hostel of the mountain

anonymous asked:

(I hope I'm not too late for this and it makes sense) I'd like to see you write a fic where Oscar is homesick and scared over everything happening. With Oz and Qrow talking to him and listening.

Not at all! I think I can do something for you, anon~

Sunsets in the city of Mistral were breathtaking. From its perch high upon the cliffside, one could see far out upon the namesake country, the wilds and forests that made up the main province. Beyond there lay the rise and fall of mountains, snow-capped at their tallest peaks, and unseen beyond that-

Oscar leaned against the railing of the hostel room’s balcony. Beyond the mountains lay the farm. The farm and his auntie and the loft above the barn he’d made all his own, with the rug he’d bartered for and the homemade quilt his aunt had made him for Yule one year and his books and-

“Do you ever get homesick, Oz?”

A flash of something ran through Oscar’s mind- a tall, tall tower, the steady ticking of a clock, the crackle of flames- gone, gone, gone. All the time, Ozpin said softly.

Oscar ran his thumb over the railing, letting his thumbnail catch on the dents in the wood. “It’s gone now, though, isn’t it? Your home?”

An ache tugged at his chest. Beacon is-

“Beacon’s gone. For now.” Heavy footsteps came up behind him; Qrow paused before folding himself down onto the balcony, letting a long leg dangle off the edge. “The Grimm are too heavy for anyone to push aside, and, well- Atlas sure as hell ain’t gonna clean up the mess they helped cause.”

Resignation from Ozpin; Oscar glanced at Qrow before biting on his lower lip. “Is that what’s going to happen here?” he asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to prevent.” Qrow took a sip from his flask.

A few moments passed before, in a much smaller voice: “… is that what’s gonna happen to the farm?”

Qrow sat up straight beside him, eyes narrowed. In his mind, he could feel warmth, Ozpin’s hard-fought steadfastness like a blanket around him. “I- I mean. You said this- this Salem. She knew what Ozpin was, right? She- they- she burned down an entire huntsmans academy just to kill him, what’s going to stop her from burning my auntie to get to me? Or Mistral?”

“Oscar,” Qrow began.

“I don’t-” He choked and rubbed his burning eyes. “I don’t want people to die ‘cause of me.”

Then we have to protect them, came Ozpin’s reply, heavy with the weight of years. Neither you nor I had a choice in this matter, and we can grieve what what has happened or what might have been, but we cannot let that grief destroy us.

Oscar, his head tilted as he listened, clenched his fists. “But-!”

“But nothing,” Qrow said, his brow furrowed in concern. “I dunno what Oz is telling you, but I’m willing to bet it’s wise and not very comforting. And he’s probably right.”

“I’m scared,” he said- to whom he didn’t know. Before he could get the words out of his mouth, there were warm arms about his shoulders (Ozpin) and a hand on his back (Qrow) and Oscar wanted to cry all over again because he was scared and homesick and being a child… and it was okay to be that way.

Because Oscar was scared and homesick… and so were they.


Blasts From the Past:

I guess because I hadn’t started this blog yet when I took this photo, and so it completely skipped my mind to upload it. Another of the photos from my April trip to Anhui, Shanghai and Nanjing, sat practically untouched in a folder on my desktop marked Le Tour Du April (I make no claims at all that this is written in any discernible language), this is a personal favourite of mine, maybe just because it’s a combination of so many things I find beautiful: rain on stone flagged streets, paper lanterns hung outside traditional style buildings, the varied colours and shades of the umbrellas as people pass by from tiny stall to tiny stall, all beneath the cover of a black, night sky. It’s a street scene from Tunxi, better known as Huangshan (city), the base for trips to China’s famous Yellow Mountain, taken from the balcony of the hostel I was staying at, overlooking the reconstructed Old Street.

It's a jolly holiday

A/N: It has been pointed out to me that I literally only write really heavy stuff. I went on holiday recently, so I decided to write Dan and Phil on the exact same holiday, in order to get me to write something which wasn’t a massive social justice rant! I wrote about each city as I was on the train leaving it, with a mixture of stuff that actually happened and fiction, normally diverging where I spoke a lot of French/Italian. There’s also a brief moment of gratuitous self-insert (sorrynotsorry) plus a few of my holiday snaps to give you a literal picture of the places described. I wrote the actual plotline in when I got home. Hope you like!
Wordcount: ~10k
Rating: G. No, seriously.
 These fictional characters are based on real people. I do not claim to know them, nor do I cast aspersions on them.


The trip was Louise’s idea, though interrailing was Phil’s. Apparently some of his friends from uni had gone interrailing after their final exams.

“So you just hop on and off any train in Europe,” he says.

“Really?” asks Dan, doubtful. “You don’t have to, like, reserve the tickets or something?”

“Um… maybe?”

But after they’ve done a bit more research, the idea still sounds appealing. Twenty two days travelling round Europe, a different city every day, one last mad jaunt before…

Keep reading


Exactly one week from today our little tribe is headed off from by beloved Northwest to the beautiful mountains of Western North Carolina to be caretakers of the Hostel on the Mountain (pictured above) for six months. The family circus includes, but is not limited to, LadyDarling, Brooklyn Bumblespree, Atlas, Fable and myself. Our route is Portland, Mount Shasta, Cape Perpetua, the Redwoods, a mustang ranch outside of Albuquerque and East on I-40 all the way to the Hostel in the Forest, Savannah, Atlanta and finally Hot Springs, NC. If you are along or anywhere between these routes and care to hop aboard and show us some superb local secret spots or participate in a day of frolicking adventures, do send a message. Much love and appreciation for you all


The Appalachian Trail - Virginia Pt. 2

Past hikers informed us that at this point in the trail we would be entering “the sucky third” of the trail. I’d have to disagree and say that “The Suck” doesn’t come until after Pine Grove Furnace State Park in PA. It’s hard to call the beauty the Blue Ridge Parkway and the easy-mode, pampered hiking of Shenandoah National Park sucky. 


Aho! Finally, an update after three weeks of being on the Mountain.

It is an off the grid cabin, located on 500 acres, outside of Hot Springs, NC. The hike up is a killer 2.5-3 miles (I’ve already done it 10 times, both ways….). We have to hike ¼ mile to fill up our water jugs from a natural spring and I’ve spent countless hours gathering firewood for the wood stove, our heat/cooking source. All this to say, holy shit, how have I not been doing this my whole life???

We have done a ton of reorganization to prepare for the hostel’s coming year and are beginning the planning/construction phases for a greenhouse, the garden, chicken coop, farmyard fence, an outdoor shower/kitchen/humanure facility and trails - all kinds - that will go around the property. Once those projects are underway, it’s on to preparing to build a log cabin, similar to that of Dick Proenneke’s in PBS’s Alone in the Wilderness, for us to live in.

We just held on through a winter storm and, while the weather has been getting nicer, it’s still rather freezing at nights (we’re at 4900 feet). However, we are a hostel! So, if you or any others you might know are looking for the most BEAUTIFUL place on earth to stay for a few nights, it’s only $20 a night. There is also a private cabin (third picture) that may be rented, if you’d prefer your own space.

I’ll probably start queuing my photos, updates, etc, so that le tumblrMachine doesn’t die out, but my updates will be fewer and farther between, since I have to drive 45 to Asheville to use the internet. Much love to you all and happy travels!