#TWO FEET OF SNOW???? ITS APRIL????

[kindasleepycryptid]

Hey uh, mother nature? Come here so we can have a chat real quick

[arcane-apathy]

Chapter 11

Prologue | Previous | Next

AN: Firstly I'd like to apologize for teasing y'all in April. However family and my mental health always come first. Turns out that planning a funeral, attending said funeral, and grieving one of the most influential people in your life sucks. Again thank you all for your patience and support. And I hope you'll enjoy it! 🌻

Warning(s): Self Mutilation, Blood Ritual

  The morning came too quickly. For once you weren’t the first awake, as Kurakh shook your shoulder. “Come on Odmili, it's morning.” You groan in protest but still sit up, knowing well enough you asked for it. The fire was barely lit, meaning Kurakh mustn't have been awake long. As if he read your mind, “I still have the sand in my eyes.” 

  “Would you like me to tend to the fire?” 

  “If you feel so inclined,” he yawns while slowly standing up. You follow behind him, quickly slipping on your boots to protect your feet from the cold stone floor. Fabric rustles behind you as you feed a new log to the fire. The flames were now high and illuminating the small room well. You quickly glance over your shoulder to make sure Kurakh was decent enough for you to tolerate. With a sigh of relief, you turn around. "I don't know how you can function in this cold." 

  "Years of training," you chuckle while pulling your stay over your shoulders. You didn't even bother to look while you re-laced the front, muscle memory taking over. "Besides, this isn't the worst of it. Wait until the snow is above your knees." 

  "Only when you say things like that, I regret coming north," he sighs and slips on a furred vest over his tunic. 

  “I doubt that is true,” eyes rolling at his antics. 

  “I speak this truth. I have yet to lose a warrior, Moltschab’s horde is too scared to travel this far north, I have gained allies… And I met you.” 

You pause in the middle of tying the final knot, fighting to ignore the fluttering of your heart, "that is the most saccharine thing I've ever heard you say." Surprisingly you were met with silence, making you pivot on your heel. Kurakh's confusion was written all over his face. Again the fact that the two of you come from completely different worlds dawned on you. "Saccharine means something is very sweet," you explain while stepping into your habit.

  "Oh, I couldn't tell if it was good or bad," he chuckles a little and stands. Retrieving his cloak from a hook on the wall. "If Mazna asks, please tell him I'm out hunting." 

  "Of course, he should still be asleep, right?" 

  "Yes, and hopefully for a few more hours. For Roldza's sake." 

  "Indeed, bless that woman," you smile and begin to re-lace the habit. "Should I assume it shouldn't take long, considering our numbers have grown?" Your smile quickly disappears as a knot forms in the laces. 

"Correct," he smirks and approaches you. He gently moves your hair aside, breath fanning across your neck. "You said our numbers."

  "Yes, and," you counter while a blush starts to make its way up your neck.

"You're no longer considering yourself an outsider," he carefully takes the laces and undoes the knot. His fingers gently graze along your back as he finishes lacing the habit for you. "That is good." 

  "Oh... And you don't have to do this for me. I can lace this thing in my sleep."

  "I know," his voice didn't give room to argue.

  "Then why are you insisting on doing it?"

  "Why must you be suspicious of everything I do?"

  "Well, we didn't start on the right foot."

  "Fair point," he lightly tugs on the laces to signal he's finished. "Would you like me to tuck the laces?" You only nod, trying not to tense up as he tucks the laces into the habit. Kurakh's hand finds its way to your hair and moves it back to how it normally lays. "There. Save for that blasted headcover you look like a proper Maid of Eia." 

  It felt like you could finally breathe as you stepped away from him, "I'm also missing the pin... But that's the last of my worries right now." 

  "I'll be fine." 

You smack him in the chest playfully, "and what made you so sure I was talking about you? I'm more concerned about Schelura cutting my hair!" 

"Right," he smirks, "don't worry, you'll be in good hands. Schelura's family has been hairdressing for generations." 

  "I thought she was a beadmaster?" 

  "Most beadmasters are also hairdressers. The work goes hand-in-hand." He hovers in the middle of the room, contemplation written all over his face. "I suppose I should go to the main hall." 

  "I believe so, Otoschlibt. I'll be right behind you, I just need to fix my stockings." He nods and slowly walks to the door. Taking a deep breath before he opens it, bracing for the cold air of the hallway. "The faster you do it the sooner it'll be over with," you tease. With a quiet laugh, he opens the door and enters the hallway. You watch as he goes, kindly closing the door behind him so you can have more time to savor the warmth. 

  It didn't take long for you to deem yourself fully dressed. With your cloak fastened you step into the hall. The cool air hitting your face, properly waking you up. The halls were lowly lit with glimmerstone, and eerily silent. As you stepped into the main hall it almost felt like a different world. Warriors bustle about as they prepare. The sound of blades on whetstones surrounded you as you made your way to the center of the room. Kurakh and the commanders surround a table covered by a makeshift map.   

  Eteos seemed to be the mastermind of the attack, effortlessly explaining as he pointed to the map. No one seemed to pay attention as you sidled up to Kurakh. “We will attack from all sides. Dogar and I will lead the larger group attacking from the south. Kalos will lead the western group and Aren will lead the eastern. Kurah and Galta will lead the northern group to capture the lieutenant and the maid.” 

  I lean in closer to Kurakh, trying to keep quiet, “the maid I understand, but the Lieutenant? Have you gone mad?” 

  “We need leverage, and Eteos says the winter will work in our favor by slowing rescue efforts.” 

  “It could also lead to our slaughter.” 

  “The council has already voted,” the finality of his tone kept your mouth shut. You could see a hint of doubt in his eye as he refocused. His fingers tapped on the table absentmindedly. Usually, Kurakh was able to keep still, but within the last week, you’ve caught him fidgeting more than usual. Hopefully, it was only his secret project he was worried about. 

  “Alright everyone, ready your weapons. We must leave before dawn,” Eteos calls to the crowd. Kurakh gently moves you away from the table as he also leaves. 

  “I'm unsure what we should do for the new Maid, should she stay with us?” 

  “I don't see why not, but it depends on who she is. It's usually the newly ordained Maids that get drafted.” 

  “Except you?” 

  “There might be some marks on my record.” 

  Kurakh laughs, “So I'm not the only one who's dealt with your attitude?” 

  “The Elders didn't appreciate the fire in my eyes like you have,” you scoff as you follow him outside. The wargs were already lined up waiting for their riders. Sukkori wags her tail at the sight of you and Kurakh. “With all seriousness, please try to be gentle with this Maid. She is likely not even twenty years old.” 

  “I'll make sure of it,” Kurakh mounts Sukkori swiftly. “I’ll task Galta with her care. She’s the gentlest option.” 

  “Gentle is not a word I would use to describe Galta, but it is the better option.” 

  Galta scoffs from a few steps away, “I heard that!” Even with the lack of sunlight, you could make out the warpaint on both of their faces. The dark red paint dripped from their foreheads and onto their cheeks. While the design was simple it got the point across.

  “You’re lucky we don’t have any more to say Galta,” Kurakh laughs before returning his attention to you. “We’ll be careful.” The rest of the warriors make their way towards the gate around the two of you. “I must go.” 

  You grab his hand, causing Kurakh's breath to catch in his throat, “come back in one piece.” 

  He brings the back of your hand to his lips, “I promise.” He gently squeezes your hand before joining the group as they speed past the gate. Save for the guard closing the gate you stood alone in the yard. And you stood there until you could no longer hear the centaur’s hooves hitting the frosty ground. Once you made yourself go back inside you began to mentally scold yourself over your lovesick antics.   With your mind so distracted you didn’t notice someone walk into the main hall behind you as you set up your triage. 

  “Didn’t want to go back to sleep I see,” a soft voice startles you from your work. When you looked up there was an Elven woman merely a foot away. Of course, you didn’t hear her coming. 

  “There was no point, I would’ve just laid awake with worry.” 

  “I’m the same way when my brother goes out on those missions. I’m Artenna,” she extends her hand. You first noticed the delicate and glowing tattoos that littered her pale hands. It was difficult to pull your eyes away from the faint pink light as you shook her hand. “Sorry, I probably should have given you a warning.” 

  “You’re a hypnotist?” 

  “Yes, I promise I’m not as scary as the King makes us sound.” 

  “It’s not that, I’ve never met a hypnotist before. It’s a niche field of magic, even before the decree.” 

  Artenna shrugs, “it depends on where you are. My mother also said it used to be more common when she was a child. Can I help you with anything?” 

  You glance around to see if there is anything left to do, “not at the moment. I already sped through everything I could do. Unless you wouldn't mind keeping me company until they return?” 

  “It would be my pleasure,” she smiles and sits on a bench across from you. Thankfully Artenna proved to be pleasant company as you exchanged stories, jokes, and camp gossip. After some time passes you both venture outside. The sun was finally over the horizon, signaling for you to continue preparations, and for the rest of the camp to rise. Artenna helps you break the ice and carry water from the well. The luxury will only last a few more weeks until the ice is too thick to break. Then the camp will have to rely on melting snow. 

  With the last bucket you were willing to carry in hand, the sound of hooves began to echo through the valley. It was urging you to hurry back into the main hall. Setting the bucket beside your tools, hoping no one else will try to use it. As much as you didn’t want to be scolded by Schelura, you quickly shove your hair into your linen cap. Infections are always worse to treat in the winter. 

  You didn’t know what you expected when the warriors returned, but it wasn’t the Lieutenant being carried in by Kurakh. “What happened?” Kurakh quickly sets him on a table before you. 

  “He poisoned himself, and we don’t know what he used,” Kurakh grumbles. Galta quickly approaches beside you, with a vaguely familiar shadow cloaked in blue. “Their Maid also doesn’t know what he could’ve taken. The officers are cowar-” 

  “It’s new, all high-ranking officers are supposed to take it if they get captured,” a meager voice interrupts. 

  “What is your name,” you glance at her as you roll up your sleeves. Her fair skin was red from the wind and her deep blue eyes were wide in shock. 

  “Yulla.” 

  “Cut off his armor and enough of his shirt so I can access his neck,” you reach for your satchel with determination. “Kurakh we’re going to need charcoal, and more wood added to the main fire.” He thankfully didn’t question you and made haste. It didn’t take you long to find your most treasured tools. A tiny iridescent blade that was easily the size of your hand, and almost as thin as your fingers. And a cast iron press of Eia’s true sigil.  You carefully set it on the table before searching for other ingredients and bandages. 

  Yulla sees it and immediately stops in her tracks, “is that a Kisarvuhevstabler?” 

  “Yes, is he ready,” you didn’t even look up as Kurakh returned with a small bowl of charcoal. Muscle memory takes over as you begin to mix your ingredients in a brass bowl decorated with ancient runes. Before Kurakh gets comfy you push the cast iron press towards him, “this goes in the fire. Long handle facing out obviously.” 

  Before Kurakh could take it, Yulla attempted to smack his hand away, “Elder, are you insane?” 

  “I beg your pardon?” 

  “Blood magic is forbidden!” 

  You couldn’t help but laugh, “it’s only been forbidden for the past six years. While Maids of Eia have used this magic for centuries. I’m not throwing centuries of tradition down the drain, simply because our King gets nauseous at the thought of it. Now you are going to watch and learn a technique that can no longer be taught in the temples, or Commander Galta can find you something else to do. He doesn't have much time left.” Yulla doesn’t respond or leave, conflict written all over her face. You spare a glance at Galta who looked as equally concerned as Yulla. “Galta we’re going to need a bucket that we’re not afraid to get dirty.” 

  When Galta steps away from the table, Yanna takes the opportunity to stand beside you. You place the bowl on the table, “the potion is made with crushed unicorn horn, charcoal, and stinging nettle. I’ll tell you the exact amounts later.” With a deep breath, you pick up the blade and remove it from its sheath. “It doesn't have to be a Kisarvuhevstabler for the spell to work. They are more a sign of status, to show you know the magic.” 

  You take a second to examine the disheveled Lieutenant laid before you. His skin was paling, a mysterious gray forming around the mouth. And his veins looked as if his blood turned black. His breathing was ragged, but strong enough to tell he was alive.  It appeared as if he wasn’t able to finish the full dose of the poison considering he survived the journey from the battlefield. By now a crowd has formed around the table, and you try your best to ignore them. The sound of an empty bucket hitting the floor signaled it was time to begin. 

  With the iridescent blade in your right hand, you turn to Yulla, “I will need you to turn him towards me when I give him the potion. But first, the bucket should be closer to where he will vomit when he is turned.” 

  “Understood,” she quickly moves the bucket before getting into position. You take a second to scan the crowd, surprisingly unable to find Kurakh anywhere. With a deep breath, you move the blade closer to your left wrist. 

   The blade pierces your skin, immediately stinging. In the ancient tongue, you pray, “Noble Eia, hear my prayer as I spill my blood as a testament of my conviction to thy doctrine.”  As you drag the blade up your arm diagonally, blood pools atop your skin. As soon as the first drop hits the bowl the runes carved inside begin to glow. “Hear my prayer so I may rid this soul's vessel of poison. Hear my prayer so I may heal in thy name.” The pain finally catches up to you, causing the blade to fall on the table. 

  You steady yourself by leaning on the table, “hear my prayer so this blood is not wasted.” You force yourself to push through the pain, picking up the blade and using it to stir your blood and the ingredients together. The room was silent around you, and every eye was focused on you. You gently lift the bowl to the Lieutenant’s lips, coaxing him to swallow the potion. Once the bowl was empty Yulla tilted him towards you. Luckily for him, it didn’t take long for the potion to work. 

  The visible darkness in his veins crept up his chest and into his neck as the spell expelled the poison from his body. It was almost like tiny black snakes were writhing in his veins. At this point, you knew he would be saved, and now it was time to save yourself. Weakly you raise your left arm, keeping your wound above your heart, and turn towards the main firepit. The crowd quickly parts for you as you step away from the table. No one said a word to you, mostly staring at you in disbelief. With the silence, it was easy to hear the Lieutenant retch the poison into the bucket. 

  It was a struggle to move your body through the pain and blood loss. But you've done this before. As you neared the fire it felt like the world around you was spinning. Within the blink of an eye, you were on the floor. Crawling instead of walking to the fire. Many voices were shouting your name. But nothing could shake you from this trance.  And none of them could save you from this, there was only one with that power. And you couldn’t help but mutter apologies in the ancient tongue, hoping for a sliver of mercy. 

  The world around you was slipping away, and all you could see was the hot iron in the coals. It felt like someone was kneeling beside you, trying to talk to you but there wasn’t much time to listen. You grab the handle of the hot iron, determined to prove yourself. With no hesitation, you laid the flat end decorated with sigils and runes onto your wound. The scream that escaped you would be considered unholy by some, but to the clergy, it was one of obedience and understanding. The pain was blinding, no matter how many times you've done it. Perhaps that was the point. The iron was lifted from your arm, most likely not by you. And despite how much you fought it, the void consumed you.

[blueiscoool]

Why are Hundreds of Climbers Heading into the ‘Death Zone’ on Mt Everest This Spring?

Thick murky clouds fill the sky, with freezing winds carrying snow faster than 100 miles per hour. With a frigid –30 degrees Fahrenheit temperature, life-threatening snowstorms and avalanches are frequent.

And these are typical conditions on the world’s highest mountain: Mount Everest.

The behemoth towers 29,032 feet (8,849 meters) between Nepal and Tibet in the Himalayas, with its peak surpassing most clouds in the sky.

An attempt to climb Everest requires months, sometimes years, of training and conditioning – even then, reaching the summit is far from guaranteed. In fact, more than 300 people are known to have died on the mountain.

And yet the mountain still draws hundreds of climbers who are determined to reach its peak every spring. Here’s what it takes to make the climb and what has motivated some climbers to summit the world’s highest peak.

‘I thought I was in pretty good shape’

Dr. Jacob Weasel, a trauma surgeon, successfully summited Everest last May after conditioning for nearly a year.

“I would put on a 50-pound backpack and do two hours on a stair stepper with no problem,” Weasel said. “So, I thought that I was in pretty good shape.” However, the surgeon said he was humbled after discovering that his fitness was no match for the lofty athleticism required by the mountain.

“I would take five steps and have to take 30 seconds to a minute to catch my breath,” Weasel recalled of his struggle with the lack of oxygen available while ascending Everest.

Climbers aiming for the summit usually practice an acclimatizing rotation to adjust their lungs to the thinning oxygen levels once they arrive on the mountain. This process involves mountaineers traveling upward to one of the four designated camps on Everest and spending one to four days there before traveling back down.

This routine is repeated at least two times to allow the body to adapt to declining oxygen levels. It increases a climber’s chances of survival and summiting.

“If you took somebody and just plopped them up at the high camp on Everest, not even on the (top), they would probably go into a coma within 10 to 15 minutes,” Weasel said.

“And they would be dead within an hour because their body is not adjusted to that low of oxygen levels.”

While Weasel has successfully summited dozens of mountains, including Kilimanjaro (19,341 ft), Chimborazo (20, 549 ft), Cotopaxi (19,347 ft), and most recently Aconcagua (22,837 ft) in January, he said none of them compares to the high-altitude of Mount Everest.

“Because no matter how well you are trained, once you get to the limits of what the human body can take, it’s just difficult,” he continued.

At its highest altitude, Everest is nearly incapable of sustaining human life and most mountaineers use supplementary oxygen above 23,000 feet. The lack of oxygen poses one of greatest threats to climbers who attempt to summit, with levels dropping to less than 40% when they reach the Everest “death zone.”

Tents of mountaineers are pictured at Everest base camp in the Mount Everest region of Solukhumbu district on April 18, 2024.

‘It’s difficult to survive up there’

The first target for mountaineers is Everest base camp at approximately 17,000 feet, which takes climbers about two weeks. Then they ascend to the three remaining camps stationed along the mountain.

Camp four, the final one before the summit, sits along the edge of the death zone at 26,000 feet, exposing climbers to an extremely thin layer of air, subzero temperatures, and high winds powerful enough to blow a person off the mountain.

“It’s difficult to survive up there,” Weasel said. He recalls passing bodies of climbers who died on the mountain – which isn’t uncommon. The bodies of the fallen mountaineers are well-preserved, exhibiting little to no decay due to the intense cold temperatures.

“I am probably more familiar with death and the loss of life than most people,” the surgeon said. “For me it was just a reminder of the gravity of the situation and the fragility of what life is… even more so motivation for appreciating the opportunity.”

High-altitude cerebral edema (HACE) is one of the most common illnesses climbers face while attempting to summit. “Your brain is starved of oxygen,” Weasel said.

HACE results in the brain swelling during its attempt to regain stable oxygen levels, causing drowsiness, trouble speaking and thinking. This confusion is often accompanied by blurred vision and sporadic episodes of delusion.

“I had auditory hallucinations where I was hearing voices [of friends] that I thought were coming from behind me,” Weasel recalled. “And I had visual hallucinations,” he added. “I was seeing the faces of my children and my wife coming out of the rocks.”

Weasel recalled crossing paths with a friend, Orianne Aymard, who was trapped on the mountain due to an injury. “I remember staring at her for like five minutes and just saying, ‘I’m so sorry,’” Weasel said.

“I’ve spent over a decade of my life training to help people as a surgeon, and being in a position where there’s somebody who requires your help and you are unable to offer any assistance… that feeling of helplessness was tough to deal with,” Weasel said.

Aymard survived. She was rescued and suffered from several broken bones in her foot, in addition to severe frostbite on her hands. Despite all her injuries, Aymard is considered one of the lucky ones.

Mountaineers climbing during their ascend to summit Mount Everest on May 7, 2021.

‘Their bodies will get frozen into the mountain’

Everest has long been a tomb for climbers who have succumbed to harsh conditions or accidents on its slopes.

When a loved one or fellow climber is severely injured or dies on the mountain, it’s routine to leave them behind if you’re unable to save them, according to Alan Arnette, a mountaineer coach who summited Everest in 2014.

“What most teams do out of respect for that climber, they will move the body out of sight,” he said. And that’s only if they can.

“Sometimes that’s just not practical because of the bad weather, or because their bodies will get frozen into the mountain,” Arnette said. “So, it’s very difficult to move them.”

Seeing a corpse on Everest is comparable to seeing a horrible car accident, according to the mountain coach. “You don’t turn around and go home,” Arnette said. “You respectfully slow down… or say a prayer for that person, and then you continue.”

It’s been 10 years since the single deadliest accident on the world’s highest mountain, after an avalanche killed 12 Sherpa guides. And 2023 was recorded as the deadliest year on Everest, with 18 fatalities on the mountain – including five people that are still unaccounted for.

The process of recovering bodies is extensive, sometimes impossible. Helicopter rescues and search missions are challenging due to the high altitude and frequently treacherous conditions, resulting in some rescuers dying in their attempt to save others.

Mountaineers as they climb during their ascend to summit Mount Everest on May 12, 2021.

‘Watching the sunrise from 29,000 feet’

The 3,000 feet climb from camp four to the summit can take anywhere from 14 to 18 hours. Therefore, mountaineers typically leave the camp at night.

“That entire night was cold,” Weasel recalled. “It’s dark, it’s windy.” But it was proven to be worth it in the morning, he said.

“Watching the sunrise from 29,000 feet and having that pyramid of Everest’s shadow projected onto the valley below you…,” Weasel said. “It was probably one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life,” he continued.

“It’s weird standing up there and knowing that everything else on the planet is below where you’re standing.”

The size of the mountain is humbling, the surgeon said. “I’ve never felt so small,” he recalled. “That mixture of humility and connectedness with something bigger than yourself is the proper place from which we ought to approach our existence on this planet.”

Like Weasel, Arnette summited at sunrise, and experienced this same feeling of “smallness.” At the top there were “more mountains than you can count,” Arnette remembered. “It was a sense of enormous gratitude and at the same time I knew I had to get back down.”

After about 20 minutes to an hour, climbers typically start to descend back to the base of the mountain.

Jacob Weasel.

‘Bigger than yourself’

Before leaving for Nepal, Weasel was gifted an eagle’s feather as a beacon for his Native American heritage.

He was determined to plant the feather on top of Everest “as a symbol of our people and what we’ve endured for the past several hundred years,” Weasel said. “Showing that our spirit is not broken, but we’re able to rise above the things that have happened to us,” he added.

“I remember planting that eagle’s feather on the top of the world and the feeling of real privilege that I felt in representing our people.” And this is why he decided to summit Everest, to be an example that anything is possible for young Native children and his tribe.

“Knowing what it’s like up there, for me personally, the only real justification for going and putting your life, and other lives, at risk is if you’re climbing for a reason that is much bigger than you,” said Weasel.

Arnette attempted to climb Everest three times before he successfully summited.

“My first three tries, I wasn’t clear on my why,” Arnette said. When his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, he looked at his purpose for climbing differently.

“I wanted to do it to raise money for Alzheimer’s and honor my mother,” Arnette said.

There are approximately 300 people that have been issued a permit from the Nepal government to climb the mountain this year, according to Arnette. And he said the number is down from previous years.

“I think one of the reasons is because we had the 18 deaths last year, and people realize that Mount Everest is a dangerous mountain.”

However, he doesn’t believe that should deter climbers from attempting to summit. “I’m a big believer that when you go climb these mountains that you come home a better version of yourself,” Arnette said.

“Everest has become too commercialized with ‘you’re stepping over dead bodies’ and ‘it’s littered with trash,’” the mountain coach said. “The reality is that it is a very small degree all of that, but there’s a lot of joy that people get out of doing it,” he continued.

“And that’s the reason that we climb mountains.”

By Kara Nelson.

[fountainpenguin]

"'cuz half the time I can't love right, and I can't have sex and we both get quiet... Boy, I must be one f'd up guy ... It'll be fine- Quick, let's get married!" (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic today!

Rated T - 13k+ words

50 Words of Dale and Hadley

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

🌃 City Lights AU

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51. Connection - "Here, here- You hold Devin. Oh, look at his little feet... Have you got him? How's it feel?" "..."

50 scene snippets about two rich kids in Dimmsdale... and the newlywed life that came tumbling after.

OR, Dale and Hadley are doing their best. Maybe that can be enough.

(First 5 prompts under the cut)

- Blood warning (Hunting & field dressing a deer)

Saturday July 13th, 2002 - Sunday April 20th, 2014

Summer of the Last Berry - Spring of the Patient Lizard

1. Brown

None of the kids who'd worked the lemonade stand had brown eyes. Not like these ones, glassed over the way marbles shone. Life made its fortune in thin and fleeting things. Even the deer knew that. Dale loomed above it with his knife to watch its black tail quiver one last time. It died, probably, before it hit the ground. Soft summer grass bloomed beneath its snow-white neck patch. Crunchy leaves would make hunting 10 times harder when autumn lashed around. You could see the deer better through the trees, though. Hadley told him that on the drive up.

Sunlight striped the buck's bronze sides, which had thrummed in breath just seconds ago. Its eyes locked on skyward things. Had the deer gotten one last look at the sun before it tripped and fell? Or did it die in darkness, head in shadow while it grazed?

"That was close," said the girl beside him, leaning the gun against her shoulder. You could smell Dimmsdale pride straight on her. Dale flared his nostrils, breathing in the scent of blood and fur. And dirt, and morning's chill. Hadley patted his arm twice, her fingers warm even through his baggy sleeve. Mud and water splattered both hems of her camo pants. "But you really kept us in suspense. I thought you weren't going to shoot."

Those big, dark eyes…

2. Saw

Dale never hunted with his dad growing up. He wasn't old enough; it wasn't legal. But Hadley moved like a spider, following all her dad's field dressing instructions to the letter. After clean-up for the pictures, she jabbed her knife straight in the deer's stomach and drew it down the belly. Dark blood seeped out to the grass… and then came handfuls of goopy guts. Dale took every breath without blinking, but kept out of Hadley's way as she and her dad did their thing. Doug Dimmadome - his own dad - patted Dale twice on the shoulder.

"Now, that right there, son, is a thing of beauty. That's a Grade-A shot! Looks like you hit the brain. We'll make a hunter of you yet."

"Mmhm."

"Have you ever made an antler pen, Dale?" Mr. Leadly asked, running his thumb across one antler branch. They glimmered milky white. They looked funny where they sprouted from the head; you could see how tufts of fur bent to make way for giant forks.

"I haven't, sir." And, sensing this might be Leadly's way of turning the conversation to business, he followed that statement with, "Do you manufacture them for Pencil Nexus?"

Mr. Leadly beamed. Dale let out his breath. Good. I guessed right. When the man - short, but totally strong, and almost unrecognizable wearing camo instead of scalding yellow - motioned him over, Dale moved to stand above the deer. Blood and guts ran like water through Hadley's hands. Ew. She glanced up at Dale just long enough to smile and push that wild russet hair back from her eyes. Oh, she got that color from her mom, definitely- Not from Mr. Leadly. The way she wiped her fingers left a smear of blood across her cheek. Dale moved one hand to touch it, then stopped himself.

I'm not the babysitter anymore. She can do it herself. She peered up at him like a grim reaper decoration in the yard on Halloween. Uhhh. Dale hadn't seen a Halloween for 7 years.

He turned his silent stare to Leadly again. The man made another gesture with his hand to guide Dale's eyes to the dirtied antlers. "We don't sell many finished antler pens at my company; a couple personalized batches each year. I enjoy the process, but it's more of a hobby than a savvy business move. I can set you up with a pen-making kit; we sell plenty of those. You carve the antlers with a saw, and you need a lathe. Ever used one of those?"

"No, sir." Leadly's bright-eyed energy seemed to relax everyone- His dad, Hadley, and Leadly himself. Dale scratched his arm, avoiding face to face contact until he caught his breath. But when he did, he met Leadly eye to eye. "I'd love the opportunity to work with you. Can you teach me how to saw?"

The best opportunities in life hail from networking. For a Dimmadome, hunting with the Leadly family is never just about the hunt.

3. Addition

"That fits you pretty good," Hadley told him, looking his camo outfit up and down. Dale pulled his mouth from the waterfall just enough to see her reflection in the stream. Well… He tried to, at least, though water dribbled down his hair and stung his eyes. At least it tasted clean and fresh. It hadn't been this way underground. Stinky or salty- Those were your two options in the Dimmsdale tunnels. You always pick stinky if you can't take fresh. Dale blinked, wiping splatters off his cheeks.

"Oh, yeah… Your dad gave this to me. Don't you have a brother?"

"Yeah, two older ones." Hadley moved closer, reaching out to touch a wrinkle in his hat. "I'm glad you're putting it to use. My dad wanted to throw it all away."

"It fits great. I'm low on clothes right now."

"Do you want more? I mean, if you're going to use them, I can get them for you. They'd just get tossed if my dad gets his hands on them."

"… Okay. That sounds nice."

4. Numerous

"Oh, she was serious," Dale realized when the summer meet-up rolled around. Not much changed with Dimmsdale's traditions, evidently- The Fancy Schmancy Country Club had hosted this picnic every year since before he was born. Up on the hill, he had a pretty good view of Mr. Leadly's truck idling on the other side of the fence. He, Hadley, and Hadley's older sister - Harper - were unloading cardboard boxes of stuff from the back… and even from up here, Dale could read the giant labels. He set the plate aside and sprinted down to join them. Hadley, a huge box in hand, lurched back from the truck on wobbly legs. She'd dressed in pencil colors for this, just like her dad, but a desktop drinky bird would've fit the moment better.

"Whoa, whoa-"

"I got it." Dale caught the box's edge. He must've been too quiet running up, though, because Hadley jumped. The box slipped from her fingertips. Oops. Dale grabbed the corner and helped it down more gently. No damaged goods today. "Are these all clothes for me?" That's what the Sharpie scrawled across the side said. "No way… Is all this from your brothers?"

"Sure is! I collect stuff! It's a whole thing." Hadley thumped a second box on the ground, then flipped attention to Dale with a wolf-bite grin. "I've kept it for years because I wanted to wear it someday, but I don't think it'll ever fit. They're my half-brothers, and my mom's first husband was way taller. It shows. If the hunting gear fit you, everything here should too."

Dale tilted his head. April sunlight had washed away a long time ago; he wasn't fresh from the underground anymore. These days, the air tasted like ocean, bug spray, and water melon. He'd stocked his closet with enough outfits to get by (You could thank his dad's assistant for that). But everything she'd bought looked slick and classy… Lots of black, white, buttons, and shiny cufflinks. Bowties, too. Hadley'd worn a huge white bow on her chest for as long as Dale could remember, so she must be into that. Maybe I can pass mine to her sometime; fair exchange.

Or he could try to sell them off. Make some extra cash. That wouldn't be a bad idea, especially since Dad wouldn't let him have a credit card (even though he turned 16 back in May). If Dad disappeared someday like Mom had - so Dad claimed - then keeping his own cash on hand might be a lifesaver. The precariously perched Dimmsdale estate sat on a cliff out by the ocean, so… running back to Dad to ask for spare change wasn't super practical on a shopping day.

He'd probably make a mess if he pried the boxes open here on the sidewalk, but he could see an embroidered rocket peeking through the folded lid. His heart beat a little faster. I've NEVER had rocket clothes before…

"Thanks. Really. I'll put this stuff to use."

5. Reign

Okay, he'd admit it… Hadley reigned supreme in anime trivia. Still, she had NOTHING on his Crash Nebula know-how.

"You'd like my friend Timmy," she said, tossing her head in a laugh. "I think he won a Crash Nebula trivia contest on live TV or something? I should ask him!"

"Hey, any friend of Timmy's is a friend of mine." When he showed Dale his room, he had Crimson Chin comics on the bed and a Crash Nebula video game they'd played for ages until Dad was ready to take him home. The words sounded so cliché, but they made a lot of sense.

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

[2aceofspades]

Hi! :]

You're last few parts of your au hurt me so much I was ✨️inspired✨️

Firstly you've actually inspired me a lot for my own au and I'm even learning morse code and it's been so fun to learn and watch people decipher it, you inspired me so much that I figured it's only fair to show you the part you inspired out of me haha

(For some context In my AU leo is dancing on the line of death and donnie makes a clone in order to save his life but things didn't go quite as planned, resulting in leo's soul linking with the clone that wasn't quite ready and is now basically a lil bean) in chapter two near the very beginning, we get a peek into Casey's childhood after watching past Cassandra holding baby leo recovering a memory he'll never forget

By far one of my favorite scripts for the upcoming parts

I really hope you like it, and thank you for being a huge inspiration for me <3

..The world fades away as he's drawn back to that day, his mom hadn't returned from a mission, leo had organized a search party to go looking for her in a couple of hours after everyone rested a bit. But he didn't want to wait, he wanted his mom and he wanted her back in the base, where it was safe, where he got hugs when she returned.

He put on his puffy jacket that was torn up and had holey, and a rugged hat that April had given him. He peeks around the corner of donnies lab, noticing leo talking to donnie, he took this chance to sneak past while their attention wasn't on the cameras, he quickly makes his way to the base exit, and takes his first steps outside the base.

"MAMA!!" Casey cried as he continued to walk, the winds beating against his reddening skin, his nose running and his eyes getting puffy, it didn't snow, but the winters were still fridgit and harsh, especially with no trees to block the cold temperatures

"Mm-mmmAMAAA" Casey cried again, the tears he was fighting back making his eyes burn from the harsh and frightening winds, his fingers were red and felt hot, his breathing was shallow and his hot breath steamed in the air, after what felt like hours he stumbled onto his knees, his hands under his pits and his body shivering into itself "m-ma-mm-maama!" He cried as loud as he could but it came out as a shaky whimper, he grips his hat and pulls it over his burning ears as his tears fell down his cheeks, freezing his skin as they fell

"-by boooy?" He hears something through his loud sobs from his covered ears, he knew this voice, yes! It was his mom! He let's his hat go to turn his head, a large smile forming on his freezing, tear stained face "m-ma-!" His smile fell just as fast as it grew, just a few feet from him stood his mom yes, but something was off, she could barely stand up right, her frame twitched and strained from where she stood, half her face was covered in some strange.. flesh organic material, her uncovered eye along with the multiple other eyes that didn't belong to her all stared right at him, but not with softness and care he felt secure and safe in, he felt the fear, but the bloodlust was unbearable.. was this really his mom? "Ma..?" His breath huffed out as his heart beat started to pick up pace

"M-mmy baa..babyy boOOyy.." her voice sounded as if she had choked on razor blades, it sounded so much like her but not like her at all, her hand reached out, her fingernails broken and her face was torn up, especially on the unnatural side. Her voice choked as tears began to fall, her only humane eye on her son who sat on his knees in the freezing cold, glistening from the tears falling down her tearing skin "caaAASsseeeYYy" he voice sounded desperate as she suddenly began to move, starting with a few shaky steps before breaking into a stumbling sprint, her eyes honing in on the boy frozen in fear, his eyes wide and puffy

Her jaw basically came unhinged as her entire structure changed, she jumped up as her body tore itself apart, snapping and popping as kraang claws exploded out of her body, her eyes honed in on its next victim, letting out a shrilled shriek as Casey fell back on his palms, his heart pounding, his mind racing, screaming to run, his breath catching in his throat, preventing him from letting out any noise, only frozen in place as his mother's jaw gets ready to snap down and end his life

"CASEY!!" He jolts back to life as a green and blue flash slams into his mom, sending her flying away from him, crying out as her body slammed against the solid ground, he stared in complete shock, his mind still processing the events, watching his mothers body convulsed and snap more "-sey! Casey hey! Are you hurt??" He felt two large hands engulf his shoulders and neck, diversing his attention from his mother and staring up at leo, he could feel the warmth of his touch begin to linger into the fabric of his jacket, making him realize just how cold he really is "oh God, shitshitshit, I gotta get you out of here" he moves his arms to scoop Casey up but suddenly, as fast as lightning, he pushes himself off one knee and curls around Casey, suddenly seeing his mom snap her jaw through Leo's forearm and locking it there, he let's out a forced cry as he uses his free arm to pull Casey into his chest to ensure his safety from her claws that dug into Leo's same arm that was extended out to put as much distance as possible

"Casey, augh, listen to me" his voice serious but also tender, Casey looks up at him again but hesitantly, his attention on leo who had a pained expression on his face, but it didn't seem to be from his arm "I know you don't understand, I know you're- arg! Confused-" she pushed back causing leo to fight back and push harder to keep her away from harming Casey who jumped from the sudden pushback

"B-but.. this..." he frowns as he sees Casey's eyes weld with tears, his nose, ears and fingers were red, he'd left the building two hours ago and leo hadn't realized till donnie replayed the footage, he gently puts his hand on the back of Casey's head and pulls his head under his neck, resting his chin on top "I'm so sorry case, but mama isn't coming home.." His voice whispered as he continues to fight Cassandra, barely recognizable now

"B..but mama's right here!" Casey points a small finger at his mom "she's right here!! Wh-why can't she c-come home?!" He began to cry out and leo winced as her jaws tightened "casey..."

"NO! I WANT MY MAMA!!" He yells as he tries to push away from leo but his shivering body and small frame did not benefit him "I want my mama home!! I want my mama safe!!" He holds his arms out to Cassandra, tears falling down his face "I want my mama's hugs!!!" He sobs out, shakingly clenching and unclenching his fingers towards her "mama!! Mamaaa!" His voice broke and wavered, he Bagan crying so hard he'd hiccup sometimes in his sobs

Suddenly, she stopped fighting, her hands dropping to her sides as she falls completely to her knees, her jaws releasing its hold on leos arm that stayed up and ready for another round, staring at Casey with her own tears "m-my booy..." her gaze follows up from Casey to Leo's face, she blinked and raised a hand up slightly "..l..llluuee?" Leo's eyes widened slightly but he nods, pulling Casey close once again for safety

She says nothing for a moment, reaching her hand out but stopping just before reaching casey her hands shaky and her fingertips black and blue, casey reaches his hands up and wraps his hands around her fingers whimpering "mom?"

She gives Casey's hands a weak squeeze before pulling her hand away and placing her palm on the blade of Leo's sword, bowing her head down and leo pulls back and stands up immediately, holding casey in his arm as he wraps his hand around her wrist "Cassandra no! I.. I can't do that.." His Lip quivers as he pulls her hand away from his blade "please, don't make me do that..." His grip tightened on her wrists, but not hard, just enough to show his worry "we can, we can figure something out..?" He whispers out his arm starting to feel hot and tingly

She pulls her hand back "y..yoOOu.. mus-s-stt" she lowly croaks as she lowers her head again "before.. n-nooo time.." her nails dug into the dirt as she lowly hissed, fighting back against the kraang instincts and control

Leo turns his head away to blink away his tears, he knew what he had to do, he just really didn't want to do it, especially with casey "I'm so sorry" his voice broke out as he grabs the handle of his blade with his numbing hand.

He gently tucks Casey's head into his chest. Being sure he can't witness what he has to do, he slowly raises his arm as he hones his attention at the back of her neck, his chest jumped a bit as he fought back his tears, but he didn't make a sound.

She looks up at them one last time, and smiles with all her pride and joy at seeing her kid one last time

Her eyes fall close

And he swings

.

.

.

Casey sobs into Leo's chest as he walked through the world, Leo's scarf wrapped around Casey's neck and face, his breath warming his cheeks and nose, his arm fell completely numb after an hour of walking, but still remained protecting casey from the high winds, his breathing began to grow heavy and his pupils began to narrow

He hears it, in his head, in his veins it boils his blood dispite feeling so cold

The urge

The bloodlust

"K I L L"

After a couple moments that's all he can hear

"Killkillkillkillkilllkillkill"

He suddenly slumps over against an old ruin building, carefully setting casey down before falling to his knees and grabbing his arm. His breathing heavy and his sight hazey

"L-leo?" Casey spoke quietly and leo nearly jumped out of his skin seeing blood on him, it must've got on Casey when he KILLKILLKILLEDKILLEDKILLED "Aagghhh!" Leo had reached out to comfort Casey but he was hit with such pain he curled in on himself, gripping his arm so tight he was digging his nails into his skin "leo!" Casey rushes up and helps leo stay upright but after a moment he couldn't keep up Leo's weight and he ended up laying on his stomach, face down and his eyes struggling to stay open "Casey.. please.." His eyes began to fall closed as he spoke "the base is only 20 minutes away.. its straight forward.." he bares his teeth causing Casey to jump back a bit, having never seen leo look so aggressive "you have to leave me here.. case.." he whimpers as his eyes closed, he didn't know how much longer he could fight this

Casey shakes his head violently and grabs Leo's bitten arm and pulls, attempting to drag him back to the base himself "no! I'm not leaving you too!!" He whines and pulls as hard as he could, his shoes scrapping against the dry, dead ground. "I don't wanna be alone!" He cries

Leo could only mutter a few unrecognizable words, his eyes falling closed and his body only seemed to get heavier. Casey quickly kneels down by his head and lightly pats his hand on Leo's face and shoulders, trying to wake him "nonono! C-come back! Please..?" He attempts to chur to try and wake him up but his throat felt like it was closing in on itself

His attention draws in on the bite on his arm, the injury was deep and dispite the freezing temperatures it continued to ooze with dark red blood, he noticed that the area around the bite was turning blue and black and his veins were bulging down his arm and progressing up towards his shoulder. He didn't understand what what happening but he knew he had to get rid of that part.

He carefully drops Leo's head back onto the ground and frantically began to search around the area for something that'd help him with that after a moment of frantic looking his eyes landed on Leo's sword and a familiar bracelet tied around the base of the handle, choking back tears Casey hesitantly walks over, exstended leos arm outwards then slowly grabs the handle of his sword, carefully pulling it out from its holder on Leo's shell, the blade thumps on the ground by Leo's neck and shoulders, it was much heavier than it looked and the bracelet made it a bit uncomfortable to hold, with some strained effort Casey holds up the sword above his head, he hones in on his target and he knows he has to get rid of that part, but he's scared

His heart was beating against his ribcage, his lungs were dry and in a constant squeeze, his muscles trembled against his bones as he held this sword above his head, the weight of it Making his arms go a bit numb. His sight was blurry from fighting back his tears, he really didn't want to do this "i-im sorry sensei" he weakly whimpers out in case he was listening, and brings the sword down with all his might, feeling it slice clean though, and hearing that awful noise for the second time this day

Now he was faced with a bigger problem, the bleeding, he did not account for the blood, and the sheer amount of it. He takes off his jacket and presses it unto his arm but it kept pooling out.

His green skin was paling and the harsh winds were taking its toll on Casey's small frame, tears streaked down his face as he carefully tucked himself under Leo's arm trembling.

It had felt like a decade went by, feeling their bodies grow colder and colder, his eyes slowly blinking, getting heavier with each motion. Just before his eyes fell to a complete close a flash of colors danced across his blurry vision before being engulfed by darkness, only faintly hearing three distinct voices before suddenly waking up in the medbay

That is where the memory ends

... at least for that part

Again I really hope you enjoyed it and I can't wait to show you the finished version once I get to that part, have a great day/night! Drink lots of water and don't forget to eat :]

---some aftermath---

They buried her under one of the few trees left

None of them were alive, but them just being there brought some comfort and hope at a chance

Casey's eyes stare down at the two sticks that leo had snapped off the dead tree and tied them together

He stares down at the distorted ground just underneath the tied sticks, his fingers so numb they burned, making the dirt trapped under his fingernails noticeable

Like razor blades to skin

Feeling as an constant reminder of what he just lost

The ground had been hard to drag his fingers though, even with his sensie's help it was still a battle, in more than one way

His heart felt heavy, like a brick tied to the string of a ballon being dragged down by the weight, his tears burning his skin from the fridgit winds numbing it

As leo picked him up into his arm and holds him up, he feels the warmth seep into the cloth of his clothes and leans into it, helping him feel safe and secure

They stare at the dirt for a moment, not a single word spoken within the time, it almost felt wrong to speak

With a shaky hand, he lightly waves at the ground, shivering as a icy breeze blows by

With a hollow and wavered voice, casey speaks quietly, not wanting to wake the world around him

"I love you, mama"

"Sweet dreams"

They stayed for as long as they could, but as the sun started to hide behind the ruins of new York city, they too had to hide away from the harsh world

Back to a place that no longer felt familiar

🩵

I-

I'm just...in shock. Oh my goodness when I tell you that Cassandra's first line l i t e r a l l y gave me ~chills~

Ahem??? Ouch. That hurt my heart/lh

Reading the whole way through had me on the edge of my seat oh my stars-

The fact that Cassandra basically told Leo to end her...and he actually did it?!??!! And then Casey frickin' chopped off Leo's arm?!??!!! Oh gosh there's so much pain and anguish all compacted into one horrible series of moments oh goodness gracious have mercyyy 😭😭😭/pospospos

This is amazing, you are amazing, I am in shock and awe like-

Damn. I've been floored 🫠

And the art?!??! Oh gah! Aughh I love the deep, rich colors and their big, sad eyes. They look like they've lived through a nightmare. Gah! I love it I love it!!

Thank you thank you thank you! Aawwwee!! Thank you so so much for sharing your work with me I am so very flattered and grateful 🥹💙✨

[usmsgutterson]

so, it’s probably nothing, but it’s been on my mind sometime and I can’t let it go- hug prompts! The link for those is here, and again, you can send in as many combinations as you want!

pin hawthorne with 2, 3, and 4??

Spring- Pin Hawthorne x gn! reader

okay, thank you for sending this in! I haven't written for Pin in almost six months and I missed it a lot more than I thought lol. The prompts you sent in are as listed below:

slowdancing that’s actually just a hug with swaying involved, hugs that last a long time, and “It’s been a while,” hugs

fic type- fluff

warnings- mentions of flooding and power outages in relation to snow and rainstorms, mentions of icy roads/ground also in relation to snow and rainstorms

You’d always loved it when spring graced the island, though you weren't shy of admitting your disdain for the lethal weather that late winter and early spring often brought along.  

During winter, the stables were in a relatively consistent state of snow and cold weather from September through to the last week of March. Spring always got a late start and, as you’d noticed since you moved to the island at sixteen, winter always liked to overstay its welcome.

Spring weather typically came back around between the last three days of March and the first six days of April, often immediately following a snowstorm so severe that you and Pin would have to check on the horses at least a day in advance. You'd have to get to the stables and make sure that nothing was at risk of breaking with the strength of the wind and that everything was still properly insulated to keep out the worst of the cold.

The last week of March and the first week of April were no different that year. A snowstorm picked up on the twenty-eighth of March and lasted through to the thirtieth, you in yours and Pins loft, Pin staying with his dad due solely to happenstance, as Pin had stopped in for tea and to see how things were with his dad when the snowstorm started unexpectedly. 

On the thirty-first, a rainstorm hit and Pin couldn’t get back to you because of the risk of a power outage due to the wind, coupled with the fact that the snow was melting and turning into ice that made driving or travelling by horse way too risky. 

Pin didn’t get to your loft until the third of April, waiting out the storm--which had only ended on the second, ending on a high note with warnings of icy roads, fallen trees, flooding on the roads and warnings about floods flashing in bright white against bold red on every single news station--in his old room and keeping his dad company, the two of them playing card games when the power went out, drinking cold tea and talking in some feeble effort to pass the time. 

He knew you’d be at the stables with Gabby, Zoe, and Marcus, checking on the horses and feeding them when he saw your text that morning. Instead of telling him to meet you, though, you simply asked him to run a couple of errands in your stead, and so he did.

When he got back to the loft, he’d spent the better part of four hours on his feet. He had a twenty pound bag of cat food for the two and a half year old orange tabby you’d adopted together over one shoulder, a bag with bread, ice cream, sugar and a couple of the sweets you loved in his left hand. 

He put the bag down to unlock the door, proceeded in, fed the cat--who you’d been calling Pumpkin since you’d adopted him--and put the groceries away, happy to simply stand in your kitchen for the first time in nearly a week, a song from an indie band Pin liked playing idly through a bluetooth speaker.

You came into the house fifteen minutes later, not even registering Pins presence at first. 

But then you noticed the striking blue eyes, the obsidian ring that he hadn’t taken off of his ring finger since you got each other promise rings as a three year anniversary present the year before. You saw the black hoodie that Pin always wore during the winter, the one you always stole during the spring, and you almost felt weightless.

“Ran your errands,” he said. “How were the horses?” 

“They were fine,” you said, knowing that the horses and Bright Fields as a whole had slipped from your mind entirely as you walked toward him. “Everything was fine. Nothing took significant damage.” 

Pin pulled you into a hug and felt relief flood every single part of him with the action, felt himself relax as your arms wrapped around him and hugged him as tightly as he’d hugged you. 

You’d been communicating through a combination of facetime and texting for nearly a week, and sure, that was passable, but nothing could ever beat the feeling of your body against his, your lips on his cheek and his lips on your forehead as “I love yous” and “I’ve missed yous” and “it’s been too longs” fell from your lips. 

Somewhere within the depths of it all, Pin had jokingly asked you if you'd like to dance and you'd said yes, pulled him impossibly closer and cherished the warmth his body provided as part of you devised a plan to steal the hoodie he wore.

You knew that he'd likely swap it in favor of a knitted jumper if the heat didn't kick in in the loft by the time that the temperature dropped with nightfall, and you'd simply take it then.

You would press a kiss to his lips when he asked if you'd stolen his hoodie later on, and Pin would roll his eyes as one of his arms wrapped around you and a kiss was dropped onto your cheekbone.

The slow dance you’d begun with him wasn’t really more than a hug with swaying involved, the two of you moving slowly through the kitchen, talking idly and enjoying each others presences after almost a week of not being able to hug or kiss or exist with one another. 

It’d been a while, and that was communicated with the reluctance you had when it came to letting one another go.

Eventually, though, you did. When you checked the time, you found that you and Pin had been holding each other for almost an hour.

The realization made you laugh, contentment flooding through you as Pin pressed a kiss to your jawline, arm around your waist as the two of you moved into the living room. You curled up together on the couch, eventually falling asleep in the comfort of the silence you shared. 

[wren-l-winter]

The Collector and The Goddess

Hi everyone! So for the month of April, I am going to (attempt to) write one short story every day. This is the first of (hopefully) thirty.

TW: blood and mild gore

WC: 1214

Summary: In the icy grip of winter, The Collector embarks on a perilous journey to summon the Goddess of the Mountain. Eager to collect the ancient being, she summons her and makes a deal without thought of what price she might have to pay for the miracle she desires.

Frost swept over the lifeless cliffside. Winter had seized the landscape in its ruthless grip, leaving nothing untouched. Not even The Collector had been spared. Bundled in the finest furs and leathers Lavena could find, she trudged along the shallow shelf protruding from the unforgiving stone. Piles of snow obstructed her path, making it impossible to tell where to step.

And yet, by some blessing from above, she stopped before the hollow mouth of a cave where the wind wailed and snowflakes teased the opening. But the frozen flecks turned into droplets as they attempted to cross the threshold.

Lavena stiffly moved forward. Warmth caressed her cheek, melting away the cold that turned her blood into sludge as the cave welcomed her into its dark embrace. The shrill cry of the wind fell away as she moved deeper into the darkness.

From her coat pocket, she retrieved a sunstone. The shadows fell away, revealing the eroded edges of the cave. Each footstep echoed around her as she descended into the mountain. Only when the tunnel stopped and she faced a barren wall did she stop.

She flexed her empty hand as she walked the length of the stone. Unlike the pale grey of the cave, the dark rock was lined with minute crystals. They taunted her with each wink, daring her to speak the ancient words she’d murmured under her breath with each agonizing step up the mountain’s face.

Lavena stopped at the center. The stone glowed within her cupped hands as she took in a small breath. After months of hunting a deity most had forgotten, she had finally reached the end of her journey. Bowing her head, she spoke the ancient tongue of the villagers she had met at the foot of the mountain. The throaty syllables bounced off the air, surrounding her as she continued the chant.

The crystals within the wall shuddered, falling from the rock onto the floor in a tinkling wave of rain with a softer sound than the villagers had described. The fallen crystals melted before her feet in a shimmering puddle of iridescent minerals. Lavena stepped back, her voice growing louder as though she could will the pool of crystal to become something more.

Slowly, a figure emerged from globs of enchanting hues. Lavena didn’t dare to lift her head for fear of forgetting the chant she’d ingrained into her mind. She couldn’t risk losing the chance to speak to an ancient creature. The villagers had said it could only be summoned during the worst storm of the season. If she failed, she’d have to wait another year.

The molten crystal solidified before her into two long limbs.

Her chanting was interrupted by a cool finger against her lips. “And what, my lovely dove, have you summoned me for,” a voice like a singing chalice crooned. The finger shifted, dragging down her bottom lip before pressing beneath her chin, lifting her head.

Before her, a goddess stood. The light glistened off her ethereal skin in fractured iridescent colors. Her eyes, a swirling pool of purples and blues that threatened to drown her within their inky embrace. Waves of ivory flowed around her hair as though she was submerged within something Lavena’s human eyes could not comprehend.

“I-” Lavena blinked. The goddess grinned, lips pulling away from her pearly teeth. “I’m a collector.”

The being hummed, leering down at her. “And have you come to collect me, lovely dove?”

Would she be so bold as to say yes? “I’ve heard many things about you.” The cool finger beneath her chin fell away and the goddess shifted, slowly encircling her. “That you perform miracles.”

“I do,” she purred.

Lavena shivered, feeling a cool hand caress the small of her back. “I hope to harness that.”

The goddess stood before her again, eyes swirling with purples hints of pinks. “What for, my dove?”

“First, I’d love to get off this mountain,” she said with a ghost of a laugh.

“As you wish.”

The dreary colors of the world twisted and spun, creating a vortex around them. Greys and browns bled into vibrant shades of greens and blues until the swirling paints calmed. Lavena stumbled back, taking in the grass beneath her feet and songs of birds within ancient trees around her.

“You-Where-Where-I don’t-”

Again, the cool touch of her finger silenced her. “Hush, my dove. And now,” the goddess leaned over to croon in her ear, “a price must be paid.”

“A price,” Lavena blanched. She hadn’t meant to ask for the miracle. It had been a joke.

“Don’t you know magic always comes at a cost?” She held out an iridescent hand. “Don’t look so surprised. I thought you were a collector. Shouldn’t you know better?” Swirling irises of pinks and reds looked pointedly to Lavena’s hand. “If you want another miracle, you’ll have to pay, my sweet dove.”

Lavena curled and flexed her fingers. She could run. But how far would she get? No. The villagers had spoken fondly of the Goddess in the Mountain and they had been nothing but honest and kind to her. She could trust her. With a small breath, she laid her palm in the goddess’s hand. She worried at the bottom of her lip as slender fingers languidly pulled off her glove. Her cool touch brought her hand up toward the goddess’s crystalline features.

Pinks and reds turned wholly crimson as thin lips pulled back in a sneer. “Which finger is your least favorite so that I might bless it, little dove?”

Lavena’s gaze fell to her too-perfect teeth. She didn’t remember her canines looking like daggers. “My ring finger-” Agony ripped down her arm like liquid lightning frying her nerves. A scream tore from her throat as her knees buckled, desperate to fall away.

The goddess held her like struggling prey as crimson dripped down her chin. She chewed slowly, relishing the delectable crunch of bone.

After Lavena’s screaming had turned to sobs, she was released. She clutched her hand to her chest, curling over herself as though that might cease the icy pain leaching into her hand.

“Poor thing,” the goddess said. “Dry your tears, sweet dove, and look at the gift I bestowed upon you.”

Through glassy eyes, she looked down at her hand to see her finger had been replaced with a crystalline digit. Lavena sucked down harsh breaths, trying to calm herself despite the blinding pain. “You bit off my finger,” she said, unable to keep the shrillness from her tone.

“I did.” The goddess crouched down to meet the woman’s silver-lined gaze. “But I won’t do it again…unless you ask me.” She chuckled before standing and offered her hand once more. “Come, my dove. We have much to do.” She wiggled her glassy fingers. “Or I could turn you into a statue and you can enjoy the forest for the rest of eternity. Your choice.”

Lavena, still clutching her hand to her chest, managed to shove herself up onto her feet with bared teeth. “You’ll pay for that.”

The goddess tilted her head and laughed toward the heavens. “Oh, my dove,” she cooed, taking a step too close to the brave collector, “I don’t think I will, but you can certainly try to make me.”

[mightyflamethrower]

Rivian Automotive, a market leader in producing electric pickup trucks, has struggled with producing electric vehicles (EVs) that can accomplish tasks their gasoline engine counterparts handle with ease. A new report from the Wall Street Journal shows the company also struggles with profitability. The company reportedly loses an average of $33,000 for every truck it sells.

The Wall Street Journal reports that Rivian Automotive has positioned itself as a trailblazer in the electric vehicle sector, aiming to deliver an unparalleled driving experience by combining sports-car handling, advanced features, and robust design in its pick up trucks and other models. But not everything is working out according to the company’s plans.

Workers assembly components of a Rivian R1T electric vehicle (EV) pickup truck at the company’s manufacturing facility in Normal, Illinois, US., on Monday, April 11, 2022. Rivian Automotive Inc. produced 2,553 vehicles in the first quarter as the maker of plug-in trucks contended with a snarled supply chain and pandemic challenges. Photographer: Jamie Kelter Davis/Bloomberg

Rivian’s vehicles, with an average selling price exceeding $80,000, have not resulted in profits. In fact, the company suffered a loss of $33,000 on every vehicle sold in the second quarter. The financial strain is evident, but Rivian Founder and Chief Executive RJ Scaringe claims, “We’re competing to build something that’s truly better than all the alternatives, and to try to do that on a limited budget would be detrimental to us achieving our mission.”

Rivian’s journey has been marked by a juxtaposition of financial success and operational struggles. The company made a splash in the market with its IPO in 2021, raising nearly $12 billion and momentarily achieving a valuation surpassing some established automakers. However, the operational side painted a different picture. Rivian grappled with manufacturing troubles, burning through half of its $18 billion cash pile in two years and operating at less than one-third of its build capacity. The company’s ambitious launch of three models in quick succession further complicated the production dynamics.

Breitbart News previously reported on the poor performance of Rivian’s electric pickups in the real world. In one case, an owner’s “honeymoon phase” ended when his truck got stuck in the snow:

In an interview with Insider, Merrill explains that he was initially overjoyed with his new R1S, saying: “I was in a honeymoon phase. It’s an incredible car, and it handles unlike anything I’ve ever driven.” However, when the car got stuck in 2.5 feet of snow, his love affair with the truck promptly ended. Merrill commented on his expectations, stating: “I had seen all the Rivian marketing campaigns with the cars just eating through the snow, so it was kind of like, man, this is disappointing.” When the Rivian truck became stuck in the snow, a safety feature immobilized the vehicle. The vehicle displayed a critical error and indicated it would have to be taken to a service center. Merrill later suggested that a straightforward reset might have fixed the problem, but Rivian’s customer service did not mention that option during his initial call.

Recently, CEO RJ Scaringe made comments mocking the purchase of gasoline vehicles, seemingly forgetting the problems his electric pickups are constantly running into.

As Breitbart News reported:

Electrek reports that Rivian CEO, RJ Scaringe, recently compared the purchase of internal combustion engine (ICE) vehicles to “building a horse barn in 1910.” Rivian exceeded market expectations by delivering 12,640 EVs in the second quarter of this year. The company is on track to meet its annual production guidance of 50,000 vehicles. “The performance and drivability of an EV makes it so much more desirable than an alternative,” Scaringe said. He added, “Buying a non-EV just feels very old,” adding that while the environmental responsibility is a factor, he also feels that regular ICE cars are boring.

[madelinerosales]

Sir Nolan Of The North

It was the coldest winter that Charlie had ever felt biting the flesh of his arms, and the loudest winter he had ever heard clawing at his milky glass windows. The snow itself had twice frozen over. It was an unforgiving season.

Springtime was only over a week away, yet there appeared no conclusion to the dense flurries that ravaged the village. And every child began to desperately yearn for the daffodils and tulips that the spring sun would promise, but Charlie most of all. So he’d ask his mother, as she tucked him beneath five layers of wool blankets:

“How do we know that springtime will come?”

And his mother tutted in response. The answer was obvious. “Because we have faith in Sir Nolan of the North.”

Charlie knew the story well. Rather than “Mama” or “Dada,” Charlie’s alleged first words had been “Sir Nolan of the North.”

The yarn is spun as thus: Sir Nolan is a tired man who lives in the North Pole. His bed is laden in polar bear pelt, and is softer than imaginable. And when the south wind carries winter across the land, it blows the pelt off Sir Nolan’s sleeping form and awakens him. Sir Nolan is happiest when he is asleep, and angriest when he is not. So in a frenzy, he then gathers up all of the wind and snow, and spitefully returns it all to the South Pole. Once he reaches his destination, he bellows, “And stay!” before huffing and puffing his way North.

“Sir Nolan is not real.” Charlie would pout to his mother.

“Yet wintertime always comes.” His mother smiled, “Stories work in mysterious ways.”

But by April 14th, Charlie was overflowing with impatience. So he shoved on his boots and forced his temple through several thick layers of sweaters, and made a witless front into the endless snowstorm.

“Charlie, where are you going?” His mother demanded from the door frame once he was a few feet away, “Get back here this instant!”

“If Sir Nolan exists, he must answer for his actions!” Charlie scowled against the wind.

“I didn’t raise you to be stupid! Don’t take another step!”

Luckily for Charlie, the wind slammed the door right before his mother’s face, and she could not swing it open against its vigor for all her might. Charlie’s journey had begun.

Charlie’s town sat in the valley between two sky-scraping mountains. He needed to scale the Northern one to reach the fabled home of Sir Nolan… Unfortunately, the Northern mountain was the taller of the two by a ridiculously large margin.

Charlie’s shoes scraped against the frozen slush as he hiked up, the storm being the only force pushing him forward after his muscles had entirely numbed. His toes had gone blind to the cold nipping at them. Charlie tried to curl them, testing their remaining strength, yet found not enough spare energy for the action.

By the second day of his journey, he felt nearest to sobbing, but he refused to give the South Wind the pleasure of freezing his tears.

Hiking an impossible mountain in search of a myth on the poor chance that he truly exists, thought Charlie, spite blazing wildly inside his skull, all for the promise of springtime if he does. I’m a fool.

I’m a fool. He repeated with every step.

Sir Nolan is the only one who could solve this winter, the memory of his mother’s voice echoed through the storm’s rage, to find him is to find springtime.

Charlie let out a terrible cry and continued his trek.

By the third day, Charlie reached the mountain’s peak.

I’m the most powerful boy to have lived! He cried within his thoughts, Those down in the village have never done what I’ve done! I can do anything in the world!

His attention snagged on his features reflected on the nearby glassy lake of ice. His eyes were misty, nearly frosted over entirely. His sweat had crystalized and formed icicles off his ears. And his hair flew in every direction except the ones he wanted.

Damn you, Sir Nolan. He grimaced, Damn you if I have put in all of this effort to meet nothing more than a myth.

After two following sunsets, Charlie set his first step onto the snow on the North Pole. And before him sat the smallest wooden shed. But when he swung open the shed’s wizened door, emptiness awaited him, save for an odd white fur blanket atop a bare bedframe. There was no Sir Nolan in sight.

Charlie had half a mind to burst into endless cries, and half a mind to rage.

So he raged.

If Sir Nolan doesn’t exist then that means the burden to end winter is mine! He huffed and kicked down the door leading once again to the outside, No one will bring spring but Charlie!

And so he gathered up all of the storm that had crept to the North Pole, gathered up all the snow that had collected on the mountaintops surrounding his town, and gathered up all of the remnants of winter leftover, and he threw it all back to the South Wind.

“And stay!” He roared to the South.

Rounding up the winter storm had taken him two days.

His mother collapsed into his arms once he crossed back into the town’s border, blowing her nose into the thawing fabric of his outermost coat.

“You’re driving me insane!” She whined.

“Winter was driving me insane, mother!” Charlie guffawed, “But there’s no need to cry anymore, because spring has finally perked up.”

His mother raised her reddened face with hope. “Was it Sir Nolan? What did he say?”

Charlie grimaced at the sound of the false idol’s name. “Sir Nolan does not exist, mother, and can’t do his job. If we want winter gone, we have to do it ourselves!”

And yet Sir Nolan had indeed done his job, though no one believed he’d done anything at all.

[yxxxxxx1]

Thread about Joanna of Castile: Part 7.2: Juana and Philip arrive in Spain

They reached the high pass of San Adriano, toiling through heavy snow toward Salvatierra/Agurain, where crowds of Basques surrounded them. According to the Reise author, the prince's hands went red from all the besamanos (hand-kissing).

Throughout the journey, French-language chroniclers emphasise Philip’s primacy. The Spanish kings wanted Juana to be protected. They issued instructions to various cities to make sure the princes stayed together under one roof.

At the monastery of Santa María la Real de las Huelgas, outside Burgos, where they attended mass and kissed relics, two ‘equal’ seats awaited them at the high altar.

Bernardino Fernández de Velasco, constable of Castile, greeted them a half-league from the city, whose gates were closed ritually against them until they swore to uphold its privileges. When, at nightfall, they processed to the cathedral, they did so together, under a golden pallium. A single sword, the symbol of sovereign justice, was held before Juana and another before Philip.

At Olías, north of Toledo, Philip came down with measles. This must, nonetheless, have been one of the happiest moments of Juana’s life. Late one April afternoon, she watched from a gallery as, among an incoming party of riders, she glimpsed a familiar and “very pleasant, laughing face.”

As Juana struggled to get through the crush, Fernando stepped forward, sweeping off his headgear, and kissed her twice “for joy.” Seizing his hand, she led him to an inner chamber where she acted as interpreter between father and husband.

An enthusiastic Philip told his chancellor, Maigny, that Fernando had been:

“très humain et bégnin …autant ou plus que s’il feust esté mon propre père.”

During the entry into Toledo on May 7, Molinet was struck by the ritual struggles between displays of precedence and modesty and respect. Lalaing persists in emphasizing Philip's superiority. The Reise author also focuses attention on Philip and Fernando. Aram argues that Fernando collaborated to marginalize Juana and undermine the principle of female inheritance, which both sanctioned and threatened their authority in Castile.

On 22 May, seated below the monarchs in the cathedral, Juana and Philip were sworn-in as the heirs to Castile, León and Granada. During the ceremony, both sacred and contractual, which opened the Cortes of Toledo in 1502, Juana received allegiance first, followed by Philip as the 'legitimate husband'.” 

Juana’s pride in her status is reflected in her commissioning of six stunning tapestries, bought for her pleasure, on 10 August 1502. The “golden tapestries,” worked predominantly in gold and silver thread by Philip’s valet de chambre and tapissier, Pierre van Aelst (or Pieter van Edinghen), with whom Juana had a close working association, and dedicated to the Virgin Mary, remain among the greatest treasures of the Spanish state.

These, connected to foreign policy, seem to involve the whole question of Philip’s political independence vis-à-vis his parents-in-law and wife. In a show of spectacular defiance, Philip sent home the major architects of the Spanish marriage within his council, including its president, Henri de Berghes, and refused to accept the combined pleas of Isabel and Juana to reconsider his decision. The plague may have started to stalk the city. Several courtiers died at this time. Busleyden replaced Berghes but fell sick and, on 23 August, he too died. When the princes left for Zaragoza on 29 August, the political honeymoon was well and truly over. Philip’s

“feet itch, his blood boils … and he can settle nowhere,” writes Martire. 

The princes entered Zaragoza on 26 October for the ceremony of oath taking before the Corts. 

Philip was accepted as the future king, but only in Juana’s lifetime. Juana herself became the first female heir to Aragon, and, in the event, its first and last proprietary queen. Nonetheless, this was a pact conditional upon Fernando failing to produce a new son.

Despite the reservations against female rule, the large numbers attending the ceremonies in Toledo and Zaragoza suggest enthusiasm for the princes.

However, following the partition of Naples, the outbreak of fresh hostilities between Fernando and Louis, culminating in the latter expulsion from Naples, made Philip extremely anxious. Fernando rushed to Madrid, where Isabel was in poor health, before preparing for a fresh military campaign. The monarchs called Philip for talks because they knew he wanted to go home. Juana was left to preside at the Cortes for almost three weeks before she too was recalled. Later Aragonese testimony describes her then much as Fuensalida and Rodríguez de Fonseca had reported:

“very sensible (discreta), prudent (cuerda) and with excellent natural gifts.

After conducting “some affairs” she left Zaragoza on 24 November.

To be continued...

Sources: Fleming, G. B. (2018). Juana I: Legitimacy and Conflict in Sixteenth-Century Castile (1st ed. 2018 edition). Palgrave Macmillan.

Fox, J. (2012). Sister Queens: The Noble, Tragic Lives of Katherine of Aragon and Juana, Queen of Castile. Ballantine Books.

Gómez, M. A., Juan-Navarro, S., & Zatlin, P. (2008). Juana of Castile: History and Myth of the Mad Queen. Associated University Presse.

[secretmellowblog]

hey love your blog!

i’ve got a really random specific question.

so I read les mis over 10 years ago and there was a passage in it i’ve been trying to find since but i just can’t… it was a description of a garden and i remember it being soooo lyrical and beautiful but for the life of me i can’t find it again …. any chance it rings a bell????

Gardens are a big motif in Les Mis, and there are lots of lyrical descriptions of gardens in the book! So it is hard to say, but- I'll put other possibilities in the tags, but I think the most likely candidate is probably the longest and most lyrical garden description we get in the book-- the description of the garden in the Rue Plumet, where Jean Valjean lives with Cosette. This is Volume IV, Book 3, Chapter 3, "Foliis Ac Frondibus":

There was a stone bench in one corner, one or two mouldy statues, several lattices which had lost their nails with time, were rotting on the wall, and there were no walks nor turf; but there was enough grass everywhere. Gardening had taken its departure, and nature had returned. Weeds abounded, which was a great piece of luck for a poor corner of land. The festival of gilliflowers was something splendid. Nothing in this garden obstructed the sacred effort of things towards life; venerable growth reigned there among them. The trees had bent over towards the nettles, the plant had sprung upward, the branch had inclined, that which crawls on the earth had gone in search of that which expands in the air, that which floats on the wind had bent over towards that which trails in the moss; trunks, boughs, leaves, fibres, clusters, tendrils, shoots, spines, thorns, had mingled, crossed, married, confounded themselves in each other; vegetation in a deep and close embrace, had celebrated and accomplished there, under the well-pleased eye of the Creator, in that enclosure three hundred feet square, the holy mystery of fraternity, symbol of the human fraternity. This garden was no longer a garden, it was a colossal thicket, that is to say, something as impenetrable as a forest, as peopled as a city, quivering like a nest, sombre like a cathedral, fragrant like a bouquet, solitary as a tomb, living as a throng.

In Floréal this enormous thicket, free behind its gate and within its four walls, entered upon the secret labor of germination, quivered in the rising sun, almost like an animal which drinks in the breaths of cosmic love, and which feels the sap of April rising and boiling in its veins, and shakes to the wind its enormous wonderful green locks, sprinkled on the damp earth, on the defaced statues, on the crumbling steps of the pavilion, and even on the pavement of the deserted street, flowers like stars, dew like pearls, fecundity, beauty, life, joy, perfumes. At midday, a thousand white butterflies took refuge there, and it was a divine spectacle to see that living summer snow whirling about there in flakes amid the shade. There, in those gay shadows of verdure, a throng of innocent voices spoke sweetly to the soul, and what the twittering forgot to say the humming completed. In the evening, a dreamy vapor exhaled from the garden and enveloped it; a shroud of mist, a calm and celestial sadness covered it; the intoxicating perfume of the honeysuckles and convolvulus poured out from every part of it, like an exquisite and subtle poison; the last appeals of the woodpeckers and the wagtails were audible as they dozed among the branches; one felt the sacred intimacy of the birds and the trees; by day the wings rejoice the leaves, by night the leaves protect the wings.

In winter the thicket was black, dripping, bristling, shivering, and allowed some glimpse of the house. Instead of flowers on the branches and dew in the flowers, the long silvery tracks of the snails were visible on the cold, thick carpet of yellow leaves; but in any fashion, under any aspect, at all seasons, spring, winter, summer, autumn, this tiny enclosure breathed forth melancholy, contemplation, solitude, liberty, the absence of man, the presence of God; and the rusty old gate had the air of saying: “This garden belongs to me.”

It was of no avail that the pavements of Paris were there on every side, the classic and splendid hotels of the Rue de Varennes a couple of paces away, the dome of the Invalides close at hand, the Chamber of Deputies not far off; the carriages of the Rue de Bourgogne and of the Rue Saint-Dominique rumbled luxuriously, in vain, in the vicinity, in vain did the yellow, brown, white, and red omnibuses cross each other’s course at the neighboring crossroads; the Rue Plumet was the desert; and the death of the former proprietors, the revolution which had passed over it, the crumbling away of ancient fortunes, absence, forgetfulness, forty years of abandonment and widowhood, had sufficed to restore to this privileged spot ferns, mulleins, hemlock, yarrow, tall weeds, great crimped plants, with large leaves of pale green cloth, lizards, beetles, uneasy and rapid insects; to cause to spring forth from the depths of the earth and to reappear between those four walls a certain indescribable and savage grandeur; and for nature, which disconcerts the petty arrangements of man, and which sheds herself always thoroughly where she diffuses herself at all, in the ant as well as in the eagle, to blossom out in a petty little Parisian garden with as much rude force and majesty as in a virgin forest of the New World.

Nothing is small, in fact; any one who is subject to the profound and penetrating influence of nature knows this. Although no absolute satisfaction is given to philosophy, either to circumscribe the cause or to limit the effect, the contemplator falls into those unfathomable ecstasies caused by these decompositions of force terminating in unity. Everything toils at everything.Algebra is applied to the clouds; the radiation of the star profits the rose; no thinker would venture to affirm that the perfume of the hawthorn is useless to the constellations. Who, then, can calculate the course of a molecule? How do we know that the creation of worlds is not determined by the fall of grains of sand? Who knows the reciprocal ebb and flow of the infinitely great and the infinitely little, the reverberations of causes in the precipices of being, and the avalanches of creation? The tiniest worm is of importance; the great is little, the little is great; everything is balanced in necessity; alarming vision for the mind. There are marvellous relations between beings and things; in that inexhaustible whole, from the sun to the grub, nothing despises the other; all have need of each other. The light does not bear away terrestrial perfumes into the azure depths, without knowing what it is doing; the night distributes stellar essences to the sleeping flowers. All birds that fly have round their leg the thread of the infinite. Germination is complicated with the bursting forth of a meteor and with the peck of a swallow cracking its egg, and it places on one level the birth of an earthworm and the advent of Socrates. Where the telescope ends, the microscope begins. Which of the two possesses the larger field of vision? Choose. A bit of mould is a pleiad of flowers; a nebula is an ant-hill of stars. The same promiscuousness, and yet more unprecedented, exists between the things of the intelligence and the facts of substance. Elements and principles mingle, combine, wed, multiply with each other, to such a point that the material and the moral world are brought eventually to the same clearness. The phenomenon is perpetually returning upon itself. In the vast cosmic exchanges the universal life goes and comes in unknown quantities, rolling entirely in the invisible mystery of effluvia, employing everything, not losing a single dream, not a single slumber, sowing an animalcule here, crumbling to bits a planet there, oscillating and winding, making of light a force and of thought an element, disseminated and invisible, dissolving all, except that geometrical point, the I; bringing everything back to the soul-atom; expanding everything in God, entangling all activity, from summit to base, in the obscurity of a dizzy mechanism, attaching the flight of an insect to the movement of the earth, subordinating, who knows? Were it only by the identity of the law, the evolution of the comet in the firmament to the whirling of the infusoria in the drop of water. A machine made of mind. Enormous gearing, the prime motor of which is the gnat, and whose final wheel is the zodiac.

[balcon1es]

“Yeah, yeah.” Mikey raised his hands, sticking his tongue out. “You got me.”

Three months gone. Three—and only now was he looking a little contrite over it. If he walked out of his little yokai brigade right now, April knew Leo would put it all behind them. It was way more than what any of them would get away with.

Leo sheathed his sword. Seemed to ignore the masked yokai fringing Mikey’s side, mirroring Leo’s own.  “Hey, Mikey.”

“Hey, Leo,” Mikey said, in a small voice. Stared at the ground like it held all the world's secrets. The room watched the two brothers. Even the snow outside quieting for their reunion. Then Mikey rose, lifting his head, and a smile pooled into his eyes—a trickster’s smile, his old one, but behind it something barbed lay in wait. April's body flared in warning. “Bye, Leo.”

Leo bristled. “Wait—“

Light. Beneath their feet, the circular seal pulsed as Mikey's thumb stitched the last of it closed—when had he drawn it? Smoke, like a huge sail, furled into the room. As it cleared, common tools where each of Mikey and his entourage once stood clattered back to earth. Clay pots, spoons, brushes, old fraying books.

The gold glow of the seal bled out of the room. Leo stared at its dull scrawl. A scroll rolled to a stop by his foot.

In the silence, a soldier reached for him, but April gave a sharp jerk of her head.

Don't, she mouthed, then winced at the sound Leo slamming his fist against the ground.

[amanktreks]

Tungnath Trek: Close to Delhi a Perfect Adventure Awaits!

If you’re searching for an unforgettable trekking experience near Delhi, the Tungnath Trek is your ultimate adventure. Nestled in the scenic Garhwal Himalayas, the trek offers a combination of spirituality, adventure, and breathtaking views. Whether you’re a seasoned trekker or a beginner, this journey promises memories to last a lifetime.

How to Reach Tungnath Trek: A Step-by-Step Guide

To reach the Tungnath Trek in Uttarakhand, start by travelling to Chopta, the base point of the trek. Chopta is well-connected by road and can be reached from major cities like Rishikesh or Haridwar via private cabs or public buses. From Chopta, it’s a 3.5-kilometer uphill trek to the Tungnath Temple, offering breathtaking views of the surrounding Himalayan landscape along the way.

Why Choose the Tungnath Trek?

The Tungnath Trek is renowned for being the highest Shiva temple trek in the world, located at an elevation of 12,073 feet. Along the way, you’ll pass through lush meadows, rhododendron forests, and mesmerising mountain peaks. The trek is easily accessible and often combined with the Chopta Trek, making it a two-in-one adventure.

Tungnath Trekking Packages: Choose Your Perfect Adventure

Trekking from Chopta

• Duration: 2 Nights & 3 Days

• Price: ₹3999 per person

Ideal for those already in Uttarakhand, this package starts from Chopta, often called the “Mini Switzerland of India” due to its breathtaking scenery. This trek takes you through pristine landscapes and leads to Tungnath Temple and Chandrashila, offering panoramic Himalayan views.

Trekking from Rishikesh

• Duration: 2 Nights & 3 Days

• Price: ₹5799 per person

This package begins from Rishikesh, the yoga capital of India, making it convenient for adventurers in the region. With transportation included, you’ll enjoy a hassle-free journey to Chopta, followed by an exciting trek to Tungnath and Chandrashila.

Trekking from Delhi

Tungnath Trek from Delhi: A Perfect Himalayan Escape

• Duration: 4 Nights & 5 Days

• Price: ₹7499 per person

For those seeking an adventure away from the hustle and bustle of city life, the Tungnath Trek from Delhi is the perfect choice. This comprehensive package includes transportation, meals, and a meticulously planned itinerary, ensuring a seamless trekking experience.

All packages by Universal Adventures are carefully crafted to ensure a seamless and enjoyable trekking experience. Book your Chopta trekking package today and embark on a journey to explore the unparalleled beauty of Tungnath and Chandrashila!

Best Time for Tungnath Trek

The Tungnath Trek best time is during the months of April to June and September to November. During these periods, the weather is pleasant, and the trails are vibrant with greenery and flowers. Monsoon months (July and August) are generally avoided due to heavy rainfall, while winters (December to March) offer a snow-laden adventure for seasoned trekkers.

Highlights of the Trek

Spiritual Significance: Visit Tungnath, the highest Shiva temple in the world.

Chandrashila Summit: Witness panoramic views of Himalayan peaks like Nanda Devi, Trishul, and Kedarnath.

Chopta Meadows: Ideal for nature lovers and a photographer’s paradise.

Adventure for All: Suitable for beginners and experienced trekkers.

Tungnath Trek: The Ultimate Adventure Near Delhi

Tungnath Trek is a perfect getaway for adventure enthusiasts, nature lovers, and spiritual seekers alike. Located close to Delhi, it offers a chance to escape the chaos of city life and immerse yourself in the serene beauty of the Himalayas. Whether you start your journey from Chopta, Rishikesh, or Delhi, each route is packed with unique experiences and breathtaking views.

So, gear up, embrace the call of the mountains, and embark on this exhilarating adventure to Tungnath—an experience that will stay with you forever!

[parasparivaar]

History Of Kedarnath

Kedarnath is one of the Char Dhams in the north, with Badrinath, Gangotri, and Yamunotri. It is also one of India's twelve jyotirlingas, and the highest. Kedarnath is regarded as extremely holy and difficult to approach.

However, the true history of Kedarnath begins with the Pandavas. After the Mahabharatha war, the Pandavas and Draupadi sought penance. Killing one's own kin was a severe sin, therefore they sought atonement from Lord Shiva in the Himalayan highlands. They saw Lord Shiva right where the Kedarnath sanctuary sits today.

Lord Shiva was unprepared to forgive them. So he disguised himself as a bull and buried himself to escape being discovered. However, the Pandavas recognised him, and Bhima tugged on his tail and back legs. Mahadev was buried deeper beneath the soil before resurfacing in 5 locations: the hump in Kedarnath, the arms in Tungnath,  the face in Rudranath, the belly in Madhyamaheshwar, and the head in Kalpeshwar. These come together to form the Panch Kedar.

The Pandavas subsequently built temples in all five of these locations, which absolved their crimes.

Where Is Kedarnath Located?

Kedarnath is situated in the deep recesses of Uttarakhand, bordering Tibet. On one side, there are the Gangotri mountains, where the Ganga originates. On the other side is the sacred land of Badrinath. To get to any of these locations, you'll need to take a lengthy road diversion.

Sonaprayag, the last village before Kedarnath, is 210 miles from Rishikesh via road and 246 kilometers from Dehradun. While it may appear to be a little distance, the journey can last up to ten hours. Kedarnath is also located at an elevation of 11,755 feet, and the main shrine is not accessible by road or car. There are numerous ways to get to the shrine. Please see the 'How to Reach' section below.

When Is Kedarnath Open For Visitors?

Kedarnath's opening and closing dates vary each year because it follows the Hindu calendar. The shrine is currently open from the first day of Vaishakh (April-May) until the first day of Karthik (October-November). Diwali is traditionally the first day that the temple is closed.

During the winter, the temple and its surroundings are covered in deep snow and become dormant. The temple is currently inaccessible.

The temple is open all day, from 4 a.m. to 3 p.m. It closes for lunch and reopens from 5 to 9 p.m. The morning puja is held from 4:00 to 7:00 a.m., while the evening puja is held between 6:00 and 7:30 p.m.

Yatra Registration For Kedarnath

Following the 2013 flash floods, local officials set up a yatra registration system to limit the number of visitors to the Kedarnath Dham. Everyone must register online before starting their journey.

If you are trekking to Kedarnath, you will need to show your yatra epass. Make sure you have it before arriving. If you cannot do it yourself, try hiring someone in the vicinity for a charge (about ₹50, may change during busy season).

You will surely require this e-pass and registration to book a helicopter ticket online. Beginning in 2022, you will be expected to upload your Covid-19 certificate when registering.

Where To Stay During Kedarnath Travel?

In Guptakashi Or Sonaprayag

You will most likely need to spend a night or two in Guptakashi or Sonaprayag (if hiking), as this will serve as your base for your Kedarnath excursion. You must begin and end your journey at GuptaKashi, regardless of the mode of conveyance.

Guptakashi has a wide variety of hotels, ranging from inexpensive to mid-range. However, you are unlikely to discover super-luxurious ones in the neighborhood. While the hotel prices are equal to other hill stations during the regular months, they rise during the high season. We found super-basic lodgings (without heating or geysers) for ₹3000 per night.

The motels in Sonaprayag are somewhat basic, yet they are recommended if you want to start your journey the next morning.

Issues To Keep Note

As I indicated at the start of this article, I have mixed feelings regarding my journey. And, while I do not wish to scare you with my (personal) beliefs, I believe you should keep a few things in mind.

1. Keep in mind that the number of pilgrims making this journey is enormous. So expect it to be bustling everywhere! Hotels are full, and transportation, including ponies and helicopters, is overbooked. The queues are long, and the options are restricted. If you're travelling with the elderly or children, be prepared to pay for their discomfort with money.

2.According to ecologists, the 2013 floods were caused by overpopulation, overdevelopment, and excessive tourism. And, while local officials sought to keep this under control in subsequent years, as of 2022, there is basically no supervision or controls on activities. We'll be back at square one soon.

3.The seven helicopter companies who operate helicopters in this region frequently fail to follow the proper laws and safety criteria. The result was the helicopter crash on October 22. And you will not be surprised. The helicopters are booked at two to five times their normal capacity. This means less rest periods for both helicopters and pilots. Negligence is frequent. Some operators perform better than others, but no one can ensure a safe return.

4.All of the facilities along this road are relatively pricey, particularly during peak season. I probably paid as much as I would for a week-long vacation abroad, ignoring geyser motels and nasty drivers. If you're searching for a vacation, this is not it. If you're a pilgrim, take things as they come.

5.Only emergency and basic medical care are available in the region. Take special cautious around the elderly and children. Keep your prescriptions with you; don't expect to find them here. In the event of an emergency, you may be transported via helicopter, which must be self-funded.

[weather-usa]

Persistent rain continues to drench storm-weary Florida for a fourth consecutive day, following floods that turned roads into waterways and left drivers stranded.

South Florida continues to be battered by heavy rainfall, now persisting for a fourth consecutive day on Friday. The torrential storms since Tuesday have transformed roads into canals and forced residents to navigate waist-deep waters or seek refuge on the roofs of their cars.

Climate and Average Weather Year Round in Nevada:

Tragically, two individuals lost their lives in a weather-related vehicle accident southeast of Fort Myers late Wednesday afternoon, as per the Florida Highway Patrol. The victims, a 35-year-old woman and a 25-year-old man, lost control of their vehicle due to the adverse weather conditions and collided with oncoming traffic. Two others sustained injuries in the incident.

Since the onset of heavy rainfall earlier in the week, flooding in some areas has reached waist-deep levels. Hazardous conditions on roads have stranded drivers and rendered many thoroughfares impassable. As a result, several schools in severely affected counties have closed, and hundreds of flights have been canceled or delayed.

With tropical moisture continuing to flow over South Florida, the Weather Prediction Center has issued a level 3 out of 4 flood threat for Friday, just below the rare high-risk category observed on Thursday.

See more:

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-99522

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-99523

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-99524

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-99529

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-99530

Although the robust tropical moisture responsible for the deluge will gradually move out of the region over the weekend, Friday promises another day of relentless rainfall for South Florida. By the end of the week, multiple cities could accumulate more than 2 feet of rain.

South Florida remains pummeled by heavy rainfall, now into its fourth consecutive day on Friday. Since Tuesday, relentless storms have turned roads into waterways, forcing residents to wade through waist-deep floodwaters or seek safety atop their vehicles.

Tragically, a fatal weather-related vehicle accident occurred southeast of Fort Myers late Wednesday afternoon, according to the Florida Highway Patrol. A 35-year-old woman and a 25-year-old man lost control of their vehicle in the hazardous weather conditions, resulting in a collision with oncoming traffic. Two others were injured in the incident.

Since the heavy rainfall began earlier in the week, flooding in some areas has risen to waist-deep levels. Dangerous road conditions have left drivers stranded and made numerous roads impassable. Consequently, several schools in severely affected counties have closed, and hundreds of flights have been canceled or delayed.

With continuous tropical moisture flowing over South Florida, the Weather Prediction Center has issued a level 3 out of 4 flood threat for Friday, just below the rare high-risk level seen on Thursday.

Weather Forecast For Nevada:

While the robust tropical moisture responsible for the downpour is expected to gradually move out of the region over the weekend, Friday anticipates another day of unrelenting rainfall for South Florida. By week's end, several cities may accumulate over 2 feet of rain.

Flooding has once again posed serious threats to Florida residents, as heavy rainfall inundated South Florida since Tuesday morning. Social media footage vividly shows water levels rising to vehicle windows and flooding parking decks and neighborhood streets.

For many South Florida residents, the recent deluge comes shortly after they had just completed repairs from catastrophic flooding in April 2023, only to face water at their doorsteps once more this week.

In Miami, videos depict cars stranded in nearly submerged conditions. In one instance, a family's yard resembled a lake with belongings floating outside amidst standing water, as reported by CNN affiliate WSVN.

"I'm scared," expressed 11-year-old Somaya Ferdinand to WSVN while navigating thigh-high water outside her home in Northeast Miami-Dade. "It looked like a swimming pool."

Further north in Hallandale Beach, footage showed a man kayaking among cars submerged in high waters across parts of the city. Broward County Sheriff’s Office Fire Rescue Battalion Chief Michael Kane noted that some mobile home parks were underwater.

On Wednesday, severe flooding in Hallandale Beach left cars submerged up to their windshields, prompting drivers to abandon their vehicles and seek safety by wading through water. Emergency responders were compelled to use boats to rescue individuals stranded atop car roofs, handling 175 distress calls in Hallandale Beach alone, according to Kane.

In the Broward County neighborhood of Edgewood, resident Anna Rysedorph prepared for potential evacuation as water encircled her ankles inside her home.

See more:

https://www.behance.net/gallery/196411477/Weather-Forecast-for-Mississippi

"I put the dogs in, I'm all packed up. I pretty much got everything in bins and we're ready to go," Rysedorph shared with CNN affiliate WSVN on Wednesday. "My husband's like 'Don't panic, don't panic,' but you know, I'm not gonna be caught unprepared."

As Florida grapples with ongoing heavy rainfall, severe thunderstorms are forecast to impact the Northern and Central High Plains, as well as parts of the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic on Friday.

The National Weather Service predicts thunderstorms will develop across Colorado, Nebraska, and Kansas from Friday afternoon into the evening. These storms may bring large hail and damaging wind gusts to the region through Friday night.

In the Eastern United States, severe thunderstorms are expected to initiate over western Pennsylvania Friday afternoon, spreading into the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic Coast during the evening. The primary threat will be damaging wind gusts, although some storms could also produce hail.

Cities along the I-95 corridor, including Washington, DC, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York City, and Boston, could potentially be affected by these strong storms.

[amitapaul]

15/8

8/4/24

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#24GloPoWriMo

Prompt Dated : 2024 April 8

Response No : 1

Poem No: 15

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Prompt : Write a poem that centers around an encounter or relationship between two people (or things) that shouldn’t really have ever met – whether due to time, space, age, the differences in their nature, or for any other reason.

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Featured Poem :

Today, we have two featured participants: (1) Behind Door Number 3 and Orangepeel, where you’ll find very differnt, but compelling, takes on Day 7’s postcard prompt.

1

Behind Door No 3

Postcard, unwritten.

The sound of his laughter,

as slick as watermelon seeds,

tastes like the feeling of

bare feet running through

a sprinkler made rainbow

hovering above the thick

scent of a shaded, mown lawn.

There is a wicker porch chair

proposing a seamless, wide-angle

view of this scene; its empty

cushions missing the welcomed

weight of your presence, and

the posture of all the stories

you would have told.

2.

Orangepeel

Postcard to the Ex

There's a bear in the back yard

and piranhas in the kitchen sink.

The kids are dressing like clowns

and the bank took back the TV.

The car lost a wheel and a door.

Someone painted our windows black.

Your favorite chair caught fire,

and last night during the storm,

a huge tree limb crashed

through the bedroom ceiling

and onto your side of the bed.

Wish you were here.

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Poetry Resource :

Our featured resource today is this animated video of a talk given by the poet Jane Hirshfield on the art of the metaphor.

The Elephant in the Room, Still waters run deep.

Fog

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

****

Mother to Son

BY LANGSTON HUGHES

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor—

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

Where there ain’t been no light.

So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down on the steps

’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now—

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’,

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

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Prompt : Today, we challenge you to write a poem that centers around an encounter or relationship between two people (or things) that shouldn’t really have ever met – whether due to time, space, age, the differences in their nature, or for any other reason.

Our ( optional) prompt for the day takes its inspiration from Laura Foley’s poem “Year End.”

Year End

I want to bury him

though I doubt it's appropriate

for a butterfly.

Perhaps I'll climb the icy hill,

trudge through woods and slippery snow,

to place him as close as I can to sky,

in the field he would have floated over,

on his way to Mexico,

if October hadn't been too cold for flight.

The orange-and-black-winged beauty

thrived, in his screened-in cage,

lit with purple happy lights,

and fed every day by hand,

his proboscis dipped in honey water,

until, on Christmas day,

he birthed three sacs of sperm,

a rare gift for me these days.

Finding no mate,

he folded his wings and died,

face pressed into the New Year's daisy

I gave him, as a human lover might.

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Poem Title : Lost in Sugga Falls

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We sat on the warm wet rocks of the graded gentle Sugga Falls

Named after the fabled Parrot of the legend of lovers

An Australian priest sang about in the unfamiliar language of the Munda tribe

With brushwood and ferns and mosses filling in the gaps

Left by the teak, sal, arjun, aasan, mahua, semal, palaash trees

For the sands of the Koel river and her husband explained

To the doctor couple from Delhi the healthcare needs

Of the local population. Trout leaped in the sunlit stream and I thought

One could not be closer to heaven, so I asked her

How long she would stay and she replied

“ I miss the bright lights and the malls.

I’m leaving next week. How soon do you think my husband’s deputation papers will come through ? “

Blind, blind, blind. And thus lost around us everyday.

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Poet : Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia

Poem 15/8th Day

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