#this hike was like all incline and a third of it was rock climbing but it’s worth it for the view 😍

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Move over, Breath of the Wild, MY HYRULE IS BETTER

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Soulmate September

Series Summary- a collection of one shots exploring different ships and au concepts. The list I created and am following can be found here.

Day One: Sparks Fly

Summary: Virgil goes deeper into the forest than he’s ventured before in the hopes of gathering more food. He finds more than he bargained for when a fairy claiming to be the prince of the forest begins to follow him.

Warnings: food mention. If there’s more please let me know!

Ships: Prinxiety (Virgil x Roman)

Prompt: Feel a spark when you touch your soulmate

WC: 3959

AO3

Tugging his long, dark cloak impatiently away from a jagged branch, Virgil skid down the steep embankment swearing the entire way. He didn’t often venture this far into the woods but he was getting just desperate enough to find gatherable ingredients he had decided to risk it. Honestly as long as he kept his eyes straight ahead and avoided the beckoning twinkles of light between the trees he should be fine. Thankfully this time of year the river was reduced to a large creek at best, making crossing to the other side where he was certain to find berries and mushrooms aplenty quite easy. It was only a matter of keeping his balance on the slimy rocks that normally made up the river bed, a skill he had mastered before he had even been entrusted as a gatherer.

Hiking his pants up to just below his knees he carefully adjusted his pack to be more balanced and draped the bottom of his cloak over his arm for good measure. The last thing he needed was to be scolded for dripping mud all over the floors again when he returned to the kitchens. Absentmindedly rubbing the stinging memory from the back of his head he hopped to the first rock, breath hissing between his teeth as the cold water rushed over his heated skin. With another breath he was perched on the second rock and then the third, toes gripping the moss in a mostly unneeded measure for stability. Wiggling a bit so his pack would recenter he eyed his next target, muscles tensing in preparation for the bigger leap.

“What are you doing?”

Squawking in alarm, Virgil tipped back dangerously, arms pinwheeling as his feet lost their purchase and let him fall backwards into the creek. Taking a brief moment to thank the gods he hadn’t landed on a rock he sat up quickly, sputtering as water ran down his face and soaked his shirt more than it already was. His cloak dragged behind him as he tried to get up, aiding only in him slipping back again with an unceremonial splash.

“Oh my dear I didn’t mean to frighten you!” There was more mirth than malice in the voice but that didn’t stop Virgil from flinching away from the strange hand that reached towards him. It retreated as he shoved sopping hair from his eyes and squinted against the sun to try and see what idiot made it a habit to scare people when they were jumping on wet stones. His breath caught when a face finally came into focus, sunlight forming a halo around the most beautiful person Virgil had ever seen.

His brightness was almost blinding, with shining red curls looking like spun gold in the light. Sharp features complemented kind brown eyes and tanned skin flecked with earth. Like Virgil he was barefoot, but instead of wearing sturdy pants and shirt to protect himself from the woods, autumn-red pants flowed just below his knees with an equally flowy white shirt tucked into them and unbuttoned to the chest. Despite the darkness of his skin he seemed to radiate his own gentle light that somehow made the sun look dull by comparison, making Virgil idly wonder if this was what seeing a god was like.

“Prince actually, but you do know how to inflate the ego.” The man chuckled.

Face burning with the realization that he had not only said that outloud but he had also been sitting in the water gaping like a stunned fish for entirely too long. Mumbling low curses under his breath he once again struggled to his feet while waving away the other’s outstretched hand impatiently. A fairy prince coming to pester someone with zero assets or connections- the fae were worse pranksters than they had the reputation for. Sighing, he decided to wade the rest of the way through the creek since he was already soaked, leaving the stranger behind in hopes he would stay there.

“So you never did answer.” No such luck apparently. “You do realize what part of the forest you’re in right?”

Virgil gritted his teeth. “I don’t wish to consort with your kind fae. I’ll only be in here for a little while.”

“My kind?” Virgil winced as he detected insult in his tone. “My kind are the reason your kind feel safe enough to traipse wherever you please regardless of obvious territorial lines!”

Virgil glanced at him quickly as he began scrambling up the incline of the bank. “Territorial lines?”

The man drew himself up proudly, keeping pace with Virgil as he effortlessly stepped his way up the embankment rather than crawling. “This part of the forest is mine, a long way from the edge of the river by your route. I could turn you into dandelion fluff for trespassing here.”

Virgil raised an unimpressed brow as he searched around for his next handhold. “Mhm, I’m sure you could.”

Smirking as the other man stomped his foot impatiently he made it up and over to the other side, slinging his pack around to see how damaged the things he had already gathered were from his earlier fall. Shoulders sinking as he surveyed the smashed contents he shot a glare at the stranger, who was currently standing on tiptoes with his arms crossed trying to see inside the bag.

“Humans used to grovel at our feet, what happened to that? Also is it custom to smash ingredients well before they’re cooked? I’m not caught up with the latest human affairs. Terribly dull, most of them.”

Gritting his teeth Virgil dumped the berries and mushrooms he had collected onto the forest floor, water that had seeped in from the top sloshing out as well and coming out like a weird, thick juice for all the mush everything had turned into. “They only smashed because I fell- something I never do unless someone decides it's a good idea to startle someone who’s trying to balance.”

The man looked unimpressed. “Why were you coming over this way anyway? There should be plenty of the things you were collecting on the other side of the river...and much closer to the nearest village too might I add.”

“Fall makes the pickings slimmer the closer to the village you are. Other people gather, animals eat what ‘s left, sparcer trees means more sun means things ripen and fall faster. I was trying my luck further in.”

“And you came alone?”

“None of your business.” Virgil hauled up the pack and stood. “I’m a tracker so I’m the one that usually gets sent out.”

“Oh really? Must be an expert to come out this late.”

“Sure.” Grunting, Virgil stepped over a rotting log and began pushing his way through bushes.

The man snorted. “Expert tracker- when I could hear you tromping through here from across the forest.” 

“Your words not mine. And stop following me, I’m only here to gather ingredients.”

They continued on in silence for a while, the fae following behind him near silently as he kept an eye out for anything edible. The crops had been plentiful this year but berries, nuts and mushrooms weren’t something locally grown, so gatherers routinely went into the forest to search for them to dry for the winter. Fast protein was always welcome in the harsher months when tracking fresh meat became a dangerous chore.

The forest was quiet here, nearly serene if it wasn’t for the fae still following him no matter how harsh a path he took- not that he was having much luck finding easier ones. He imagined he could easily get lost here if he wasn’t careful so he kept an eye on the direction of the shadows and any landmarks he spotted so he couldn’t get turned around. Fair folk were rarely hostile towards travelers as long as you met them on their level and stated your intentions clearly. Most of the time a certain level of sass while only answering them when they were curious served Virgil just fine. Of course, they didn’t normally follow him either but he remained unconcerned so long as the forest didn’t turn hostile. He didn’t think he’d succeeded in pissing the other off that much...hopefully.

It was some time later when Virgil found his cloak snared on a branch as he was struggling to get over a particularly high log. Crawling under it hadn’t been an option so now he was stuck straddling the thing awkwardly with the cloak snagging in one direction and his pants in the other. Blowing out a frustrated breath he startled as the fae appeared a foot from his face, brown eyes searching his green ones as he struggled not to fall backwards for a second time.

“What are you tracking anyway?”

“What?” 

“You’re a tracker, so what are you tracking?”

Virgil resumed trying to lift himself enough to get his other leg over without ripping his pants. “Nothing at the moment. Not that, again, it’s any of your business.”

The fae glanced at the dirt under his nails and hummed thoughtfully. “Mushrooms is it?”

Groaning, Virgil sat back down and instead reached behind him to try and tug his cloak free. “Partly.”

Trying and failing to get his cloak untangled he stumbled as his feet found solid ground after dangling for the better part of ten minutes, nearly overbalancing for the third time that day as the fabric went limp in his stranglehold. Looking up he saw the spot on the river bank he had climbed over not ten minutes before with a significantly lighter pack. Confused, he slung it around and peeked inside only to see it nearly overflowing with varieties of mushrooms he had never seen mixed with the more common ones he had found before. Opening his mouth to speak he quickly shut it as a light breeze carried faint laughter through the trees.

“Feel free to thank me later.” A faint voice called.

Looking down again, he carefully closed the pack and looked up at the sky. It was barely encroaching late afternoon...would anyone believe he had gathered these that quickly? Deciding to just say he had gotten turned around and found a good spot if anyone asked he started hiking his way back as slowly as he could. He’d have to find something to offer as thanks when he came back.

-----

“You’re back.”

Virgil shuffled around a low shrub between the trees awkwardly. “Mhm.”

“Do you need more mushrooms?” The fae crouched on a low branch, balancing on his tip toes as he watched Virgil struggle through the underbrush. 

“They asked me to come back- ow!” Stumbling away from the bush he knelt down to tear away some thorns sticking out of his pants. “Since I was so successful yesterday they asked me to come back to find more. Among other things.”

“They?”

“People from the kitchens.” He started off in a slightly different direction, seeing sunlight a little ways away and hoping for a clearing.

“What else do you need?”

“A variety of things to dry for the winter. Nothing to concern yourself with. I won’t invade your forest for too long.”

“A shame. My forest is beautiful but I’ve found I enjoy looking at you more.”

Virgil stopped in his tracks as he tried to process the comment. Was this a trick? Some weird fae flirting technique to get his guard down so he gave away his soul? Which reminded him-

“Not because of that comment, but for helping me the other day.” He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a smooth skipping stone, the surface a perfect, uniform pale gray. He knew fairies rarely had use for human materials but things like this could be enchanted or used for entertainment- the more pleasing to the eye the better. “Here. And...thank you.”

The man’s eyes lit up at the sight of the stone, taking it carefully and running his fingers gently over the smooth surface. “For me?”

“Don’t expect it again, I don’t expect anything more from you.” Hoping that would settle it, Virgil continued on in the direction of the clearing. Fae were always tricky to get involved with and with the fall harvests approaching, continuing to speak with one claiming to be a prince wasn’t something he would allow himself to get involved with- at most for the sake of the village and at the very least for his own sanity.

“A pity really.” The fae called from behind him. “I could help you find whatever you need.”

Gritting his teeth, Virgil resisted. “I don’t need any help.”

“Right, expert tracker and all that.” He startled as his pest of a companion appeared in front of him waving a hand dismissively. “This is my forest and I can bend it however it suits me at the moment. Right now it suits me to help you, why won’t you let me?”

“I don’t want to owe you anything. Owing things is a risky business- especially with fae. No offense.”

The fae sniffed indignantly, putting a hand  dramatically over his heart. “No offense indeed! I suppose this wound was here before you arrived, it’s fine really.”

Virgil glanced over as the other man draped a hand over his eyes and leaned back slightly, sighing loud and deliberate and trying to disguise the fact he was peeking at his human companion from under his arm. Virgil couldn’t help it- he barked out a laugh he managed to quickly catch with a hand slapped over his mouth. Watching as a wide grin took over the fae’s features he realized he was too late and the damage had been done. He stalked over and jabbed the air in front of Virgil with a perfectly manicured finger. 

“You like my company!”

Blinking, Virgil lowered his hand. “Absolutely not!”

“You do! You find me amusing! Dare I say charming!”

Snorting, Virgil readjusted his pack. “Uh-huh. Nothing like a raving lunatic spouting he’s royalty to get the giggle juice flowing.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe fae will say anything to strike whatever emotion they want in a human. Whether it be fear or awe, the end goal is always to lead someone astray.”

Glancing over he startled when he saw the other man actually looked a bit hurt at his words, head down and eyes flicking to the side with a tight draw to the lips. A trick...obviously. But one that had him reconsidering his choice of words.

“Look I-”

The fae held up a hand. “It’s okay! I’ll prove it to you! You need mushrooms and berries and the like right?”

“Uh- yeah?” Virgil watched as the fae stepped forward and furrowed his brow in concentration. Bringing his arms up towards the clearing he swung his arms out and up before slouching tiredly. 

Virgil squinted against the sunlight shining overhead, looking around in wonder. They were in a large clearing absolutely teeming with enough plantlife to fill his pack ten times over. Dappled shade dominated at least half of the clearing as the sun shone through the bright trees at an angle. Soft grass soothed his aching feet that had previously been treading on nothing but snapping sticks and long-dead leaves. It was beautiful- and  glancing over at his companion as bright gold shot through his hair and the sudden calming warmth relaxed him- Virgil could tell he was in his element. 

“Did you just use magic in front of me?” He honestly hadn’t thought the fae would go that far to prove a point.

“Watch regular fair folk top that for ability.” the fae mumbled under his breath. Speaking up, he flashed a bright smile and punched a hand lightly onto his hip. “Of course! Got the point across didn’t it? Never seen a fairy bend a forest before?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen a fairy perform any magic before. Usually they keep that to themselves. Honestly none of the good neighbors have paid me any mind before whether I was in their territory or not.”

“Oh.” The fae sputtered uselessly for a moment, fluttering his head to his hair to fidget with the curls. “Well, clearly that’s their loss. Berries, was it?”

Face burning, Virgil nodded mutely and made his way over to a far tree that looked like it promised chestnuts in the higher branches. He never figured having company, however forced upon him it was, would be so nice. 

Later, when Virgil’s pack was practically bursting at the seams, he reluctantly turned towards home. The afternoon had been wonderful, gathering enough to make the people in the village happy while listening to the other man as he sang almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it. Rich, low tones filled the clearing with a bright melody that Virgil didn't recognize but found himself humming along to- much to his companions utter delight. 

It had surprised him when he began singing popular festival songs after that, thinking that fair folk never bothered much with humans and therefore wouldn’t know many traditional tunes. But when Virgil had started softly singing along, offering a wry grin when the other man had started excitedly bouncing on his toes from having a singing partner he couldn’t bring himself to care. Eventually both of them had started getting louder and louder, swaying along to an invisible beat as they had continued collecting what was needed. Another reason Virgil was reluctant to return to the village for fear their noise had reached ears he’d rather not explain himself to. He found it strange that he felt drawn to stay, stranger still that he didn’t immediately think it was some trick on his companions' part. He just- enjoyed his company and wished he could come into the forest to actually visit rather than just his job. Pressing his lips together he turned around, smiling faintly and gesturing to his back.

“You really didn’t have to help, or keep helping. But thank you again-”

“Roman!” The fairy blurted at his slight pause.

Smirking, Virgil cocked his head to one side. “Aren’t I supposed to give you my name first?”

Roman shuffled slightly. “Yes well, seems a shame that if you were to think of me you’d have no name to give the thoughts.”

“Bold of you to assume I think of you after leaving the woods.”

“How could you not?” Striking a bold pose he sniffed indignantly. “It’d be an insult really, wounding me so deeply.”

Chuckling Virgil turned and started walking away. “I’ll be sure to bring bandages next time.”

“It’s a date, Doom and Gloom!”

“That a promise, Sir Sing-a-lot?”

“If my serenades are what brings you back I shall renounce my princehood and become a siren.”

“Your voice is certainly deadly enough, leads to something prettier though.” 

The forest was silent for a moment, before Virgil began walking as quickly as possible without stabbing his feet to the edge of the woods. Why had he said that? Did he mean that? Of course he meant it but why on the gods green earth had he said it? Could he even come back now? Chest tight with nervous anxiety and head swimming he didn't look back as he dashed out of the trees.

Though if he had he would have seen Roman standing stock still, face a mask of shock but slowly splitting into a flustered smile below rapidly reddening cheeks.

-----

When Virgil stepped into the creek the following day, it was without his pack. Early evening sunlight drifted through the trees as a slight breeze ruffled the cloak around his shoulders. Pushing his dark hair away from his eyes he surveyed the banks for any sign of Roman, deflating a bit when he saw none. It was stupid to think he could get away with saying something so forthright without reaping anything but negative consequences. It was just as well he supposed, consorting with fair folk never led to anything good after all. He had just- hoped this would be different.

Fair folk and humans rarely mixed well, platonic or not, and once he found his soulmate he was doubtful they would enjoy the thought of fraternizing so casually with one of the good neighbors- especially one as powerful as Roman appeared to be. If he knew anything of the fae it was that one didn't just casually bend an entire forest to their will with so little effort by themselves. Sighing, he turned to leave, feet missing the wispy grass of the clearing as they crunched through dead leaves.

“Going so soon?” Whirling around he was met with a charming smile, Roman balancing on a rock in the middle of the creek with a hip thrust out cockily.

“I thought- I didn’t think you’d come back around.”

“If you were trying to get me to leave, your methods are wanting my friend.” Roman squinted at him curiously. “No pack today?”

Virgil shuffled a bit before answering. “I- just wanted to see you.”

Blinking in surprise, Roman smiled warmly. “What an honor it is that our wants should align. Care to join me?”

Face burning, Virgil was quick to hop to the first rock, finding his balance easily. Keeping his head down he stepped from rock to slippery rock, finally getting close to where he assumed Roman would be. Looking up however, he didn’t expect to be quite as close as he had gotten, vision suddenly filled with deep brown eyes surrounded by flaming red curls. Yelping he tipped backwards, arms reaching forward in a desperate attempt to not repeat their first meeting even as he prepared to go home soaking once again.

To his surprise, the riverbed never rose to meet him, instead finding himself surrounded by the scent of wildflowers and moss in the most comforting embrace he’d ever been in. Virgil tilted his face up when he heard Roman gasp in wonder, his own eyes widening in disbelief as he leaned back to take in their surroundings. Colorful sparks seemed to catch the evening sunset as they bounced off and around them, falling like stars imbued with the colors of the sky and sizzling as they hit the water only to be immediately replaced by ten more. 

Leaning back but still catching each other’s arms they watched as the sparks continued to fly around them in a frenzied shower, dimming the already fading sun itself in their wake. Virgil watched as the light caught itself in Roman’s eyes, flecking the brown with golds and brilliant reds and deep purples. Seeing his face literally light up in amazement and wonder, Virgil couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle, then tilting his head back and laughing out loud.

“What- why are you laughing?” Receiving no answer, Roman grinned uncertainly. “Do I have something on my face?”

Shaking his head, Virgil stifled another bout of laughter to answer. “I’ve never seen the sparks of soulmates before. Are they supposed to be this dramatic or is it just because of you?”

Smile turning more genuine and laughing himself, Roman let go of his arms and instead wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted, twirling them around with a sure step even as the water splashed around his feet. Setting him down gently, he rested his forehead against Virgil and held him as close as he could. 

“Maybe both- knowing me, probably more of the latter. Do you really mind?”

The sparks were dying down as the sky darkened and yet to Virgil his companion still stood bright enough that he feared nothing the darkness could threaten him with. Leaning impossibly closer he touched Roman’s nose to his  own and smiled softly.

“Absolutely not.”

If you like this, please consider reblogging. Sharing a creators work helps more people see it.

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

Could you do some hcs for dating the teen titans?

Yes I can!! I just got HBO Max so I’ve been binging both the animated and the live action series haha 😂 Thank you so much for being my first request!

Also I’m guessing you’re referring to the original teen titans, so if you want the new teen titans just shoot me another request!

Dating the Teen Titans Would Include...

No Specified AU

TW: Language

Genre: Fluff

[DC Masterlist]

Word Count: 2.0K (About 0.2K per Titan)

Dick Grayson

You must have an insane amount of patience, truly, to be able to date Dick Grayson

If the joke book he probably carries around isn’t enough, I would’ve been certain that the ego would drive you away but nope you’re still here

And that’s how you both knew that it was true fucking love you’re both inseparable and the Titans know it.

To put things simply... he loves you and the Titans fear you.

While you’re both somewhat easygoing and hospitable, one would do well not to piss off one or the other because you both come as a package deal and you can kick ass when necessary you just choose not to embarrass Dick like that because you could totally outmatch him.

Don’t ask him that though he’d insist that he’d win.

Best not bring up the first time you met or else the Titans would never let him live it down

But in all seriousness, I see the relationship as rather lighthearted and enjoyable, maybe a bit spontaneous too. Want to go to the beach? Done. Want to kick some ass in Gotham? For sure. It’s like a match made in heaven.

Not to mention that the Titans rather look up to you, which is a definite plus. Not just anyone can date the Dick Grayson.

Wally West

As opposed to popular opinion... I’d think that this is a rather slow relationship. 

Speedsters are more than just familiar with how life just flashes by so I think Wally would like to enjoy the relationship at a slower pace, he wants it to last as long as possible.

With that said, you’re both menaces. His speed combined with your cleverness? No one is safe and the Titans know it.

The best moment of your relationship, although this is debatable, was when you and Wally successfully turned the Titan tower into an all-out prank minefield. Trash cans were covered with plastic, buckets of water places on doorways, even wardrobes were switched.

And all done in ten seconds, impressive. Nothing quite like starting a war in the Tower then grabbing burgers after, right?

Kind of cheesy but I can see you both having frequent movie nights that differ in genre according to month. You both probably rotate on who chooses the movie too.

Overall I think you both have a lot of fun together, if I were to compare the “vibes” to something, I would say a summer relationship (that obviously lasts longer than just a summer) where everything is just living life as it goes

Nah because like I said before you guys don’t want to rush things, and you’re always there to remind Wally to just slow down every now and then.

I should probably mention that this is a competitive relationship too, before I go, not everything’s a competition but everything’s a competition, you know? It’s a shame that the Titans often get caught in the cross fire though-

Donna Troy

Oh this one’s fun. Donna’s new to this whole “rest of the world” stuff but luckily she has a wonderful partner who’s willing to teach her everything.

A lot of the relationship consists of you explaining things, but it’s kind of endearing despite Donna’s headstrong attitude towards anything

But Donna is also the kind to be open to learning new things, and you’re open to trying new things. It works like clockwork, you’re both young and willing.

Now these “things” can range from baking cookies to extreme mountain climbing so be prepared for anything in this relationship.

Overall I think the Titans see you both as a really cute relationship, one that anyone could be slightly envious of and one that they’re glad that exists

But despite this loving relationship I think you’d both be absolute machines in a battle, I think one thing that is important to Donna is ultimately respect for each other’s abilities, having grown up on Themyscira and all, and maybe that one battle where you absolutely demolished the enemy was when she really caught interest.

Or not. It could’ve also been when you mistakenly ran into one of the glass walls in the tower and she developed a crush over you while you mumbled a series of curses.

This relationship is strongly built on loyalty, so I think you both would be describes as a pair of ride-or-dies who typically tend to lean towards the latter, especially when trying the more extreme things that Donna asked you about.

But overall I think it’s a really sweet relationship with few bumps, they’re still there but I mean that you’re both good at working through them.

Victor Stone

I feel like this relationship is very classical high school romance, you know?

Like walking to class together, holding each other’s books, stuff like that.

But on the other hand I feel like you’re both a very fun couple to be around, like you know how when you’re with some couples it feels like you’re third wheeling? Not these two. You feel like you’re part of the crew

You guys probably switch between fun couple and parent couple every now and then, I can see the Titans relying on both of you a lot for different things.

You and Victor are definitely the type to play games to determine who buys food, like things as simple as rock-paper-scissors to things as complicated as 8-Ball, and so far you’ve been winning at a ratio of 3:1.

Definitely a very trusting relationship, I feel like you both reach that comfortable stage faster than most, but it feels right, you know? I think you’d both understand that relationships go both ways.

There are probably times where you’re both in a teasing mode too, I think, but they’re mostly light hearted pranks, definitely not anything in the realm of what Wally would do

I kinda want to say that you’re a very active couple in that you both like to go to the gym together and idk take hikes together but at the same time I also want to say that you’re both inclined to stay home and play video games so I guess it’s like a 50/50

I can also see Victor being the type to do small acts of generosity as opposed to like buying gifts to show his appreciation for you, like I feel like he’s more inclined to help you with small tasks when he knows you need it, you know? Overall very cute, hehe

Raven (Rachel Roth)

Now this one’s interesting, you and Raven are certainly an interesting duo, but the most interesting thing would likely be how you met. Let’s say it involved a blood sacrifice, a bat, and a very old bicycle.

No you weren’t trying to summon her someone else was you just ended up being at the wrong place at the wrong time anyway moving on

You’re both the perfect example of opposites attract for more reasons than just one. 

But what makes it better is that you’re always open and willing to learn and understand many of the things that Raven does and she appreciates it a lot

It goes both ways also! She’s always willing to do whatever you ask her to and you both end up having at least some fun even if it happens to be something she isn’t used to.

Random, but I think a favorite pass time for both of you is simply sitting in her room and reading books, weird, I know, but like there’s something inherently romantic about either of you excitedly showing the other a certain passage you both enjoyed or telling them about your book, it’s just so sweet.

She definitely has a personal bias towards you, obviously, Garfield can say a joke and she’d stare at him with a straight face but you could say the exact same joke probably right after him and she would crack a smile and she probably does that on purpose but it still feels nice

You also may or may not have caught on to her incantations and now you may or may not be able to perform these spells but you haven’t tried because you wouldn’t know how to but it’s just telling of how much time you spent together.

I only mention this because there was an event in which you corrected her incantation and suddenly hell fire appeared which she had to figure out how to get rid of and since then you both mutually agreed to both (a) not tell the Titans and (b) not say incantations out loud

Koriand’r (Starfire)

STOP YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE anyway you’re definitely both kinds to see beauty in everything

Maybe this relationship is rather dangerous considering you’re both curious people and Kori happens to be able to shoot lasers out of her eyes so maybe you should both be just a little more careful

You’re both probably very doting on both each other and the rest of the Titans and although you’re both well intentioned it has become a case of “oh no there’s two of them” but in like a teasing way

I feel like Kori is very open to sharing a lot of aspects about her culture with you, and you have always found Tamaran culture to be beautiful so it fits

Likewise you share a lot of things about your culture too and you both bond over finding ways to combine them together to make a nice fusion of understandings and it’s all a sweet combination

See a big thing about this relationship if that you both put your everything into it, it is an equal push and equal pull kind of thing where you both love each other with everything that you have and it creates this unbreakable bond that even non-supers have come to acknowledge

Though this also results in the both of you frequently being in your own world even when others are around and that’s something you both promised to fix but yeah...

It’s coming around, don’t worry. You’re both making active efforts but sometimes it just slips your mind and whoops

Now this should go without saying but this trust often leads to powerful combinations when in missions, you’re both fiercely loyal to each other and this often plays in overall favor so all is well

Garfield Logan

This is a fun relationship, definitely, and one that’s also very fulfilling.

You’re both definitely an outdoorsy couple, things like hikes, nature walks (which I guess is also a hike but I’ve been told otherwise), trips to the zoo, etc. but this all just builds the relationship

Also a very sweet one! You both have an unlimited amount of energy and love that you’re often expending said energy volunteering somewhere and helping others out

But when it boils down you’re both also very touchy, I think, you both like being together at all times and cuddles are a frequent occurrence but at the will of the other Titans you both do this in privacy

I also feel like this sweetness can also “flip,” so to say. As in if someone messes with either of you in the relationship the other will come running regardless of whether or not they could do anything about it.

To put it short, you both have each other’s back all the time. Literally, like I said you’re both inseparable. 

Despite these I think the relationship would actually be rather lowkey, I don’t think he would be the type to constantly showcase the relationship. I think he’d mention it like once to get it out there but after that he wouldn’t flaunt you around.

I just think that Garfield, even with his usual out and about behavior, is rather modest when it comes to this topic because you’re more to him than just someone to show off, you’re someone who’s important to him and overall he just wants you to be comfortable

If there’s one flaw in this relationship it’s that when you have arguments it’s just horrible, but also rather comedic. Neither of you talk to the other but you both end up still being in the same room together subconsciously. It’s kind of awkward but the coincidences are what makes the other Titans laugh and honestly you both make up within, like, a day or something.

[stuffthatbard]

Mating Season

Summary: It's Geralt's third year out on the Path, and while he might think he's seen everything the Continent has to offer, he's wrong. Or, Geralt gets fucked by a dragon.

Tags: Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, sex with a dragon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Large Cock, Witcher Stamina, Come Inflation, Multiple Orgasms, belly bulge, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Dragons, Enthusiastic Consent

read here on ao3!

---

It was Geralt’s third year out on the Path, and he thought there wasn’t much that could surprise him. He’d seen it all—necrophages, draconids, wraiths. Even a rogue earth elemental, once, which had been a grueling fight, but which had paid out quite handsomely.

He was pretty well versed in more intimate matters, too—though he’d often fooled around with the other boys at Kaer Morhen, he hadn’t known what else sex had to offer until he’d finally gone out into the world. When he’d first gathered up the coin and the courage to visit a brothel, he’d been nervous but willing to learn. And did he ever—how to fuck, how to be fucked, all the different things you could do with hands and mouths and other people.

All this was to say—Geralt thought he knew what he was getting into when he took the contract. It seemed easy enough—something was living up in the caves on top of the mountain, and the villagers were scared enough to hire a witcher to take care of it. Geralt accepted the gold and hiked up there, expecting a rock troll maybe, or a wyvern at the worst.

What he found was far more interesting—a dragon. Not a wyvern, not a basilisk, not a forktail. A real, honest-to-gods golden dragon, which weren’t supposed to exist. 

The dragon in question was standing protectively in front of the entrance to its cave, tail lashing and teeth bared—but it didn’t attack. Strange.

Geralt carefully lowered his hand from where he had been gripping the pommel of his sword, watching with awe as the dragon relaxed some. So it was intelligent, then. Sentient, even?

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Geralt said calmly, staring into its eyes, willing it to understand. “I was sent up here to investigate, that’s all.”

“And how am I to trust you, witcher?” spoke the golden dragon—quite intelligent, then. “I know your kind well. You hunted my brethren to extinction for a handful of coins at the order of the humans. Little better than cold-blooded killers, all of you.”

“Not all of us. Me, my brethren—we don’t kill dragons. We don’t kill any sentient creatures, as long as we aren’t forced.” With every word, he hoped the dragon would sense the truth of it—he truly didn’t want to hurt the dragon, but he would, if it was a threat to the people living below.

The dragon narrowed its eyes. “Why are you here, then?”

“As I said—I was paid to investigate the creature living on the mountain. As far as I can see, you’re doing no harm living up here. My work is done, and I’ll leave you in peace.” Geralt slowly lowered his hands as he spoke, relaxing, and the dragon did the same, straightening from its defensive crouch.

The dragon stared at him for one long, inscrutable moment—Geralt felt as if he were back under the judging gaze of the master witchers back home, small and inexperienced. Looking into the dragon’s eyes, he could tell that it had seen countless more winters than him, was wiser and more experienced than he could ever hope to be.

And then it huffed out a puff of smoke, lumbering aside to reveal its nest behind it. “I thank you, Geralt of Rivia, for your understanding and kindness. I will let you go in peace now—unless you desire to fulfill another purpose here. I would pay handsomely should you agree, but neither would I force you should you disagree.”

“What is it?” Geralt asked warily. Never had he gotten a contract from a non-human before.

“I would take you to my nest for an evening. It is mating season for my kind, and though I would normally spend it alone, I would prefer a willing partner, if you’re so inclined.”

Geralt stared. The dragon stared back with its fiery gold eyes, unflinching.

“I’ll do it,” Geralt said.

--

The dragon led him inside the cave to its nest, which was quite cozy, considering. It had gathered animal pelts and arranged them into a thick blanket on the cavern floor, and piled even more around the edges, forming a protected depression just large enough for the dragon to spread out in. Geralt hovered by the edge, uncertain about where to go from here.

The dragon, meanwhile, lit a fire on the other side of the cave, where the smoke wouldn’t smother them, but close enough that Geralt could feel its warmth near the nest.

“Is it custom for humans to breed fully clothed?” the dragon asked, a note of humor in its voice if Geralt wasn’t mistaken.

“No,” Geralt grunted, blushing, and began to strip, quickly and efficiently. Off came his swords, his armor, his clothes, until he stood naked and unashamed in front of the dragon. “How do you want me?” he asked stiffly.

“I want you relaxed, for one thing,” the dragon chided. “As I said, I would like a willing partner. There’s no shame in changing your mind.”

Geralt unclenched his fists and willed his shoulders to drop. “I am willing. How are we doing this?” he asked again.

“Lie down in the nest and try to relax. I’ll be back shortly,” the dragon ordered. Geralt climbed inside as the dragon disappeared into another chamber of the cave.

Lying down on his back, he felt very vulnerable, and had to fight the urge to cover himself. Never had he been so bare, so unprotected in front of a monster—but the dragon wasn’t a monster, he had to remind himself, it was intelligent and nonthreatening.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times, trying to get into the meditation headspace that always did wonders for calming him down. As he did, he reached a hand down towards his cock and started stroking idly.

As he relaxed more, his cock grew harder beneath his touches, blood rushing to it, and he bit his lip, slowing down before he came. The night hadn’t even started yet—he had infamous witcher stamina, but he had the feeling he would need every bit of it to keep up with the dragon.

He opened his eyes and yanked his hand away from his cock as he heard large footsteps returning. The dragon’s head appeared over the lip of the nest, a small bottle clutched in its jaws.

The dragon dropped it gently on top of Geralt’s chest, and he realized with a blush that it was oil. “Prepare yourself,” the dragon said, pinning him in place with those huge golden eyes.

He snatched the bottle up and yanked the cork out with his teeth, pouring a liberal amount on his fingers. He thanked every god he knew of for the whore in Vizima who had taught him how to open himself up a year ago.

It meant that he knew exactly how to tease himself, how to circle a finger around his entrance, dripping wet with slick, how to gently push a fingertip in, feeling the way he clenched around himself at the first press inwards.

He pulled his fingertip out and pushed it in another inch, gasping at the stretch, though he knew it was hardly anything yet.

“Beautiful,” the dragon murmured, gaze fixated on where his finger was disappearing into himself. Geralt’s face burned hot and he snuck another finger in, mouth dropping open and eyes falling shut. At least now he didn’t have to look at the dragon looking at him with that burning gaze.

He stroked his fingers in and out, breathing heavily, feeling his hole loosen around his fingers as he relaxed more. When he deemed himself ready for another finger, he added it, cock twitching as the stretch increased—not enough to burn, but enough to have him gasping for breath with every movement.

“So good for me,” the dragon purred, and Geralt opened his eyes to see it climbing inside, head dipping close, hot breath puffing over him.

Geralt pulled his fingers free with a wet squelch, letting his hand fall. The dragon hummed and nosed closer to his hole, little puffs of air over it making him shiver.

“Well? Are we going to do this or not?” Geralt croaked.

The dragon chuckled. “I don’t think you’re ready yet,” it said modestly, and Geralt glanced down for the first time to see its cock, standing proud between its legs, absolutely massive. He gulped. He wanted that in him now. “Just a bit longer, little wolf,” it said, and dipped its head again.

Geralt shouted something wordless as he felt its tongue, hot and wet, sliding across his slicked hole. “Alright?” the dragon purred, lifting its head. Geralt nodded faintly, and it ducked back down, delving in again. Geralt brought his fist up to his mouth, biting down on it to stifle any embarrassing whimpers he might have made.

And then its tongue pushed inwards, and all of his efforts to keep silent went out the window. It was so thick, and hot, like a cock but more, moving and wriggling and gods he wasn’t going to last long.

He reached a hand down again and stripped his cock madly, coming mere seconds later, shouting out his pleasure as the dragon wrung him dry.

He panted as he came down from his high, the dragon retreating and letting him catch his breath for a minute. By the time he felt settled enough to open his eyes, he was met with the sight of the dragon’s cock, now leaking and flushed, rutting into the furs of the nest.  

“In me,” he gasped, throwing his head back. “In me, now, I’m ready.”

The dragon groaned, nipping at his neck with those wicked, razor-sharp teeth, but Geralt felt no fear. He threw his head back, allowing the dragon greater access to his neck.

The dragon moved, shifting upwards, great body completely covering Geralt, warm and heavy, and then the tip of its cock entered him in one smooth thrust. All of the air left Geralt, or else he would have whimpered at the intrusion.

He rocked his hips into it, urging its cock deeper, harder, faster, but it remained maddeningly out of reach. He whined. “More, please, give me more,” he begged.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the dragon grunted, seemingly holding back out of sheer will.

“You won’t, I’m a witcher, now give it to me,” Geralt snarled, surging upwards. The dragon let him push it to lie on its back, and he sank onto its cock with a moan. He was so full; he could practically feel the dragon in his throat, its massive cock coring him open.

He panted, moving his hips in small circles until he got used to the stretch, to the fullness that was pervading his entire being. As soon as he was, he unceremoniously lifted himself up and dropped back down, eyes rolling back in his head as its cock brushed right against his prostate.

“You feel so good for me, little wolf. So hot and tight, yes,” the dragon hissed, meeting Geralt’s thrusts with its own. Geralt shivered, cock once again hard and leaking.

“You’re so big,” Geralt muttered in response, increasing his speed until he was riding the dragon with everything he had, letting out little grunts with each thrust.

The dragon groaned, long and low, and then it was coming, cock spurting inside of Geralt, filling him up. Geralt threw his head back and came too, taken over the edge by the feeling of being so completely full.

He hardly even noticed as the dragon sat up, pulling him with it, limp as a ragdoll. The dragon arranged them until Geralt was on his hands and knees, though that didn’t last long, as his arms immediately gave out and he crashed face-first into the furs.

The dragon kept on, heedless of Geralt’s complete lack of energy—but Geralt didn’t ask it to stop. How could he, when it felt so good? Every movement had its cock slamming into his prostate, sensitive but not too much. He moaned. “More. Gimme more,” he slurred. “I wan’ all of it.”

“Don’t worry, little wolf. I’m nowhere near done with you. You’ll be screaming before the night is up,” the dragon promised in a low growl.

It resumed its hammering—Geralt whined and reached a hand down, intent on getting off again, but paused when his hand brushed his stomach. Was that—?

He realized that his stomach was bulging outwards, and not only from the come the dragon had pumped into him. It was the dragon’s cock, he realized, as he felt it moving underneath him.

The thought was so hot—that the dragon was so big he could feel it even through his stomach—that Geralt’s toes curled and he felt himself coming again, hole clenching and fluttering around the dragon’s cock, toes curling, every muscle in his body tensing.

His vision went white.

--

He came back to himself gods knew how long later, lying on his back in the nest of furs, clean and sated. The dragon was curled around him, like a big, scaly furnace, the heat perfect for his sore and overtaxed muscles.

He could stand to nap a few more hours, he supposed, settling back in against the dragon’s bulk. As his eyes slipped shut once more, he felt the dragon rumble in approval beneath him. He fell asleep with a sated smile on his face.

[ubemango]

commission 2: bestie!jk and the case of the Stupid Bag (amongst other things)

(+ and even more convolutedly, a rich&spoiled!oc/humble!jk besties au) 

I wanna say that the ending is as abrupt as it is because conversations between best friends just Go Places but really. just. This whole drabble really just Went Places SPWWPSHSWPGPW.......thank you to Fina @angelguk for helping me out, and a biiiiiig big thank u to my friend for commissioning me this piece. Ur the best, happy Super Super Super Late Birthday!!!!!!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰💖💖💖💖💖 

The streetlights hurt to look at. It’s too early for your eyes to process, and you’re a second from nodding off for the third time when Jeongguk nudges you up.

“Stop sleeping.”

You yawn. “I’m not the one driving.”

It’s not even his car. You would’ve been happy picking him and letting him drive, but then he would’ve been mad if you didn’t let him pay gas. “If you sleep then I’ll sleep too.”

“No you won’t,” you grumble. “It’s your fault for wanting to see the sunrise.”

“You said you wanted to do it on your birthday!” He complains. It’s good that you’re cloaked with the dark: he can’t see the sheepish downturn of your mouth, because he’s not wrong. You genuinely did want to see the sunrise today, but getting past that stage of Actually Waking Up was really difficult to do. You sit still with the muddled fog of bad sleep. “We’re not even that far from the mountain.”

You can’t deny the looming mass of rock that sits jagged on the horizon. The outline of the steps you’ll be climbing soon are shrouded in the peak of dawn—hardly visible, especially with the way your vision blurs. “All the more reason for me to nap.”

Even if it is for two minutes. Jeongguk doesn’t argue when you slump in on yourself, succumbing to that inevitable wave of pre-sunlight fatigue.

The car door slams you awake. In the two seconds it takes you to reorient your brain,  Jeongguk’s got your door open.

“Up and at ‘em, princess. Sun’s peeking and we’re wasting the minutes.”

You feel him reach over to unbuckle your seatbelt. “I can’t.”

“We’re hiking whether you like it or not,” he sneers. “I’ve been waiting so long for nice nature shots since you got me this camera. Now—“

“—Ugh!”

He’s got a tight fist on your arm, hauling you out from the comfortable heat of the car. It’s just as cold as you anticipated. Jeongguk doesn’t cower from the punch you land on his chest. 

“I’m so tired,” you say, reaching over the console for your bag, threatening an ache in the middle of your back. “And my back hurts.”

He ignores you, rounding the rear to grab whatever he’d stuffed there before he came to pick you up. (There’s a text with a four AM time stamp in your phone that reads Which penthouse am I coming to again?) “Gucci must be so heavy on your poor back,” you hear him snicker.

“It’s small and it makes me look dainty,” you hiss. “Like my shoes.”

“Your Destructors?”

You frown, meeting him where he rummages. “They’re called Disruptors!”

“They’ll never make up for your alien toes,” Jeongguk argues. 

“I’m not standing here for you to berate me. Ha! Wrong berate. You’re here to cele-berate me—ow.”

He gives you a pointed look. Probably for that awful joke, and by your standards wasn’t even that bad; it was pretty witty considering your GPA this year reflected absolutely no sense of critical thinking. 

No matter, because he doesn’t even apologize for nearly whacking you with his massive-for-no-reason military bag.

“She’s so big,” you point out. 

It really is, woven tight with extremely dense fibre: like some sort of green, rectangular boulder with way too many pockets for the camera equipment and whatever else Jeongguk’s got stuffed in there. His shoulders sag with the weight of it all, and he closes the back door shut. 

“That’s what she said,” he comments. He trudges off before you can hit him again for his own poor choice of humour, the beep of the car cutting through your sputtering.

“But like—“ you speed-walk to his side—(you don’t even know how he got to the fifth step that quickly, but then again you’re literally on the brink of brain dead)— “I didn’t even bring that much.”

“It’s fine, it’s just camera stuff, other stuff. You wanna see something?”

“Sure.”

“You see this?” He sticks a finger in the pocket and traces the circumference. “An inner layer of thermodynamic shit. Keeps things hot. Like if you ever take me to a country with those vending machine coffee cups. You can’t do that because you don’t have this bag.”

You frown at the hostility. It’s an ugly bag, but you’re too tired to fight. “So like—to Japan.”

Jeongguk huffs up the steps. “Sure.”

“Then let’s go.” The lamp post at this level flickers off with a quiet zap. You can see the sun starting to bleed out past the stars. “I can use the plane this weekend, we can go—“

Before you can catch yourself, Jeongguk says your name in polite warning. “I don’t need that pretty stuff.”

You keep your stride, cheeks burning hot. Jeongguk’s nice like that. It’s what you appreciate most about him: pushing you past those boundaries of discomfort you’ve been taught never to cross because if you didn’t like something, you stayed pliant for everyone’s best interest.

Jeongguk’s not pliant, though. He’s assertive with that nice humbleness you’ve never known. Adolescence was a different time, when he’d gotten into your private academy out of his sheer brain power alone. No amount of daddy-manufactured money could get you or your classmates his smarts, and they hadn’t appreciated the poor, newbie boy-genius stealing their guaranteed (or: paid for) placements in the work place beyond. But you’d taken an immediate liking to that shy student cowering in the back—though he still had all the answers to the homework questions if he was inclined to answer.

The very first time you’d tried to offer him a ride home in your helicopter, he’d been livid.

“You can’t—think about the environmental impact! The fuel extracted for such a short trip! Do you know how many villages have been destroyed by Gildan for the sake of extraction?!”

(You hadn’t. But he’d told you, and proceeded to take the bus home like he was so used to doing.)

“You don’t need it,” you sigh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jeongguk shrugs. “I mean—it’s what you know. And I don’t blame you. But you know how much pollutants come out of private jets—it just…wouldn’t kill you to demote to, like, first class.”

It’s funny, how much you’ve had conversations like these. The instinct to help him out, his kind rejections. Because you’ve learned now that issues aren’t solved with the expediency you’re given. Jeongguk doesn’t get to have that. And now that you’re in college, you’ve noticed that things really haven’t changed: Jeongguk’s gone astronomical amounts of ahead in terms of course level, and you’re just trying to keep up with the bare minimum credits. You’d feel bad for yourself but having the back-up of money in the form of inheritance really keeps you afloat from the pity.

“This is making me tired,” you complain. You’re pretty sure you’re way past the halfway mark of this mountain, but even you’re starting to feel antsy about missing those first few seconds of the sun waking up. 

“We’re almost there. I can see the outpost from here.”

Jeongguk points to a wooden structure maybe sixty steps from where you’re approaching: built high over the scattered buildings an hour’s drive away, the flutter of an awakening city. Pretty industry made only for your viewing pleasure, because when you get up there, you won’t be looking at the home of scary corporate; the home you’re used to seeing, with your dad running a good third of that district. 

It’ll just be the glass the sun will reflect on. The place so far away you don’t have to think about briefcases and dry-clean only suits.

It’s what you came here for—it’s been easy falling in that trap of indecisiveness. Not wanting what your future is set to be, because right now, the path to your economics degree is tenuous at best. 

So you take the diverging route. And you’re finally at the outpost, out of breath. “The sun’s coming up,” you threaten. Jeongguk hurries up the steps as much as his bag allows, and when you reach the top, the fog in your head dissipates right into the wide skyline.

“Sometimes I want the whole world,” you announce.

Jeongguk settles his arms on the ledge, contemplating the rising sun. “You could get it if you tried.”

Maybe he should just say if you asked, but you know he’s too polite to do so. 

“I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay not to,” he commends.

“But you’re so smart. And—you know what you’re doing. But I’m here taking Economics 101 for the second time and I don’t wanna end up in a law office anyway because my dad will get me there just like the rest of our classmates and you’re gonna be doing good things because you’re a great person who’s like, really socially aware, and I can’t do good things because I’m a bad and stupid person with a private jet.”

Jeongguk lets you deflate by yourself, ignoring your spiel for a second to drop that Ugly Bag on the ground. You hear him dig for something; the click of a knob, then a quick snap.

“Look at the sun,” is all he says.

It’s very small. And suddenly it’s not, expanding into bursts of light you aren’t ready for. Not because it hurts to look at but that sudden wave of silence settles fast. A feeling of finality—the beginning that always, always comes back, because new days are inevitable. “The sun is very big,” you sigh. 

Jeongguk hums in agreement, takes another picture. “You’re not bad or stupid. Sure you don’t like economics and you hate school, like, in general. But that’s not your fault, just like owning that jet isn’t your fault. I think you forget some things.”

You pick at your manicure. You’re not so tired anymore. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only person who talked to me the first week of school,” he goes on. “You offered me a ride home even though I was perfectly capable of taking the bus. You bought my parents groceries when you noticed I wasn’t eating lunch, and you told Seungkwan that you’d stick a wet finger in his ear if he didn’t stop making fun of me for having ugly shoes.”

You laugh. “Seungkwan had big ears and thought he had valid opinions.”

“Anyway—” Jeongguk snorts too—“I’m just saying. I know I—I know I talk a lot about… you doing bad things. Like with the whole plane thing.”

In other words: he’s not here to baby you. He never has. The world you've grown up in has never been kind to him or his parents, and he doesn’t have to keep you in check but he’ll do it for your sake—his, too. “You’re just being a good friend.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person,” he says. “It’s good that you’re owning up to those things. Like how you told your dad to veto the health benefit cuts that were under discussion.”

You freeze. You didn’t know he knew that. “How—“

“Who else would get the head of a whole corporate chain under their thumb in one night if not for a really stubborn daughter, who somehow managed to get him to veto a policy I complained about over text the morning I read it in the news?”

Point taken. The guy loves reading his news. Jeongguk lifts the camera once more, but this time points it to your face. “Ew—no!”

“Smile!”

“I’m ugly,” you pout.

“You’re not. Look.” He settles into your side again, into the growing life of the city you don’t love anymore. “Your life—you have… privileges. And you’re learning that you can do good things that your dad isn’t. I’m proud of you.”

“…Really?”

“I mean you have to start somewhere. And I’m really starting to think you didn’t just come to see the sunrise because you thought it’d be a cool thing for me to take pictures of on your birthday,” Jeongguk admits.

You nod. He’s too smart for you sometimes. “I… I kinda wanna switch majors.”

“To?”

“Something other than economics,” you reveal.

Jeongguk squints with apprehension. “Is this because I called your dad my favourite class enemy the other day because I—I’m so sorry. I know he’s your dad but—“

“It’s okay! He’s nice to me but not. To other people,” you fidget. Jeongguk sighs with relief. “But… yeah. You make me want to learn about that stuff. Because you’re right, I have the privilege. And I know have it and I just don’t wanna sound dumb and say wrong things because it’s so easy for me to and I hate that and I wanna—wanna learn and actually do good things. You know?”

Jeongguk nods. “I’m proud of you,” he says again. “Really. You’re doing good. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” 

He lets the heavy camera dangle around his neck. Lets the conversation drift into something more easy because he’s just as tired as you are. “So I know you’ve been thinking about how ugly my bag is.”

“It’s charming,” you divert. The sun is well past the horizon at this point, and invigoration has come in the form of wanting to go the fuck back to the car.

“You’re a liar. Look! There’s even this hole you can put a tube through for when you want to pack those bags of water, and more thermodynamic shit in this pocket—“

“I don’t care about thermodynamics!”

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Rash

It was the Fourth of July weekend and me and my friend Sadie were traveling out of town because our Cheetos flavored Commander and Grief was throwing some sort of rally. We had no interest in being stuck in a city of 600,000 plus people screaming at each other or else sending passive aggressive “apolitical” emails back and forth about parking spaces.

It was time to get out of the city and I told Sadie that I heard about a national park that was worth the run around. She was from the middle of nowhere Indiana and I was from upper New York state where you barely saw another human being in between greasy diners every few miles. Despite the makeup and the heels and the hair product and the suits that our jobs required we were both outdoor girls at heart.

We hopped into my jeep at around six in the morning and it felt like shedding a second skin to finally leave the DC city limits. A tangible buzz seemed to leave my system and we both turned our phones off with a laugh.

“I’m never going back.” I joked and shook my hair out as we opened both windows and felt the whip of wind across our faces.

She glanced at me through the mirror and winked, “don’t tempt me.” We were almost all the way to the Appalachian mountains by the time the sun was high in the sky and I kept yawning despite myself. I was trying to cut coffee out of my diet for the sake of my stomach and my ulcers, but that didn’t stop exhaustion from haunting my every step.

I knew I would probably be back on the brown bean by Monday, but I could pretend for at least a weekend I was going “healthy.” I must have fallen asleep though with my face against the glass, because the next thing I knew we were pulling into a wide parking lot with a spattering of family cars and Range Rovers owned by men who wore rubber toe-shoes unironically.

Sadie whacked me on the shoulder, “you better wake the hell up or I’ll beat you to the top.” She grinned wickedly and we were both scrambling outside and packing our bags to run the trial. There was no helping a competitive streak in the both of us, you didn’t get a high level job in the state department without a little bloody hunger in your veins.

My feet were slapping the dirt path just as Sadie sped away with her brown hair streaming behind her in a thick ponytail. “Better get those knees up!” She teased and jogged up the incline easily.

“Ever hear about the tortoise and the hare?” I called after her playfully, but she was already gone. “Guess who wins!”

The Appalachian trail called the Wellspring Heights was said to be one of the steepest trails in the region, which had sounded exciting up until I actually had to climb it a 40 degree angle.

“Dammit,” I cursed and tried not to slide down the dusty path again with my shoes skidding and small rocks tumbling down in my wake. It was a beige hiking trail that was two-people wide and had dark pine trees on either side that grew at strange angles and collected sticky shadows between them.

The trip was basically a straight line upward and got me panting and straining the whole way. I tried to take deep breaths and thoroughly absorb “the moment” as my stress manager suggested, but my skin began to prickle about an hour in.

I hadn’t seen a human face or a trail dog or even a hint of Sadie for all that time. I was alone.

Being alone in a national park would have been a relief at any other time, I had to deal with enough people on the phone and in-person and on 100-contact forwarded emails. But I was wheezing and my lungs burning by the second hour and still, no one. My sense of unease intensified.

I stopped as I pinpointed the strangeness. There were no sounds of birds. No birds or scurrying steps or even whoosh of wind in the branches above. My eyes went wide and I looked up toward the velvety blue sky. There weren’t any plane trails or sounds of cars in the distance, and on top of that I could have sworn it said it would be a perfectly clear day, but clouds were slowly covering the sun.

They were soft white clouds that simply turned the world dim and mutely grey. And quiet.

“Sadie!” I called just to hear the sound of my own voice. I reached for my phone and realized it was still off and in the car at the bottom of the mountain. “Can you hear me?”

I kept climbing and I glanced at my watch, it was the third hour and we both should have reached the peak of the mountain by then.

Nothing but the overcast sky and trees stood in front of me: faceless thick trees with the same bark and same branches and same scraggly bushes at their trunk. I bit my bottom lip and it felt like when I was a kid and used to see things outside my bedroom window and go running to my mom. I would yell about an impossibly tall man with a long face and sightless empty eyes in the yard.

I would go screaming to her and we would both go investigate with big clunky flash lights and find nothing there. I had ‘an overactive imagination’ she said, I would have to ‘be more brave tomorrow night’ she said. Nevertheless, I wished I could go run to my mom right then.

Only the crunch of my shoes on gravel confirmed that I hadn’t just suddenly lost my hearing. I knew I couldn’t turn back just yet though. “Sadie! We can’t be playing right now.” Had she really run so far ahead and not turned around?

The clouds rippled in a dull gloom and I looked down to see the light shift slightly dimmer. It was as if a lamp shade was tugged down or dip of grey paint spread across the air in a thin film. I frowned at it for a long second.

“Ah!” A sharp yelp came crashing behind me and I turned just in time to see a slim figure go tumbling head over foot down the stony path. Down, down, down with her arms and legs flailing.

She rolled until she was off the path and out of sight.

“What the hell?” I blinked for a few whole seconds as I absorbed that. How had she been behind me? And then I went running for her. “Sadie! Are you okay?”

I practically fell down the mountain myself and jumped over a bush and toward a huge black pine tree with a heap of a person underneath. Her length of long wavy brown hair had fallen loose around her face she lay limply against the trunk, her right arm lay at an awkward angle at her side and some sort of black tree sap or goop clung to her arms and hands.

“Fuck!” I rushed over to her, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her face was pale and impassive and I swung my bag around to get a first aid kit out. I dug through bandages and ointment and sunscreen only to hear a deep groan.

“Oh God.” Sadie sat up suddenly and held her head. “No, no, no.” She repeated in monotone and then a single urgent screech erupted from deep within her, “NO!”

“Don’t move!” I said quickly and quietly panicked. She inhaled sharply once and held her arm for a moment with an agonizing grimace on her thin face. “No…” She whispered and her head fell forward as if collapsed: a doll with her support taken out from under her.

“Oh God,” I focused on her bent arm, “That might be broken.” I reached for her but she sharply turned all at once away from me and faced the tree.

“Why didn’t you hear me?” She said with her back to me and a new softness to her words. “I was right behind you. Why didn’t turn around?” “You were right behind me? How?” My eyes were huge and I swallowed painfully. “Wait, one thing at a time, we need to check out your arm.” She shook her head and when she faced me again I froze as her eyes stared back at me, dull and empty and she held up the arm she had been clinging to just a second ago. “What do you mean? My arm is just a bit scratched up.” She showed it and it was covered in the same black tree sap, but perfectly straight besides that.

“But I thought-” “I think I hit my head,” she flinched and rubbed her temples. “God, I wish it was quieter, I have the worst headache right now.” “Quieter?” I sat up perfectly straight I reached for her. I would drag her out of here bridal style if I had to right then.

“Don’t you hear that?” We exchanged a very long look and my lips pinched together tightly. 

“No.”

She scrunched her face up, “maybe you should get your ears checked out.” I stared openly at the sap clinging to her skin and it was suddenly very hard to breath. “Maybe…” I looked left and right, “We should get out of here.” There were still no birds in the trees.

I helped her up and when we got back on the path the sun pierced the clouds and a man with his dog was running up the trial with a huge smile. “Nice day for a run, yeah?” I didn’t say anything back, and Sadie sagged against me as I dragged her to the car and we set our course for the hospital. However, when we got in, a steely look entered Sadie’s gaze.

My stomach plummeted cold and I reached for her to help her in, “Want me to wash that off?” I pointed at the sap-like substance.

She simply hopped into the car. “I just want to go home.” I followed in after and tried to stop thinking about the image of the black goop moving slightly. It couldn’t have been moving. I told myself and we started to drive.

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

“I don’t need to go.” Sadie was itching her arm and shifting in her seat.

“You just hit your head on the side of a mountain!” I protested and kept my sights set on the GPS and the nearest small town hospital in Knoxville.

“It’s fine, I don’t need to go. Grace, I really don’t want to.” She insisted and stretched her fingers before itching her arm again. “I just need to kick back some ibuprofen and get some sleep.” “No,” I put my foot down and steeled myself to take the next exit for the hospital. “We already agreed on this. I need to get you-” “I said,” she reached over and wrenched the steering wheel from my grip. “I don’t want to.” The wheel kept us going straight and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as my friend growled at me. There was something rough and animalistic about the noise she made and I didn’t look at her- not directly at least.

The black tar tree sap had dried and I couldn’t help but notice it was bubbling slightly. Bubbling like water over fire, bubbling like popping pustules or bursting acne: inky and slick and shifting. I felt guilty, but a primal fear gripped my gut. And I let her take us home.

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

I didn’t see Sadie much after that.

She stopped coming to our weekly drinks after work and the people in her department stopped mentioning her to me. It wasn’t that she stopped coming into work though or even stopped sending the occasional text or appearing at lunches now and then. But it was different, the Sadie I knew was loud and competitive and gave her opinions freely when given the chance.

But this one started to fade, slowly at first, and then I barely could barely pick out her face in the crowd or remember her favorite color or how we used to stay up until 2am talking and pouring chocolate on popcorn and playing mario kart with the volume up high.

Maybe it would have stayed that way, the fading, except that a friend of mine was getting married and I was invited to a bachelorette party. I didn’t particularly want to go because Angela was always a bit of a loose canon and a cheap one at that. She was famous for throwing a party with dollar store vodka and a water slide that she stole from some kids birthday party.

I found myself sitting in my apartment that night, alone, and deciding whether to call out sick at the last moment. However, I had called out of the last three socializing events and I could hear my mom’s voice in my head proclaiming “isolating yourself can’t be good for you!” So I sighed and put on my flats for dancing.

I ended up at the party with my purse clutched in my hands and a whirlwind of faces and names that passed me by and that I immediately forgot. They all asked the same question first: who do you work for? I usually got an approving look when I answered. The night dragged on with booze and cocktails and talk about the economy and bad bosses until it was midnight at some club with dark floors, pounding feet, and bright flashing lights.

I had a bad taste of jack and coke on my tongue and a bubbly sensation in my gut. I leaned on the bar and saw Angela wink at a man that wasn’t her fiance and his friend gave me a look of his own that dipped and probed around my edges.

I closed my eyes and thought of the mountains and streams and my old home with two oaks growing back in the backyard. That cleared my senses for a long second.

When I opened my eyes again something drew my attention. She was moving quickly and bouncing back and forth with a shiny brown ponytail waving in the air like a beacon. It took me a long moment to place her, as if I was moving through a thick smog toward a lighthouse.

And then it struck me: “Sadie…” I said softly and Angela came wobbling up to lean on me.

“What are you muttering to yourself about?” I turned to her with a frown, “Did you invite Sadie to this?” I asked without tearing my eyes away from the woman sandwiched between a tall man with a head tattoo and a pretty Asian girl with stark purple highlights.

Angela hiccuped gently. “What?”

“Did you invite her,” I jerked my chin toward the dancing figure. “Sadie.” “Who?” I pushed Angela away and started to force my way through the dancing, sweaty crowd. Sadie, I thought, the Sadie that I did shots with on my twenty-first birthday and ran around in the sprinklers with in our underwear.

The Sadie that held my hand when I got sick in Nick Weizmann's pool and everyone stared at me for days afterward. The Sadie that helped me pick out my first apartment and drove twenty miles in the snow after a breakup to buy me top-notch donuts.

That Sadie was wearing a long black sweater with bright red gloves, orange sandals, and short-shorts. It was altogether bizarre outfit, but no one seemed to care as she looked salaciously around at the people bumping and grinding up against her.

“Hey,” I forced my way past the head-tattoo guy and grabbed for the hand of my friend. “Sadie, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” She cocked her head to the side and her smile faltered, “What?” She called over the music and drew back.

“Sadie!” I yelled to get her attention.

“Who?”

My mouth fell open, “Um.” I paused for a long moment and examined her as people jostled me from either side. It had to be her, no one else had her exact slightly crooked nose and thin eyebrows that made her look like a Disney villain. “Can I talk to you?” I tugged on her and she pulled back. “Back off lady.” She tore her hand out of my grip, but I was still holding onto the tip of her glove which gave a vicious tearing sound as it was wrenched off.

She gasped, “Don’t touch that!” 

Several people fell away as a hand slithered out of the glove and my face went slack. Her skin was still covered with a thick black tar that covered her fingers and wrists. It was spotty and pieces of her pale flesh still shone through, but stripes of the substance pulsed gently in place.

“Ew!” The girl with the purple hair jumped away and Sadie bore her teeth with a hiss.

“Wh-”

She turned and ran; I followed with weaving and diving steps. I was lucky I was still working out as she moved like a bat out of hell. “What happened?!” I yelled desperately, but the back door swung open with a bang and I had to dive into a black alleyway to follow.

She ran back, past huge green trash bins and boxes and darted toward the edge of the alley. I followed with fire on my heels and a desperation nestled in my heart.

“What happened in those woods?” “Nothing!” She cried and it was a strange and angry sound. “Stop following me, creep.” She whipped around as we reached a high chain-link fence that stopped the alley in a dead end.

I clutched her red glove to my chest and I looked closely at the gunk moving on her hand, “What is that stuff?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She itched her skin with a feverish twitch and her eyes darted back and forth like a caged lion.

“Sadie,” I took several soft steps toward her. “Let me help you.” Her grey eyes met mine with a certain whip-like fervor and she licked her lips with a sharp grin. “How? How could you possibly help me?” She took a dangerous step toward me.

“I don’t know.” I said truthfully. “But I’m your friend and I want to help.”

She snorted cruelly. “Friend?” She shook her head, “what’s my last name?” “That’s easy,” I said quickly but then my mouth just fell open. I was fascinated with the growing stain across her fingers and the edge of the tar inching up her exposed neck. “Easy.” I repeated and Sadie bent her chin down as the liquid mapped it’s way up her face.

“I don’t think so.” She dug her heels in before taking off and bumping into me as she sprinted back into the light of the street. I turned to give chase, but paused when I noticed the bits of black tar now dripping in her wake. It rained off her clothes and fingertips and when she looked back at me her eyes were leaking thick inky droplets of it.

I swore, and then swore again. “Stop!” I called and she stood framed in the pale white street light; Sadie mouthed two words to me, her lips forming them quietly and serenely, but with no sound coming out. They were feeble and I had to read them carefully. She said, ‘help me’ and then ran.

Tar rained off of her as I gave chase and she dodged down another street that I couldn’t see. I tried to pursue, but nothing was around the corner- not even the drops of black liquid. Nothing.

I ran and ran, darting between streets and calling her name until I was hoarse, but everywhere was empty. And when I called her phone number I got an answering machine that said that that number was disconnected. I asked friends and family and coworkers about her, but I was told they had never heard of such a person.

And I soon forgot which name to ask.

[traveladventuresinnepal]

8 Best Adventurous Destinations in Nepal

Known as the kingdom of the Himalayas, Nepal has an astonishing diversity of sightseeing attractions that fascinates thousands of tourists worldwide. Beauty and mesmeric natural wonders ballets in the lap of Nepal embellished with numerous traditional cultures and festivals. Besides the natural beauty, the nation also highlights its enduring customs and beliefs practiced for thousands of years that uniquely bears the tale of its origin. Wedged between the two big countries India and China, Nepal has its northern territory engulfs the great Mount Everest along with eight of the fourteen highest mountains in the world. It is also known as the land of diversity as it holds the incredible variety of ecosystems, mountain ranges, tropical forests, and wildlife. You can see this holy land of Vedas, where arts and culture preserve, which is seen carved in the walls and the pillars of temples along with millennium-old statues. 

Nepal is considered as one of the best destinations for tourists, and whether you are an adventure lover, seeking of spirituality amid nature or want to heal in the pilgrimage tour in this ancient land, then we will list the best destination that will sparkle your soul till eternity of joy and peace. You can contact Nepal Tour Operators for more information. In this post, I will be listing top adventurous destinations in Nepal and the future post I will be mentioning about top natural and pilgrims that one should not miss when they are in Nepal tour and holidays. 

Best Adventurous Destinations in Nepal 

Sun Koshi for White Water River Rafting

White river rafting in Sun Koshi is the best destination for adventure seekers and those who love to raft in high rapid. It is rated as one of the top 10 white-water rafting journeys in the world by National Geographic as the river is regarded to have Class V rapid. Besides the adventurous and challenging river rafting tour, you can also experience the panoramic scenario through white river banks, centuries-old villages, and forested areas. The rafting tour can be a perfect match for rafters who wants to quench their heart as the entire whopping river tour is around 270km. The rapids in Sun Koshi are encountered at the beginning of the river trip that is fair and relaxed (Class III), which provides you an excellent opportunity for great teamwork to really progress. It is the best course to influence any rafting or kayaking fan with relaxing canyons, refreshing waterfalls, bat caves, new temples, beautiful white sandy beaches for setting up camp, and of course, a great variety of whitewater. 

You can, at the same time, enjoy the vegetation, scenario, and climate will help to ensure you will have a great time on this trip is exciting and different. At the ending days of this trip, you will end up in open plains. To assure you that you are in safe hands, you will be provided with Nepal Government licensed river guides, who have completed Red Cross first aid training.

Bhote Koshi River for Bungee 

World’s third highest bungee jumping spot is located on a suspension bridge built across the Bhote Kosi River and offers 160-meters chilling drop down that is definitely overwhelming to anyone. The falling can be enjoyed with a fantastic view of fast-flowing river rushes of the Bhote Koshi river. 

This rejoicing adventure trip starts from Kathmandu that will take around 3 hours drive to the Bungee site. Besides Bungee, you can also add little to your adventure as the resort offers canyon swing, canyoning, and other activities to make your experience fantastic. The suspension bridge, from where the jump takes place, has integrated swiss safety measures.

Pokhara for Paragliding

The next adventurous spot in Nepal is Pokhara for paragliding. It is regarded as the top 5 tandem paragliding spots in the world. Sarangkot in Pokhara is the paragliding destination where the flight takes off that will be around 30-40minutues long. Sarangkot is 1592m above from the sea level and gives you a fantastic view of mountains, namely Mt. Machhapuchhre (Fishtail), Lamjung Himal, Annapurna, and Himchuli. Finally, you safely land in Lakeside. 

The thrill of being up in the sky like a bird is terrific, especially in the city of Pokhara because it has enough room for safe events that comes with a mind-blowing view of mesmerizing mountains while the beautiful Fewa lake just below your feet adds much more to your adventure. Snowcapped mountains, pristine lakes, and verdant valleys of Pokhara will thrill your heart like nowhere else on earth.

You will have experienced pilots to guide you and option to choose from tandem flights to certified paragliding courses, solo trips, or hawks accompanied paragliding experience. There are around 20 companies in Pokhara that offer paragliding services; however, the price is fixed with transport and insurance. 

Hattiban for Rock Climbing

Hattiban is located in the south-west of Kathmandu valley, where you can enjoy the thrill of top-level grade climbing. Before reaching to the rock-climbing spot one needs to hike for around 20minutues that will give you the magnificent view of the Kathmandu valley, gaining an elevation of 2000ft, you will also pass by the Samye Monastery. Hattiban rock climbing has ten intermediates to advanced single-pitch climbing routes, all bolted for sport climbing with bolted anchors at the top of each course. 

The cliff is vertical, with slight overhangs. Hattiban Rock climbing is suitable for all sorts of climbers from beginners to experts. There are other famous rock-climbing spots inside Kathmandu valley, like Nagarjun and Shivapuri.

Chitwan National Park for Jungle Safari 

It is one of the most popular adventure tours in Nepal that engulfs wild animals, green forest, and flat landscape—situated in southern central Nepal, covering 932 sq.km covered with deciduous forests overlooking the floodplains of Narayani, Rapti, and Reu rivers. It was in 1979 that this national park was declared UNESCO Natural Heritage Site. 

Chitwan Jungle safari is a famous adventure tour in Nepal that has a wilderness of a rich ecosystem that includes mammals, birds, reptiles, and water animals. You can enjoy all thrill with exciting activities like jungle safari on elephant back, jungle walk, canoe ride, jeep drive, bathing and swimming with elephants, and much more. One-horned rhinoceros is the main attraction in this national park along with hundred nocturnal Royal Bengal Tigers that live in the dense forests. Besides, you will also witness the intriguing Tharu culture and their tradition summarized in Tharu dance. A 40-minute canoe ride can be worth to add in your excitement. It is a slow 40min boat ride that brings you close to the sleepy and apparently immobile crocodiles in the river. 

Siddha Gufa for Cave Exploration 

Another exciting adventure lies in the heart of Siddha Gufa, which is also the largest and most popular caving destination in Nepal. It is the largest cave in Nepal and known as the second largest in Asia that has 437m depth and 50m height. Siddha Gufa being the largest cave in Nepal it delivers the best experiences of encounter with dark environment, bats chattering, mice moving, and many more. Its interior is full of spikes and natural columns. The name Siddha Gufa is due to the reason that a Yogi named Siddha Baba got his enlightenment in this very cave, so spiritually, this cave also holds enormous importance to people living in Nepal, whether they are Hindus or Buddhists.

Trekking to this cave from Bandipur is fascinating and takes about the one-and-a-half-hour hike. Instead, you can also hike uphill to the cave from Bimalnagar. It will take just 45 minutes to reach the cave, but the dirt and stone path is the only way to reach there, which is slippery, so it’s essential to take every step with care. The road is being managed and maintained to make it easy for travelers to explore around. It is also essential and somehow compulsory to hire a local guide as well to know more about the cave.

Sarangkot for Zipline

Known as Zip-Flyer Nepal is the extreme zipline in the world because it is the world's tallest, fastest, and longest zip line in the world located in Sarangkot, Pokhara. The Zipline is inclined at 56-degree, 1.8 km in length, 2000ft vertical drop, and speeds of over 160kmph making it the most extreme ride. The journey begins from Lakeside of Pokhara, and you board your vehicle for the trip to the Sarangkot Station. Here you can see the breath-taking views of the Himalayan of mountains range that is around 5400 feet on top of water level; you'll sit into a special harness seat and wait for your launch. 2 guests launch right away, and it's a race to the bottom! 5,4,3, 2, 1, and you’re off, fast to one hundred mph as you pass on top of the dense forest below. 

The main attraction you'll view of majestic Fishtail, the Annapurna Mountain, and also the raging Seti stream. Your ride concludes with a break landing on within the village of Hyangja. Your safety is essential and our credo; therefore, the system by Zip-Flyer LLC, USA, is designed with the most advanced technologies and had delivered a state-of-the-art zipline ride. Every part of this ride is designed to provide an unparalleled ride, comfort, and Safety, and the entire system is manufactured, and precision-engineered to equal or surpass standards set by agencies such as ANLS B77 Tramway, ASTM, and TV SUD codes. The duration is about 2.5 hours with a weight Limit of 35 KGs to 140 KGs, and a closed-toed shoe is compulsory.

Upper Mustang for Mountain Biking

One of the fastest-growing adventure tours is Upper Mustang mountain biking because the Himalayan region of Nepal has an impressive landscape for a mountain such trips. You can enjoy your ride and, at the same time, observe the incredible mountain ranges, and the brilliant Himalayan view can be more enthralling. It can be said that the biking in the Upper Mustang region of Nepal is one such unreal mountain bike experiences in the world because it promises spectacular scenery, mountain ethos, an impressive yet straightforward lifestyle of people living here for centuries, and other delightful lures that make mountain biking mesmerizing. It’s not just about the challenging ascents and endless single-track descents, and it’s about the journey of discovery of the nomadic horse culture, breathtaking scenery, and friendly heart-warming people that inhabit the region. If you love both culture and mountain biking, a particularly good time to go is in May to coincide with the Tiji Festival.

These are the top adventurous places to ignite the thrill in your soul and are highly suggested by tourists in Nepal. I hope this post was good enough to shed light on your holiday plans to Nepal. We will be expecting your comments and suggestions if you have one for us. For more information on travel and tours in Nepal, Buddha Holidays can be one helpful site to provide you more insight. 

[artcenterstories]

Climbing the Ladder: Meet Catalyst CCO Josh Wright

AC: What inspired you to co-found Catalyst? Josh Wright (BS Product Design '03) Co-Founder and Chief Creative Officer, Catalyst: The seed was planted when I was at ArtCenter. The College trains you to think about design, not just from the aesthetic or mechanical point of view, but also from a business perspective.

At ArtCenter, I was encouraged to look for a business partner. When you have someone who focuses on the financials, you can focus on making design work for the business.

AC: You've had an interesting career trajectory. Can you speak about your journey? JW: Designing for an outdoor lifestyle has always been important to me. In the early years of my career, I started working in California, designing a lot of sports and lifestyle products, including footwear and backpacks for various surf, skate and snow companies.

Then, I moved to Wichita, Kansas, to work for the iconic Coleman company. It was a cool experience because it was a very small design team, and I got to touch all of their products. After six months, I contributed $30 million to the company's bottom line.

That's something else ArtCenter taught me: Don't go to Porsche; don't go to Apple — they already have great design. Go to a brand that doesn't have great design, yet. Bringing good design and storytelling to their products transformed a 100-year-old brand into something fresh and fun. And they still sell some of my products today.

I later worked at Tumi in New York designing some of their carbon-fiber luggage and helping to expand some of the product categories into footwear, wristwatches and apparel. In 2006, I got this amazing opportunity in Hong Kong and I spent the next four years working at a world-class design consultancy firm. But I was always on the lookout for a business partner, based on what I had learned in school.

AC: How did you meet your Catalyst co-founder? JW: Rock climbing. It's one of the reasons I wanted to move here — the climbing community in Hong Kong brings together such a diverse group of people. My co-founder and I have such different backgrounds — she's from bio-tech and finance.

Through the years, we developed a friendship based on trust from countless days of climbing the jungles. We realized that we had complementary skills, with her business and my design background and our mutual desire to be outdoors. We wanted to create outdoor products that brought value to people's lives — that was the genesis of Catalyst.

AC: What was the first Catalyst product you designed? JW: At the time in 2010, the iPhone was becoming the device of choice, even for climbers, so our product was a fully waterproof protective iPhone 4 case. Soon after, we launched and had a successful Kickstarter campaign.

Today, Catalyst has reached a tipping point where it's becoming a global household brand name; our products are available in over 70 countries and major retailers, including Apple, BestBuy and Target, as well as eight Amazon marketplaces, four Shopify websites and WeChat in China.

AC: Catalyst 20L Waterproof backpack recently received the prestigious Red Dot Award. Can you speak about the design process? JW: Each of our products fills a need and solves a problem. The waterproof backpack offers travelers an ultra-compact, -lightweight pack that folds into a carry pouch that's a little smaller than a 12-ounce soda can.

Waterproof is a core component of Catalyst. I'm kind of a nerd for waterproof products.

I've used this bag as a flotation device while snorkeling in Thailand. I've carried it through heavy tropical rainstorms and through a canyoneering trip in northern Italy, where I was jumping off waterfalls. The backpack works incredibly well. When the bag is rolled up, anything you keep inside it will stay dry.

AC: What are you working on right now? JW: We're always working on something new — we launch eight to 12 products every year. We were the first company to make waterproof cases for Apple watch and AirPods.

The backpack line is something we're currently working on expanding, and soft goods in general. We're heavily focused on expanding our business solutions for industrial applications of our products, including for oil and gas, hospitals and schools.

AC: How do you define success? JW: Being able to create products I believe that bring value to the people who use them, and seeing a lantern I designed for the Coleman company being used on the show The Walking Dead.

AC: Do you have any superstitions? JW: My dad always told me that it is bad luck to be superstitious and I live by that.

AC: What’s the design cliché you’re most tempted to use? JW: I really subscribe to modernism. I believe that form should follow function with zero added details for ornamentation. Everything I build is intentionally designed, but not decorative. We are loosening up this "cliché" by adding some fashion and styling elements to some of our future collections, which I'm pretty excited about.

AC: What’s the one tool you can’t do without? JW: My iPhone.

AC: What’s the first site you look at when you open your computer in the morning? JW: Slack.

AC: What do you do to detox from media and screens? JW: It's not just screens, it's the city itself because Hong Kong is so crowded. My detox is my weekends out in nature: rock climbing, hiking, canyoneering or surfing. I think an amazing secret of Hong Kong is that two-thirds of the territory is subtropical jungle with unreal, pristine waterfalls and beaches.

AC: If you could trade jobs with anyone for a day who would it be? JW: As a designer, there's no other job I'd rather be doing. But as a kid, I always wanted to be a marine biologist like Jacques Cousteau.

AC: What book is on your bedside table? JW: I have three books; none of them are finished. One is a history book called Tragedy & Hope: A History of the World in Our Time, another is a business book The E Myth and the third is a just-for-fun, fiction book called This Book Is Full of Spiders: Seriously, Dude, Don't Touch It (John Dies at the End).

AC: Who are the most interesting designers working today? JW: Marc Newson. I also really like Michael Young — he's a British-born designer based in Hong Kong. Toy designer Michael Lau was at the forefront of the urban vinyl movement and I love his style. I'm also a huge fan of James Dyson, Jonathan Ive, and entertainment designer Stan Winston has always inspired me.

AC: Were you exposed to design growing up? JW: I come from quite an artistic and mechanically inclined family. My grandfather was a renaissance man: a photographer, inventor, mechanic, engineer, architect, designer... He had so many hobbies and passions, and he created so many things. He made all of my grandmother's jewelry.

He designed and physically built the house his family lived in, including the thermostat and heating system from spare parts. He built motorcycles for my mother and her siblings. When I was a kid, he built us a tree house with a zip line, which was super dangerous, and go-karts. I was always around people who were artistic and creating things.

AC: Describe a moment in your childhood when you first identified as a designer. JW: When I was in high school, I was lucky to have an art teacher who brought in different brochures from art and design schools around the world. For the first time, I was aware you could design cars, toys or products as a career. As a kid, I was always sketching, building models, taking things apart and putting them together. When I found out it was a career path, there was no other option for me.

AC: If you could have a superpower, what would it be? JW: Eternal life — I have too many hobbies and not enough time.

AC: What’s your most prized possession? JW: My grandfather passed away this year, and I have the camera he used when he was working as a photographer and a backpack he built for his Boy Scout group in the 1950s.

AC: Where is your happy place? JW: There are so many! Twenty meters deep, swimming with manta rays off the coast of Thailand, snowboarding in Japan. There's a canyon in Hong Kong that looks like Jurassic Park — it's just so raw with waterfalls everywhere. But to summarize, my happy place is being outside in a gorgeous location with people I care about.

AC: How would your closest friend describe you? JW: A relentless, laser-focused — I hate to say it — asshole, but with a heart of gold.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

(Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4 )

At the very farthest edge of the pigs’ property, there was an apple tree. It was twisted, and old, and had never produced much more than crabapples. But the wolf, being somewhat ignorant regarding matters of fruit and vegetable cultivation, was not really aware of this. At the moment, he had visions of roasted pigs with apples in their mouths dancing through his head. And being possessed of a fairly one-track mind, he determined that he would try to persuade the pigs to leave the house by guile once more.

He returned by morning to the home of his nemesis. Or rather, to his nemesis, for he had decided that the house itself was the foe. It did not occur to the wolf that any member of the porcine species capable of drawing blueprints, paying contractors, making bricks and building his own house was one to be treated warily. He had, as a matter of fact, convinced himself that despite the setbacks he would emerge victorious -- just as he had in past matters for which he still had some outstanding warrants in town. These were primarily why he did not just go to the market and buy food, instead choosing to stalk the neighbors.

“Little pig,” he called as he knocked on the door, “It’s a pity about the misunderstanding with the clocks yesterday. I don’t suppose you’ve got any experience in pie-making, have you?”

As a matter of fact, the second brother did have some small talent in baking, but only rutabaga pie. But this was a detail none of them felt was necessary for conversation with an attempted housebreaker who was also inclined to eat the people he burglarized.

“Some,” said the second brother, “Have you?”

“Not in the slightest,” the wolf admitted just a little sheepishly. “But there’s an old apple tree at the far side of the wood, no more than fifteen minutes’ walk, and it got me to thinking about apple pies.”

Slyly, he asked whether the pigs might have any interest in going apple picking with him. And this time, when the pig at the door answered that they would go at four, he resolved to slip out to the tree at three.

“You know,” said the first brother when the wolf had left, “I don’t think any of us should go at all.”

“Don’t be silly,” said the second brother, “He’s clearly not clever enough to guess the trick.”

The first brother peered out the window and wrinkled his snout. “He stopped three feet from the door and cackled like a madman at the sky. I find that a little suspicious, don’t you?”

To which the third brother observed that everything the wolf had said and done thus far was suspicious.

“All I’m saying is, it’s hardly confidence inspiring!” the first brother argued, “And besides, we don’t even like apples! Look, if you’re going to go, at least don’t go alone.”

But ever since bashing the wolf on the head with his rocking chair, the second brother had been itching to have another go at him. And so right around three, the second and third brothers went out to the apple tree. Soon enough, they realized that the wolf had not exactly given them clear directions. “The far side of the wood” could have been one of any four or five places, and they hadn’t been living on the property long enough to know which the wolf had been referring to.

So when the wolf arrived at the apple tree, right on the stroke of three, no pigs were in sight. He settled behind the trunk to wait, thinking correctly that he’d managed to get there before them. This would be, he thought, a sure victory. But of course, not once had he been correct in making that assumption thus far, and the pattern still held. Thirty minutes passed, and there was no sign of his quarry. Four o’clock rolled around, and still the pigs did not show up. At four-thirty, the wolf began to suspect that he’d been stood up, and stormed off in the direction of the brick house in a foul temper.

At five o’clock, the second and third brother finally managed to find the apple tree.

They were rather disappointed to discover only hard, green crabapples, but the third brother reasoned that at the very least, they might gather them and use them as ammunition should the wolf attempt to break in a third time. This cheered the second brother up immensely, and he gathered enough to fill a sack.

“You don’t need a license for crabapples,” he remarked, “That is much more convenient than catapults.”

“I haven’t got room for a catapult anyway!” the third brother said, “Here, keep those apples handy, you don’t know if the wolf will try to attack on the way home.”

By cutting through the woods directly, the pair were able to find the kiln where the brick had been made. From there, it was far simpler to find their way back to the brick house. When they arrived at the treeline, they saw the wolf, marching resolutely up the path. That presented a problem, for obvious reasons. While the two of them could have just rushed the wolf, they were both a bit tired from their two hour hike around the property.

The second brother drew back his arm with a crabapple balanced on one hoof, then sent it hurtling through the air. It went wide of the target, striking a tree on the other side of the path rather than the wolf himself. The pig was, as you may imagine, bitterly disappointed that he had not dropped the predator in one go a second time.

For his part, the wolf heard the resounding thud and jumped. Unwisely, he left the path to investigate. He hoped, of course, that perhaps he’d caught the pigs or some smaller animal out-of-doors. But the fact is that you can’t just go off investigating strange noises in the woods when you are alone! Had this been a tale of another genre, the wolf might have met a very messy fate as a result of his choices. As it stood now, the only consequence was that when he turned back to the path he was just in time to see pressed trousers and curly tails disappearing through the door of the brick house.

The wolf said a few unneighborly things that shan’t be repeated, and then went to pound at the door once more.

“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!” he growled.

“Landssakes, you really don’t give up, do you?” answered the third brother, “Clear off before the three of us come out there with pokers!”

They were getting very tired of the canine menace by this time, and were just about on the verge of taking advantage of their size and weight as compared to his.

Well, it had been worth a shot, at least. The wolf decided now that these were desperate times, and they called for desperate measures. He refused to go back to squirrels and turnips. Or jail, for that matter.

Inside the house, the pigs suddenly heard a terrific racket along the back wall and up the eaves. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a wolf climbing onto a roof, but a quiet affair it is not. With a crash and a crunch and more cursing than was strictly necessary, the sounds crescendoed and then went unnervingly quiet.

“Well,” said the first brother, “I don’t like that.”

His brothers were forced to agree, and the third brother poked at the fire in the kitchen and then brandished the poker somewhat menacingly.

Herein lies another of the wolf’s mistakes, for had he stopped to think, he could have huffed and puffed and blown down through the chimney, smoking the pigs out of the house. But of course, he was angry and hungry and all he could think of was getting in. So he did something terribly foolish: he squeezed and he squirmed and he wriggled down into the chimney.

“Hey hey hey!” cried the third brother when ash and soot began to fall down into the cooking pot, “If you’re not the snake who takes care of the sweeping, you’ve got no business in my chimney!”

“No escape now, little pigs!” the wolf shouted back. More ash fell in black sheets, and then quite suddenly things got quiet.

The brothers looked at each other, and then at the fireplace. “You’re stuck, aren’t you?” asked the first brother.

“No!” the wolf protested.

But he was.

Now, there were a few options available to the brothers here: they might have simply left the wolf to his own devices, to see if he might claw his way back out again. Or they could have stoked up the fire and killed the wolf in a fairly unpleasant way. But neither of these appealed to the three pigs. They wanted some restitution for their destroyed houses and injuries, and that would be a little hard to obtain if they roasted the responsible party. Which would probably smell and taste terrible anyway. Swine they may have been, but they weren’t that adventurous in their cuisine.

The brothers drew lots, and it fell to the middle one to run into town and alert the local constabulary of their would-be assailant’s predicament. As it turned out, the police were very interested to see what the wolf had gotten himself into. A tintype made its way into the local gazette of the wolf’s posterior sticking out of the pigs’ chimney within a few days. As the wolf was, in fact, a wanted criminal with several talking-animal deaths to his name, the three brothers received a monetary reward as well as compensation for damages.

Taxes and copays being what they are, this was enough to repair the chimney and the straw house, with just enough left for groceries. As a result of this misadventure, however, the first and second brother had decided to build brick houses of their own, making use of the kiln. This did mean that they ended up overstaying their welcome at their younger brother’s home during the construction, but they had no more troubles.

At least, until the hen down the lane abruptly announced herself as a doomsday prophet and began leading processions around their property while declaring that the sky was about to fall. But that is a tale for another day.

The End

[olivereliott]

The Rut 50K: A Race Report

High on the east ridge of Lone Peak, at about 10,500 feet or so, The Rut 50K started to feel like a cartoon, in which an idiot, me, runs and hikes up an incline at a fast (for me) but hopefully sustainable pace, as the grade gradually gets steeper and steeper, until, just before the summit, the idiot tips over backwards and rolls back to the start. 

This, of course, is not true. The elevation map of the race course actually looks like this:

But right around Mile 20, I felt like I’d been carefully picking my way up Lone Peak’s east ridge for six hours, three feet in front of a guy from Eugene the entire time. With the steep terrain, fatigue, altitude, a decreased amount of readily available oxygen for breathing, and the mental exhaustion of climbing a neverending pile of rocks while trying to not dislodge anything onto people below me, many elements were coming together to crush my morale, and me. 

This is also not true. I was just one of 500 or so people to sign up for The Rut 50K this year. The Rut is an annual event that is essentially a European-style sky race held in Big Sky, Montana, designed by two American sadomasochists named Mike (Foote and Wolfe), with several events ranging from a Vertical Kilometer to the 50K. One way to look at the 50K race might be, “Hey, I ran the Chicago Marathon last year, and The Rut 50K is only five miles longer than that.” 

Here are some words and phrases from the website for The Rut 50K: 

“extremely challenging”

“EXTREMELY STEEP & TECHNICAL” 

“exposure” 

“potential rockfall hazard”

“true mountain course”

“rockfall hazards”

“mountainous and technical nature” 

It’s probably good policy for mountain running race organizers to use strong language in describing their events, just so no one gets in over their head and then later says things like “no one told me would be this hard,” or “suddenly, there I was, staring death in the face,” or “[sounds of a person sitting on a pile of rocks and weeping uncontrollably].” But also, you could probably be forgiven for a tiny bit of skepticism as far as race marketing is concerned, i.e. “I don’t know, has anyone ACTUALLY died doing this ‘Death Race’ we’re signing up for?”

There is at least one spot on The Rut 50K where you could legitimately fall, and possibly not stop falling until you were dead and/or have way more than 208 bones in your body. 

I did not, as may be obvious at this point, die doing The Rut. I did perhaps underestimate it a tiny bit. 

The race started at 6:00 a.m., a few minutes before sunrise, in three waves, five minutes apart, each wave a few hundred runners jogging uphill, a stream of headlamps, nerves, and chatter leaving the Big Sky Resort base area. Where should I start? Certainly not at the front of the first wave, where the elite runners and other super-mutants would be, ripping off three-minute miles uphill or whatever. Probably not at the back of the third wave, based on my previous race results. I really had no idea what to expect, so I did what I always do: Start way too far back in the pack, and then waste tons of energy frantically trying to pass people during the race. This is probably some combination of impostor syndrome and Midwestern over-politeness, or maybe I’m just not that smart.

Another role I had signed up for: running with a younger friend, Devon, and theoretically helping him not go too fast for the first few miles of the race. Devon had finished an 18-day traverse of the Wind River Range literally 60 hours before the start, and is a full decade-plus younger than me, so for the first nine miles, we settled somewhere in between me holding him back and him dragging me up the trail. When the route went from fire road to singletrack, there were bottlenecks of single-file lines of people, where we literally stood waiting in line for a couple minutes. 

In the first nine miles, in any spot where the trail widened in the forest, Devon and I accelerated around runners in front of us, sometimes one at a time, sometimes a handful of people. I did have a small bit of anxiety knowing that at a certain point, the course would hit a 1.2-mile section climbing 2,000 feet up the ridge of Lone Peak, where it would be pretty difficult to pass anyone without them very graciously stepping off to the side of the path, so I was motivated to pass people early on, where it was easy and safe. But I had more anxiety about running myself into the ground in the first 10 miles of the race by going way too fast way too early. Just before Mile 9, I told Devon to go ahead without me, because although I am not smart, I am also not proud, and he shot off through the trees like a gazelle, finally free. 

I had thoroughly studied the course map and elevation profile in the days and weeks leading up to the race, but still found myself surprised at all the ups and downs as we tromped through the forest, popped out above treeline, then dropped back into the trees again. I had downloaded the GPX map of the course onto my phone and could open it at any time to see where I was on the course, but I decided to just keep plodding on in ignorance, following the flags. Somewhere around Mile 14 or so, the course went from what I would call “pretty normal” to “OK, this is not an actual hiking trail that anyone uses for anything not named ‘The Rut.’” At that point, I was thankful I had talked myself into carrying trekking poles, ignoring the advice of at least one friend, who was well-meaning, but who also drastically overestimated my VO2 max. I mean, they weigh 10.5 ounces, and are very handy when you want to lean on something and shed a few tears, instead of collapsing all the way to the ground to convulse with sobs. 

I managed to under-eat the morning of the race, and was hungry the entire day, shoving down Clif Bloks and Honey Stinger Waffles whenever I could, often chewing while mouth-breathing in huge gasps as I hiked steep uphills. I had packed something like 2,000 calories for the day in my vest, in hopes that it would keep me from wasting time at aid stations, because I often unintentionally spend more time gazing at the layout of M&Ms, chips, pickles, Oreos, etc. than most people do putting together a plate at the Sizzler salad bar, and then end up confused at how six people passed me in the time I took to fill one water bottle and walk away with a double-handful of Cheez-Its. 

At the 14.5-mile mark, we started climbing up steep talus. The pack had thinned out and I had found a pretty appropriate spot, every once in a while passing someone or letting someone pass me, but for the most part able to settle in, put my head down, and watch my feet. Surely, I thought—without actually checking my GPS app to see where we were on the course—this must be the big climb up Lone Peak. Here we go. 

Imagine my internal dismay 40 minutes later when the route started going downhill from a high point of about 10,100 feet. Going down always feels good, but not as good when you know you’ll have to climb right back up every single foot you descend. We dropped to 8,280 feet, hitting a fire road, which was nice for a few minutes, I guess. But the course’s high point was 11,166 feet, somewhere above us. 

  If you hit Mile 17 during a flat-ish 50K, you’re psyched! You’re more than halfway to the finish! If you hit Mile 17 during The Rut, you are … not as psyched! You are more than halfway to the finish … in mileage only! You are about to spend an hour or an hour and a half grinding up a steep incline, 2,900 feet in 2.5 miles! You will “run” a 40-minute mile! Your fancy GPS watch will, instead of showing your pace per mile, will display a series of dashes, basically saying “you are not moving—are you OK?”

The good thing is, you eventually get to the top. Maybe you’re motivated by finishing the race, maybe because everywhere you look you’re surrounded by angular blocks of rock that would not be comfortable to sit or lie down on, maybe because finishing the race will be a visceral metaphor for other things you hope to face in life, or maybe because you know deep down that literally hundreds of other people have done the same thing so you can too, and some of those people have literally gotten a complimentary Run the Rut tattoo at the finish line, a real tattoo, not a temporary one, because that is a thing they do at this race. 

At the top of Lone Peak are some nice people handing out water and snacks, including, when I was there, a shirtless man wearing a full-length fur coat. The actual aid station we passed through was a solid 30 or 40 vertical feet below the summit of Lone Peak itself, and for a moment, my inner peak-bagger felt conflicted about getting this close to the summit after working that hard to get there and not actually tagging it, but I decided to keep moving forward, and down the mountain. 

The route down Lone Peak is steep, starting with dinner-plate talus, then scree, then steep trails. I had seen people wearing running gaiters at the beginning of the race, and as I made my way down and kicked rocks into my own shoes, I thought this might be the one place I could have used them in my life. Alas, I did not have any. Nor did I take the time to do proper self-care/self-preservation practices, like, I don’t know, emptying the rocks out of my shoes at any point during the final 11 miles of the race. 

I enjoy lying to myself during races, a tactic I believe is a form of positive self-talk. I do not enjoy it when I catch myself in the lies I have told myself earlier. Such as “You’ll start feeling better when you only have five miles to go,” or “That weird feeling in your lower intestine is unlikely to turn into anything remotely explosive before the end of the race,” or in this case, “That was the last big climb—it should be a cruise from here,” and “We’re back below treeline, so it’s probably just gently rolling from here on out.” 

I had read some race reports from previous years, so I should have been well aware that the last 10 miles or so seemed to be generally demoralizing. True, all the “big” climbs were out of the way, and most of what was left was below treeline. But before the finish, we still had a 500-foot climb, a 900-foot climb, and a 400-foot climb. I started up the beginning of the 900-foot climb, on a steep trail that I’m pretty sure I heard had a rope on it at one point for runners to use to pull themselves up the incline, and found myself surrounded by a glut of people in various states of mild to extreme discontent: our pace slowed to an uphill crawl, some people muttering half-jokes about how terrible they felt, others hunched over with their hands on their knees or leaning on a tree, maybe about to throw up. I kept going, thankful I had trekking poles, both as life support and security blanket. 

This, I think, is where many people start to hate the Rut. You start to ask yourself what the point of going up and down these hills is (as if the whole idea of the race isn’t also contrived and pointless, in the grand scheme of human existence), why they would send you this way instead of a route that’s more friendly (or even just flat), and maybe why you didn’t sign up for the 28K or the 11K instead of the 50K. 

The singletrack gave way to a road, which started to ease up as I inched closer to an aid station. Spectators waiting for the runner(s) they knew to come through dotted the sides of the road, cheering everyone who came past. One woman yelled, “Nice job, you’re almost there,” and I said “Thank you, existentially, we’re already there, aren’t we?” I power-hiked into the aid station and a young gentleman named Dash filled my water bottles and I grabbed a couple half-bananas and gulped them down. 

The course wound mostly downhill through intermittent forest, finally topping out on the last climb a half-mile from the finish line, where a couple guys sitting on the side of the fire road told me Nice job, you’re really, really done with the last climb now, and then another guy 100 feet later said “Those guys are lying,” and I laughed as I jogged past, the ski area base within view, and around the corner from that, the finish line. Which is where, I think, people begin the transition from hating the Rut to loving the Rut. As is common in this sport, the same person who, at 1 p.m. one day carries themselves along a trail on fumes of motivation and curses everything that brought them to that point, 24 or 48 hours later will earnestly tell people who ask about their race, “It was great.” Whatever that means. 

If you liked this story, please consider supporting my work via Patreon, which enables me to keep writing and drawing, and will also make you feel good (and get you a bunch of members-only stuff, including discounts to my shop).

The post The Rut 50K: A Race Report appeared first on Semi-Rad.com.

[thiscelestialglow]

Everything in between...

A summary post of the last month featuring a house build, Hobbitenango, San Vicente Cimientos, Playa Quilombo, and Semuc Champey.

//HOUSE BUILD// 03.21-24.18

Our group had the opportunity to work with ConstruCasa to build two homes for two families who live in Alotenango, a neighboring town of Antigua. I went for around four hours each day in the morning to help. I only worked on one of the houses, but I really enjoyed it because I was with the same workers and family every day so it made it possible to build a small relationship with them. Here are some photos from the days spent there:

The alley we walked down to the house each day. One day we had to carry a truckload of cement blocks down it and I wanted to die. The volcano in the back is Volcán de Fuego. It is an active volcano that is constantly letting out gases and lava.

These kittens had my heart and I would have given the world to bring them home with me.

My personal favorite job was chipping blocks with a hatchet, and not to brag, but I only broke two blocks. I would rather do this for 48 hours straight than mix cement one time. Photo creds: Hannah (for this one and the next two)

This is what the work site looked like on the first day...

...and this is what it looked like on the second or third day (???). It was so long ago I can’t remember.

This photo is from our last day when we dedicated the houses and gave handed the keys over to the families. Unfortunately, I don’t have photos of the finished houses, but I shared a video from ConstruCasa on Facebook that shows more of the process and has final photos.

--

//HOBBITENANGO// 04.07.18

On a Saturday morning some people from our group decided to take a shuttle to Hobbitenango, a small restaurant/park type of thing up in the mountains near Antigua designed to look like the Shire. The food there was AMAZING and it was such a cute little place.

I ordered the second breakfast, which included pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit. And MY GOD that was the best egg I have ever had in my life. I haven’t stopped craving another one since.

Our breakfast view.

They also had carnival-like booths set up with games to play. This one was for archery and hatchet-throwing.

This was such a nice unique place to go to and roam around.

We had to ride in the back of a pickup up to the top, which also meant we had to go back down in one.

I was holding on for dear life and my face shows it. Photo creds to Hannah

--

//SAN VICENTE CIMIENTOS// 04.15-17.18

San Vicente Cimientos is a Mayan community a few hours away from Antigua. There was a decline in elevation so it was MUCH, MUCH hotter than what we were used to in Antigua. The weekend was kind of a retreat from urban life into nature. Our time there was made up mostly of hikes.

This was the view of Volcán de Fuego from our house. It was incredibly active while we were there. There were multiple eruptions that rattled the windows and shook the entire house; it sounded and felt almost like a bomb had gone off. We were also able to see lava flow down the side, which you rarely see from Antigua. Photo creds: Cas

We had the opportunity to climb this mountain while in the community. This thing was MASSIVE and incredibly intimidating. (Photo creds to Cas.) We were driven up to the base and then had to walk up to where the rock face (yeah, a literal rock face) began. It was relatively okay up until that point. I have kind of a fear of heights, and when we got to that point, I looked down and over the valley and it hit me just how high up we were and if I fell I would probably die. What I thought was a small fear that I could control blew up and I began to hyperventilate. I sat down and got my breathing back under control while the rest of the group started to climb up the rocks via rungs someone had cemented into the rock. I thought I was okay to go again so I got up and tried to go, but my mind was still freaking out. Our guide thought it was best that I turned back and I couldn’t argue with him. He helped me back down and I sat a waited for the rest of the group to return. I was a little bummed that I didn’t get to the top because I really wanted to prove to myself that I could do it, but I just wasn’t in the mental state to conquer it.

After the mountain, we hiked down the valley to a waterfall where we were able to swim.

It was so beautiful and incredibly refreshing after hiking in the heat all morning. Photo creds: Rachel

Our last day we woke up and went on one last “walk” before we left.

We rode up to the beginning of the path in the back of this badass pickup and I kind of really want one now. Photo creds: Cas, otra ves

--

//PLAYA QUILOMBO// 04.20-22.18

AND THEN THE DAY CAME FOR THE BEACH!!!! I had been looking forward to this trip the entire time I have been here, and as the weeks went by and the weekend got closer, my anticipation grew. I was so ready to get my tan on.

We arrived when it was already dark out, so we couldn’t enjoy the ocean, but our hotel had an amazing pool which we put to good use after dinner. The next morning we got up nice and early in order to take advantage of our only full day at the beach.

We noticed a sea turtle in a kiddie pool a few bungalows down from ours so naturally we had to go check it out.

We went for a walk along the beach a little later, where we stumbled across some bones of a still unidentified animal.

My friends are really photogenic.

I was pretty bummed Saturday night because I had been looking forward to the sunset here the entire semester but it was really cloudy so it wasn’t as grand as I was hoping it would be. Still, the pink colors in the sky were beautiful.

Las chicas de la Casa de Cindy, con Cindy *insert heart-eye emoji here*

It was so nice to sit out in the sun all weekend and though I was burnt like a lobster, I am finally turning tan.

--

//SEMUC CHAMPEY// 04.27-29.18

A group of ten from our semester group organized a trip to Semuc Champey over our last free weekend in Guatemala, and I am so glad we did.

The trip started on Friday morning with an eight hour bus ride from Antigua to Lanquín, a town about 10 KM from the park. In true Guatemalan form, our bus was around 20 minutes late picking us up. We drove maybe 30 minutes outside of Antigua only to stop at a random gas station for no apparent reason. We asked what we were doing and were told that we needed to change buses. We still don’t know why that happened, but we spent almost two hours sitting on the pavement of that gas station waiting for the other bus to show up. When it finally did, the new driver whipped in to the lot and that should have been our first clue that this was going to be a drive straight out of hell.

The new bus was smaller and contained even more people than the last. I was lucky to get the spot I got, and I will never stop being thankful for it. The driver of this bus was easily the worst driver I have ever encountered in my life. I told Morgan it felt like sitting in a rollercoaster simulator in an arcade, only we were actually moving forward, and she couldn’t believe how accurate that was. So just imagine one of those simulators but on steroids. We made a stop at a gas station around lunch time, and were told we would stop in a couple hours for actual lunch, so all I got were some oatmeal cookies that I wasn’t even sure I liked. (I did like them, for the record.) It was four more hours until we stopped for a half hour lunch. We stopped for lunch at 4 PM. I’ve gotten used to eating a late lunch here, but not that late.

After we stopped, we were told we had another two hours until we arrived in Lanquín. Then our driver decided to stop at his house and change his clothes, then run an errand that took us about five minutes off course. I was incredibly annoyed and frustrated. However, his driving for the majority of the rest of the trip was better than before, so much so we weren’t sure it was the same guy.

Saturday we woke up, got breakfast, rode in the back of a pickup to Semuc, and headed to the pools. Our first activity of the day was hiking up to the lookout to see all of the pools at once. Never in my life have I sweat as much as I did on that hike, and the sunscreen I had put on before only made it worse. Hiking up I complained the whole time because I just hate inclines and stairs. When it was over, though, I knew it wasn’t that bad,  and I could admit that.

The view from the lookout.

Seumc Champey is a series of natural pools that a river runs under. The river enters under the pools here:

and it exits on the other side. When we hiked down from the lookout, we were able to swim in the pools, slide down a natural (aka rock) waterslide, and go into a “mini cave” where there was just enough room to tilt your head back so you could breathe through your nose.

We then went back for lunch, and after that, went “tubing” down the river. I put quotation marks around tubing because it wasn’t even 30 minutes long. Then we got a candle and entered a cave. It was only slightly terrifying. There was a series of ladders we had to climb and a waterfall we had to walk over, and I was very nervous.

The walk through the caves ended at a pool where you could climb up the wall and jump into it. I did not, because it seemed like a lot of work and I simply didn’t want to. While this was happening, my candle was burning intensely and I was so nervous I wouldn’t make it out with it. I was mostly concerned for the ladders, which I would have to climb with a light. I made it back through two of the ladders until my candle was so small it was only going to burn me if I kept using it, so I put it out. Unfortunately, this was right before the ladder I was most afraid of.

Another girl from the group, Rachel, had accidentally put out her candle earlier, so we stationed Morgan (who still had a candle) between us so we could use her light. I was so cautious going down that the guide there literally started grabbing my feet and placing them on the rungs. When I got down, the other people we had been with had already kept on going through the cave, so we had one candle between three of us and it was pitch black. We basically just held on to the ropes until we saw the light. To be dramatic, we probably wouldn’t have made it out without the ropes.

Sunday morning we got up, got breakfast, rode in the back of a pickup to Lanquín, and got on a bus for another 8 hour trip back to Antigua. This ride was much more enjoyable because it was a different (better) driver and we made really good time. I was a little car sick at the beginning, but I took some dramamine and ate some food and felt fine the rest of the trip. While it was a lot of traveling for one day of adventure, I’m really glad that I got to witness the beauty of Semuc Champey first hand.

--

//MISCELLANEOUS// Just a few photos of things that have happened outside of these events. Enjoy.

Anderson’s 14th birthday!

Cindy’s birthday!

Just some old ruins around Antigua

Meet the next hit girl band

We also just moved houses last week, and this new one is SO NICE, especially in comparison to the old one. There’s a WALL OF WINDOWS in my room now!!!! This weekend we take another trip into Guatemala City, and then that Thursday, May 10th, we fly back to the States. It’s crazy how fast this semester has gone by, and I know this next week and a half will be over in the blink of an eye, so I plan to enjoy it all, and do everything one last time.

[snowydreamposts]

The Annapurna Circuit Gets Better Every Day

For moment delight, go to New Zealand. You’ll have the option to snap photographs of the postcard-ideal mountains from the trailhead. In any case, contrasted with such moment get to treks (the bon-bons of the climbing scene), the Annapurna Circuit is an entire 12-course supper

It begins with wilderness, a monkey-and-banana-tree tangle that is an all out stun regardless of whether you’ve been admonished. At the point when we entered the wilderness sweat poured off us like downpour as we moved through terraced rice fields cut out of greenery. After two days (where were the mountains?) we strolled through a gorge so restricted and profound that immediate daylight just infiltrated around early afternoon. A day from that point onward, we were in pines so tall and thick, I thought of Oregon.

At last, gradually, the high Himalaya rose in sneak looks and tempting vistas. And afterward the large enchantment: On our tenth day, we moved toward 17,768-foot Thorung La, the most noteworthy purpose of the circuit. Out of nowhere there was only mountains. We were separated from everyone else in an uneven ocean of 20,000-foot tops. Spindrift snow spread out off four of the world’s 10 most noteworthy summits, which lingered around us, their fluted dividers mirroring the sun’s beams so splendidly that they consume ridgeline outlines into our retinas. At the point when Annapurna III and Gangapurna came into see, I had a similar inclination in my chest that I had the first occasion when I looked into the Grand Canyon: a light, wide-peered toward breathe in of shock. Sounds and scents blurred; my vision honed. I could see each moment highlight on those folded ice-and-rock dividers. I was only a couple of eyes, gliding in the midst of the pinnacles like a helium swell.

The Annapurna Circuit Is a World Party

Need to climb into the center of no place? Into a spot so remote that you’ll go days without seeing others? Sweden’s Sarek National Park is for you. Skirt the Annapurna Circuit.

In excess of 40,000 trekkers travel to Annapurna every year, and when Emily and I ventured into the wet, hot wilderness for our first entire day of trekking—a sticky 12.5-mile move from Bhulebhule to Jagot—it appeared as though each of the 40,000 had landed simultaneously. We jumped with a grave German couple as the path moved through little stone-and-cover towns. At that point we passed an enormous French gathering going with aides and doormen. At that point a couple of youthful Swiss explorers. At that point some old Belgians. At that point a solitary Israeli. At that point a train of 50 jackasses pulling supplies—cooking oil, Coke, lamp oil.

I wasn’t acquainted with heavy traffic in the wild, and from the outset the quantity of different trekkers irritated me. However, it just took a couple of days on the path to understand that climbing around Annapurna resembles joining an elite club. In Jagat, we drank tea with Ori, an Israeli who had climbed the circuit multiple times. He revealed to us that the individuals he meets—both from Nepal and wherever else—were one of the explanation he continued returning. We sat with Ori and Ryuske, a Japanese trekker, and showed each other how to cuss in three dialects. At that point for the following week we welcomed each other each time we ran into each other. Thus it went with the Belgians, who entertained us with accounts of their military obligation in Kashmir during the 1940s; the Swedes, who were quick to flaunt their well-structured cutlery and packs; and the youthful British couple, taking a hole year, who were moment companions and will send us postcards from India. Indeed, even the Germans made decent over garlic soup at Thorung Phedi.

When we rose 10,460-foot Poon Hill to watch dawn on the most recent day of the circuit, sharing the minute appeared to be absolutely suitable. We felt overwhelmed with in excess of 100 others, however it didn’t feel like a group. They were individual pioneers, a large number of them companions.

The Annapurna Circuit Has the Best Food

Alright, conventional Nepalese dal bhat—a straightforward dinner of rice and lentil soup—can’t contend with the wild mushroom polenta, fondue, and coq au vin that is served in mountain cabins on the Tour Du Mont Blanc, or the paella—straight from the ocean—you’ll devour during a multisport get-away in Spain’s Valencia area. By examination, the Annapurna Circuit’s fundamental toll is more paste than gourmet. Explorers who ache for the commonplace can discover macaroni, dumplings, and even pizza in Annapurna, yet eating dal bhat resembles ingesting some portion of Nepal, as though it contains more than protein, carbs, and flavors. Additionally, it’s insane modest (everything you can eat for about $1.50) and ample.

A year after our outing, Emily I despite everything request dal bhat at nearby Indian eateries just to remember recollections the taste summons. In the minor station of 13,185-foot Yak Kharka, seven days into our trek, we joined five doormen at the Yak Hotel for supper. We ate in a virus room fabricated totally of stone, lounging around a square table set over hot coals to keep our feet warm with overwhelming yak-hair covers hung over our legs to trap the warmth. Emily and I utilized our hands like the Nepalese, and they snickered as we over and again dropped lumps of nourishment into our laps. Over seconds and thirds, the watchmen talked in stopping English about the inescapable intersection of Thorung La pass. Local people, all folks in their late teenagers and mid 20s wearing sweats, were disarmingly anxious about the pass. For a few, it would be their first time so high.

Over glasses of raksi, a purpose like alcohol produced using matured millet, the watchmen showed us a game called Nepali Kings, in which four worker young men wed delightful ladies and become rich lords or cleverly fizzle, contingent upon how the cards fall. We giggled and played again and again by yak-margarine lamplight until an ideal hand let all the young men be lords.

It’s Always Surprising

In the wake of climbing stone strides for three hours through a tangled rhododendron timberland on our approach to Ghorepani, we landed in a three-house town with a little bite stand. The stand had a sign that says “Deal Yak Cheese” by a blurred notice of Avril Lavigne. The cheddar sales rep appeared as though the Nepalese rendition of a midwestern rancher, complete with battered baseball hat and an Ohio State Buckeyes T-shirt. Simply then a Frenchman with blossoms in his long, wavy hair landed in the town, making close by doormen laugh and point. Different treks have their noteworthy minutes, obviously. Italy’s Alta Via 1 conveys bounty: You’ll drink coffee after a brilliant sage gnocchi while looking at the knifey Dolomites, and that is great, however that is actually what the manual guarantees. You can never envision what Annapurna has coming up, regardless of how much research and arranging you do (truly, in any event, understanding this). At the point when I ran over a goat eating maryjane plants outside of a Buddhist sanctuary in Upper Pisang and a priest snickered and imitated smoking a joint, that was an astonishment. That is the Annapurna Circuit.

Annapurna Circuit Muktinath Temple

The town of Muktinath is sacrosanct to the two Buddhists and Hindus. The sanctuary complex highlights wellsprings bolstered by 108 springs.

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

The Shrine Trip (Post 98) 7-22-15

Stephen and I made a mini-pilgrimage to a Lourdes Shrine in Cleveland over the weekend.  He really liked the one we visited a couple of weeks ago in Emmitsburg, Maryland, but I let him know that I was not driving south for the third weekend in a row so we settled on a commutable sanctuary.  I warned him not to expect a well-manicured spiritual venue frequented by scores of nuns in habit, solemn young priests and discalced Franciscan brothers like we saw at Mount St Mary's University.  Cleveland similar to many other Rust Belt cities and the majority of Europe has walked away from the Catholic faith.

There certainly are still Catholics in Cleveland, but they are a weak broth compared to the bubbling ethic piety that existed in most immigrant populated Mid-Western cities during the last century.  IHM is very lucky to have vibrant and thriving Phil-Am and Guadalupano communities within the parish.  In this area of the country there is nobody processing statues of Mary on her feast days, performing live Stations of the Cross in front of throngs of people, or waking up at an intimidatingly early time for Mass during the days of Simbang Gabi.  There is plenty of Life Teen activity and Pancake Breakfasts, but gone are all the ethnic Catholic festivities that you would associate with once predominantly Italian, German, Czech and Polish Catholic neighborhoods.  The cavernously empty amphitheater seating at the Lourdes Shrine in Euclid, Ohio stands as a testament to a flavor of Catholic spirituality that has been largely lost to my generation, but hopefully will interest younger folks that I think of as the Catholic generation of Chad.

I knew pretty much what to expect at the Euclid Shrine because I had visited there two years ago during a visit to Ohio to drop off Natalie for her summer vacation. It was a peculiar previous pilgrimage, because my father used the occasion to escape the house and dragged my mother along with us.  He was and is too challenged with regard to mobility to make the hike from the car to the familiar looking grotto manufactured to mimic its more famous cousin.  Dad rode along with the purpose of adding one subsequent stop at Geraci's, his favorite authentic Italian restaurant, and another at Gaelic Imports his repository for bangers and Yorkie bars.  I would have tried to impress upon him the irony of a man too hobbled to cane himself into a healing shrine, but Dad is not Catholic and I was pleased to have some private time in prayer bereft of paternal clock-watching.

I don't know how long I spent there or exactly what I thought about in quiet contemplation of my future, Stephen's health and my father's health on that day two years ago.  I probably came to the conclusion that it would be a good idea for me to write some stuff. While my particular prayers were a fuzzy blur open to speculative interpretation, I do clearly remember that I visited the gift shop and bought a print of the Our Lady of the Streets for my bedroom.  The portrait always reminds me of Pam.  I guess someone at IHM likes the image as well. 

I also purchased a liter plastic container to fill with the spring water stream that dripped across the authentic rock brought from the original grotto in actual France.  I was pleased to buy something from the well-accoutered but mostly unpatronized shop of curios manned by what seemed to be the last VHM sister from the adjoined dormitory that apparently could have housed seventy women or more.  A thoroughly lonely experience, I think I stood nearly solo at the altar rail of the outdoor sanctuary that could have provided adequate seating for 9:00 AM Sunday Mass at IHM.  That might have been one or two other people praying quietly as the water slowly filled my bottle at the speed of a kitchen spigot almost shut.  A white statue of St Bernadette watched me kneeling quietly and reminding me that neither she nor Pam had been physically cured by the wondrous water that healed so many people but not all depending on God's many faceted plan not human whim or desire.

But like a spider sense I felt the hourglass sand of my father's patience slipping from the upper chamber through the neck of the glass and down into the nether portion.  I possess a pretty good inclination of how long Dad can quietly read a novel in the car when his mind is considering which type of pasta and sauce he is currently favoring.  At any minute I expected my mother to get sent on a scouting mission from the silver Tahoe that lay calmly at anchor in the nearby parking lot.  So I booked it with only a partial sacramental fill in the white plastic half jerry can I had previously purchased.  Of course he yelled at me when I slipped back into the driver's seat to my mother's silent amusement because I had returned with less than everything that I had purchased, a Donnelly nono, although as a Protestant my Dad doesn't actually consider minor league Lourdes water as any more valuable or beneficial than bottled Dasani product. I explained to him that my beaker was actually half full rather than half empty which brought a guffaw from him.  As I remember, he shook his head in disbelief as if I had returned to the car cow-less with a half-handful of magic beans.  Dismayed at my lack of sacramental savvy, Dad ordered me to resume my duties as chauffeur so I turned his land yacht in the direction from which the tightly tuned divining rod in his stomach detected marinara sauce.

 With my own wheels this go around, I didn't have to worry about my father's impatience to leave - just my disquiet and fatigue.  I had worked with the third shift crew for the week so I had only recovery from extreme sleep deprivation planned for both Saturday and Sunday.  We drove up to the Euclid shrine on a quiet Saturday afternoon without anything else on the agenda.

Stephen was fully prepared;  he had cleaned out the residue of decades old Kool-Aid from a gallon-sized picnic thermos that he had discovered in my parent's basement or garage and planned to put my half-liter water supply to shame.  I decided that I would find something else to do in the largely deserted vicinity in case the septuagenarian sister from the gift shop should discover Stephen filling up his unofficial container at the little font.  I expect unpurchased containers were allowed, but I don't know that Stephen would have the sense to let someone else break in to fill up one of the little paper cups dispensed nearly the tiny spout of water coming off the rock.

Based on the remembered rate of flow from my previous visit, I figured that I had a half hour at least so I climbed up an asphalt path following a sign in the direction of some Stations of the Cross.  The trail was in better shape than I expected and I liked the plaster scenes, but the woods by the path were overgrown and the mini-sheds that protected the statuettes had not been painted recently.  It was a little like camp houses at Copperopolis - if you can't picture my reference, sign up for the next Emmaus retreat.  In a couple of cases there were Beebe gun holes in the protecting glass for the statues.  Greater Cleveland is not really a city that you expect to see hillbilly shenanigans, but maybe there are a few Hill Williams about.  The statuettes were all intact, but I was perplexed that anyone would use sacred art for target practice.  Several deer did happen by while I walked the path, so maybe it was just kids with really bad aim.

Because the glass and cabinets were sort of dingy, I snapped a few desultory pictures of the scenes and promenaded onward not expecting to burn the full half hour on the walk. Then I stumbled upon stations twelve and fourteen which were full sized statuary not mini-scenes.  Unexpectedly resplendent, both of the stations brought tears to my eyes. I realized at that point that I had stumbled into an experience that I was intended to have.  I didn't stay as long as I would have had I been alone; it makes me nervous to leave Stephen by himself.   I found that my son was fine when I got back to the grotto so I sat down next to Bernadette of white plaster and spend some time asking for some help with the unlikely house purchase that I am about to make. 

It was a good afternoon.  Stephen asked me about his water jug that contained a good amount of brownish water; I told him that it was very authentic with regard to how Bernadette's spring probably originally flowed.  Stephen bought me a book about angels in the gift shop so we contributed to the upkeep of a Shrine that I have come to value.  I recommend acts of piety and Traditional Catholic practice of the faith beyond mere Mass attendance to all of the generation of Chad.  I run into a lot of people that attend Mass once, twice or nonce a year.  I have heard a description of other Catholics that clock-in to their faith with holy water upon entering the sanctuary on Sunday and then clock-out of their faith again as they leave 60 minutes later.  There is so much more of God's love available to us.

I have found that living my life has required every inch of the spiritual roots that I have cultivated.  In retrospect every hour I ever spent in Eucharistic Adoration seems more necessary than just helpful.  A friend of mine spend hours and hours prostrate in Adoration; he tells me that he is still standing because of the practice.  I have another friend that I grew up with that is now a math teacher.  His mother, who I remember as a very devout Catholic, has now suffered a debilitating stroke.  My friend, unfortunately, probably only attended Mass as a kid under threat of corporal consequence.  The other day he posted on Facebook that he feels it is unjust that his mother should be rewarded for her faith with calamity.  I wanted to respond to him that he ought to formulate an inequality with infinite happiness times infinite eternal time on one side and a finite amount of temporal suffering on the other.  I didn't message that to him.  He wouldn't have understood.   Having never made any effort to gain roots in the faith, my friend is rudderless and may drift into the shoals of functionalism.  In the times we live, we all need strong Catholic roots, the sooner and deeper the better.

[spudandemdotravels-blog]

New Zealand - Franz Joseph and Fox Glaciers, Gentle Annie campsite

Hello everyone!

How are we in the last two weeks of our trip?! We have been determined to make the most of it, and to ensure that we got ourselves a decent tent pitch at the next site we were up bright and early to start our drive west. Spud triple checked the roof this time as we didn’t want to lose any more gear, and the drive over to Glacier Country was sound. We had yet another spectacular drive through mountains, around lakes and along the coast. The variation of the landscapes in this country just never get old.

We reached camp in good time, set up the kit and took some time to walk around Franz Josef township. The place is clearly set up for tourists, and as a result we found that it didn’t have much character. Still, the backdrop consisting of mountains and the glacier is magical, and we managed to enjoy a beer in the sun before calling it a night.

The next morning the four of us agreed that it was time for a break from doing everything together. When you live in very close proximity of another couple (especially in a tent) it is natural for tensions to run high, so we had breakfast together and then parted ways for the day. We chose to walk the Roberts Point trail which is part of the original trekking route up to the glacier. The walk is an 11km out and back, which took us around 5 hours to complete. We felt like we were walking through an amalgamation of Jurassic Park and Lord of the Rings. It was a proper excursion; there were four swing bridges, what was essentially a Via Ferrara staircase on the face of a cliff, rock scrambling, and stream jumping to negotiate. To top it all off the viewpoint of the glacier was out of this world. We had climbed 600+m and found ourselves at enough altitude to be at the level of the main body of ice. Thankfully the weather was on our side and the sun was shining. We stopped for lunch and pictures then headed back the way we came. Although we were quicker on the way back, the descent was a lot trickier than the ascent and we both had a number of moments on the way down thanks to our weary legs. We reached camp by about 4pm after hitch hiking back to the township, and spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on admin before getting an early night.

The following day we kept the same arrangement as we were enjoying some couples time, and it was our turn to take the car. After dropping the guys off at the head of the Franz Josef viewpoint trail we made our way to Fox Glacier. After yesterdays expedition we decided that we would walk the tourist trail to a viewpoint which was a one hour out and back. Also, the weather wasn’t too great so we didn’t want to risk not being able to see the glacier, so we made our way up the quickest way possible. We got a good view of the glacier which wasn’t as stunning as Franz Josef, but you got a clear view of the snout (the outlet of the sub-glacier stream) which was a first for the both of us. By the time we got back to the car we were ready for lunch so we collected some picnic stuff and made our way to Lake Matheson. We only walked to the end of the lake as it looked as though the weather was drawing in, but we enjoyed the scenery before holing ourselves up in the nearby cafe for a couple of hours before driving back to Franz Josef. We had tickets for the local ‘wildlife centre’ at 4pm, so after hooking back up with Brendan and Erin we spent two hours learning about the local wildlife and geography including Kiwi’s and operation nest egg designed to protect them from predators, Tahe, Chamois, Kea birds, Red Deer, glaciers, goldmines and the West Coast in general. The highlight for us was actually getting to see Kiwi’s! Unfortunately photography wasn’t permitted so we didn’t get any pictures, but we spent a good half an hour watching these funny birds peck around and annoy each other in what was a very dimly lit room which was a replica of the native bush at night given that the birds are nocturnal. We were all surprised at how big they were; they were about 30cm tall and weighed more than a kilogram. We all thought that they were tiny creatures!

We stayed one final night in Franz Josef before packing down with the intention to head north towards Abel Tasman national park. We were in for yet another spectacular drive which took us just over four hours in total, not including a stop at the pancake rocks in Punakaiki for lunch.

We picked a campsite around an hour north of Westport called Gentle Annies, which was apparently rated in the top three campsites in New Zealand. It sounded too good to be true, but as soon as we arrived we knew that we had hit the jackpot. Right on the coast, the campsite has the best facilities and cafe/communal area we have seen so far. It seems to attract a perfect mix of people, and offers a fire pit, pizza oven, electricity, free WiFi and cosy cafe area that is open 24/7 and runs on a trust basis. We initially paid for two nights but after one night agreed we would stay for a third night before making our way further north. Our first night was spent on the beach, which has the most drift wood but least amount of rubbish that we have possibly ever seen. We couldn’t see a single piece of rope or plastic along the whole stretch, it was amazing. We built a windbreak out of bigger pieces of drift wood, make a fire pit and sparked up a bonfire that we cooked a simple dinner of corn on the cob and potato’s in. We stayed on the beach all evening before hitting the sack for what was going to be a very good nights sleep after the cold climes of the Glacier Country.

The following day we both felt like a relaxed day with minimal driving. Brendan and Erin decided to make their was to Cape Foulwind to check out a fur seal colony, but after seeing seals on the east coast highway, we opted for a walk along the beach and another walk around Charming Creek in the afternoon once the car had been returned. During our beach walk we came across plenty of unique shells, fish skeletons (weirdly), an inordinate amount of drift wood, and the biggest mussel shells we had ever seen! We walked out to a nearby headland, before walking back along a track through the nearby fields where we foraged blackberries and the leaves of nasturtium that we ate as a salad for lunch. The guys returned from their trip mid-afternoon and as the sun was still shining we made our way to charming creek which was historically a site for coal mines and timber mills. The track largely followed the disused railway line which is quite low lying, so this time round there weren’t any breathtaking views. What was interesting however, was the amount of steelwork that had been left behind when the mines and mills were closed down. Old steam engines, train carts and steam trains were either left in the bush or had sheds built over them for preservation. It made for a different and educational walk, with a bit of extra foraging thrown in for good measure!

We woke up to rain the next day, which made good reason for us to spend a morning in the Cow Shed cafe catching up on plans for the next stint, and for some of us, the dreaded job search. By midday the weather had cleared, so after lunch we drove into Westport for a look around, had a walk on what was apparently an award winning trail around the harbour front, and then made our way to the old Denniston coal mining township. The township no longer exists but the remnants of the mine, its famous incline where the wagons were lowered down to sea level (and therefore the train line) and the foundations of the building gave it an eerie feel. It must have been both a beautiful place to live in its time, given the view over Westport and surrounding coastline, but a solemn and depressing place too. Nearly all of the information boards gave grim stories of deaths, hardship and isolation whilst the mine was running. Interestingly Denniston housed around 1400 people in its time; the largest in the area. By the time we had taken in the facts and the beautiful views it was time to head back for dinner. The plan for the next day was to head further north to the Tasman district for a couple of days walking in the famous national park.

(The view over Westport from Denniston mining town)

Adios!

Dan & Em x

[chameleonspell]

186: boundaries

The mountains of northern Vvardenfell were an unforgiving place, riddled with caves and gouged with deep, volcanic trenches. The latter, known locally as foyadas, were perilous to navigate, their steep sides granting travellers no escape from swooping cliff racers or marauding kagouti packs. No escape from the impressive acoustics, either. "Sixty-third came a Bosmer whore, toothy and stout, What goes in a Wood Elf's mouth doesn't come out! Sing ohhh, the loves of Boethiah! The ninety-nine loves of Boethiah!" It was only their second hour of hiking since breaking camp, but Iriel was already pondering self-targeted Silence spells, or, failing that, the sound-muffling properties of shalk resin.

"A Hist, twenty-eighth, spread its roots for a view, At least, that's what we think it was trying to do! Sing ohhh, the loves of Boethiah! The ninety-nine loves of Boethiah!" More than getting beetle-gunk permanently lodged in his auditory canal, Iriel was afraid of being passive-aggressive and spoiling the mood. Julan was in the kind of high spirits he usually only reached with the aid of at least four bottles. That said, Ire's tolerance had limits. "The fourteenth was a Sload with reversible tube, The thing about Sload is, you never need--" "You sang fourteenth already!" Ire couldn't keep the anguished betrayal from his voice. Julan glanced over his shoulder. "Did I?" he remarked blithely. "Yes! I've been keeping track! But it wasn't a Sload, it was something lurid about a Khajiit who was flexible enough to reach any part of his anatomy with his tongue." Iriel sucked in his cheeks, suddenly pensive. "I'm beginning to understand why Dro'Zaymar didn't require my company, that night in St Delyn." "Huh?" "Never mind. Are there really ninety-nine verses?" "'No, of course not!" "Oh, thank Mara." "There's far more than that, because if you run out, you make them up as you go along!" As Iriel closed his eyes and moaned, Julan gave him a condescending look. "Ire, you say filthier things than this all the time." "I know, but with these awful tavern songs, I'm always waiting for the next 'hilarious' thing that'll hit me somewhere it hurts. Humour like this depends on using other people for its punchlines." "Look, the one about the Nord girl with the plaited moustache I got from Sottilde, so--" "I don't care!" "I skipped all the verses about Altmer!" "I've already composed them in my head via guesswork, and upset myself, so you needn't have bothered!" "Lighten up, Ire. I sang the bit with the Dunmer who married a guar, didn't I? Nobody's safe with this sort of song." "Let me try one, then." Iriel chewed his lip for a while, then sang: "An Ashlander maid, sacred clit-rings on show, They have twelve words for 'fuck me' and no word for 'no'." To his satisfaction, Julan's face immediately darkened. "That," he said, "was over the line." "EXACTLY!!! Because you know where that line is! Stop pretending you do for everyone else!" Julan threw up a hand. "OK! Fine! Let's sing your one about the dead baby in the pond again, that'll keep our spirits up!" Iriel watched him march on ahead, skipping over rocks in his path, already humming the opening strains of The Kwama Miner's Daughter. Perhaps there was nothing extreme about Julan's cheerfulness, Iriel considered. Perhaps anyone would appear cheerful in comparison to himself, and the creeping dread that tugged, tar-like, at his heels with every step. His spirits require no support, while mine are beyond salvaging. What are we doing? What am I doing? What am I letting him do? "You're certain we're in the correct foyada?" Iriel ventured, when they stopped at midday to eat. He knew Julan's answer would be 'yes', regardless of truth, but that was why he'd asked - a desire for reassurance at any price. Every grey, lava-bitten channel snaking down from Red Mountain looked identical to him. "Of course!" Julan, grinning broadly, began indicating landmarks with a stick of scrib jerky. "I've spent my life in these mountains! Those pointed rock spires down there are Airan's Teeth, so this is Yamus bel-Shannarai, the Valley of the Wind. It's obviously the 'teeth of the wind' that stupid riddle was talking about." Ire allowed himself to be reassured. It was true, they were only a couple of hours south-west of the Grazelands, and from there, it was only a few more miles along the coast to the summer location of Julan's mother's camp. To Iriel's relief, Julan had expressed no desire to visit. "I've never heard of any secret shrines to Azura around here," he was saying. "I'd have thought Mother would know about it. But I guess that's why it's secret." He rolled his eyes. "Sheogorath knows why that wise woman had to make it a whole stupid riddle. We passed the test, didn't we? These old women love messing with your head for the attention, but you shouldn't encourage them." "I was just relieved she didn't want to stick needles in me," said Ire. "You can do all the talking, next time. You have a promise of guest rites, after all, it was your choice not to come with me to--" "I know, get off my back!" Julan was still grinning. "I want to have this proof from the cavern, first. Then I'll go to the Urshilaku and show them, explain that I'm the Nerevarine, and you were only helping me." He set his jaw at the distant horizon. "I'll show Mother, too." You could still say something. You could repeat what Zainsubani told you about his father, try to-- He knows! He's heard it and rejected it, so all you'd be doing is telling him you believed the word of a stranger over his! Faith, Ire. You said you were going to have faith in him. Yes, but... ugh! Walk, just walk. The foyada seemed eternal. It ran broadly south, but as the incline increased, it began a slow, fern-frond curl around a huge rock spur. They scrambled uphill through flowering heather, swarming with tiny copper moths that rose like dustclouds as they passed. As the day wore on, Iriel's exhaustion grew, but Julan's optimism remained undentable. "I've been thinking about this guest-rites thing," he said, at one point. "One of the most well-known prophecies is called The Stranger. That's where the famous line about Incarnates comes from: 'many fall, but one remains'. But it also has lines about the tribes welcoming a stranger to their hearth. And guess what? The Velothi word for stranger, hlarmut, can also be translated as guest, and that's the word used in guest rites!" His eyebrows leapt as he beamed into Iriel's impassive face. "So me receiving guest rites might be part of the prophecy! For the first time in forever, I'm making real progress!" Iriel made a noncommittal noise and faked the need to focus on the placement of his feet. I said I wouldn't stand in his way. I said I couldn't protect him by showing him I doubted him. I said I had to trust him, even when he's wrong. Noble sentiments, so idealistic. Bodu saw through that guarshit straight away. What use is any of it, if he's dead? In the afternoon, they climbed above the ashline. Crossed into the high places, where the storms whipped constant torrents of ash from the crater of the volcano. They had goggles from the Urshilaku with shalk-wing lenses and tight leather straps. Ire wrapped his blue silk scarf around his nose and mouth, followed by another less permeable one of soft, grey racerskin. Even Julan was forced to cover his face, though Ire could still hear him humming, whenever the wind dropped. They clambered over piles of scree, and verdant explosions of bittergreen. Sometimes, a gust of wind would catch Iriel unawares, and he'd have to cling to the nearest bristling tendril until Julan rescued him, grateful his netch gauntlets kept the spines out of his skin. Everything is so fragile, so precarious. Any moment, something could tear him from me. Every step we take, a crack could open up between us. Could swallow either of us... or both. We killed an ash vampire, but we almost died a dozen times and it's only going to get worse. Where's the line, Ire? He knows. He stood across it, that night you tried to attack the Council Club. You lecture him about boundaries, but where are yours, now? You always do this. You fuck things up one way, then you overcorrect too far in the other direction. You're not "having faith" in him, you're enabling him. And if you keep going, you're going to watch him die. But what else can I do? In the crags, they passed through a cliff racer nesting ground, empty now the chicks had all fledged. Iriel felt small bones crunch beneath his boots, and forced his gaze upwards, stomach turning. Julan was already bouncing over the top of the next ridge. I don't know how to help you. I've found plenty of ways not to do it. I don't want to mock you, deceive you, lecture you, patronise you, manipulate you, order you, guilt-trip you. I won't have you feel my love as a chain around your wrist, dragging you from your hopes and dreams into cultureless domesticity, like Shani tried to do. Is this all that's left, letting you pull me into the mouth of hell with you? I don't want to watch you die, but if the choice is this, or leaving you to die alone... I owe it to you. I owe it to you to be wrong about staying, instead of wrong about going. "Huh." Julan had stopped, and was scratching his head. The foyada had ended in a narrow clearing, rock faces on all sides. There was no sign of a cavern, or an opening of any sort. "I don't get it." He pushed up his goggles, the cliffs largely shielding them from the ash. "It must be here, but we've checked the entire length of the valley." "Can we rest?" Iriel's bag had slipped from his shoulders, and he looked ready to drop into the ash next to it. Julan nodded, and they settled themselves against the rock face at the foyada's dead end. Ire loosened his scarves, and shook out the ash, until it made him cough so much he stopped. Julan passed Ire the waterskin, and waited while he drank, watching with such intensity, it was all Ire could do not to choke. He settled for spilling it down his chin, and shooting Julan an exasperated glance. Julan returned him a smile of pure affection. "I know this has been hard on you," he told Iriel. "And I don't just mean the climbing, I mean everything. I know I've been hard on you, too, and difficult to live with. I want to apologise, and to say... you don't know how much it means to me, that you're here." Please let a crack in the rock open up, because I want to crawl into it. "I could do this." Ire heard Julan's voice, and dimly felt him cradling his hand, through his gauntlet and haze of impotent despair. "I could actually succeed at my mission! I never felt this way before, never in my whole life. It's amazing, and it's all because of you." Oh. Great. "I never imagined that anyone would do this for me, would share my burden like this. You're so strong, Iya, far more than me, and far more than you realise. I love you so much." Ire knew he couldn't respond without crying, and then having to explain why. And then falling apart completely, begging, drenching Julan in guilt, exchanging all his confidence and devotion for doubt and resentment again, and to achieve what? A temporary victory, at best. He gritted his teeth and looked away, into the rising blush of the sunset, at the lone star appearing over it. Vasa bel-Azura. Viatrix said love and faith were the same thing. That faith let her follow, when reason failed. But... she was talking about a god. What do gods ever have to lose? The mountain groaned, and, as if answer to his prayer, he felt the rock behind him shift. Iriel might have wondered how the liminal boundary operated, without a monk and a pulley, but at that moment, there was nothing in his mind but a sense of hollow inevitability. They walked down the passage hand in hand, a distant, submarine glow luring them into the depths. Julan was vibrating with anticipation, Iriel numbly docile. The cavern that opened around them was a temple. Luminous, numinous, stalactites and stalagmites ringing it like pillars. In the centre, surrounded by green and violet mushrooms that shone like altar candles, was a kneeling female figure, carved from the rock. Julan's eyes were fixed on the statue, his mouth slack. "Azurammu," Ire heard him breathe. Azura's stone eyes were cast down into her lap, where her hands were resting, upturned and open. Towed nearer, Ire saw lichen patterning her skin and moss softening the folds of her robe. Julan clutched convulsively at his arm. "Look!" Iriel followed his gaze. She had worshippers. Around the edges of the cavern, motionless figures were huddled at stiff angles, bent at the knees and neck. "They're bodies!" Julan let go of Iriel, and moved towards the nearest form. "This one's been given full death-honours... more than for a khan, even. Are they heroes, legendary champions? I've never seen soul-bindings this complex." He began going from corpse to corpse, squinting and gasping. Iriel hadn't moved, was still hovering at the centre of the cavern, paralysed by discomfort and dread. The statue loomed over him, all benign expression and benevolent hands. He hated it with every fibre of his being. There was something glinting between the statue's cupped hands. A silver band. He leaned closer. A silver band... with a moon and star on it. He almost shouted to Julan, but stopped himself. Something was bothering him about the ring, and a second later, he realised what. It wasn't enchanted. It was impressive to look at, the six-pointed star nestled into the elegant curve of the crescent moon, but it wasn't magical. Not imbued with any sort of spell, let alone a soul-scanning murdercurse. I could be wrong. Daedra can be subtle, after all, and my judgement isn't what it was. But... I can still sense the arcane, and there's simply nothing here. I can feel the amulets on the corpses across the cavern, but not this ring. Nibani Maesa said that to gain the proof of Nerevar, I had to find the moon and star. But if she knew the cavern was here... why is the ring still here? Why hadn't they already retrieved it, kept it safe? Unless... it's just another sinyesh, a test-thing to retrieve. Iriel stared again at the circle of metal in the statue's hands. How can it be a proof, if it's not magical? She must have known it wasn't magical. That anyone could wear it, and-- He saw a trap. He saw a glittering snare. A manacle, to drain freedom, and replace it with blind, dutiful obedience. "Mephala!" Julan's voice drifted from somewhere behind the statue. "There's even more bodies! And they must be really powerful spirits, the amount of bone charms holding them to this place is... incredible. Iya, I think this place is a tomb for failed Incarnates!" He saw a poisoned chalice. If I'm wrong, and it is cursed somehow, it will kill him instantly. If I'm right, and it isn't, it will cement his confidence, and lock him on his course. Make him the willing dupe of this reborn soul shell game, or whatever it is these wise women are playing at. Either way, it kills him. Quick or slow, it kills him. The stalagmites and stalactites were no longer the pillars of a temple. They were ranks of pointed teeth, ready to snap closed. "What have you found?" Julan was approaching from the back of the cave, and Iriel's pulse hammered against his throat. Too late now to hide it, lose it, pretend it had never existed. He suddenly heard Viatrix, again. 'Some things They did so we might not have to. So we might receive the lesson, without paying the cost.' Iriel picked up the ring. At the flash of silver, Julan's eyes went wide. When he saw what Ire was doing with it, they went wider still. "No," he said hoarsely, beginning to run, catching his shoulder on a stalactite, forcing past it. "STOP!!" This time, I chose it. I betrayed him with both eyes open. The Moon-and-Star slid past Ire's knuckle, and settled around the base of his left middle finger. And nothing happened. There. I was right. I know it'll hurt, to find it was all meaningless. That he'll be disappointed it's not the proof he wanted, that it's been nothing but a huge set-up. At best, he'll be furious with me for taking the risk. At worst, he'll despise me forever, for sabotaging his destiny, and he'll have the right. But at least he might live to do it. Ire began releasing the breath he'd been holding. Then he saw Julan's face, and it froze in his chest. Julan came towards him. Silently, slowly as if underwater, his eyes fixed on the ring on Iriel's hand. When he reached it, he stopped. Took Ire's hand in his, gently, reverently. He ran his fingers along Iriel's knuckle, then across the ring. Then down the length of Ire's finger, and off. Iriel couldn't speak, but when Julan looked up, their eyes met. There was no trace of anger in Julan's face. Only something of the condemned man, in the split second after the trapdoor opens, and before the noose pulls tight. He nodded slowly. He squeezed Iriel's fingers. Then he ran from the cave. "WAIT!!" Ire's self-possession returned, as Julan reached the cavern entrance. Stumbling down the tunnel after him, Ire saw the stone door begin to grind downwards. He launched himself towards the shrinking wedge of rose-gold light. "COME BACK YOU IDIOT IT'S NOT ENCH--!" The rock wall descended the last few feet just as Iriel hit it face-first. next: 187: mother previous: 185: courage beginning: 1: numb

[jarvanites]

Colca Canyon, Peru

5/13/17 - 5/15/17

After spending a couple days in Arequipa I made it to Colca Canyon where I've started what seems like it will be a fairly easy 3 day trek down 4000ft and back up again (I say that because so far I've only done the down part). I'm writing this as I go because there's no wifi and almost no lights once the sun goes down. Considering there aren't many people where I'm staying either, the only other thing to do is read, and let's be real I can't read for that long, even though I have actually started a book I rather enjoy. Anyway, here it is.

Day 1: I was told it's best to take a 6 or 7am bus to the canyon. That way I'd start hiking down by noon or 1 and have all afternoon to reach the first town, San Juan de Chucho. My hostel offered bus tickets that left only at 11am, 2pm, and 3am..yes 3am, for the crazy people that want to arrive first thing in the morning just to see some condors. None of those times worked for me, so I went to the bus station and got a 9:30am bus, which would still get me there in plenty of time to complete the 2 hour hike down to San Juan before the sunset at 6. However, between my bus being late and running into some road construction along the way, I didn't arrive at the start of the trail until after 5pm. So I had 2 options, 1. stay the night in the small town at the top of the canyon, or 2. start my trek down to San Juan knowing it'd be pitch black in less than an hour. I had a head lamp and the flashlight on my phone, so I went with the latter, which made for an interesting hike. As I began to hike down, the sun was quickly setting. I got to see the colors change across the sky and along the mountains and was also almost completely alone on the trails. I even saw a condor without having to be awake at 3am. Suckers. Up until 6pm it was quite a nice hike, but then as it started getting darker I realized I'm pretty afraid of the dark. Or maybe it was the fact that I was completely alone. Probably both. I could fall to the bottom of the canyon and no one would even know. Anyway, I made it to the bottom safely in just under 2 hours and only almost peed myself twice: first when I nearly ran into 2 donkeys that were tied up in the middle of the trail, and again when I came close to tripping over a pig. I must say I did enjoy being able to look up at the incredible amount of stars along the way though. Aside from the never-ending bus ride, I'd say it was a pretty successful first day. Tomorrow I'll head to the next town, Oasis Sangalle. It's only about 3 miles away on a small incline, so it shouldn't take more than an hour or two to get there. I'll take my time in the morning, and then relax in Sangalle. Apparently some of the hostels have pools, and there are supposed to be some hot springs in the area. Definitely a different kind of multi-day trek than the one I did in Torres del Paine. 

Day 2: Today I actually slept in until 7:45! Being that the time is two hours earlier in Peru and that the sun comes up at 6am, I've been waking up around 6:30 the past few days, so this was exciting. I ordered breakfast from the "hostel", or whatever you would call this place. It's nothing fancy but has everything you need, toilet and showers outside, no electricity, but a bed with sheets...and their breakfast was delicious so that's what matters. I had some fresh coca leaves for a warm cup of tea and pancakes with banana and chocolate sauce. Yum! Then I started my hike and quickly burned off all the calories I ate at breakfast. The first 45 minutes or so was switchbacks back up the canyon. However, I can't say the hike was too difficult overall, because after that it was flat and then went all the way back down to the next town. I'm definitely going to die when I have to climb back up the entire 4000ft tomorrow though. It was a beautiful hike through tiny towns hidden in the canyon, and I met quite a few people along the way, most of who are French and also staying in the same place as me tonight. Also along the way I made a very cute donkey friend. He was the only donkey to let me pet him without turning away and he actually even started following me along the trail a ways until we ran into a couple other donkeys. Understandably he chose them over me. The town I'm staying in tonight is less of a town and more like a string of hostels where tourists can stay and enjoy the pools. I was wrong about the hot springs, those are in a different town, but it was so warm and sunny today that a hot spring was the last thing on my mind. I jumped right into the pool first thing. It's a very cute place, similar to the last but I little nicer. I has a pool and electricity, and accommodation is costing me less than $5! Now I'm off for happy hour. Can't complain.

Day 3: Well I made it out of the canyon alive, barely. After talking to a few other people, I decided I wake up early, not only to catch one of the morning buses back to Arequipa, but also to make it to the top before I was baking in the sun. I headed out bright and early just after 6am and half-asleep began my 2.5 hour uphill climb. The switchbacks began as soon as I left the oasis, so it only took about 10 minutes for my heart to start racing. I had to force myself to slow down from my normal pace, and once I fell into a rhythm I did alright most of the way. It was probably the last third of the way that I really started to feel the altitude and my legs were becoming noodles. It was one of the most accomplishing feelings when I finally reached the top! I relaxed for a minute at the top and appreciated the view and fact that I couldn't even see where I started, then I continued into town to catch the 9am bus. It was again never-ending. This time, in addition to the road construction, we were backed up for about 30-45min due to a  protest in one of the towns. I have no idea what it was about but they had thrown huge rocks in the middle of the highway for at least a kilometer. It was actually kind of interesting to see all of the men hop off the buses and start moving rocks out of the road, but that only amused me for all of 5-10 minutes before I started getting antsy. I made it back to Arequipa, and will probably just hang out here for another couple days before headed to Lima. After having a wonderful experience with bed bugs before my hike, I decided to move to a different hostel and actually found a really cool place near the plaza with a rooftop terrace with a view of the volcano. Perfect place to chill out for a bit. The bed bugs were good for something at least.