secret smile exchange hota hai, jo kisi aur ko nazar nahi aata.

Scene 2: Poker Party (31st December)

Boss poker night shuru karta hai aur participants ko ek bold challenge deta hai:

"Yeh game sirf cards ka nahi hai, balki aapki personality aur confidence ka test hai. Har round mein aapko apni limits cross karni padengi, lekin apni izzat ke saath."

Poker party ke dauraan, Hindu ladki aur Boss ke beech ka connection aur deep hota hai. Boss kabhi usse subtly taunt karta hai, toh kabhi uski tarah dekh kar apni feelings chhupane ki koshish karta hai. Woh usse ek private task ke liye bulata hai, jaha dono ke beech ek intense aur personal moment hota hai.

Scene 3: Mask Party (New Year Night)

Grand mask party ke rules announce karte hue Boss ki awaaz gujti hai:

"Aaj ki raat sirf mask aur mystery ki hai. Sabko apni real identity chhupani hai aur apni wildest imagination ko jeene ka chance lena hai. Lekin yaad rahe, har step pe mera control hoga."

Mask ke peeche Hindu ladki aur Boss ke beech ka connection aur zyada intense ho jata hai. Ek dance ke dauraan Boss mask lagakar us ladki ke paas aata hai aur bina apni identity reveal kiye usse secretly baat karta hai. Dono ke beech ek passionate moment hota hai, lekin dono apni feelings ko chhupane ki puri koshish karte hain.

Scene 4: Boss ka Secret Task

New Year ki raat, Boss kuch selected participants ko alag jagah bulata hai aur unka CCTV pe test karta hai. Hindu ladki ko ek khaas aur daring task diya jata hai, jisme Boss kaafi close aur personal ho jata hai. Uski awaaz se ek charm aur power ka ehsaas hota hai:

"Tumhari himmat dekhna chahta hoon. Mere rules ke against kuch mat karna, warna consequences ke liye tayyar rehna."

Is task ke dauraan Boss aur Hindu ladki ke beech ek passionate aur emotional moment hota hai, jo kahani ke suspense aur drama ko aur zyada intense banata hai.

Yeh kahani emotions, power dynamics, aur ek forbidden romance ka zabardast blend hai, jisme har scene ek nayi mystery aur excitement lekar aata hai!

[bogpetri]

Up in the Hills

[augustusaugustus]

11.116 Bait

MEADOWS: Seiger’s waiting for you at the safe house. ACKLAND: Well, we’d better not disappoint him, then, had we?

Trudie is absolutely A+ in this one. Fascinating how it’s Nick, of all people, who realises that something’s wrong.

Vale, Jo. Sigh. Also Paul Stritch’s final episode, but who cares?

[autumnfrolic]

‎‏‏⸻‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎𝐅𝐎𝐑‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎; ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎@allnostalgic.

The cold broke, and there was a small spell of warmth in late autumn.  ‏‏‎ ‎Soft rays of light escaped the through roof of woven leaves and dappled the forest beneath with spots of comforting heat,  which the snow-covered earth gladly drunk in.

In her den atop the hill Dart's eyes surveyed across the forest below,  the sun rising behind the contrasted silhouettes of distant trees and slopes.  ‏‏‎ ‎The beds of fog that blanketed the forest slowly burned off,  fading away to reveal a stark orange sky that brilliantly radiated the sun's light across the land,  scattered yellow clouds streaking across the heavens like the strokes of a divine paintbrush. ‏‏‎ ‎Every morning, evening, and night the forest would alight with a chorus of voices,  though this picturesque dawn fell suspiciously quiet.  ‏‏‎ ‎Dart felt a subtle pang of disquiet inside her.

Suddenly,  Dart's ears swiveled as a raucous commotion erupted in the distance.  Flapping wings and shrill voices sounded from the south-eastern part of the forest.  ‏‏‎ ‎A multitude of birds desperately dispersed from the canopy,  the crows circled crying their joyless calls,  and the vague voices of agitated forest-folk were audible from even here.  ‏‏‎ ‎It wasn't uncommon for chaos such as this to occur in the forest,  but the pure vitriol pouring from their cries was not.  ‏‏‎ ‎It piqued Dart's ill-advised curiosity.

Tracks trailing behind as her hooves gently punctured the cold sheet of snow,  Dart observed her surroundings intently.  ‏‏‎ ‎Despite her desire to understand,  she was still wary,  and ready to turn tail at a moments notice if needed.  ‏‏‎ ‎Every few steps she would move forward,  then shrink back,  almost folding into herself,  before stretching out once more and continuing again.  ‏‏‎ ‎As she neared the southern thicket of the forest,  the racket vibrating through the air begun to grow clearer,  Dart quickening her pace eagerly as a result.  ‏‏‎ ‎She wanted to know what was causing such a stir in the community terribly, though she didn't have to wonder for long.

❝ Traitor ! ❞ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Cried the magpie. ❝ Scoundrel ! ❞  ‏‏‎ ‎Shrieked the weasel. ❝ Betrayer ! ❞  ‏‏‎ ‎The jay screeched.

In every corner of this thicket there seemed to be creatures rallying.  ‏‏‎ ‎From branches in trees above, or from burrowed dens in the earth below,  every creature had joined together here in an embittered frenzy that maddened them and caused them to forget caution.  ‏‏‎ ‎Overhead the crows still shouted loudly,  ❝ Spy !  Spy !  Spy ! ❞

Driven by their harsh words,  Dart sprang forwards,  desperate to finally find out what had caused all this uproar in the first place.  ‏‏‎ ‎Breaking through the wall of golden foliage that obstructed her vision,  wilting leaves grazed across as her muzzle as she parted through the brush.  ‏‏‎ ‎Setting hoof into the clearing,  Dart gasped at the sight.

❝ How dare you ! ❞  ‏‏‎ ‎The squirrel scolded from her perch upon a straight branch,  ❝ You should be ashamed ! ❞  ‏‏‎ ‎Her tail whipped like a lick of flame.

❝ You will surely lead Him to us ! ❞ ‏‏‎ ‎ The fox yipped,  his body taught with contempt.

Apprehensively,  like a young beech in the wind,  a canine with a messy cedar coat stood before them,  receiving their cruelty directly without so much as a lip-curl in retort.  ‏‏‎ ‎It seemed this stranger had barely stepped paw within the wood before immediately becoming a victim of association.  ‏‏‎ ‎Humans simply meant death for any creature in this forest,  and any creature guilty of serving Man was fated to be cast out, cursed by the forest-folk whom have always hated and despised Him.

❝ What is going on here ? ❞  ‏‏‎ ‎Dart marched forth,  snow gently crunching underhoof. She simply demanded from anyone willing to speak, though when the other forest-folk ignored her, she looked to the stranger directly for an answer.

‎‏‏⸻‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎; ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎@autumnfrolic.