#buzzard vomit

[0rion5212]

They don’t know how.

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

THE KENTUCKY PHENOMENON

On March 3, 1876, at the home of Allen Crouch near Olympian Springs, Kentucky, "from a clear sky" fell flakes of beef between one and four inches long. A thick shower of the meat landed on the ground, trees, and fences over an area of 100 yards by 50 yards. There was no wind at the time. One of the startled witnesses ate some of the skyfall and said it tasted fresh and like mutton or venison. First accounts of this event appeared in the Scientific American and the New York Times.

Various experts examined the matter. Their opinions on its identity included nostoc, "a low form of vegetable matter"; lung tissue from a human or a horse; cartilage; and muscular fiber. Only one expert conjectured on how it fell from the sky. The suggestion was that the meat was disgorged by buzzards, though this idea didn't say how many of them it would take to vomit that much meat or how high they would have to be flying to be invisible to those on the ground.

On March 3, 1929, inside an office in Newton, New Jersey, a rain of buckshot fell at intervals over several days. It could not be discovered how the shot got into the building.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[lbeth1950]

Fibbing Friday Questions this week from Melissa: How would you define these?

1. Ambidexter A yellow resinous substance that oozes from the famous Dexter Palm of Palmyra 2. Blatherskite A buzzard that vomits copious amounts of ephemera 3. Breviloquent A toxic politician who lies with ineloquence 4. Crapulence A blast of breviloquence too smarmy to conceal 5. Graumangere Famine resulting from fields contaminated with ergot fungi 6. Grimoire Large armoire of ebony 7.…

[aptenodykes]

I’m making an educated guess based off hours of looking at r/male living spaces and my own personal observations but the night buzzard is probably revolting.

There would be so much grime and dust everywhere on top of the viscera that got brought back to the ship after missions or whatever.

Half the challenge of being in their club is not vomiting when you enter the ship and smell it for the first time

[platonic-prompts]

Something that cracks me up whenever we're watching the buzzards sun themselves on the barn was that my mom's fiances mom was terrified of them coming down to try to eat her

and I in all my glorious ten year old wisdom said "Why? Do you smell dead?

[morganofthewildfire]

enchanted

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

So i know this was originally for a summary game, but - here you go!

based on the taylor swift song

~ 1k words

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

Rowan couldn’t keep the dopey smile off of his face, no matter how he tried. He was sure to be made fun of for it, his best friends were going to laugh at him relentlessly for this later, but every time he took a sip of his drink to try and hide it, it only made it worse.

Maybe it was because of the alcohol, maybe it was because of his promotion earlier that day at work, which was why they were out celebrating. 

But he was really just fooling himself; he knew why he was smiling. He knew why he had that giddy feeling inside of his chest, like fireworks set off in his heart. It was because of her, the blonde woman up at the bar.

They’d said maybe three words to each other last time he went up there to get another round. Pretty much just the extent of her asking if his shirt had buzzards on it, to him being so dumbfounded by how beautiful she was that he never replied, to which she then laughed at him as she sipped on her drink. 

Then the bartender had handed him his drinks and he walked back to his table, with his parting words - 

“They’re hawks, not buzzards.” 

But she’d just winked before turning to laugh with the brunette next to her, and he’d been left reeling. 

Rowan hadn’t gotten her name, but he wanted to know it. He wanted to know everything about her. He already knew that her hair was the exact color of sunlight, that her eyes were like that same sun shining on the ocean waves. Knew that her smile lit up the entire room, and that her laugh was the most precious sound he’d ever heard.

There was something special about that girl, he could tell already. 

Normally he didn’t like going out very much, he was much more of a have people over and chill and drink whiskey at his apartment rather than braving the loud, chaotic bar scene. And he’d been hesitant when Fenrys had insisted, to the extent where he’d been grouchy on the way there, and grouchy as they sat down. Really, grouchy until he saw her face.

“Your chances of getting her to come over here aren’t going to improve by staring daggers at her, you know,” his best friend Lorcan said as he took a sip of his beer. Rowan just looked over at him, pretending to be clueless. The brunette just snorted. “I saw her talk to you briefly at the bar, and now you’re smiling like a fucking idiot.” 

“I’m not-”

“Just man up and go back over there,” Lorcan insisted, “if you’re really that interested.”

Rowan considered it for a second, before shaking his head.

“What if she has a boyfriend?” He asked, dread filling him at the thought. Gods, he didn’t even know her but that made him want to vomit. 

“Well, you never know if you don’t try,” Lorcan said, exasperated, but Rowan still hesitated. “Here,” he sighed, before draining the rest of his beer. “Go get me another, now you have an excuse.”

Rowan frowned at his friend, but pushed himself out of his stool, fighting the urge to flash him an unkind gesture as he headed back up toward the bar, nerves dancing around his stomach. The blonde goddess was still there where he’d left her before, chatting away with her friend and generally making his heart flutter. 

He had to muster the courage to walk those next few steps up to stand by her, tapping the bar top nervously, pretending like he was simply there for another drink.

“Hey birdman,” the girl’s friend called, and he froze, turning to look at her cautiously. She was stunning too, with those striking green eyes, but they weren’t the ones that had completely enchanted him. “Weren’t you just up here?”

“Stop, Lysandra,” she chastised, slapping her arm playfully. 

“What?” the other girl, Lysandra, questioned. “I’m just curious.”

“I’m getting another drink for my friend,” Rowan answered carefully, chancing a glance at her. 

“See?” She said, not looking at him. Lysandra rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, Aelin,” Lysandra said, and his heart fluttered. Aelin. It was unique, but not weird, and sounded like it would roll off his tongue perfectly. Because it was, perfect. 

“Sorry about her,” Aelin said, turning to face him. He blushed as he met her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he managed to say, having to force the words out. 

“She’s nosey sometimes,” Aelin said with a shrug.

“I’m right here!” Lysandra interrupted, with a grin, and Aelin laughed musically. She spun on her stool to face her.

“Am I wr-” she stopped mid sentence, her eyes going to the front door as it opened, a brunette man walking in and looking around. Rowan’s heart plummeted. Especially as Aelin got up from her seat, practically running over there and hopping into the man’s arms, leaving Rowan watching as he spun her around, both of them laughing.

Then they kissed and he looked away, clearing his throat, pretending once again like everything was fine. Even as his heart was breaking. 

But he could feel a different set of eyes on him, and he turned, seeing Lysandra watching him, something like pity in her gaze.

“Cheers, birdman,” she said, lifting her cocktail in the air. “Better luck next time.”

He just forced a tight smile, swiping the beer as the bartender handed it to him, quickly heading back to his table.

“I’m sorry man,” Lorcan said, as he handed him the drink, and Rowan shook his head.

“It’s fine.” It should be fine. It was fine. She didn’t owe him anything, they’d barely even talked. But he couldn’t help but feel the hurt that that secret hope he’d harbored was undeniably gone.

----

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@poisonous00

[queentala]

PLEASE write something about cassian or Rowan helping reader on her period. Maybe she gets really bad cramps and can’t move

We're gonna do Rowan because the lack of Rowan x reader things in this fandom is unacceptable. Also because I love this guy ✌️

Sorry it took me so long but school, you know. Probably I’m going to public all my stories at weekends so you have to be patient. So Manon x f!reader and one more Rowan x reader coming out tomorrow! If you have any more requests, pls, write them. Anyways, enjoy <3

After pain, always comes comfort

Rowan Whitethorn x reader

As a Fae you get your period twice a year. Only twice! And fate decided that it'll happen on an important mission. To make it even better, Fae menstrual cycle is  way more painful and longer than human’s one. So after four days in the forest, away from any civilization and without access to hygiene products or pain relieving herbs you could easily say with no remorse that you were dying.   

Of course, you didn’t go on a mission alone. Together with your mate and two friends, Gavriel and Vaughan, you were sent to deal with skinwalkers that terrorized villages at the north of Wendlyn since few weeks. There were several dozen of them and it took you almost three weeks to kill them all and make sure people are safe. Finally, exhausted and battered you got on your way home but after two days of enjoining peaceful ride through beautiful lands of your country, your bleeding started.

During the first day you had to jump off your horse to vomit every half an hour. Your head, belly, breasts, legs ached. Everything ached. Next days weren’t very different. Rowan, your mate, your loving and caring mate, couldn’t bear the sight of you in pain. He even suggested for you to go to the nearest village and wait there till you’ll be able to function normally but you were desperate to get home as fast as possible and bury yourself under warm covers. Not wanting to argue with you, you kept going.

The nights were sleepless. You tossed and turned, not being able to find comfortable position, even in your lover’s arms. During days however you were trying so hard to not fall asleep. Ignoring yours comrades’ protests and offers to help you pretended to be fine. Well, as fine as woman on period can be.

Today you were literally unconscious. Fighting to keep your eyes open and stay straight in the saddle. Luckily your stallion sensed that you were sick and went nicely on his own, perfectly knowing the way home. You didn’t even noticed that you were sleeping on his neck until Rowan’s voice woke you up.

“Y/N, My Heart, we’re home” he said and touched your arm gently

Despite the pain, you straighten yourself slowly and opened your eyes. In front of you rose walls and gate leading to the castle. Immediately as you entered courtyard guards came up to you, ready to take care of your horses. You slide of your saddle but your legs refused to obey. Rowan ran to you before you could hit the ground. Gently he scooped you into his arms and started walking to the castle.

“Rowan I’m fine. We need to report to Sellene” you tried to protest and get on the ground but again, your body refused to work.

��Gavriel and Vaughan will report to her” you opened your mouth but he spoke again “Besides, Sellene is your friend and a woman. She also has problems like that so she will understand” he kissed your forehead and opened doors to your chambers. “And I have enough of seeing you suffer”

“I’m one of the greatest warriors of all times and the greatest female warrior ever. And I can’t even report to my queen because of some stupid stomach pain” you exhaled and laid your head on yours mate’s shoulder. “That’s pathetic”

“It’s not” Rowan sat you on your couch and started taking off your boots and jacket “It’s natural. And you know you only feel THAT bad because you were stubborn kid and refused to go to some village and stay there for few days. You’re not only on your period but also you’re exhausted and drained out of power”

“Shut up Buzzard”

He was right though. Your periods were always painful but most of the time you were able to do your job. This time even staying awake seemed impossible. Rowan stood up and left you curled up on soft pillows. Two minutes later you’ve heard running water. Once again you were lifted up and led to the bathroom. Rowan undressed you and gently set you in the bath.

You opened your eyes and looked at your mate. In his pine-green eyes you could see love. He was serious and dangerous warrior but he had soft side. Especially for you. His love. His world. His mate. And soon his wife. He took your hand in his. The delicate silver ring on your finger was designed to look like tree twigs. Between them shone little gemstone in color of your eyes.

“You are exhausted too Rowan” you kissed his hand “Join me?”

He undressed himself without a word and slipped behind you. Hot water with scented oils relaxing yours sore bodies. Rowan washed you as you dozed on his chest, finally feeling comfort after days of pain. You enjoyed his fingers gently massaging your body and scalp as he washed your hair. You sat there, loving each other’s company.

You loved being out. You loved fighting, helping and protecting those who needed it. Long rides trough the forest, campfires at night, celebrating a won war with the rest of the cadre and warriors closest to your heart. The blood of your enemies on your face and adrenaline filling your body. That’s what made you happy. But moments like that - moments spent in Rowan’s arms. Those moments kept you alive.

After bath you dressed in some comfortable clothes and your mate walked you to the dining room. The pain wasn’t as bad as before but it still was there. So after seeing that delicious dinner was already waiting for you together with chamomile tea and few chocolate muffins with raspberries and nuts you felt even better.

“Thank you Buzzard” you smiled and get on your toes to kiss him. It was slow and gentle, both of you smiling against each other

“For you, everything My Heart” he said kissing your nose and leading you to the table.

***

You were awakened by the rays of sun falling on your face. Your mate still asleep, held you tightly from behind, burring his face in your shoulder. This could be a perfect morning if not recurring pain and nausea. You wanted to move and ask maid for something to ease your pain but you failed. Instead you whined quietly. That was enough to wake your mate up.

He kissed your temple and immediately jumped out of bed. He came back minutes later with painkillers and warm tea. He slipped under covers again, sitting you against his chest and murmuring good morning.

“You know... I really hate my periods” you breathed sipping your tea

“Hm” once again Rowan buried his nose in your hair “You know... That because of those periods one day we might have a baby” You smiled at that. Plans about your future were discussed even before accepting the mating bond. And you knew Rowan wanted a family in the future so bad.

“Well, I guess I can bear this pain then” you bit gently on his neck “But only if you promise to stay with me through it”

“Always” he kissed you “I will always stay with you. To whatever end, My Heart”

[cotton-tails]

So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

-

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

[0rion5212]

like in the old days…

built out of two trash can lids, a pie tin, and some black rubber weather trim. Suspended from a wood dowel by fishing line. Photographed on a real camera. Hoaxed just like in the old days, only this time around with no intent of deceit.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Kentucky Meat Shower

The Kentucky meat shower was an incident occurring between the morning hours of eleven and twelve o'clock for a period of several minutes on March 3, 1876.

At the time, Mrs. Crouch, a farmer’s wife, was making soap on her porch when she reported seeing the meat pieces fall from the sky. She said she was 40 steps from her house when the meat started to slap the ground. The meat looked gristly, according to Mrs. Crouch. Mrs. Crouch and her husband believed the event signified a sign from God. A similar event was later reported in Europe. The phenomenon was reported by Scientific American, The New York Times, and several other publications at the time. Most of the pieces were approximately 2 by 2 inches (5 cm × 5 cm); at least one was 4 by 4 inches (10 cm × 10 cm).

The meat appeared to be beef, but according to the first report in Scientific American, two gentlemen who tasted it judged it to be lamb or deer. B. F. Ellington, a local hunter, identified it as bear meat. Writing in the Sanitarian, Leopold Brandeis identified the substance as Nostoc, a type of cyanobacteria. Brandeis gave the meat sample to the Newark Scientific Association for further analysis, leading to a letter from Dr. Allan McLane Hamilton appearing in the Medical Record and stating the meat had been identified as lung tissue from either a horse or a human infant, "the structure of the organ in these two cases being almost identical."  The composition of this sample was backed up by further analysis, with two samples of the meat being identified as lung tissue, three as muscle, and two as cartilage. Brandeis's Nostoc theory relied on the fact that Nostoc expands into a clear jelly-like mass when rain falls on it, often giving the sense that it was falling with the rain. Charles Fort noted in his first book, The Book of the Damned, that there had been no rain. Locals favored the explanation that the meat was vomited up by buzzards, "who, as is their custom, seeing one of their companions disgorge himself, immediately followed suit." 

Dr. L. D. Kastenbine presented this theory in the contemporaneous Louisville Medical News as the best explanation of the variety of meat. Vultures vomit as part of making a quick escape and also as a defensive method when threatened. Fort explained the flattened, dry appearance of the meat chunks as the result of pressure, and noted that nine days later, on March 12, 1876, red "corpuscles" with a "vegetable" appearance fell over London.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Static and Sneezes

This is somewhat inspired by the fact that I spent last weekend laying around with an awful cold. Now that I’m well enough again to write, I figured I’d turn it into some good sickfic whump.

Hope you enjoy!

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, sickness, respiratory disease, vomit (minor), mentions of past injury

Hero couldn’t help but grit their teeth against the noise. It was less like an audible thing; it was audible in the same way that electricity was. It wasn’t a noise, per se, but the movement of particles through the air assaulted the ears in its own way.

The sensation penetrated even all the way across the street, in their van. The dashboard lights were all that punctured the overwhelming darkness of the city streets, aside from the scattered streetlights, which the vehicle deliberately avoided as it screeched to a halt.

With a click and the groaning of a tired engine, Hero took the key from the ignition. Before the chassis had even settled against the axles, the driver’s side door was thrown open, then closed just as quickly, as a shadowed figure emerged from it and tore across the street.

The noise got horribly loud, the closer they got the worse it became. In tandem, the closer they got, the larger the building before them seemed to become. It spiraled into the air, a corrugation of steel and blue glass and well-hidden rivets.

A nearby streetlight sparkled against the heap of broken glass that had once been the front door. Villain was bold, they noted with a grunt.

As if synced to their thoughts (which it very well could have been, given the technology Agency flaunted about), a voice flashed in their earpiece:

“It’s looking like Villain is moving up to the third floor, now.” Handler spoke.

“What are they doing?” They tried to whisper, but regardless, their voice still seemed to echo in the silent street.

“No idea. The cameras are no good, the static knocks them out.”

“Then... how do you know where they are?”

Hero could almost hear the eye roll on the other end of the line.

“Wherever the cameras aren’t working, that’s where they are.“ The tone seemed to turn to one of concern. “When you go up there, you’re going to be cut off. Anywhere near Villain is a communication dead zone. Are you sure you’re okay with this? We can still send in a team...”

“No. Don’t send anyone.” Hero shook their head. “If we make too much noise, we’ll scare them off. We’re too close. I’m not losing this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I...” Hero bit their lip.

They didn’t even know Villain, not even their name. Not their real one, anyways. Nothing other than the codename Agency had filed them under. They weren’t like other villains. Sure, they were cocky and annoying and overall a danger to society, but they were different. Clever. They had no care for notoriety. They didn’t want the world to fear them or know their name.

More than that, they were careful. They never fought back. They were never there to fight back. By the time Agency made it to the scene, they would leave little more than a residual hum and a shattered window. Few had ever seen them. Fewer had heard their voice.

The thought made Hero bite their tongue. They weren’t going to let them keep getting away with this. They had hurt too many agents. Stolen so much. Caused so much damage. And no one even knew their name.

It ended tonight. The building, a Research and Development institute for a technology company, was built like a maze, and it was one that Villain wouldn’t be get out of this time. Not again.

Tonight was Hero’s big break. Tonight, they would win back their respect. Their reputation. Their confidence. Everything their injury had taken from them.

Finally, finally, they were going to be a hero again.

Without another moment of hesitation, they hurried towards the building. Their boots made the broken glass a trivial issue, and soon, they were in the building. 

From the lobby, hallways swirled and spiraled about like the tentacles of a great beast. But that was not their concern. For a moment, they considered using the elevator, before remembering that elevators, too, would be knocked out by Villain’s powers.

They curled their fists in annoyance, shrugged off their overcoat, and unfolded their wings.

The feathered limbs were beautiful things. Everyone seemed obsessed with saying so, from teammates to trainees to doctors. They had the coloring of a hawk (’a Black Chested Buzzard Eagle’ an overly chipper biology student had stated once), but stretched to a length of around twelve feet.

Oftentimes, Hero found themself wishing that their feathers were of a darker hue. They’d even considered dying them to be so. That way, the metal braces strapped to them wouldn’t be quite so obvious.

Still, in the dark of the building, no one would know. They moved to the stairwell, made a few light flaps, and launched upwards.

Generally, their wings were wonderfully silent things, hardly making the slightest sound as they beat against the air. However, with the metal pieces attached, they made a horrible grinding sound of metal on metal on feather.

It only took a few powerful flaps to carry them to the third floor, and they landed as quietly as they could on the steps. For a moment, they stood there, taking a deep breath.

“I’m going in.” They whispered into their earpiece. On the other end, they heard nothing more than a resigned hum.

Hero threw open the door.

The static burst unto them as if it were a physical thing, filling their ears and threatening to creep into the edges of their vision. They blinked a few times, gritting their teeth against the horrible noise. The stupid hum had knocked out the lights, but enough moonlight crept through the windows so that some things could be made out.

They spotted them.

Hero wasn’t sure what they’d expected. The description in the files was basic. Young, short, wears street clothes. And, all those descriptors were certainly correct.

But none of them described the sheer shock present on the thief’s face. For a moment, the shock turned to fear, then fear to fury. They stepped back, as if steadying themself, as a swirling form of static grew around one hand. It appeared almost like the static on a television screen when turned to the wrong channel, but in physical form and morphed into a three dimensional object.

Hero had no idea what would happen if they got hit with that thing, but they weren’t exactly keen to find out.

“Villain.” They spoke the criminal’s codename in the deepest, most official voice they could manage. “You are under arrest. Place your hands behind your head and-”

It was difficult to describe how static, in physical form, moved through the air. It was almost like a swarm of insects, all joined in purpose and being. Of course, Hero’s instincts didn’t care about that. Before they had even realized what was coming towards them, they had dove out of the way, crashing into the tile floor.

“Why won’t you jerks just leave me alone!”

The reaction was fierce, seemingly built up after a considerable amount of rage had simmered for a considerable amount of time. Or maybe it would fear? It looked...it felt a little too much like fear.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Hero growled, scrambling to their feet. “But if you attack me, I’ll have to resort to it.”

“Just stop! Leave me-”

Villain seemed to cut themself off. Hero was unsure, for a moment, as to why, until they heard the fit of coughing break through the sea of static. They stumbled, as if the coughing had thrown off their balance completely. When the hacking was at last finished, they gasped for breath, in a way that sounded almost like they were gurgling.

“Leave me alone.” They finished, straightening themself.

In the time that the coughing fit had allotted them, Hero had taken a flashlight from their belt-- specifically an older model, one that had no need of radio or internet or anything of the like. They held it up, shining it on Villain’s face. They recoiled at the light.

“What are you doing here?” Hero intended for their voice to sound threatening, or at least official, but it came out with far more concern than malice.

The flashlight’s beam illuminated Villain’s face, even as they attempted to block it with a hand. Their eye sockets had a hollow, sunken quality to them, only accentuated by the redness of the eyes themselves. The redness blossomed out to the rest of their face, all the way up to their ears. From their forehead, sweat bloomed and fell down their jaw in droves.

It was a horrible picture of disease.

“I could ask you the same question.” The coughing seemed to have done a number on their voice, as the words came out croaky and strained. They picked up something from the floor that they had seemingly dropped. “Now, if you would leave me the hell alone, I think it’d be great for the both of us.”

“No.” Hero shook their head, taking a step closer. Another ball of static formed on Villain’s hand, but it did not deter them. “You’re coming with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re going to the hospital, if I have to drag you there with my own two hands.”

Villain looked up at that, clutching their item close to their chest. They weren’t frightened, at least not in the immediate moment. Instead, they seemed incredibly confused.

“You’re sick. Have you seriously not noticed?”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but I don’t have time for it. Move away from the door, and I’ll be on my way, kapish?”

Hero glanced to the door behind them. If Villain got to it, there was likely no stopping them from leaving the building entirely, and disappearing back to wherever they had come from.

“Not a chance.”

Villain’s lips curled in a way indicating that they were about to retort with another cocky remark, when another bout of coughing attacked them. This one brought them to their knees, forcing them to brace themself against the floor. Onto the tiles below, they spat up a horrid looking green liquid.

That was it. Hero clenched a fist, stalking over to the other side of the room and kneeling down beside the sickly villain (taking care not to touch whatever they had just coughed up.) As they recovered, they tried to fight, but were no match.

The click of cuffs sounded as Hero secured Villain’s wrists behind their back. With the leverage the cuffs gave them, Hero brought them to their feet-- though they did so gently.

With one hand, they kept hold of the cuffs, while with the other, they placed a palm upon Villain’s forehead. Even before they touched skin, they could feel the heat radiating off of them.

“You’re under arrest. But first, you’re going to the doctor.”

[shyvioletcat]

Ohohohohohoh can I pleeeeeeease have #3 (will you make a gingerbread house with me?) and maybe #18 (merry christmas, motherfuckers!) for Rowaelin? I know from personal experience that might not be enough of a prompt so I'll sprinkle in #4 (excuse me-where is my christmas kiss?) in if possible. 😍

This seriously has not plot. I just poured a bunch of fluff in a bowl and tried to make a cake from it. Day 2 of my Rowaelin Holiday Celebration.

~~~~~

Holiday music played softly through the speakers in the car, Aelin humming along. Movement caught her eye and she saw Rowan tapping away on the steering wheel in time with the music, he looked at her and gave her a smile when he saw she had noticed. They were on their way to Elide and Lorcan’s place for their holiday get together with their friends. But what was probably the most exciting thing about Yulemas this year was their passenger in the back.

There was a soft thump, followed by a jingle, that was followed by a soft coo that had Rowan turning down the music a little more so he could hear it better. Elspeth had just figured out that she actually had limbs and moving them around erratically was her new favourite form of entertainment. Rowan looked into in the rear view mirror so he could see their two month old in the reflection of the mirror on the headrest of the backseat, and he smiled at what he saw.

“She’s so cute,” he said, utterly smitten.

“Well, I made her, so,” Aelin said by way of explanation. 

Rowan reached over and held Aelin’s hand. “That you did, and you did a very good job of it too.”

That made Aelin laugh, squeezing Rowan’s hand as they kept driving. It wasn’t too much longer before they arrived, parking on the street in front of the Lochan-Salvaterre home. As soon as they stopped Rowan was out of the car, Aelin left him to get their daughter out of the car while she gathered the bags at her feet. When she got out of the Rowan had the infant out of the car seat holding her so she faced outwards. Aelin pulled her little beanie over the wispy blonde hair while she was still in his arms.

Then Rowan took Aelin’s free hand in his and their little family made their way up to the front door. They didn’t even get a chance to open it themselves before it was swung wide open. 

“What in the name of Hellas have you done?” Lorcan’s voice boomed in the quiet night.

Aelin grinned, she knew exactly what he was talking about. All three of them were dressed in matching ugly christmas sweaters, knitted to almost gaudy perfection. She glanced at Rowan who was beaming, and then pulled at Elspeth’s sleeve so it covered her tiny fist. 

“Let us in already, it’s freezing out here,” Aelin scolded, Lorcan still standing in the doorway.

He immediately stepped aside, shaking his head. Once inside, before Rowan could even protest, Lorcan had lifted the baby out of Rowan’s grasp and was holding her up so that he could see the whole outfit. 

“She looks ridiculous and it’s just mean,” Lorcan muttered. “Come on, Elsie-baby. Let’s get you away from your cruel parents. I hope you vomit on this ugly excuse of a sweater.”

And just like that their child was whisked away into the party. Rowan was helping Aelin sort the bags out when another child approached them.

“Aunty Ae!,” Ruben said excitedly.

“Rue!” Aelin said back, hugging the boy back as he hugged her legs.

The four year old grinned up at her, his Ashryver eyes gleaming with excitement. “Will you make a gingerbread house with me?”

“Of course I will,” Aelin replied. “I’ll just put these things down and then I’ll be right with you.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise,” Aelin swore. She looked at Rowan who was looking a little torn. “Go follow her around, I know you want to.” Aelin gave him a nudge in the direction of Lorcan who was showing everyone the baby, no doubt saying slanderous things about the sweater. Elide brought their own son over, the nearly one year old was very excited to see the baby.

“I don’t know why he’s ragging on us,” Rowan said. “Korbin is literally dressed as a reindeer.”

Indeed he was. Dressed in a little fleece reindeer footed suit, a hood with antlers and everything, locks of his dark hair poking out. Rowan left her then, heading into the party. Aelin put the presents under the tree, dropped the food off in the kitchen where she stayed at the bench to help Ruben with his gingerbread house. She was cutting sour straps for shingles for the roof when Fenrys and Asterin arrived, the open plan of the living, dining and kitchen giving her a good view of the party. Aelin could tell he’d arrived already a little tipsy from the grin on his face. Fenrys stopped in the entryway to the living room, arms spread wide, ready to greet the rest of the guys who had set up on the couches. 

“Merry Yulemas motherfu—“

Asterin clamped her hand over his mouth. “Fen, the kids.”

“What? It’s not like it’s a lie,” he said, giving a sweeping gesture at Rowan, Aedion and Lorcan.

Aelin snorted, trying her hardest not to laugh.

“What are you laughing at, Aunty Ae?” Ruben enquired, making a jellybean path.

“Uncle Fenrys is very inappropriate,” Aelin answered.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he gets into a lot of trouble all the time,” Aelin explained. 

“Santa won’t be bringing him presents then,” the boy said very seriously.

That made Aelin laugh again. “You’re right.”

Once the gingerbread house met Ruben’s approval they joined the rest of the party in the living room. Aelin tucked herself into the couch beside Rowan, her nephew clambering onto her lap. Her husband had managed to gain custody of their daughter again, grinning as he played with her. She was lying on his chest, her elbows propping her head up as Rowan kissed her chubby cheeks over and over, making her coo in delight, giving her father her most darling gummy smile. The main event in the room was Lorcan and Fenrys trying to get Korbin to walk between them, but Aelin could look away from Rowan and Elspeth. There was such joy on his face as he interacted with their daughter, pressing smacking kisses to her cheeks. They both laughed when he went to kiss her again, but she turned her head, catching his nose in her mouth. 

Rowan tipped his head back and laughed. “I love you so much, my little one.”

At that Elspeth laid her head on his chest, tired from holding herself up for so long, and spotted her fist and worked very hard to get it into her mouth. Aelin stretched the sleeve of her sweater over her hand and wiped the spit off Rowan’s nose.

“Hey,” Aelin said when her job was done. “Where’s *my* Yulemas kiss?”

Rowan gave her a lopsided smile as he lent in, Aelin meeting him halfway sharing a kiss in the chaos and fun of the night.

“Happy Yulemas, Fireheart.”

Aelin kissed him again. “Happy Yulemas Buzzard.”

~~~~~

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[writtenonreceipts]

5. “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” For rowaelin, Aelin finding out she’s pregnant. It can be an au, or in their actual world. Thanks so much!

/AN: Thanks so much for the prompt, anon!  This got away from me! I’m sorry?  But not really, I had fun with it, even though I don’t feel like it’s my best. I’d never really thought I would write canon/post canon but here we are...enjoy my dears

#

It hadn’t even occurred to Aelin that anything could go wrong with the day.  It was after all ten years since the war had ended.  Ten years since there was even the smallest promise of peace in her home.  Ten years.

It was supposed to be glorious.

Kneeling over the toilet Aelin emptied the contents of her stomach, again, and did her best to even out her breathing.  If there was anything less glorious to be doing--this certainly was it.

Her Fae enhanced ears caught the sound of footsteps coming toward her.  Lorcan.  Quick and efficient.  Grabbing a hand towel, Aelin wiped her mouth and stood.  She made sure her dress was fit properly and left the bathroom.  The last person she wanted seeing her so weak and vulnerable was Lord Lorcan Lochan.

Granted she could just use his full title on him and call it even.

“Aelin?” Lorcan called from the front door of her chambers.

“Come in,” she replied.  She used her magic to take away the cent of vomit, but she didn’t know if it actually did anything because Lorcan’s nose twitched as he entered. “What?’

“Darrow said that it’s time,” Lorcan said.  He eyed her with a frown.  His dark eyes were intent and unyielding.  Even after all this time she still wasn’t quite used to his silent calculations, the information he seemed to glean from a room with ease and efficiency.  Aelin was suddenly grateful he had become so smitten with Elide that he’d changed his life completely.  Even if he was an ass.

“As if we haven’t rehearsed this enough,” Aelin muttered.  Her stomach rolled again.  Damn nerves.  She was a queen and had been doing quite well at it thank-you very much.  There was no reason for her to feel so ill and anxious at the thought of the festivities tomorrow. 

“Are you all right?” Lorcan asked.  His frown deepened as he looked her over. “You don’t look well.  Have you eaten today?”

“You sound like Rowan,” Aelin grumbled.  She went to her armoire and found the ring Rowan had given her one year after their secret nuptials.  The familiar weight on her finger, settled her somewhat.  “I’m not hungry either, let's get this over with.”

She didn’t add the fact that just the thought of eating made her want to crawl back into bed.  And she would be able to do just that in forty-eight hours.

#

The elaborate ceremony was slated to take place tomorrow evening, the exact day when the war finally ended.  Apparently Aelin needed to practice walking down a straight line to the balcony that overlooked the castle courtyard.  After she addressed her people she would then unveil a sculpture.  She’d asked Rowan to commission the sculpture so she had no idea what it would be of, but she had to trust the buzzard to take well to the task.

When Darrow finally relented that they’d done enough preparation for the following day, Aelin excused herself to her private quarters.  Lorcan following after.

“Don’t you have a wife and baby to go and se?” Aelin called over her shoulder.

“Yes, but their not as high-maintenance as you, so I think it’s alright if I’m a little late,” Lorcan replied.

When Aelin shot a glare over her shoulder at him she caught a brief smile on his lips.

She had a response perched on her lips but something else snared her attention.  It was a familiar scent of pine and snow and home.  Her mate.

Before explaining anything to Lorcan she sprinted the rest of the way to her rooms, flinging the doors open.

Standing in the center of her room was the one person she had been desperate to lay eyes on these past few weeks.  Her husband had been travelling, preparing the outlying villages for the celebration, and bringing the commissioned statue back to Terrasan.

“Fireheart,” he said, a broad grin spreading across his face.

Aelin didn’t wait before throwing herself at him, burrowing her face in his shoulder.

Chuckling Rowan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him.

“I missed you,” she whispered.  She looked up at him and giggled when he started peppering her face with kisses.

“And I you, my heart,” he said before finally pressing a long kiss to her lips.  He pulled away so he could rest his forehead against her, his beautiful eyes staring right into her soul.

Aelin could have stood their for hours, days, millennia.  Just this brief exchange could make up for her nausea from this morning and her anxiety about the coming day.

“I asked for our meal to be delivered here,” Rowan told her, “Elide and Lorcan will take care of the festivities for tonight.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Lord Lorcan Lochan agreed to that.”

“It took bribery,” Rowan admitted.

Aelin threw her head back and laughed before leaning up on her toes to kiss her mate.  She slanted her mouth eagerly over his, grateful to have him back with her.  Despite the promises they’d made to each other years ago about never being apart, things had come up in their kingdom, in their world.  

Rowan ran his hands down Aelin’s sides, nipping at her bottom lip.

By the time their food had arrived from the kitchen, they were free of several layers of clothing and warm with lust.

Sun was barely setting behind the mountains, casting pink and gold rays across the sky.  It was this time of day that Aelin loved most.  The simple beauty of the sky was enough to remind her how far they’d come.

Rowan sat across from her telling a story about the mess he and Fenrys had gotten into while trekking across the mountains just days before.  Even in their other forms, they’d somehow managed to not only start an avalanche of late spring snow, but get holed up in a snow cave.

Aelin smiled as she pushed food across her plate.  Her appetite hadn’t come back all day and she was swimming with nausea again, not matter how much of her own magic she tried to apply to herself.  She needed to send a message to Yrene for a remedy.  

“Fireheart?” Rowan asked. “You haven’t even touched your food, what’s going on?”

She looked up and shrugged. “You’re far too entertaining for your own good King.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re hiding something from me.”

Scoffing, Aelin cut a piece of venison just to appease him.  She brought it to her lips and gave him a pointed stare, but before she could take a bite the scent of the cooked meat and spices ausulted her nose and she was up and running to the restroom before she knew what had happened.

She emptied the scant amount of food in her belly and sank back onto her knees only to find herself leaning against Rowan’s chest.  One of his hand was curled in her hair to keep it pulled back while the other rested on her stomach, keeping her close to him.

His warm breath brushed against her ear. “Are you alright?”

Aelin nodded and let herself melt into her mate.  “I haven’t been feeling well all day,” she admitted.

Rowan raised a hand to her forehead, her cheeks, feeling for a fever.  He grunted.

“I’m fine,” Aelin insisted.  She made to pull away from him but he kept her close.

“You’ve been flaring your magic lately,” he said.

“Because I’m exhausted.  Planning this celebration has take too much out of me,” she said.  She hated to sound the way she did, but between the vomiting and the fears about tomorrow she really didn’t feel too guilty about it. “Besides it’s probably just my--”

Aelin froze.  

Her cycle.

How long had it been?  Since settling into her Fae form the bleedings hadn’t come as often but they were brutal.  She couldn’t remember exactly how long it had been.  Three months?  She couldn’t be pregnant.  After all this time of trying and hoping.  After losing the last pregnancy.

Aelin twisted in Rowan’s arms.  He looked utterly confused as to what was going on.  Couldn’t he see?  Couldn’t he tell?  Of course...she had been using her magic so often to keep her going throughout the day that perhaps it was masking the scent.

Tentatively, Aelin dropped the shield she’d been putting up over herself.  As soon as she did, Rowan’s gaze sharpened.

“Aelin,” he whispered.

Her gaze dropped to her stomach, nothing looked different.  But the more she thought about it, the more her mind flooded with emotion and she settled one hand over her belly.

Rowan dipped his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply, his teeth nipping her skin gently.  Aelin shivered at the contact and forced herself to look at her mate once more.  She twisted enough so she could draw his chin up and look into his eyes as they knelt together.

Emotion laced Rowan’s eyes and told her all that she needed to know.

She let out a weak laugh as tears slipped down her cheeks.  Rowan was quick to catch them with his lips before pressing a soft, tender kiss to each corner of her mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” Aelin said, needing to hear the words out loud.

“You’re pregnant,” Rowan confirmed.

Throwing her arms around her mate, Aelin didn’t hold back her sobs.  This was beyond anything she could have ever imagined for herself.  After the hell her life had been, right up until she’d met Rowan.  Her grip tightened around him.  He had been her saving grace.  Always and forever.

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes and wipe away his own tears.

“To whatever end,” she said.

“To whatever end.”

#

The statue that was unveiled the next day was simple.  And yet it was no less glorious.  Commissioned from a woman in a small country Aelin had visited many times now.  The statue was of two women, their faces blank so as to allow the viewer to see themselves there.  One of the women was carved to be wearing a fine dress that flowed behind her.  The other held two swords.

Two princesses, two queens, one war won.

The country of Eyllwe, Aelin decided, had a way of bringing her home.

#

As always thanks for reading!

tags:  @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

[frostahesmegabite]

@daily-writing-challenge - Day 2 - Blame & Wander [ Potential Content Warnings Ahead: Blood, Gore, Mild Body Horror, Sexual Suggestions ] Early Morning in Orgrimmar was one of the few times the desert heat didn’t make Orgrimmar horrible to live in. Crisp arid air rushed through its valleys, wafting through the many smells of large breakfasts being made for the many households that lay within. It was this reason that Mega took this route for his morning run, the smells and rushing morning air was enough to keep him distracted from the burning in his thighs and calves as he began to work himself into a sweat. Heavy breathing and a lack of a drink brought with him forces him to take a stop off at the Valley of Honor at the Wyvern's Tail. A place he tended to avoid in the evenings due to the overly abundant population of her occupants that came prowling for drinks or easy lays. Looking back, he could appreciate the place for what it was. Before Nat, he did much the same but got tired of the constant view of taller races who wore little to nothing and his head potentially being the resting place for someone's junk or ass. An unfortunate side effect of being a Goblin. While it did have its moments, those were heavily outweighed by the negatives, especially after a hot day of fighting or working in the heat. It was even worse on days that people decided bathing was optional. Just the thought alone nearly makes Megahes gag and forces him to cover his mouth just to clear his throat. His head shakes, causing his large ears to do the same in a more exaggerated motion before they come to rest. He heads up to the counter and helps himself to a large container of what smells like Black Rock Coffee. Typically great for waking up half-drunk Peons or Grunts, this stuff was strong enough to give Mega the pep in his step that he wanted without the need to resort to drugs or other crazy shit. The cup’s quickly taken over to a table under the stairs and he leans back against the wall with his cup in hand over his lap. His breathing was beginning to slow, allowing him to relax more and take in the scents and early morning conversations as Grunts discussed where they were patrolling for the day, catching the last remnants of drunks being pushed out to go elsewhere or up to the hammocks above that Gravy rented out. A sigh comes as lips hit the rim of his wooden mug and that energetic assault on his taste buds begins! “That’s the spot…” He sighs and with the tone of his voice, one just listening in could swear he was being serviced and in a way… He was. Mega smiles and leans back against the wall, enjoying the coolness of the wood under and behind him. It’d be something he’d need to relish, because before long, he’d be back at the shop working inside, under or over machinery if not working the forge to beat and mold metal into whatever shapes were needed for the day amongst his other workers. Suddenly, an odd calm occurs and silence with it, prompting Mega to look up and around. Everyone was gone. Gravy, the Innkeeper, the drunks who refused to leave. Everyone. It’s enough to make Mega call out, but no sound comes from his throat, only silence. This prompts a moment of panic as his hands reach up to feel his throat. Nothing seems wrong but this only makes him realize his coffee was suddenly missing too. What the hell was going on? Mega stands and heads for the door, looking out across the Valley. The howling wind blows through an empty Orgrimmar. Not a body stirs and everything looks as if it was just straight up abandoned. No clutter in the streets, no blood, no armor or gear. Just, straight up everyone left with everything they had. Concern begins to quickly manifest and Mega wanders into the street, calling out in silence still for people who are nowhere to be seen. No corpses, no burning buildings, not even a single buzzard, crow, bird or wyvern overhead either. This continues on in every building he passes. The building with the Ethereals? Empty, their machinery still abuzz with energy, but they themselves are missing. The

Bank? No tellers, the coin just left abandoned with its associated paperwork on the counter. The Baker, gone too, their loaves of bread left cooking. This continues on as Mega heads into the Valley of Strength, the reception hub for pretty much all and any business coming into Orgrimmar. This prompts even more concern and Mega goes straight for Grommash Hold. If there was anyone, there’d be all the racial representatives and the city guard along with some Kor’kron too. Unfortunately, that’s not the case as the closer Mega gets, the more the scent of Blood and gore begins to fill the air along with the sickly sweet scent of cracked skulls and grey matter. For those unused to it, the scent was nearly vomit-inducing and it was enough to force Mega to take his breathing in through his mouth like some idiotic Trogg but even then, the scent was so thick on the air that he was still catching it despite the effort. The closer he got, the worse it became and despite every red flag telling him to leave and run, his curiosity propels him forward! He moves in, taking note that the dark wooden floor below wasn’t just dark due to its nature, but it was slick and pooling with blood and viscera. The deeper into the building he went, the worse it became until his trek forced him to stop. There at the doorway into the Warchief’s Chamber was a massive pile of bodies. Racial Leaders and their Guards slain in horrific ways. Some of them strung up for bloody rituals as their entrails were used to carve out runes or sigils. Others torn and mangled, barely even a shadow of their former selves due to the mutilation. Mega felt the need to purge his stomach of his earlier coffee but what he finds in the center of the room upon a pile of bodies makes his blood go cold. “Y-you.” He tries to steel himself, voice quivering as his hands ignite with Fire and Holy Magic as it suddenly finds volume despite its earlier silence. “We killed you. Zokkine melted your fucking bug infested face and we left you a burning husk in Ahn’Qiraj.” Dinthoqaf the Defiler; the Cult Leader of the Sanctum of the Forbidden, crazed fanatic of the Old Gods. Megahes and Dinthoqaf went back several years now and he was singularly responsible for Megas current physical and spiritual condition as of present. The elf looks upon Megahes with putrid green eyes and the stare alone makes his heart and chest hurt right where… where… Megahes’ hand rushes to grab at himself. Was he having a heart attack? He gasps and grunts, pulling open his shirt to find not the Naa’ru shard that was fused to his chest to purge him of Dinthoqaf’s Curse, but a gaping wound that reeked of bile and pus that bubbled with sores. His hands lost their Holy flare and the fire began to sputter out as Mega’s strength quickly fades and he hits the gore soaked floor with his knees. His ears droop and despite his efforts to stand, all he can do is flounder and continue to keep falling as the Cultist walks down the heap as if it were nothing but dirt. “Poor Little Thing… To think, you have fought so valiantly and for what? This…?” Dinthoqaf’s arms come out in a hollow gesture. “Death and Destruction to be laid at your feet.” Something was wrong here. This wasn’t the Elf he killed, he was.. Different. Megas bright red eyes peer up at him, unable to move as if by some oppressive aura holding him down. “You don’t get it, do you?” He asks, his tone condescending before the Elf squats, letting his robes slip into the crimson pools around them, gliding across its surface and pushing back the pools just to be overtaken moments later for the fabric to drink it all in. “In all of our fear of one another.” His fingers come forward and he presses them into Mega’s wound, causing pus to gush down his front and pain to rack Mega’s frame. “You and I are caught in a cycle with one another. Your ‘Light’ and my ‘Darkness’. Parts of the same coin you know.” His slender fingers slide up along Megahes’ body and he jerks back on his hair, giving him access to put himself cheek to cheek with this Goblin. “You blame me, for this,

for you? For how your body fails you less you cling to your ‘new-found’ faith. How long will it last you Goblin? How long until you realize that I acquired the rights to my Title long before you even breathed your first breath! How long until you figure this out?!” His voice was stern and hard, aggressive and angry to the point he splashes spittle into the Goblins ear before he shoves him onto his back in the blood where his bloody foot presses into Megas stomach and his toes play chicken with the edge of his gaping chest wound. “Behold, Megahes. The rebirth of Dinthoqaf the Defiler for by your hand are all my future atrocities yours to shoulder.” His voice sliced into Mega like a new razor as he looked on and up in horror. The Defilers body begins to melt and erode, turning into ooze, rot and pus that did not just fall away but begins to head for the very wound he made years ago. Megahes thrashes, trying to tear and push away at the mass that was trying to creep into his body and fight he did but it was no good. Little by little, he could feel his body become invaded and nested within by his greatest enemy and even larger fear. Megahes flails and kicks and releases a blood curdling scream as he rips at his clothes and tears stream from his face as he knocks over the table in front of him and sends his coffee all over himself. The burning liquid doesn’t even register to him as he makes for the door in an absolute fit of terror, gripping at his chest just to find the Naa’ru shard embedded within still and his wrists glowing. The metal and Light were still working and everything was in place, but here Mega was standing in the Valley and looking at the Tail in horror and confusion as several others also looked on, wondering what the hell was going on. Megahes’ breathing was worse now than it had been during his running. His heart beat pounding in his ears and fear blasted through his veins. He wanted to run, he wanted to fight. He just wanted to survive and live, no matter what that meant but against what? Dinthoqaf was dead. They took what little of his head remained and his corpse was left to buzzards. His curse now imprisoned and locked away, not even capable of hurting Megahes anymore so long as his protections kept their power. “Was a… Gold fucking damn it…” His breathing is hard and heavy as his hands find his knees, making him bend over to catch his breath. “Fucking nightmares.” Megahes turns, making his way north towards the rear gates or Orgrimmar so he can head to the Harbor… He had work to do and now his stay at the Tail would surely be frowned upon, it was time to go. [ Thank you for reading through all of this story with me today! This is Day 2 of the DWC and I'm absolutely loving it so far! I hope you also enjoyed this glimpse of the horror show that likes to show its ugly face for Megahes every now and again! Todays words for use were Blame & Wander! :D ]

[theworldismyoysterandiamthepearl]

“Our Ambassador Turkey Vulture enjoying some time outside. In case you want to impress your family with some crazy cool facts about these birds commonly called “buzzards”, here’s your chance! 1. Turkey vultures can smell carion (dead stuff) over a mile away! 2. When threatened, it defends itself by vomiting powerful stomach acid- acid known to kill salmonella & botulism. If a group of them eat an infected carcass, the bacteria or toxin is killed by this acid. They stop the spread to other animals or humans! 3. They have been known to soar for up to SIX HOURS without flapping their wings.”

quote and pic from https://www.instagram.com/officialsalisburyzoo/

[deadstrangeblog]

The Kentucky Meat Shower of 1873 remains officially unexplained to this day. Mrs. Crouch, a farmer’s wife living in the settlement of Rankin, Bath County, Kentucky, was making soap on the porch when she witnessed meat falling from the sky for “several minutes”. As astounded locals revelled around the 100-by-50 yard area where the meat had fallen, two local men decided to sample the meaty substance, that was clearly a “sign from God”.

One man insisted it tasted of mutton, another claimed it was venison. A local hunter by the name of B.F Ellington then came forward claiming the meat was undoubtedly from a bear. Even stranger, over a week later, the same thing happened again in London, England.

Although technically unsolved, there’s a perfectly valid explanation (in terms of the Kentucky event, at least.) for the meaty showers of 1873. It has been theorised that buzzards (vultures) are to blame, as they will vomit as a defence mechanism, resulting in a downpour of rotted flesh and bones. Flying so high up, they are very difficult to spot, which would have made it hard for Mrs. Crouch to see anything. Above is a preserved specimen of one of the “meat chunks” from Kentucky.