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fallingstarnovel · 4 years ago

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Chapter Two

content warning: alcohol, binge drinking

That was how Evan ended up standing in front of a huge house in a part of the city that he had never visited before with an unopened bottle of vodka in his hand. It was getting dark out – midwinter was coming fast, turning the air frosty and driving everyone indoors. At least it would be warm inside the house.

Evan took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. A puff of vapour clouded the air before him.

This was fine. It was fine. It was a party. He was supposed to be here – he had been invited. There was no need to be anxious. It wasn't going to be like it was back then.

He could hear loud music pumping from inside the house, and spilling from between the curtains of the house was dim purple light.

God, who was he kidding. He couldn't do this.

As Evan turned around to leave, someone opened the door from the inside.

"Oh, shit, there's someone here. Sorry, were you waiting to be let in?"

Evan looked up at the tall student who just stumbled outside. "Um. Yeah. My friend is inside. She–"

"Go ahead," the student said, holding the door open and gesturing to go inside. Evan nodded in thanks, before stumbling into the house.

Immediately, he was surrounded by people. The house was crammed wall to wall with students in various stages of inebriation, all chattering away at the top of their lungs as the hypnotic electro music filled the space between them. Evan found a pile of coats in the hallway and dropped his on top. He hoped it wouldn't get lost or stolen before he left.

"Excuse me," he said, edging his way past a group of girls in short dresses who gave him judgemental looks. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry–"

He couldn't find Aliya anywhere. She wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. Evan poked his head behind every door, but all he kept finding were more guests crammed into unlikely places like sardines in a tin can. He recognised one or two from around campus, but some of these people seemed slightly too old to be students. Was this really a university party? Did these people all know each other?

Evan saw someone who looked like they were slightly in charge, maybe, and tapped them on the shoulder. They turned around with an unfocused look, hair in messy tumble around their head.

"What's up? Didn't Fae get you it? Oh, shit, where did you get the vodka?"

Evan blinked. This person sure was saying words at him. "What?"

The person squinted at him. "Didn't you just ask me for a kitchen towel?"

"No, I just got here," Evan said. "But thanks. Um. I'm looking for Aliya, do you know where she is?"

That got him a blank look. "Who?"

"Aliya! Aliya, you know, she does Astro with me. Uh." The blank look still persisted on the person's face. "She came here with volleyball? No, wait, I mean, netball? I think?"

The person looked vaguely less blank. "Oh, wait, the netball bitches. I love those girls, they make me feel like I'm some kind of insect. My name's Rock by the way."

"Oh," said Evan, who didn't know why that was relevant. "That's a cool name. Like Dwayne Jo–"

"Not like Dwayne fucking Johnson," Rock replied with a scowl. "I hate that guy."

"Oh. Sorry."

Rock just nodded, before tapping a person on the shoulder seemingly at random. "Is Becca around?"

"In the garden," the girl replied, "probably? Unless she left."

They were both yelling at full volume. Evan winced. His ears were already ringing.

Rock led him through sweaty crowds of people to the kitchen, and then out of a door into the garden. It wasn't much of a garden – more like a patch of concrete with a few bricks and weeds lying around, as if for decoration. There were more people out here, mostly smoking. Some of them looked like they were asleep. It was so cold out here – the girls were huddled up under big jackets that they had stolen from other people.

Wait a minute. Evan was pretty sure that was his coat. How did it get stolen so fast?!

"Aliya?" Evan called. Some people looked up, their eyes glazed over.

"Aliya bounced," someone said.

Evan's heart sank. "What?"

"Yeah, she dipped pretty quickly. Said she forgot about a deadline."

God damn it. Evan fought the urge to bang his head off the nearest wall. Why didn't she text him and say so? He could have escaped too!

"Right, thanks. I, uh–"

"Bro, no, you're not leaving yet, are you?" Rock said, giving him a betrayed look. "You just got here!"

Evan shrugged, plastering on a polite smile. "I don't really know anyone here–"

"Yet," Rock said firmly. "You don't know anyone yet. You know what they say about strangers? They're just friends you haven't made yet. Come on, live a little."

Personally, Evan thought Rock was slightly unhinged. He must have looked obviously uncomfortable, because Rock held out a hand and squeezed his shoulder.

"You don't go to a lot of parties, huh? It's cool. You can chill with me. Give it half an hour and see how you feel, yeah?"

Why was this person so eager to see a complete stranger join the party? Evan considered saying no and leaving anyway, but then again...

Evan wasn't a coward. He would give it half an hour and see if he made any friends. And if not, he could always leave.

"Sounds good," he said.

Rock cheered. A bunch of other people in the garden cheered too, though Evan doubted they knew what they were cheering for. "Alright! We got another one! Come on, pal, let's get you a drink!'

Half an hour later and after a couple of drinks, Evan somehow found himself watching Rock pour out a tray full of shots in the kitchen.

Several people wandered over in interest, lured by the idea of free alcohol like they were cats who just heard the tin of tuna being opened. "Who's down?" Rock said.

A few people came forward. Evan watched as a girl slung herself over Rock's shoulders with a bored expression. She had long, long straight black hair, like an oil slick that ran down her back, and she was either exceptionally tall or she was wearing huge platform boots. Maybe both. Evan thought it was both. "I will."

"Evan?" Rock said. "You want one? It's okay if you don't, I know shots are a little much..."

"I can do shots," Evan said without meaning to. Oh, shit. Was he trying to impress the hot goth girl? He kind of was. "Uh, if that's cool."

Rock's smile widened. "If you're sure you can handle it. Are you a lightweight, Evan? Because if so, I'm not going to be the one cleaning up your puke afterwards."

Evan smiled. "Ah, I don't know. Maybe. I'll try to keep it inside."

"Attaboy, big guy! That's what I like to hear!"

Soon, everyone around him had a shot in their hand. Evan had no idea what the liquid was. He tried to sniff it, but then Rock was counting down, and everyone was lifting their shot glasses up and drinking.

People winced and made appropriate noises as the burn hit. Rock blinked away his tears with a grin, before watching Evan drink with interest.

Evan calmly put down the shot. After seeing everyone else's reaction, he quickly pretended to gasp. "Oh, wow, the burn, wow..."

Rock's eyes flickered over the glass. It was empty. "Have you done that before?"

Evan shrugged, waving him away. "Once or twice."

Hot Goth Girl finally seemed to notice him. She stared him down, before slowly smiling at him, her black painted mouth in a closed-lip smirk. It was kind of terrifying.

"Hey Rock," she said, keeping her eyes on Evan. "Who's this?"

"I'm Evan," said Evan, before holding out a sweaty hand. She stared at it, and he immediately dropped it. "Haha, what, I don't know why I did that. Nice to meet you."

"I've seen you around," she said.

It sounded like an accusation. Evan wilted – before perking up. Wait, didn't this mean she remembered him? She had noticed him before! This was good, right? He nodded eagerly. "You recognise me? I'm sorry, I don't think I've seen you around, otherwise I would have remembered – I mean, you're very recognisable, haha, there's not a lot of people around here who dress so, like..."

He trailed off, feeling awkward. Hot Goth Girl glared at him.

"Like what?"

Evan blinked. She was wearing black lipstick and huge eyeliner, like two bat wings painted on her face. Most people around here weren't so brave.

"Um... so, um... alternatively."

Her eyes narrowed. Slowly, she grinned. "Where did you find this guy, Rock?"

"Aliya likes him," Rock laughed, before holding up the bottle. "Let's do round two," they hollered, and the night took a downward turn from there.

Coming to this party was such a bad idea.

When Evan woke up in the morning, he was very confused.

He had a vague memory of someone carrying him home. And holding someone's hand. And...

He groaned with embarrassment and rolled over to bury his head in his pillow to try and suffocate himself. When that didn't work, he rolled onto his back and massaged his forehead.

It felt like something had crawled into his mouth and died. He was so thirsty. But mostly he was mortified.

Ah, that poor person! Evan probably rambled on about weird depressing personal problems! He became one of those maudlin drunks who just starts crying about stuff! The person who carried him here must have been totally sick of his shit.

What an angel. Evan wished he could remember who they were.

He looked around for his phone, his bleary eyes cracking open. Whoever they were, they left a full glass of water on the desk. Evan jumped at it, drinking the whole thing in seconds.

It helped a little bit. But now he felt nauseous.

This sucked. Why did he do this.

Oh, shit, his phone and his wallet. Did he have them? He looked around in a panic. Were they in the jeans he wore? Where the fuck were his jeans?!

Slowly, he looked under his duvet and realised that he was still wearing them. Ah. Oops.

At least the person didn't undress him while he was drunk or unconscious. That would have been uncomfortable. In fact, he seemed in exceptionally good condition, considering he got black out drunk at a strangers house.

Aaaa god why did he do that!!! Why didn’t he slow down and drink some water!! This was so embarrassing, he could have done anything last night!!

... oh jesus fuck, why did his eyes hurt so much? They were so sore! It was like someone shone a supercharged torch in his eyes or made him stare into the god damn sun!! What happened last night?!

In his pocket, he found his wallet and phone, much to his relief. Evan quickly scrolled through his messages to see if he had sent anything weird to anyone.

Huh? Who the fuck were all these people he had added on Facebook? Why had he sent out so many friend requests?! He didn't recognise any of the names here at all!

He also saw a series of messages he sent to Aliya.

> you. are the qorst friend ever

> ┻┻︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵┻┻

i'm so sorry!! i'm really sorry!! oh i feel so bad, i thought i text you not to come anymore!! <

> ABANDONED me

> discarded me like an EMPTY CRISP PALKCET

> packet

... evan are you perhaps a little drunk? <

> everyone is very friendky. They keep handing me shots. These are my new friends now

> you're fired

no!!! 😭😭😭 <

don't fire me!!! i need someone to copy revision notes off!! <

> too late. now rock is my new fri be. Goodbye

> oh shit they’re doiign WEED in here

> Your missing otu on thrjelkc weeb

who's rock?? <

seriously though, be safe evan and have fun. if you need to call anyone, im up all night doing this assignment so just call me okay? x <

Just as he finished reading the texts, his phone buzzed in his hand. He nearly dropped it in shock. There was an unread text in his inbox from an unrecognised number.

How are you feeling? <

This was awkward. Clearly, this was a person Evan gave his number to last night. Unfortunately, he had no clue who they were, and now he felt too awkward to ask, since they clearly assumed he knew who it was.

> haha a little hungover!! oops

Was that too many exclamation marks? This mystery person would think he was a psycho.

The reply came soon.

Make sure you drink plenty of water. And eat something salty. <

Do you want me to bring anything? <

Seriously, who was this and why were they being so nice? Evan still felt a little awkward.

> i will :) and no thank you but that's so kind! how are you feeling?

I'm fine. I'm glad you're alright. <

...

This was too much to deal with. Evan decided not to answer. Hopefully, whoever this was would drop a clue at some point, or just leave him alone.

There weren't many people it could be. He had all his friends (haha, all his friends, as if he had more than three) saved as contacts. So this must be a stranger from the party.

A memory flashed into his head of the messy haired host – what was their name, Tree? Root? Boulder? – saying something stupid about all strangers being friends he hadn't made yet. It was probably them. They seemed overly familiar, so this lined up.

Ah, what the hell. This was a problem for future Evan.

He rolled himself into the shower without vomiting even a little bit, which he considered a huge achievement that should be celebrated with pizza for breakfast.

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curedeity · 4 years ago

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Drowning While Burning

Summary: Daphne is drowning, being pulled deeper and deeper by the currents ( a Daphne character study based on s1)

Once, when she was a small child, a storm had ravaged the castle for several days. Her parents had known it was coming, and had been preparing for the city to be sheltered for a week. Jobs were being called off, and families encouraged to remain home.

Daphne was blissfully unaware to the panic of frenzied work that had hit to castle, her eyes too fixed on the black clouds moving that slowly filled the horizon, and the tingling thunder that she could almost hear if she just

Listened.

Rain beat down the roof, pellets smacking against the smooth walls with a warlike intensity. It was as though the sky was trying to flood the city, to beat down all that had reached up and encroached in its domain. Lightning burned against the rainclouds, illuminating all their tumultuous angles. It was a mess of geometry that even years of schooling later Daphne would never be able to comprehend.

Thunder cracked through rooms, booming down hallways with ferocious intensity. It rattled the armor lining the walls, like thousands of soldiers quaking in their boots.

Far from running into her parents’ arms, Daphne remained at the window for long stretches of each day. Her face smudged the glass as her eyes struggled to make sense of the water-distorted images.

Her vision wasn’t necessary for her understanding though, because Daphne could feel each raindrop that clattered against the ground of the land, the tormentous rage of the storm. And she adored it.

Yet the storm passed, and her life returned to its routine of tutors and training.

She had always admired stories of heroes, of the rage and justice that drove them, of the way they pushed and pushed and pushed until they got what they wanted.

Whenever Daphne pushed like that, she just grounded.

She wanted to fight against the current, but she just kept getting dragged deeper and deeper into the depths.

Flames licked across Daphne’s fingers as she lit her way through the flatlands of Domino, only faint rays of the second sun to light her way otherwise. Fire still burned, a fact her teachers had always been remiss to mention. One would think that controlling it, the heat of the flames wouldn’t be felt. But they still rushed through her fingertips, trying to melt away skin and bone until she was nothing but particles in the air.

But the flames didn’t hurt her. They only burned.

Behind her a guard followed, metal clanging as pieces of his armor jumbled together. How embarrassing it must be, she thought, to be so scared of something that you’ll wrap yourself in metal and try to shut the world out. Yet so many did.

Daphne didn’t know fear, back then, and so when the guard called for her to turn back, to return to the castle, Daphne merely continued marching forwards.

There was much in Domino Daphne had never got the chance to see, stuck as she was in her pretty little ceramic castle. The forests where beats romed, the sand dunes that crawled with clawed insects, the rivers that destroyed the stones that blocked their path.

Daphne wished to see it all.

Her feet were bare as she climbed to the top of the dune. Her toes sunk into sand as she stood atop it, looking out over the golden sea, behind her still able to hear the metal clanging of her guard.

She had been practicing magic for so long in that stuffy too-big castle, with all its rules and handicaps. Daphne brought the light she had summoned close to her chest, and let it

E X P A N D

It crackled around her skin, burning through every opening she’d give it. Energy coalesced around her being.

She was the guardian of the Dragon Flame, the force of creation. What more was there for her than this?

Sand fell away deeper into the desert, the earth cracking open as large, jagged claws struck out, digging into the ground and dragging its body along. 5 eyes swiveled until they were all locked on Daphne. It stared at her light, and she hoped it burned away its retinas.

Her teeth were bared, jagged. The flames tugged her body along and she gave into them, charging at the beast. The dragon roared to life within her, ready to attack as she saw fit.

And then she was bat away with a single claw, ribs breaking under its heavy weight, and she was sent rolling away.

Daphne was grounded for that day, after she awoke to tears from her parents. She held the tears close to her chest, and realized heroes weren’t real, because how could one be prepared for and win each battle? Each useless battle?

Temperance. Patience. Not every day is a storm. Choose when to rage because even a fire cannot burn forever.

She released her body to the current, her limbs flailing as she was dragged along. Her mind could finally wander, outside of the panic of movement, and ideas flooded her thoughts.

Alfea was strict, but no stricter than the castle. Rules were set in place, and Daphne learned them. What use was breaking a rule, when she didn’t even know them? Each action must be thought through, and Daphne would be making informed decisions.

She received top marks in every class, the librarian becoming a presence she was more used to than her own roommate from how much time she spent studying there. Her professors praised her diligence, even Griselda seeming to have a soft spot for her.

I don’t get it, her roommate admitted to her when Daphne returned to their room with a dozen textbooks balanced in her arms. You’re a princess, with the strongest force in the universe. What could you need this much studying for?

Daphne shook her head at that. Power is nothing if one can’t control and channel it. Sure, I’m powerful, but what would that mean if I didn’t know how to cast a single spell, or judge the best way to solve a situation?

Knowledge is not power, knowledge is merely the way power can be exerted most efficiently.

With her flames, she burned away all the hazards in the woods Professor Palladium had sent her to for her examination.

With her knowledge, she skipped class the next week to go get ice cream in Magix with her roommate to cheer her up for her less-than-average score.

She swam with the current, angling her body just a tad upwards, though from the memories that were slowly swirling in her skull, she knew she’d never reach the surface.

The monsters had come out of nowhere. Or to be more specific, they came from the rot the Ancestral Witches had slowly been spreading all over Magix. A tar that slowly drained the life from every forest, that cast furtive shadows in the eyes of everyone. The reason for the dwindling letter she received from her ever-busy parents.

The reason for the monsters that had appeared, all wrong angles and grotesque limbs, rising out of the ground, out of the forested depths.

Alfea was too far away, her group had ventured deep into the forest for their project. One of them sent up a sparkler, magical lights now dancing over their location so that anyone out there would come save them.

But they had traversed too far, and now they were out of range.

Stupid, Daphne called herself. A stupid moronic idiot. You spend all your time studying and you couldn’t have taken two drops of common sense and guessed something would go wrong?

Daphne had always been too exploratory.

She dodged out of the way of a titanic punch, burning away its skin as she let fire wrap around herself. Whispered words that fell from textbooks into her mouth, she felt her flames morph into light, crackling with energy, and she hurled the bolt at the creature, already wrapped in her roommate’s water.

Then she heard a cry, it pierced through the sounds of battle, the guttural shrieks of the monsters and the calls of spells. Her head whipped around to see the fire of one of her kin, her people, be whipped away by a sweep of a monster’s tail, and claws close in to rake across her chest and tear out her heart.

Daphne dove, her flames igniting the air as she rocketed through the sky and tackled her charge out of reach.

Ice flooded her veins as claws sliced through her back, catching on her wings and shredding those too.

And the coalescence of her magic fell to

P E E

I C S

Were her screams loud? Did they crack through the sky like that which she had earlier? Was she turning heads?

Was she?

She was.

Daphne was, and Daphne had someone to protect. The responsibility of the crown, no, the responsibility of power settled upon her. She had people to protect, a world she loved.

And as blood poured from her shattered back, the flames pushed their way out of the open cracks. The red liquid was set aflame, and it disintegrated into the smoky air, becoming just a part of her flames.

A new pair of wings burst out of her skin, forcing the air to make room for them. Heat cracked her body open, and Daphne let herself burn with all that she had saved up.

Today was the day she’d storm.

But who would she be if she didn’t try?

Daphne’s dress pooled on the floor in perfect ripples as she sat in her chair, back straight and hands folded. Her face was the picture of serenity, the tiara sitting on her hair gleamed in the light from the solitary window.

Daphne knew how to cover the cracks in her appearance, where the fire slipped out. She was nervous, yes, but now was not to time to show it. The world was at war, and with her new responsibilities she would be the pillar of strength they’d turn to.

Faragonda had wished her luck, yesterday as she’d been handed her diploma and officially graduated. Palladium told her that she was the finest student he’d had the pleasure to teach. Griselda had told her that she wouldn’t fail, she’d lived up to her high standards after all.

Daphne had not cried then either.

The fire was constantly there, simmering in her bone marrow. Her blood was lava, hotly pumping through her body as her heart pounded away with every step she took.

Daphne didn’t feel very strong though. The universe could be weaved by her fingertips if she just stretched herself enough, and yet she felt like a scared little girl.

And that was okay, because fear was something Daphne had learned, and it was something that wouldn’t stop her. Fear was just knowledge of danger, on some level, instinctual or otherwise.

Daphne was in danger, yet so was everyone else. The world was at war, and she’d had a target drawn on her back from the day she was born.

Why not illuminate that sign?

The door creaked open and a guard gestured for her to follow. Daphne’s heels clicked against the floor and she walked through the halls. Her dress trailed behind her, and ribbons danced with the movement.

Daphne was just a girl, with only 20 years of knowledge crammed into her head. It was fair for her to be scared. But now, she had a purpose, a reason her flames continued to burn day and night.

She took her place in the hall, all eyes turning to her as she glided through them, looking up at her mother and father. They smiled at her, their faces worn and aged, sadness lining them that they had not done their jobs well enough to prevent their daughter from ever having to take this responsibility.

Off to the side, her younger sister Bloom was sobbing. Daphne knew, with all her heart and all the power of the Dragon’s Flame that roared through her, that she would do anything to make it so that Bloom would never have this burden.

But Daphne, Daphne could carry it. She would. This was her choice.

And her parents laid the mask across her eyes, and magic drenched over her as she was accepted as one of the Nymphs of Magix.

Water poured over her, fast and furious as the lake raged. Was it trying to drown her? She was its protector!

Daphne glided through the halls, her wings too worn out to materialize any longer. Her blood burned away before it touched the ground, thankfully not leaving a trail for the Witches to follow.

Like they wouldn’t just track her flame, why did it even matter?

She laid her palm against her sister, feeling the fire underneath Bloom’s own skin, the Flame they both shared. Daphne had often wondered if Bloom’s magic, her experience, would be anything like Daphne’s?

There was no time wondering.

Sparks lighted the air as Daphne drew her hand in circles, a chant falling from her lips with instinctual memory. Space ripped open at her command, and with only one final look, Daphne shoved her sister off to safety.

Then she turned around, shadows already crawling across the floor towards her light. Could she win against the Ancestral Witches? Daphne had no room for doubt.

If she perished, then so be it, her family was already torn, her people slaughtered, she had vowed her life to them.

Daphne wanted to live, but she wanted to live with the circumstances she chose.

This was a fight she chose to have, she’d rise to this challenge.

Fire arced across the walls, burning away stone and the murky shadows with it. Daphne marched, her hands alight with magic and fury. Her wings were burned away, the vestiges of them turned into pure power.

And Daphne hurled it all at the witches.

Light Shattered.

Darkness Rose.

And Daphne Burned.

Or was the lake raging with her? Raging at the injustices committed against her? Was this her now?

Daphne sank to the bottom of Lake Roccaluce, sand parting for her immaterial body as the waves swarmed around her, embracing her. There was no real light this deep beneath the surface, but Daphne produced her own, glowing with the sheer existence of her.

She had lost. Despite all her efforts, all the roles she had undertaken, her world had still fallen to the assault of the Ancestral Witches.

Her home was destroyed, her parents gone, and Bloom lost somewhere on Earth.

And here Daphne was, stuck in the depths where no one ever went. The fire barely present within her soul anymore, there was only cold frost.

Daphne had failed.

No, no she had not failed one thing. She had kept Bloom safe.

Was that enough?

That would have to be.

The witches may have killed Daphne, ridding her of what was now her mortal husk. But Daphne was still here. And she didn’t have to be alive and in her body to burn.

In fact, Daphne’s spirit had been on fire for quite a long time. It had always burned with her love and her anger and her purpose. She watched the waters torment all around her, rippling and beating against their earthen walls.

And Daphne knew that the next time, she would storm, blazing more brightly in the rage of nature than ever before.

#winx club #daphne #fanfic #fanfiction #character study #takes place with season 1 information #so ignoring sirenix and her rebirth #drowning while burning #hope you enjoyyyyt

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maple-writes · 4 years ago

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[Image ID: Banner image reading: The City of Eventide, Chapter 34, Maple-writes. End ID]

This is it! The last chapter! It still feels so strange to think that this really is the last one.

###

Each day grew longer than the last and the sun shone a little stronger, burning off morning spring clouds. Dylan made good on his promise to visit unannounced one afternoon. He showed up with a firm knock on the door and a greeting loud enough to wake me the rest of the way up. For hours he lingered in the kitchen, half occupied with putting the finishing touches on the egg salad sandwiches Fallon sent him along with but more occupied with filling me in on everything and anything. Tea in hand I barely spoke as the sun made its way down the sky, casting long shadows across the street outside and dimming the light through the windows all while Dylan replaced the usual quiet of the day. It was nice though, hearing someone else’s voice even if I did end up forgetting details and names in his stories.

The vitamins weren’t so bad aside from remembering to take them, and once I got used to the taste neither were the other supplements the doctor suggested. Even now Ginger stopped by sometimes to check on me and deliver updates on the goings-on back at the college, letting me know I could come see her there anytime. She’d smiled, assuring me that if I ever wanted to return to work with her we’d take it as easy as I needed.

Ember’s attempts to get me out of the house came fewer and farther between, dropping down from every night to maybe once or twice a week. Every time my heart skipped but two nights ago we made it to the 24 hour gas station store. Under the too-bright lights the night vanished outside and I had to remember to take every breath deep enough to keep my head from spinning and there were too many choices and items lining every shelf and fridge and nowhere to hide but Ember kept by my side. She walked me through and let me rest my hand on her forearm, letting some of the warmth and calm seep from her skin through mine.

We bought drinks and the lights and hum of refrigerators disappeared as the door closed behind us. Stepping between shadows cast by vacant gas pumps we didn’t make it much farther than the store that night, but for the first time some of the tension melted under quiet streetlights. Chill air cooled my lungs and settled my head. The two of us talked all the way back home and together in the living room until far too late. She really shouldn’t have been staying up that late with her job interview tomorrow, though she was quick to reminded me it was only in the afternoon.

Her interview went well, and by the end of the week she’d been called back for a second and a week after that they offered her the job as a deckhand on a fishing vessel. From what she told us it sounded hard, and she’d be gone for long stretches during the season, but her excitement was contagious. Striker ordered take out to celebrate and we ended up only going to bed long after the sun had set.

Yawning, I pulled my shirt off, crawled into bed and drew the blanket snug around my shoulders. After all the excitement and celebration I sunk all the way down into the pillows and sheets.

A rattle came from my window, then another and I sat up, squinting in the dark. Grey-blue in the evening dark, a wing flashed into view then a beak tapping at the glass as a seagull fluttered by. Cirrus. It had to be. Otherwise some poor bird was very, very lost.

I hopped out of bed and opened up the window just as he glided back around. He landed on the windowsill in a blur of feathers, tucking his wings neatly to the side and shaking out his tail as he came to a stop. His head tilted left and right, pupils dilating a moment before finding the right focus.

“Hey Cirrus.” I leaned over, resting my elbows against the windowsill. “It is you, right?”

The gull ruffled his feathers, puffing up and laying them flat again in one smooth wave. He raised his beak and stuck out his chest as he watched me sideways. I smiled, warmth spreading from deep in my chest. Of course this was Cirrus. Hard to believe the last time I’d seen him was back at the cabin. How long ago was that now? I’d lost track.

Cirrus turned, webbed feet tapping against the wood of the windowsill in the quiet of the dark. He faced the street, dark and empty, glancing back at me over his grey shoulder. I frowned. Did he want…

“You want me to go with you?”

He gave a quick nod, holding his head sideways to lock me in one of his little eyes. I swallowed and wrung my hands together. How far would he want me to go? What if something happened? I hunched my shoulder, hair falling in front of my face as I stared down at my arms.

“I, I don’t know Cirrus.” How was I supposed to tell him? How was I supposed to tell him I hadn’t gone much further than a few blocks from home on my own since I got back. “I don’t know.”

A weight landed on my shoulder, webbed feet against my skin. Cirrus pushed his beak through my hair to poke at my cheek. He settled down, feathers of his belly soft against my skin. I sighed and turned my neck to see him through the corners of my eyes.

Even if we hadn’t gone far nothing horrible happened whenever I went out with Ember. I held Cirrus’ stare for a moment, watching him blink and turn his head. If something did go wrong Cirrus would have seen it before, right? He didn’t know what Ginger did but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d helped. I could handle this. If I could handle the cemetery in the middle of the day I could handle a walk in the middle of the night.

I sighed again, straightening up slowly to give Cirrus the chance to hop down. “Alright. Let me get dressed first.”

Cirrus waited outside, perched on a nearby streetlight and watching as I finally stepped out into the night. I shut and locked the door as softly as I could behind me, trying to keep the nerves already wrapping around my throat in check. A flurry of feathers made me look up a second before Cirrus landed softly on my shoulder. Webbed feet tapped quiet on my jacket and grey wing-tips tickled my ear as he turned. He stuck his head out a second, caught my eye and flew down the street.

“Hey!”

I took off running after him. My feet fell loud and echoing in the quiet side streets and alleyways, chasing flashes of white feathers under spaced-out streetlights until I staggered to a breathless stop. Hands on my knees and hunched over on the sidewalk, my heart struggled to keep up with my lungs and my legs burned. Shit. How long had it been since I moved this much? Cold air scraped at the back of my throat. I coughed and tried to catch my breath. By the time I looked up Cirrus was gone.

I grit my teeth. “Damn it.”

A seagull’s call pierced through the quiet, shrill and laugh-like. Sounded like he wasn’t too far, towards the waterfront. Of course he’d want me to meet him there. I pulled myself back upright. He’d have to wait though because I wasn’t about to run the whole way there.

I’d almost caught my breath by the time the gentle lapping of the waves caught my ear, soft and rhythmic against the deserted shore. A full moon hung bright over the ocean casting liquid silver over the dark water and the white crests of incoming waves. I slowed as I stepped out onto the beach. Full moon. Cirrus, he hadn’t waited for me here after I’d gone home, had he? Waited and hoped I’d show up for him only to leave disappointed like he had so many times hoping his mother would come around.

He’d understand why I hadn’t come, if he’d waited here for me at all. I bunched my shoulders against the wind and shook the thought from my head, picking my way across the dark beach to the usual place. Tiny creatures, insects, arthropods, they scurried away from my path with every step. Moment by moment the lights of the city faded to a faint glow at my back to give way to blue-dark night.

A figure sat on a washed-up log, turning when I rounded the bend. A woman in an ink-black evening gown that billowed around her ankles when she stood and faced me with a polite smile.

“Well, you’ve sure perked up since I last saw you.” She paused, waiting, but I only squinted in attempts to place where we might have met. “Ah, you don’t recognize me.” She gestured to herself with a black-gloved hand. “Cirrus’ sister. Call me Hadley.”

We had met, hadn’t we. I furrowed my eyebrows and tried to remember back but couldn’t see much more than a blur, a haze of feathers and loud voices that seemed to rumble through the air and into my own lungs.

Hadley though either hadn’t noticed or didn’t mind, catching me with a nod as she settled back down on the log. “Cirrus should be here soon.” She shot me a smirk, raising her head high. “I have been instructing him on how to shift his form but it can be hit or miss. He wanted to see you though, so I agreed to help him out tonight.”

She leaned back resting her hands behind her and facing the shimmering sea. Her head tilted just a moment as I sat beside her. This close she had the same barely contained power Cirrus did, cold and powerful like a harsh wind biting through my clothes. She kept quiet, watching as wave after wave lapped at the rocky shore. Slowly, I ran my hand over the worn bark of the log, tracing over ridges and bits where the wood had torn and weathered away.

“Ah,” Hadley stood, smoothing down her dress in the breeze. “Sounds like he’s done.”

The bushes growing beside the beach rustled, and a moment later Cirrus stuck his head out, one hand covering half his face and casting a sheepish look at Hadley.

She half chuckled to herself with a short glance back at me. “One moment.”

Without waiting for any kind of response, she stepped out of sight behind the foliage and the night dark. She said something, mumbling and chiding but too low for me to make out, Cirrus responding with something indignant and defensive but without any teeth behind his words. I smiled, leaning forward on the log to try and peek around the bushes and shadows. That was Cirrus alright.

The leaves rustled again, branches snapped, and Cirrus swore as he stumbled out onto the beach. He found his balance and shook himself out, looking just like I remembered. Same hair, same eyes… I jumped up from the log and throwing my arms around him. He balked a moment, surprised, before returning the embrace. His clothes were warm and smelled like storm-bearing winds, familiar and new at the same time. I leaned against him, pressing my forehead against his shoulder a moment before standing up again, throat tight.

“Miss me?” Cirrus grinned, already knowing the answer.

I nodded. “Its different, with you gone.” Maybe not quieter now that Ember was around, but different. I swallowed and turned away, a hand to the back of my neck as I glanced out to the ocean. “I don’t know if you were waiting for me here, but I’m sorry if you were.” My voice dragged along. “Things haven’t been easy.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been around here either. It’s been a whirlwind.” Cirrus huffed and crossed his arms, shaking his head to the dark pebbles.

“Oh come on Cirrus!” Hadley scolded, coming up around behind him and messing up his hair. She snickered as he tried and failed to duck out of the way. “You had a great time. Do you think I missed you flirting with that pretty noble lady?”

Cirrus flustered, uncrossing his arms and stumbling over his tongue. “She started it!” He shook himself out with another huff, crossing his arms tighter than before. “But yeah, alright. It wasn’t all bad.” He watched his sister as she retuned to her perch on the log, a half smile on his face, before turning back to me. “You’re looking better than last time I saw you. At least like you’re not about to get blown over by the wind.” Cirrus paused a moment, just standing, watching me as the breeze slipped silent between us. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with so much colour in your face.

Even at in the dark? I looked away a moment, watching the moon hang bright over the gentle swells. Maybe he had better night vision than I did because Striker had said the same thing.

“I uh,” I faced him again, tucking my hands in my pockets and out of the chill. “I’ve been seeing some doctors since I got back for a while now. I guess it’s working.” The wind picked up again and I hunched my shoulders until Cirrus stepped to my side, blocking out some of the gale. “Ginger was saying the other day she’d be alright with me coming back to the college.”

“You going to do it?”

I shrugged, pushing rounded stones from side to side with the toe of my shoe. “I… I hope so. It’s been a while.” A smile played at my lips. “I kind of miss it actually.

Cirrus snorted. “Bored at home already?”

This time I grinned, full and toothy. “Maybe.”

He rolled his eyes but kept quiet, attention drifting up from me to the lights of the city down the beach. I glanced back over my shoulder to follow his gaze only a moment before focusing back on Cirrus. In the dark he looked just like I remembered, like nothing changed. Like he hadn’t been gone for months now and he’d never returned to life as a dragon. Like Ember hadn’t moved into his bedroom and he was going to be in the kitchen tomorrow morning when I got out of bed.

A deep ache spread sharp through my throat, all the way up to the floor of my mouth and I looked away. He had his own life now. His own life somewhere far away. Somewhere I couldn’t go and find him like I used to. He’d come to see me this time tonight but how long would that last? I swallowed. He wouldn’t forget about me now that what he’d hoped to happen for years and years finally came about, right?

“Do you remember back then when I couldn’t speak my name?” Cirrus spoke low, eyes still drifting over my head to the city. “That day you found me?”

I don’t think I would ever forget, he must have known that but I nodded all the same.

He paused, hesitating before speaking again. “It hurt for a long time. I used to dream of hearing it again, to be who I was again. But then…” Cirrus finally tore his gaze from Eventide. He looked down at me, the faintest of the distant light reflecting in his eyes. “It didn’t feel the same anymore. I’m keeping Cirrus. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Really?” My voice came out smaller than I expected, thinned and brittle. “You don’t miss the other?”

Cirrus shrugged. “I can’t say I don’t, but I don’t know, I couldn’t bring myself to part with this name yet.” He half smiled. “My mother wasn’t exactly thrilled but she’ll get over it.”

From what I’d heard of her, I wasn’t surprised. “You’re still going to come and visit, right?”

“Of course.” Cirrus casted a sidelong glance at his sister still seated on the log and gazing out to sea. “Though it might be a while yet before I get the hang of shape shifting alone.” He paused a moment before turning back to me. “I’ll be around. I’ve got at least a couple more centuries of watching over Eventide’s storms after all.”

That long? I guess it made sense. He was a dragon after all. I smiled but broke halfway by a surprise yawn. What time was it?

A warm hand rested on my shoulder as Cirrus’ laugh drifted over the crashing waves. “Keeping you up?” He grinned down at me as he turned towards the city. “I’ll take you home.”

We walked along the beach towards the soft city lights. At this time of night we had the sidewalks to ourselves, only the occasional car passing by the empty roads. My arm brushed his, contented warmth easing from him to me. I quickly ran out of things to update him on since coming back to Eventide and he took over most of the way home telling me all about his sisters and the trouble they’d get into. Even in the low light I could see how he flushed talking about the woman Hadley had brought up on the beach. I smiled, struggling to keep my eyes open and half leaning against his shoulder as we walked.

He sounded happy.

Sun sinking low in the sky relief pooled in my chest seeing how quiet Eventide College was this time of day. A handful of people milled and wandered around the front stairs, some chatting and laughing in the gold-tinged light. Inside the front lobby soft echoes of conversation drifted through the still air and the little coffee shop sat nearly empty with the last few customers before closing time rolled around.

My footsteps echoed through the empty halls, clicking against the stone stairs spiralling down towards Ginger’s basement. I hadn’t told her I was coming but surely she wouldn’t be unhappy to see me all the way out here.

The air chilled and a familiar presence brushed against my arm. I slowed, letting Cynthia gently press up against my shoulder as her relief and excitement slipped through my skin. A smile spread on my face and I held out a hand. She knew me. She knew how to be gentle, how to contain herself unlike the panicked, desperate spirits who needed my help.

She slid though my palm, passing cold up the veins of my arm all the way up where they joined together in the subclavian. Good to see you again. It’s been a while.

I nodded along, continuing down the stairs as she settled in deeper tucked under my first rib. Been a while was an understatement. I swallowed. Had anyone told her what happened? It must have seemed like I’d just vanished one day, Ginger too. Charlotte filled me in. We were all worried about you for a while there. Glad to see you back on your feet. Thanks.

The stairs opened up to the little underground hallway, my footsteps booming in the quiet. I tucked my hands in my pockets and shifted as Cynthia nestled herself more comfortably towards my chest. Here to see Ginger? I nodded. If she’s here. She is. Saw her come in a few hours ago. Good. Good. Does this mean you’re going to stick around? I turned the last corner, slowing to a shuffle. Had I even considered not coming back here? Even if Ginger had told me I’d never be able to come back here would I really be able to just… Stop?

Even if you change you mind, her grin crossed my face, you should still stop by. You’re the easiest living person to chat with to come through those doors.Really? Faster than hijacking Charlotte’s computer. Fair enough.

I paused in front of Ginger’s office, the door slightly ajar. Cynthia stilled under my skin, cold and fluid. Could you give us a minute? Right. Was good to see you again Asher. She shifted a moment before breathing out through the thin skin at the top of my chest and vanishing somewhere through the walls of the college. Alone I stood another moment in front of the door. I took a deep breath, rested my hand on the door handle and opened it up just enough to poke my head into Ginger’s office.

She looked up from her computer as soon as she saw me. For a moment surprise seemed to flash across her face but in a heartbeat it shifted to a wide, fang-filled smile.

“Asher! Welcome back.”

#the city of eventide #chapter 34 #last chapter #my writing #it's just #wow #i've been working on this since like #late 2018 i think #i'll have to write up a real post to get my thoughts out sometime

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solonglivesthis · 5 years ago

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The Treasures of the Gods

This beautiful Fan Art made by Mizzcoffeebot represents one of my favorite stories in the Norse mythology: The story of how Loki got Thor his hammer Mjöllnir (among other treasures like Odin’s spear Gungnir) after having cut Sif’s hair.

And how he got repaid by having his lips sewn afterwards... This story has been told in many ways, but my favorite version is the one Neil Gaiman offered us: (I can not recommand you enough to buy the book, it is pure GOLD) (Text By Neil Gaiman) Here you go or the magnificent story of: The Treasures of the Gods

Thor’s wife was the beautiful Sif. She was of the Aesir. Thor loved her for herself, and for her blue eyes and her pale skin, her red lips and her smile, and he loved her long, long hair, the color of a field of barley at the end of summer. Thor woke, and stared at sleeping Sif. He scratched his beard. Then he tapped his wife with a huge hand. “What happened to you?” he asked. She opened her eyes, the color of the summer sky. “What are you talking about?” she asked, and then she moved her head and looked puzzled. Her fingers reached up to her bare pink scalp and touched it, exploring it tentatively. She looked at Thor, horrified. “My hair,” was all she said. Thor nodded. “It’s gone,” he said. “He has left you bald.” “He?” asked Sif. Thor said nothing. He strapped on his belt of power, Megingjord, which doubled his enormous strength. “Loki,” he said. “Loki has done this.” “Why do you say that?” said Sif, touching her bald head frantically, as if the fluttering touch of her fingers would make her hair return. “Because,” said Thor, “when something goes wrong, the first thing I always think is, it is Loki’s fault. It saves a lot of time.”

Thor found Loki’s door locked, so he pushed through it, leaving it in pieces. He picked Loki up and said only, “Why?”

“Why what?” Loki’s face was the picture of perfect innocence. “Sif’s hair. My wife’s golden hair. It was so beautiful. Why did you cut it off?” A hundred expressions chased each other across Loki’s face: cunning and shiftiness, truculence and confusion. Thor shook Loki hard. Loki looked down and did his best to appear ashamed. “It was funny. I was drunk.” Thor’s brow lowered. “Sif’s hair was her glory. People will think that her head was shaved for punishment. That she did something she should not have done, did it with someone she should not have.” “Well, yes. There is that,” said Loki. “They will probably think that. And unfortunately, given that I took her hair from the roots, she will go through the rest of her life completely bald . . .” “No, she won’t.” Thor looked up at Loki, whom he was now holding far above his head, with a face like thunder. “I am afraid she will. But there are always hats and scarves . . .” “She won’t go through life bald,” said Thor. “Because, Loki Laufey’s son, if you do not put her hair back right now, I am going to break every single bone in your body. Each and every one of them. And if her hair does not grow properly, I will come back and break every bone in your body again. And again. If I do it every day, I’ll soon get really good at it,” he carried on, sounding slightly more cheerful. “No!” said Loki. “I can’t put her hair back. It doesn’t work like that.” “Today,” mused Thor, “it will probably take me about an hour to break every bone in your body. But I bet that with practice I could get it down to about fifteen minutes. It will be interesting to find out.” He started to break his first bone. “Dwarfs!” shrieked Loki. “Pardon?” “Dwarfs! They can make anything. They could make golden hair for Sif, hair that would bond with her scalp and grow normally, perfect golden hair. They could do it. I swear they could.” “Then,” said Thor, “you had better go and talk to them.” And he dropped Loki from high above his head onto the floor. Loki clambered to his feet and hurried away before Thor could break any more bones. He put on his shoes that let him travel through the sky, and he went to Svartalfheim, where the dwarfs have their workshops. The most ingenious craftsmen of them all, he decided, were the three dwarfs known as the sons of Ivaldi. Loki went to their underground forge. “Hello, sons of Ivaldi. I have asked around, and people here tell me that Brokk and Eitri, his brother, are the greatest dwarf craftsmen there are or have ever been,” said Loki. “No,” said one of the sons of Ivaldi. “It’s us. We are the greatest craftsmen there are.” “I am assured that Brokk and Eitri can make treasures as good as those you can.” “Lies!” said the tallest of the sons of Ivaldi. “I wouldn’t trust those fumble-fingered incompetents to shoe a horse.” The smallest and the wisest of the sons of Ivaldi simply shrugged. “Whatever they make, we could do better.” “I hear that they’ve challenged you,” said Loki. “Three treasures. The gods of the Aesir will judge who made the best treasure. Oh, and by the way, one of the treasures you make needs to be hair. Ever-growing perfect golden hair.” “We can do that,” said one of the sons of Ivaldi. Even Loki could barely tell them apart. Loki went across the mountain to see the dwarf called Brokk, at the workshop he shared with his brother, Eitri. “Ivaldi’s sons are making three treasures as gifts for the gods of Asgard,” said Loki. “The gods are going to judge the treasures. Ivaldi’s sons want me to tell you that they are certain you and your brother Eitri can’t make anything as good as they can. They called you ‘fumble-fingered incompetents.’” Brokk was no fool. “This smells extremely fishy to me, Loki,” he said. “Are you sure this isn’t your doing? Stirring up trouble between Eitri and me and Ivaldi’s boys seems like the sort of thing you’d do.” Loki looked as guileless as he could, which was amazingly guileless. “Nothing to do with me,” he said innocently. “I just thought you ought to know.” “And you have no personal stake in this?” asked Brokk. “None whatsoever.” Brokk nodded and looked up at Loki. Brokk’s brother, Eitri, was the great craftsman, but Brokk was the smarter of the two, and the more determined. “Well, then we’ll be happy to take on the sons of Ivaldi in a test of skill, to be judged by the gods. Because I have no doubt that Eitri can forge better and craftier things than Ivaldi’s lot. But let’s make this personal, Loki. Eh?” “What do you have in mind?” asked Loki. “Your head,” said Brokk. “If we win this contest, we get your head, Loki. There’s lots of things going on in that head of yours, and I have no doubt that Eitri could make a wonderful device out of it. A thinking machine, perhaps. Or an inkwell.” Loki kept smiling, but he scowled on the inside. The day had started out so well. Still, he simply had to ensure that Eitri and Brokk lost the contest; the gods would still get six wonderful things from the dwarfs, and Sif would get her golden hair. He could do that. He was Loki. “Of course,” he said. “My head. No problem.” Across the mountain, the sons of Ivaldi were making their treasures. Loki was not worried about them. But he needed to make sure that Brokk and Eitri did not, could not possibly, win. Brokk and Eitri entered the forge. It was dark in there, lit by the orange glow of burning charcoal. Eitri took a pigskin from a shelf and placed it into the forge. “I’ve been keeping this pigskin for something like this,” he said. Brokk just nodded. “Right,” said Eitri. “You work the bellows, Brokk. Just keep pumping them. I need this hot, and I need it consistently hot, otherwise it won’t work. Pump. Pump.” Brokk began to pump the bellows, sending a stream of oxygen-rich air into the heart of the forge, heating everything up. He had done it many times before. Eitri watched until he was satisfied that it would all be to his liking. Eitri left to work on his creation outside the forge. As he opened the door to go out, a large black insect flew in. It was not a horsefly and it was not a deerfly; it was bigger than either. It flew in and circled the room in a malicious way. Brokk could hear the sound of Eitri’s hammers outside the forge, and the sounds of filing and twisting, of shaping and banging. The large black fly—it was the biggest, blackest fly you have ever seen— landed on the back of Brokk’s hand. Both of Brokk’s hands were on the bellows. He did not stop pumping to swat at the fly. The fly bit Brokk, hard, on the back of the hand. Brokk kept pumping. The door opened, and Eitri came in and carefully pulled the work from the forge. It appeared to be a huge boar, with bristles of gleaming gold. “Good work,” said Eitri. “A fraction of a degree warmer or cooler and the whole thing would have been a waste of our time.” “Good work you too,” said Brokk. The black fly, up on the corner of the ceiling, seethed with resentment and irritation. Eitri took a block of gold and placed it on the forge. “Right,” he said. “This next one will impress them. When I call, start pumping the bellows, and whatever happens do not slow down, or speed up, or stop. There’s fiddly work involved.” “Got it,” said Brokk. Eitri left the room and began to work. Brokk waited until he heard Eitri’s call, and he started to pump the bellows. The black fly circled the room thoughtfully, then landed on Brokk’s neck. The insect stepped aside daintily to avoid a rivulet of sweat, for the air was hot and close in the forge. It bit Brokk’s neck as hard as it could. Scarlet blood joined the sweat on Brokk’s neck, but the dwarf did not stop pumping. Eitri returned. He removed a white-hot arm-ring from the forge. He dropped it into the stone cooling pool in the forge to quench it. There was a cloud of steam as the arm-ring fell into the water. The ring cooled, moving rapidly to orange, to red hot, and then, as it cooled, to gold. “It’s called Draupnir,” said Eitri. “The dripper? That’s a funny name for a ring,” said Brokk. “Not for this one,” said Eitri, and he explained to Brokk what was so very special about the arm-ring. “Now,” said Eitri, “there’s something I’ve had in mind to make for a very long time now. My masterwork. But it’s even trickier than the other two. So what you have to do is—” “Pump, and don’t stop pumping?” said Brokk. “That’s right,” said Eitri. “Even more than before. Do not change your pace, or the whole thing will be ruined.” Eitri picked up an ingot of pig iron, bigger than any ingot that the black fly (who was Loki) had ever seen before, and he hefted it into the forge. He left the room and called out to Brokk to begin pumping. Brokk began to pump, and the sound of Eitri’s hammers began as Eitri pulled and shaped and welded and joined. Loki, in fly shape, decided that there was no more time for subtlety. Eitri’s masterpiece would be something that would impress the gods, and if the gods were impressed enough, then he would lose his head. Loki landed between Brokk’s eyes and started to bite the dwarf’s eyelids. The dwarf continued to pump, his eyes stinging. Loki bit deeper, harder, more desperately. Now blood ran from the dwarf’s eyelids, into his eyes and down his face, blinding him. Brokk squinted and shook his head, trying to dislodge the fly. He jerked his head from side to side. He contorted his mouth and tried blowing air up at the fly. It was no good. The fly continued to bite, and the dwarf could see nothing but blood. A sharp pain filled his head. Brokk counted, and at the bottom of the downstroke he whipped one hand from the bellows and swiped at the fly, with such speed and such strength that Loki barely escaped with his life. Brokk grabbed the bellows once again and continued to pump. “Enough!” called Eitri. The black fly flew unsteadily about the room. Eitri opened the door, allowing the fly to escape. Eitri looked at his brother with disappointment. Brokk’s face was a mess of blood and sweat. “I don’t know what you were playing at that time,” said Eitri. “But you came close to ruining everything. The temperature was all over the place at the end. As it is, it’s nowhere near as impressive as I’d hoped. We’ll just have to see.” Loki, in Loki shape, strolled in through the open door. “So, all ready for the contest?” he asked. “Brokk can go to Asgard and present my gifts to the gods and cut off your head,” said Eitri. “I like it best here at my forge, making things.” Brokk stared at Loki through swollen eyelids. “I’m looking forward to cutting off your head,” said Brokk. “It got personal.”

In Asgard, three gods sat on their thrones: one-eyed Odin the all-father, redbearded Thor of the thunders, and handsome Frey of the summer’s harvest. They would be the judges. Loki stood before them, beside the three almost identical sons of Ivaldi. Brokk, black-bearded and brooding, was there alone, standing to one side, the things he had brought hidden beneath sheets. “So,” said Odin. “What are we judging?” “Treasures,” said Loki. “The sons of Ivaldi have made gifts for you, great Odin, and for Thor, and for Frey, and so have Eitri and Brokk. It is up to you to decide which of the six things is the finest treasure. I myself will show you the gifts made by the sons of Ivaldi.” He presented Odin with the spear called Gungnir. It was a beautiful spear, carved with intricate runes. “It will penetrate anything, and when you throw it, it will always find its mark,” said Loki. Odin had but one eye, after all, and sometimes his aim could be less than perfect. “And, just as important, an oath taken on this spear is unbreakable.” Odin hefted the spear. “It is very fine,” was all he said. “And here,” said Loki proudly, “is a flowing head of golden hair. Made of real gold. It will attach itself to the head of the person who needs it and grow and behave in every way as if it were real hair. A hundred thousand strands of gold.” “I will test it,” said Thor. “Sif, come here.” Sif rose and came to the front, her head covered. She removed her headscarf. The gods gasped when they saw Sif’s naked head, bald and pink, and then she carefully placed the dwarfs’ golden wig on her head and shook her hair. They watched as the base of the wig joined itself to her scalp, and then Sif stood in front of them even more radiant and beautiful than before. “Impressive,” said Thor. “Good job!” Sif tossed her golden hair and walked out of the hall into the sunlight, to show her new hair to her friends. The last of the sons of Ivaldi’s remarkable gifts was small, and folded like cloth. This cloth Loki placed in front of Frey. “What is it? It looks like a silk scarf,” said Frey, unimpressed. “It does,” said Loki. “But if you unfold it, you will discover it is a ship, called Skidbladnir. It will always have a fair wind, wherever it goes. And although it is huge, the biggest ship you can imagine, it will fold up, as you see, like a cloth, so you can put it into your pouch.” Frey was impressed, and Loki was relieved. They were three excellent gifts. Now it was Brokk’s turn. His eyelids were red and swollen, and there was a huge insect bite on the side of his neck. Loki thought Brokk looked entirely too cocky, especially given the remarkable things Ivaldi’s sons had made. Brokk took the golden arm-ring and placed it in front of Odin on his high throne. “This arm-ring is called Draupnir,” said Brokk. “Because every ninth night, eight gold arm-rings of equal beauty will drip from it. You can reward people with them, or store them, and your wealth will increase.” Odin examined the arm-ring, then pushed it onto his arm, up high on his biceps. It gleamed there. “It is very fine,” he said. Loki recalled that Odin had said the same thing about the spear. Brokk walked over to Frey. He raised a cloth and revealed a huge boar with bristles made of gold. “This is a boar my brother made for you, to pull your chariot,” said Brokk. “It will race across the sky and over the sea, faster than the fastest horse. There will never be a night so dark that its golden bristles will not give light and let you see what you are doing. It will never tire, and will never fail you. It is called Gullenbursti, the golden-bristled one.” Frey looked impressed. Still, thought Loki, the magical ship that folded up like a cloth was every bit as impressive as an unstoppable boar that shone in the dark. Loki’s head was quite safe. And the last gift Brokk had to present was the one that Loki knew he had already managed to sabotage. From beneath the cloth Brokk produced a hammer, and placed it in front of Thor. Thor looked at it and sniffed. “The handle is rather short,” he said. Brokk nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That’s my fault. I was working the bellows. But before you dismiss it, let me tell you about what makes this hammer unique. It’s called Mjollnir, the lightning-maker. First of all, it’s unbreakable—doesn’t matter how hard you hit something with it, the hammer will always be undamaged.” Thor looked interested. He had already broken a great many weapons over the years, normally by hitting things with them. “If you throw the hammer, it will never miss what you throw it at.” Thor looked even more interested. He had lost a number of otherwise excellent weapons by throwing them at things that irritated him and missing, and he had watched too many weapons he had thrown disappear into the distance, never to be seen again. “No matter how hard or how far you throw it, it will always return to your hand.” Thor was now actually smiling. And the thunder god did not often smile. “You can change the size of the hammer. It will grow, and it will also shrink down so small that if you wish, you can hide it inside your shirt.” Thor clapped his hands together in delight, and thunder echoed across Asgard. “And yet, as you have observed,” concluded Brokk sadly, “the handle of the hammer is indeed too short. This is my fault. I failed to keep the bellows blowing while my brother, Eitri, was forging it.” “The shortness of the handle is a minor, cosmetic problem,” said Thor. “This hammer will protect us from the frost giants. This is the finest gift I have ever seen.” “It will protect Asgard. It will protect all of us,” said Odin with approval. “If I were a giant, I would be very afraid of Thor if he had that hammer,” said Frey. “Yes. It’s an excellent hammer. But Thor, what about the hair? Sif’s beautiful new golden hair!” asked Loki slightly desperately. “What? Oh, yes. My wife has very nice hair,” said Thor. “Now. Show me how to make the hammer grow and shrink, Brokk.” “Thor’s hammer is better even than my wonderful spear and my excellent arm-ring,” said Odin, nodding. “The hammer is greater and more impressive than my ship and my boar,” admitted Frey. “It will keep the gods of Asgard safe.” The gods clapped Brokk on the back and told him that he and Eitri had made the finest gift that they had ever been given. “Good to know,” said Brokk. He turned to Loki. “So,” said Brokk. “I get to cut off your head, Laufey’s son, and take it back with me. Eitri will be so pleased. We can turn it into something useful.” “I . . . will ransom my head,” said Loki. “I have treasures I can give you.” “Eitri and I already have all the treasure we need,” said Brokk. “We make treasures. No, Loki. I want your head.” Loki thought for a moment, then said, “Then you can have it. If you can catch me.” And Loki leapt high into the air and ran off, far above their heads. In moments he was gone. Brokk looked at Thor. “Can you catch him?” Thor shrugged. “I really shouldn’t,” he said. “But then, I would very much like to try out the hammer.” In moments Thor returned, holding Loki tightly. Loki was glaring with impotent fury. The dwarf Brokk took out his knife. “Come here, Loki,” he said. “I’m going to cut off your head.” “Of course,” said Loki. “You can, of course, cut off my head. But—and I appeal to mighty Odin here—if you cut off any of my neck, you are violating the terms of our agreement, which promised you my head, and my head only.” Odin inclined his head. “Loki is right,” he said. “You have no right to cut his neck.” Brokk was irritated. “But I can’t cut off his head without cutting his neck,” he said. Loki looked pleased with himself. “You see,” he said, “if people thought through the exactness of their words, they would not dare to take on Loki, the wisest, the cleverest, the trickiest, the most intelligent, the best-looking . . .” Brokk whispered a suggestion to Odin. “That would be fair,” agreed Odin. Brokk produced a strip of leather and a knife. He wrapped the leather around Loki’s mouth. Brokk tried to pierce the leather with the tip of the knifeblade. “It’s not working,” said Brokk. “My knife isn’t cutting you.” “I might have wisely arranged for protection from knifeblades,” said Loki modestly. “Just in case the whole you-can’t-cut-my-neck ploy did not work. I am afraid no knifeblade can cut me!” Brokk grunted and produced an awl, a pointed spike used in leatherwork, and he jabbed it through the leather, punching holes through Loki’s lips. Then he took a strong thread and he sewed Loki’s lips together with it. Brokk walked away, leaving Loki with his mouth sewn up tight, unable to complain. For Loki, the pain of being unable to talk hurt even more than the pain of having his lips stitched into the leather. So now you know: that is how the gods got their greatest treasures. It was Loki’s fault. Even Thor’s hammer was Loki’s fault. That was the thing about Loki. You resented him even when you were at your most grateful, and you were grateful to him even when you hated him the most.

#source : deviant art #loki #norse mythology #neil gaiman #treasures of the gods #fan art #drawing #lips sewn #thor #mjollnir #odin #odin is a shitty father #Fanart #loki the god of mischief

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umichenginabroad · 5 years ago

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Level 5: Adventure of a Lifetime

Curious about where this stunning view is? You are about to find out.

Hello and welcome to one of the most thrilling levels of my journey (yeah, I lied in Level 4 that this one won’t be demanding). I am sorry I have been AWOL for a while and the game has been on hold but here we are, back again with more action than ever.

So after the summer term at UNSW ended and I successfully survived my Circuit Theory final exam, we had a week off before T1 (the first trimester) starts. This is the only major break exchange students, who are here for the tailored term, get so everyone takes the opportunity to travel and explore different parts of Australia (or the world). Some students had their parents visiting them so they went on a trip with them. Most exchange students headed off to New Zealand, and some do the East Coast trip in Australia which includes visiting the world famous Great Barrier Reef and the Gold Coast. I decided to visit Tasmania with my friends.

Tasmania, or Tassie as the locals call it here, is a small island only about an hour and a half away from Sydney via air. Before we start the level, let me introduce you to the key players we will encounter a lot in this post.

Firstly, Tin Ray Liou a.k.a Bruno, our new friend who we met through Facebook to plan a trip in Tasmania. There are many Facebook groups dedicated to travelling and backpacking throughout Australia as camping and driving around with new people is a popular method of travel here. Secondly, Nolan, a fellow Wolverine. And last but not the least, me. That’s 3 main characters but lots of special appearances will be seen throughout this level.

Let’s begin!

Sneak Peek: Nolan on the left, Bruno in the middle, and me on the right.

We took an early morning flight from Sydney to Hobart (capital of Tassie) on the 9th of February. After meeting up with Bruno at the airport in Hobart and discussing an exciting itinerary for the 8 days, we drove towards the city centre. First thing we did in the city was pick up camping gear from Kmart as we planned to camp for all 8 days in Tassie. Gear consisted of: tents, sleeping bags, camp stove, hiking kits, plastic kitchenware, and insect repellent. After that we explored Salamanca Place, a vibrant cultural town in the city center dazzling with vintage architecture, shopping markets and aesthetic sights. We also strolled along the wharf near Salamanca Place for some fresh views of the harbor and to enjoy local fish and chips.

Scenes from Salamanca Place..

There is a famous Saturday market in Salamanca Place but we missed it by a day. However, on a Sunday, there is the Farm Gate Market, where you can try homegrown Tasmanian delicacies ranging from apples, olive oil, peanut butter to bacon, gin, and cheese. We made sure to indulge in the Sunday Farm market.

Glimpse of Farm Gate Market..

Next up was visiting Battery Point, an old maritime village featuring colonial architecture. After stepping back in time and walking through the fascinating precinct of Battery Point, we set out to find some isolated lookouts with stunning views.

Views from Battery Point..

Found a beautiful secluded beach..

But maybe, we were not alone. Where do these lead us?

In just a few hours in Tasmania, we were in love with this island. We found a camping ground near this beach and set up our tents before sunset and then cooked dinner. It was going to be an interesting experience because the last time I camped was 4 years ago. The next morning, we set out to hike the kunanyi/Mount Wellington - the summit of the Wellington Range in Hobart. It was one of the first major hikes for me and I was pumped! It took us 4 hours and 45 minutes to make the return journey around the summit of 4163 ft. I was awestruck at some stunning mid-way views. The fact that we had network service, almost throughout our hike was also impressive. Although, it was a very cloudy day so we couldn’t see the whole city from the top, but it’s not every day you have got your head in the clouds...literally!

Our first steps into the Summit walk..

Head in the Clouds at 4163 ft..successful summit of kunanyi/Mt.Wellington..

Our next camping site, Eldee, was super fun and we met a lot of people from all around the world - either visiting Tasmania on vacation or fulfilling some requirements of the Working Holiday visa.

Luxury Accommodation out in the wild..

Definitely recommend a game of UNO with new friends in the camping lounge...

Now, we have talked about Tasmania a lot already but maybe we are missing something significant. The Tasmanian Devil. People, how could we forget about this infamous animal? Well, we didn’t. My friends and I had the opportunity to pay a visit to the devil in an UnZoo. UnZoo is a very interesting concept of..umm...I will have you read it for yourself.

The UnZoo Philosophy..

Presenting you the greatest jaw strength on the planet: Tasmanian Devil.

Yes, the Tasmanian Devil has the greatest jaw strength of all animals. And trust me, I could feel it when I saw it feed on a piece of meat. One can hear the bones from the meat..crunching ever so loudly. I am glad I could witness the devil in his element up close.

Before heading eastwards to begin our travel for the Great Eastern Drive, we also checked out a few more sites and breathtaking views. To get a better picture of what I mean, here:

Enjoy this spectacular view from Tasman National Park..

The beautiful Tasman Arch..

A panoramic of Tessellated Pavement - heaven for the eyes.

Alright..breathing break. Every single view on this island beats the previous one. It’s just a fantastic place to be in. It’s a small island yet it has so much to offer.

We also visited Port Arthur, a historic site which is one of the most haunted places in Australia. Now, obviously, we signed up for the special Ghost Tour of Port Arthur which took you around famous landmarks at night time - extra thrill! It was a very spooky experience hearing about the tales and torture of convicts at Port Arthur and the personal haunted experiences of the site staff.

View of the Church in Port Arthur against the grim night sky..

Not gonna lie, I slept a little scared that night in my tent. Poof, some more hikes then,

A 3-hr return journey to Cape Raoul..

Special Character: Echidna - spotted on downhill journey from Cape Raoul

In the Great Eastern Drive, we hit up the most popular tourist spots in Tasmania: Freycinet National Park, Wineglass Bay and the Bay of Fires. In Freycinet, we hiked up to Mt. Amos. It was a rough hike with a lot of boulder scrambling and damp weather also made it slippery. But, the greater the risk the greater the reward.

Peep the fascinating sight from the top of Mt. Amos..

..and the white sandy stretch of Wineglass Bay behind us.

Apologies in advance. But, we may need to take a detour to Mars.

I found Mars, it’s at Bay of Fires.

Orange rocks and a green beach paired with white sand - Bay of Fires seems more like a fairy tale. But it’s real.

Proof.

We concluded the Great Eastern Drive with Bay of Fires and started driving towards the Great Western Tiers. Great Western Tiers was a mix and match of mountains, lakes, and..caves.

Little Blue Lake - the bluest water I have ever witnessed upfront.

This blue colour is actually due to tin mining and sedimentation in this area, many years ago.

the 450 million years old Marakoopa Caves in Mole Creek..

Whatever you see in the caves is mostly calcite. Phew. We saved the best hike for the last. Cradle Mountain Summit - the 5th highest peak in Tasmania and one of the most popular hikes among avid campers in Tassie. There are multiple ways you could hike up to the top, including the Overland Track which is a 9 day overnight trek. We did the full day hike, however we did not summit due to time constraints. We still got pretty sweet views from our 5 hour return journey from Marion’s lookout - the highest trek after the Summit.

The beginning..

midway...

At the top - Marion’s Lookout.

Now is a good time to piece together the picture I started off with. That shows me looking at the peak of Cradle Mountain, and hopefully you are feeling some sort of adrenaline after reading through all this.

WOW. That was a lot of hiking and running around to explore. With only one day left, we decided to check out some local festivals in Mole Creek and explore the city of Launceston. We saw a vintage vehicle display, equestrians practicing, and a wood-chopping contest! A chill vibe at the end to complement all the adventure. By this time, we had started missing sleeping on actual beds.

Bless the sun that day for making the view 10x better..

Satisfied, amazed, and grateful are some of the feelings I can attempt to describe for the conclusion of the trip. Not a single day went by where we were not in awe of this lovely place. Every view beat the previous one and just brought us so close to nature and wildlife. For the most part, camping was nice and cool, except for one night when we had visiting guests in the form of possums. Not one, not two...but three! Right outside my tent by the bushes. They were nice enough to not bother us in sleep..phew. Mountains, lakes, beaches, history, mystery, caves..this island has it all. Just step out and explore, you will not be disappointed.

Alas, it seems like we are finishing the most adventurous level there has been. As I reminisce the last time we set up tents and our last sunset in Tasmania, I hope you enjoyed the ride and thank you for coming this far with me!

Cheers,

…

Nikhil Punshi

Aerospace Engineering, University of Michigan

University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia - Winter 2020

#Umichenginabroad #IPEaustralia #NikhilPunshi #IPE Winter 2020

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captainamericasbeard · 6 years ago

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A Long Road- Ch 5

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: None

Summary: While recovering in Wakanda Bucky meets a deadly stranger who needs to learn how to heal.

Part 4 ll Masterlist

Bucky breaks into the widest smile. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.” He helps me stand and then steps back to give me my space. I dust off my clothes and attempt to shake out my hair.

“I need to speak with Shuri now,” I say, my voice still shaking. I scrub my face with my hands to erase the evidence of my tears. Bucky nods his head and we start to move back toward the stairs. Before we leave I turn back and bow before Zuri. “Thank you. You have given me a gift.” He bows in return and I move back towards the stairs where Bucky stands waiting with Adala. We make our way up, across, and back down into the lab where Shuri sits bent over a project on her work bench. She looks up and breaks into a smile as we walk in.

“You did it! How wonderful! How are you feeling? Maybe I should run some tests to compare brainwaves from before the Ancestral Plain and after.” She’s trailing off and talking to herself now as she moves around the lab preparing equipment.

“No, Shuri.” She snaps out of her train of thought and looks up at me. “No more tests. Not unless I say so. I won’t go back under either. I need to work my brain out for myself. I know I need help to do that but I need to finally be in control of my own mind. And I want to move out of the palace.” Shuri gave me a long look and glanced at Bucky standing over my shoulder. Bucky nods.

_______________________________________________________________________

It’s over a month before T’challa gives clearance for me to move out of the palace into a hut next to Bucky’s. There had been more tests to allay Shuri’s fears, but I had consented to every one. My hut smaller than Bucky’s, plain and simple but its comforting. It has a low thatched roof with a hole at its zenith to let smoke out and mud walls with curved openings for windows and a door. A low pallet with a mattress serves as a bed. A small set of drawers holds the only personal items I own- a few sets of clothes provided by Shuri. Running water comes from the pump in the square outside. These are very old and seldom used huts outside the dome to maintain Wakanda’s appearance of poverty.

Bucky’s hut is about three times larger and far more inviting. The doors and windows are covered in brightly coloured fabrics Bucky acquired in exchange for helping the women in this small village away from the hectic city. Corn husk dolls made by the local children are displayed with pride on a shelf above one of the windows. Some of them are one armed. Bucky has been provided with grav lamps but he prefers lanterns and the warmth from the wood burning stove. A simple woven mat he made himself serves as a bed and a low stool sits at a table. His hut backs up to his goat pen.

I finally have control of my mind and my time but I hardly know what to do with my days. I train. The physical exertion clears my mind and keeps me sane. I go for walks around the lake that borders our small cluster of huts, Adala in tow. She still ghosts my footsteps. Bucky and I are silent neighbors until darkness falls. The frail walls of our huts fail to contain the sounds of our torture. We take turns waking up first and stoking the fire in the common area outside our doors, waiting for the other’s screams to fall to a whimper. We drink tea in silence and I am usually the one to doze off. Bucky won’t touch me to move me to my hut but most mornings I wake up covered in a blanket, Bucky sitting vigilantly at my back to keep the night away. He never falls back asleep.

One morning I wake and thank Bucky for the company and hand him back his blanket like usual, as my Dora walks up to the fire. There is always a soft expression in her eyes when she finds us like this. If I thought it were pity I’d give her a piece of my mind but it's something else. It’s sorrow mingled with a bit of hope, I think. I don’t know what she means by it. Usually Bucky heads back to his hut without saying a word but today he approaches me.

“I’m going to jog around the lake. Do you want to come?” My eyes flick over to Adala and she curtly nods her head.

“Sure.” I move to my hut and change into a pair of shorts and a sports bra. The day is already hot and the air is thick with the smell of flowers and dirt. I slide my trainers on and go outside where Bucky is already waiting. He gives me a once over and nods before he heads off toward the lake. He sets a brisk pace and I stay a few steps behind him, easily keeping up. We're silent and the sounds of the lake fill our jog.

We're halfway around the lake when Bucky slows our pace and we come to rest at a small pebble beach. We’re both breathing hard and sweat is rolling down my chest and back. The sun is baking on my shoulders and I can’t resist the cool water a second longer. Without thinking I take off my trainers and shorts and walk into the water. The sands squishes beneath my toes and little minnows flit around my ankles. I walk in up to my knees and then dive under the clear water and come up gasping. It’s perfect. I turn to shore to see Bucky standing, hands on his hips watching me. I raise my hand and wave him in. He considers me for a moment and then peels his sweat soaked t-shirt off revealing his toned chest and abs. He slides off his trainers and shorts and steps into the water. He pulls his hair out of its messy bun as he wades in and finally dips beneath the surface, swimming lazily over to where I'm treading water. He pops up and shakes the water out of his hair, showering me with droplets.

“I thought we were jogging,” he asks bobbing in the water.

“Well, now we’re swimming.” I answer smiling. Bucky offers a laxidasical smile back. I lay back in the water letting my arms and legs drift free, my hair floating around me and close my eyes against the sun. Here in the water I feel like maybe anything is possible. Bucky and I drift lazily towards each other, our fingers brushing under the water’s surface. I don’t pull back. Instead I think of all the times those hands have held me. Held me back and held me down when I was trying to hurt people. Held me up out of the dirt after I learned my name. My mother’s words ring in my ears from months ago, “You need to find someone you trust to talk to.” All these weeks I’ve sat silently in my hut or by the lakeside avoiding this issue. And at the same time I’ve had no new memories, no further revelations, nothing. I feel as lost and alone as I always have. Can I trust the man next to me in the water? Was there ever anyone else? Do I even have a choice?

I flip onto my stomach and swim for shore without saying a word and after a moment I hear Bucky splashing along behind me. We clamber onto the pebble shore and sit to dry in the sun. I squeeze the extra water out of my hair. I lean back onto my hands with my legs stretched in front of me crossed at the ankles. Bucky pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around his legs protectively. We sit quietly listening to the symphony of birds and insects in the bush around us and let the sun dry our skin. My mind is turning and my heart is racing like we’re still running. Bucky senses the change and turns to look at me. I meet his eyes and his gaze is kind and patient. They’re a stark contrast to the dark eyes rimmed with pain I see in the depths of night. His clear blue eyes catch my breath unexpectedly. I swallow nervously.

“How do you- How do I do it? I can’t remember anything.” I drop my gaze. I want to ask a very personal question and I hold my breath. “How did you do it?” I blurt out. I can’t meet his eyes but I don’t sense any tension or anger coming off of him. I glance up. He’s looking down at his lap with his brow furrowed.

“After the Ancestral Plain it just started coming. But I had to write it down. The more I would write down the more I would remember. And I talked about it. Talking about it made it more real somehow.” His voice was soft and husky and his words washed over me. Tears started dropping hot and fast down my cheeks. Trusting someone seems physically impossible. Opening up about what has happened to me makes my stomach turn. I feel the anxiety rise in my chest and my breath becomes erratic. I instinctively curl up and clench my fists, squeezing my eyes tight agains the tears that won’t stop flowing.

“Lucy.” Bucky calls my name so softly I barely hear him. My eyes snap open at the sound and lock on him, my pupils dilated with fear. Every part of my body is on the defensive and ready to attack. Bucky turns his body toward me and sits cross legged by my side. He reaches out his hands, open palm up out toward me but he doesn’t move it any closer. He simply rests it on his knee and waits for me. I stare down at his hand willing my body to calm down. I’m shaking now, the rush of adrenaline too much for even my system. A memory flashes back to me, Bucky and I in an underground room, him rubbing my hands till they relax and open. Tentatively I reach my hand towards him and lay it in his palm. His large warm hands envelope mine. Slowly he works his thumbs into my palms, forcing my fingers to open. He kneads the tension out of my muscles and starts to slowly work his way up each of my fingers, squeezing, wiggling, and stretching each digit. Once my whole hand is open he holds it in both hands and just squeezes the tension out of it. He opens his palm and waits for me to give him my other hand. I do and he does the same to that hand. While I’ve been intently watching him work the pain out of my hands, the tension has dropped from my shoulders and limbs, my breathing has relaxed and regulated. My tears still fall silently and when Bucky finishes with my hands he look up at my face to find my cheeks streaked and stained. Without thinking he reaches his hands up and cradles my face in his hands, gently wiping the tears away with his thumbs. My breath is stopped and my eyes are locked on his until he lowers his hands.

“You don’t have to talk until you’re ready. No one is going to force you to do anything,” he reassures me. His words wrap around me like a blanket. I nod my head and take a deep cleansing sigh.

“We should get going. Adala will be wondering where we are,” he says. We stand and dress in silence. Once I’ve slipped my trainers on I look up to find Bucky watching me, considering his next words carefully. I look at him questioningly.

“You’re going to be ok, you know that right? You’re a lot stronger than you realize.” I don’t know what to say and Bucky doesn’t expect me to. He turns away and leads us through the bush back to the path. I jog along behind him keeping pace and turning over his last words in my mind. As I watch his back muscles ripple under his thin t-shirt I begin feeling a knot work out of my chest I hadn’t known was there.

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel drabble #marvel imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu writing #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky drabble #bucky barnes reader insert

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real-scienceofdeduction · 5 years ago

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That one kink rating for Sherlock thing I said I was going to do like 2 weeks ago. Super long so...

Abasiophilia: attraction to people in neck braces, wheelchairs, casts, or other devices that impair mobility. 2/10 Abduction as seduction: 6.5/10 Abrasions: 7/10 Acarophilia: arousal from scratching. Rating: 7/10

Accidental stimulation

Rating: 8.75/10

Acrotomophilia: fetish for amputees.

Rating: 1.276/10

Actirasty: arousal by the rays of the sun. This may be enjoyed through sex outside.

Rating: .347/10

Agalmatophilia: a person with this fetish is aroused by statues, mannequins or other figurative representations.

Rating: 0/10

Age play:

Rating: 3.5/10 would be better non-sexual

Agoraphilia: fetish dedicated to sex in public places.

Rating: 7/10

Aliens:

Rating: 1/10

Altocalciphilia: a fetish for high heels, usually worn by women but not always.

Rating: 1.5/10

Amazons and authoritarians:

Rating: 4.5/10

Amaurophilia: kink for being unable to see, blinded or blindfolded during sex.

Rating: -5/10

Anal penetration:

Rating: 9/10

Anal sex:

Rating: 9/10

Anal toys worn under clothing:

Rating: 8/10

Anal training:

Rating: 6.9/10

Anasteemaphilia: a fetish for people over extreme sizes, ie a giant or a dwarf.can be used for attraction to partners of differing heights even if they aren’t gigantic or tiny.

Rating: 4/10

Anonymous sex:

Rating: 0/10

Aquaphilia: fetish for water and having sex in or around water.

Rating: 0/10

Asphyxiation:

Rating: 7/10

Autogynephilia: a kink where men present/dress as women.

Rating: 5/10 I like dressing feminine but not usually as a kink.

Autofellatio: a kink where a man performs a blowjob on himself.

Rating: 8.5/10

Autoplushophilia: a type of plushophilia where a person is aroused by the idea being a stuffed animal, especially a cartoonish one.

Rating: 0/10

Barebacking:

Rating: 8/10

Bathroom control:

Rating: 1/10

Begging:

Rating: 8/10

Belonephilia: affinity to pins, needles and sharp objects. Belonephilia can be quite dangerous. See also knife play.

Rating: 7/10

Bestiality:

Rating: 0/10 How messed up…

Bimbofication: The process of making someone into a bimbo or being turned into a bimbo themselves.

Rating: 0/10 Honestly…

Blindfolds:

Rating: -5/10

Body Inflation: The practice of inflating or pretending to inflate a part of one’s body, often for sexual gratification.

Rating: 6/10

Bondage:

Rating: 7/10 just no blindfolds

Body modification:

Rating: 4/10

Branding:

Rating: 5/10

Breath play:

Rating: 7/10

Breast/nipple torture:

Rating: 5/10 Do it to me, sure, doing it to others? Don’t trust that.

Breast/nipple worship:

Rating: 4/10

Caning:

Rating: 2/10

Castration:

Rating: 0/10 I’ll keep my body in one piece, thank you.

CBT: cock ball torture.

Rating: 6.8/10

Chasmophilia: aroused by crevices, caverns, or valleys.

Rating: 0/10

Chastity:

Rating: 8/10

Choking:

6/10

Claustrophilia: this fetish is the opposite of claustrophobia.

0/10

Clothed sex (endytophilia):

7.3/10

Clowns: (//Thanks to my friend who heard I was doing this and sent a request)

0/10

Cock and/or ball fetishization:

8/10

Cock worship:

8/10

Collaring:

8/10

Corsetry: the act of wearing a corset.

7.4/10

Cross-dressing:

8/10

Crurophilia: A kink related to legs.

2/10

Crush fetish: a particular fetish relating to crushing small animals or objects.

1/10 not animals

Cunnilingus: receiving oral sex as a woman or giving it either as a man or woman.

6/10

Cupping: small cups or jars are applied upside down to the body, usually the back. Fire or a hand-pump creates suction that results in temporary bruising and a tight feeling.

6/10

Dacryphilia: arousal caused by tears or crying.

5/10

Daddy kink:

12/10

Degradation:

2/10

Dendrophilia: A sexual attraction to trees, either because they are phallic-shaped or because of the texture.

0/10

Diapers:

0/10

Discipline:

9/10

Dirty talking:

7/10

Doraphilia: playing with skin, leather, or fur. Hyphephilia is a similar fetish for touching hair, fur, skin and certain fabrics.

4/10

Double penetration:

Giving 5.5/10 receiving 7.3/10

Dracophilia: a fetish for dragons. Fantasy fetish companies such as Bad Dragon make dragon dildos, including those that ejaculate!

2/10

DVP: stands for double vaginal penetration.

I’m assuming giving and once again 5.5/10

Edge play: Any kink or fetish that is considered more risky or extreme. Examples include choking, breath play, knife play, fire play, and any activity that results in bleeding.

5/10 because of the wide range

Elastophilia: a fetish for stretchy materials including spandex, latex, silicone, etc. Elastophiles often enjoy bouncing on these materials or sinking deep down into something stretchy.

6/10

Electric play:

8.5/10 curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought him back…not that kind of satisfaction.

Enemas (klismaphilia):

6.8/10

Enkuopoiphilia: fetish for impregnantion.

7/10

Eproctophilia: arousal from flatulence (farts).

0/10

Exhibitionism:

7.8/10

Exoticism: fetishizing members and elements of Far Eastern culture, including fictional worlds inspired by these locations.

1/10

Face fucking:

10/10 love both sides.

Face sitting:

8/10

Face slapping:

0/10

Fat fetishism:

0/10

Figging: using ginger root to create a burning sensation.

3/10 curiosity again.

Fighting/Wrestling:

1.5/10

Fire play:

6/10

Fisting:

8/10

Flogging (flagellation):

1/10

Food play:

1/10 you’re not supposed to play with your food.

Foot fetish (podophilia):

0/10

Forced feeding:

0/10 no better way of triggering someone.

Formicophilia: arousal by insects or by insects crawling on and nibbling the body. The fetish for bees and wasps specifically is known as melissophilia while an attraction to spiders is known as arachnophilia.

1/10 curiosity is winning out today.

Frotting: rubbing of two penises together. One man may hold the penises together during this act.

9/10

Furries:

1/10

Gags:

6.8/10

Gerontophilia: attraction to someone from a much older age group. May-December relationships can fall into this kink if the members of the couple specifically fetishize the age gap.

7/10

Golden showers: See watersports.

0/10 if it comes out of you, leave it out of you. Don’t mess with it…unless it’s a child.

Group sex (Polyiterophilia):

7/10

Haematomania aka hematolagnia : lust for blood and bleeding. May include wounds, vampirism or biting to draw blood.

7/10

Harpaxophilia: the fetish for being robbed.

What??? 0/10

Helplessness:

4/10

Homeovestism: attraction to the clothing of one’s own gender or by people wearing the clothing accepted as appropriate for their gender by society.

1/10?

Hybristophilia: arousal by the knowledge that one’s partner has committed a heinous act or crime. This can include cheating, lying, robbery, or murder. One partner is turned on by the other’s bad deeds. Some people find themselves attracted to criminals who are in prison.

…10/10

Hypoxia: paraphilia for being submerged under water to restrict breathing, a type of erotic asphyxiation. This can be fatal.

-10/10

Immobility: a kink involving bondage and forced feeding.

0/10

Impact play:

5/10

Impregnation:

7/10

Imprisonment:

0/10

Infantilism:

0/10 if nonsexual 7/10.

Internal cumshots:

8.7/10

Intercrural or interfemoral sex: thrusting between someone’s thighs without penetration.

8/10

Intoxication:

10/10

Jerk off instructions (JOI): Being instructed to or told to masturbate.

8/5/10

Katoptronophilia: a fetish for having sex in front of mirrors.

9/10

Keraunophilia: a sexual fascination with thunder and lightning – similar to arousal from thunderstorms (brontophilia).

3/10

Kigurumi: this fetish is all about wearing anime masks, specifically men who wear masks of women.

0/10

Knife play:

7/10

Lactation:

2/10 say it with me, curiosity

Latex/rubber:

4/10

Lesbophilia: men with this kink enjoy lesbian sex more than your typical male.

0/10

Lithophilia: a kink for rocks, stones, or gravel. This can be used nonsexually.

2/10

Macro Fetish: people with this kink enjoy partners who are giant. This may mean plus-sized, but it can mean giants in the realm of fantasy roleplaying and writing.

1/10

Macrogenitalism: a fetish for genitals that are particularly large. This isn’t limited just to penises.

5/10 call me a size queen.

Maiesiophilia: sexual attraction to pregnant women or giving birth.

3/10? Pregnant if it’s the person I’m with, never strangers or them giving birth.

Maschalagnia: a fetish dedicated to armpits, including, kissing, licking and smelling. This kink may also involve inserting penises in the armpit for stimulation.

1/10

Masochism:

10/10

Mechanophilia: sexual attraction to and arousal by machines. This can include a wid variety and may go along with the desire to have sex in or on a machine such as a car, plane, etc.

4/10 only interest in the car/plane ideas.

Medical play:

8/10

Menophilia: an obsession with menstrual blood. Fetishists of this type don’t mind period sex. In fact, they may prefer it. And they might like going down on a woman when she has her period.

0/10

Merinthophilia: the fetish for bondage. See also vincilagnia.

6/10

Mess fetish (hygrophilia): Enjoy the mess created by sexual fluids, both male and female fluid.

2/10

Micro fetish: Enjoy when partners are much smaller than them or being the smaller partner.

3/10

Military:

15/10

Mixophilia: a kink related to watching yourself having sex.

2/10

Morphophilia: people with this fetish are attracted to bodies and body parts that are different from the norm.

2/10

Mummification:

0/10

Muscles:

1/10

Mysophilia: this fetish is for dirt and items that have been dirtied, especially by bodily fluids during sex. Used underwear is a common example.

0/10

Narratophilia: a fetish shared by those who enjoy telling and listening to dirty stories, talking about sex or incorporating dirty talk into sex.

0/10

Nasolingus: a fetish for sucking on someone’s nose.

0/10

Nasophilia: fetish for noses.

0/10

Necrophilia: the fetish for human corpses.

3/10

Necrozoophilia: fetish for deceased animals.

0/10

Needle play:

6/10

Nullification: kink for removing any body part.

6/10

Nullo: an extreme kink for removal of genitals.

0/10

Nyctophilia: if you love the night, you might have this fetish. It can also refer to fetishizing darkness.

5/10

Objectophilia (Objectum Sexuality): also known as fetishism. This refers specifically to arousal by and sexual activity with an inanimate object such as shoes.

5/10 I don’t know.

Oculolinctus: desire to lick eyeballs.

0/10 drank tea with one in it, a little salty, not bad but would not recommend in the future.

Oculophilia: an obsession with the eyes.

0/10

Odaxelagnia: kink for biting or being bitten.

7/10

Odontophilia: the general fetish for teeth, which can include biting, licking teeth or even removing them.

2/10

Olfactophilia: attraction to smells, especially pungent body odors.

1/10

Omorashi:

0/10

Orgasm denial:

8/10

Otherness: sexual attraction to someone from other places, including aliens.

3/10

Parthenophilia: a fetish for virginal partners.

4/10

Partialism: sexual obsession for specific body parts and not the whole.

6/10

Pecattiphilia: fetish for sinning and breaking religious rules.

7/10

Pediophilia: fetish for dolls, especially sex dolls.

0/10

Penis Humiliation:

7/10

Peodeiktophilia: (flashing).

0/10

Pet play:

1/10

Phalloorchoalgolagnia: arousal from pain directed toward male genitals.

6.8/10

Phallophilia: obsession with large penises.

9/10

Phobophilia: sexual obsession with being afraid. This fetish can be directed toward hate as well as fear.

7/10

Phygephilia: fetish for being a fugitive on the run.

0/10

Pictophilia: fetish for watching porn, especially of the same actor.

1/10

Play piercing (Piquerism, Picquerism): play piercing is performed for temporary decoration as well as for the sensation of breaking the skin.

0/10

Plushophilia: fetish for stuffed animals. These people may have a kink specifically for teddy bears, and they may be furries.

2/10 At this point I just can’t rate this a 0 and have it on the same level as some of the others.

Pony play:

0/10

Psychrophilia: arousal by being cold or watching others be cold.

4/10

Pregnancy:

4/10

Psychrocism: fetish dedicated to being cold, having sex with a cold partner or using cold objects (ice cubes, cold dildos, etc) during sex.

4/10

Pteronphilia: kink for being tickled specifically by feathers.

1/10

Pubephilia: obsession with pubic hair.

0/10 don’t mind if it’s there but not a fetish.

Pygmalionism: sexual obsession with human-like images, especially when you made it yourself.

0/10

Pygophilia: partialism to butts and seeing, touching and playing with them.

6/10

Pyrolagnia: sexual arousal from watching or setting fires. 4/10

Quirofilia: fetish for hands. 3/10

Revving: kink for watching someone rev an engine, especially when they wear heels. 1/10

Retifism: the fetish for shoes and footwear. 1/10

Rhabdophilia: a fetish for receiving physical beatings i.e. flogging or whipping. 2/10

Robotism: kink for robots, cyborgs or androids. 3/10

Ropework: 6/10

Rimming: 7.2/10

Sadism: 6/10

Savantophilia: fetish for people who have a cognitive impairment or delay. 0/10

Scatophilia a fetish for fecal matter. -10/10

Sensation play: a light kink where partners exchange sensations on the skin. Items with different textures (soft, hard, bumpy, smooth, cold, hot, etc) can be run across the skin. 8/10

Sensory deprivation: 5/10 How many times must I specify, just no blindfolds. Eyes close naturally.

Siderodromophilia: a fetish for trains or engaging in sexual activity on a train. 6/10

Slime fetish: 2/10

Sneezing Fetish: 1/10

Snuff: a fantasy fetish for killing someone or being killed. 4/10

Somnophilia: the fetish for sexual partners who are asleep. 2/10

Sounding: a kink for inserting thin tubes, into the urethra. 9/10

Spanking: 9/10

Stockings: 7/10

Strap-on: 7/10

Stygiophilia: arousal by thoughts of hell and eternal damnation. 1/10...okay I’m dating death, maybe it’msmore like 7/10

Stuffing: eating until the point of physical pain. -10/10 Some of these are so overused. Triggering.

Suspension: 6.8/10

Symphorphilia: fetish for watching car accidents or other traumatic incidents. 5/10

Taphephilia: fetish for being buried alive. 0/10

Teasing (Tantalolagnia): 8/10

Technophilia: a fetish for any technology such as robots, AI and sex machines. 2/10

Teleiophilia: preference for persons between maturity and middle-age. 5/10 This is me liking people my age?

Telephonicophilia: the fetish for phone sex and dirty talking over the phone. 0/10

Tentacle fetish: 0/10 *coughs* Mori *coughs*

Teratophilia: attraction to people with bodily deformities. 0/10 Don’t mind if they’re there but I’m not going on a treasure hunt.

Thesauromania: kink for collecting women’s clothing. 4/10

Tickling (Knismolagnia, Knismo, Titillagnia): 1/10

Transformation fetish: transforming into other people or non-human creatures. 1/10

Trichophilia: hair fetish. 7/10

Tripsolagnophilia: massage fetish. 7/10

Underwear fetish: 3/10

Uniforms: 10/10

Urtication: using the nettle plant to sting a partner’s skin. 0/10

Vaccinophilia: vaccination fetish. 2/10

Vicarphilia: being sexually vicarious, specifically related to enjoying other’s stories of sexual activity. 0/10

Vincilagnia: kink for being tied up and at the mercy of another person. 7/10

Vomit Fetish (Emetophilia): 0/10

Vore/Vorarephilia : sexual desire to be eaten alive or to eat someone while they are still alive. 0/10

Voyeurism: If it’s consensual 7/10

Wax play: 6.5/10

Weapon fetish: sexual arousal due to weapons. 8/10

Wet and messy (WAM) fetish: being turned on by being soiled by things other than bodily fluids. 0/10

Xenophilia: sexual attraction to exotic people or objects. 1/10

Xylophilia: fetish for wood. It may also be described as an attraction to nature, sexual or in general. 0/10

Yeastiality: sexual activity involving bread, especially warm dough. This may be an alleged kink. 0/10 Why?

Yiffing: sex with stuffed animals or a furry. 3/10 At this point this one seems positively normal.

Zelophilia: arousal due to jealousy, either your own or someone’s jealousy over you. 4/10

Zentai: wearing skintight suits while grinding against others in similar suits. 7/10

Zwischenstufe: the sexual obsession to people of the same sex. 8/10

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mythicallore · 6 years ago

Text

Very Weird Encounters with Creatures Beyond Strange

Within the world of cryptozoology and the paranormal there are very often strange accounts of creatures and entities that cannot be easily explained. They tease us and defy us with their otherworldliness, unable to be rationalized and doomed to wander the domain of speculation, mystery, and myth. Yet even among this world of the weird there are particular cases that stand out as even more bizarre, swirling about in some shadow universe that lies out beyond the anomalies and oddness that we know of. Such cases truly stand out as baffling, describing creatures that seem to have no business being in this reality at all, often spotted only once before disappearing forever, and which seem to defy all attempts to classify. Such cases are the crème de la crème of the weird, and here are some of the weirdest.

Our first oddity comes from Madison County, Illinois, at the city of St. Jacob, where a witness claims to have encountered what can only be described as some sort of gigantic insect. The anonymous witness said on Cryptozoology News that he had been driving along the highway at around 3 AM when something out of this world had lumbered into the ambiance of his headlights. The terrified witness said that he had pumped his brakes at the sight of it, and described it as being a 7-foot-tall stick insect. He describes it as follows:

An object appeared in my headlights on the right side, crossing the highway, looking like a giant walking stick with four legs. Its head turned as it ran and looked at me just before going out of lighted view. It was red wood and moved in approximately one second or less across the whole lighted area of my headlights. When it turned to me, it had no face.

Was this an insect or something else? If it was some sort of insect how could it possibly be so enormous? Drivers seem to come across a lot of weirdness while traversing nighttime roads. In another case, a man from Jefferson City, Missouri claims that in 2012 he had been driving from Colorado to South Dakota when he came across something rather odd in the vicinity of Lusk, Wyoming. As the night flickered by, a creature described as being a cross between a rabbit and a dog, with wavy white fur and measuring around 4 feet long dashed in front of him. The witness says:

I was going from Colorado Springs to Rapid City. It was about 1 a.m. when I came over a small hill on Highway 85 just north of Lusk, Wyoming. As I came over the hill, saw a creature in my headlights that looked like an over sized white rabbit. As I came over the hill at high speed, it was right in front of me in the road. I swerved right, and it hopped left, but I still clipped it. Slammed on the brakes and reversed to look for it, but did not see it anywhere. It looked like a dog-rabbit cross, although its face was more canine that rabbit looking. It had very big dark eyes and big ears. It hopped like a rabbit with its huge hind feet, but much slower.

What in the world was this thing? Continuing road oddities is another case reported to Cryptozoology News by a taxi cab dispatcher named Edgar Zayas, who on the evening June 3, 2018 says one of his drivers had been driving a passenger home and had his bizarre encounter as he had been driving through Elizabethton, Tennessee. He says that this driver had not seen the creature, but that the passenger had witnessed a “kangaroo-like” beast running along on its hind legs, and the report says of the incident:

The female passenger in his cab asked upon passing the spot where the car had swerved if my driver had seen “it”. When he told her he had not, she described the creature as something about 2 feet tall, running at a high rate of speed across the road on only its hind legs, and had the overall body shape of a Kangaroo. She said the creature was running towards the woods. To the best of my knowledge and research, this is the first sighting of anything like this in or around this area of Tennessee. There have, however, been other sightings of other cryptids ranging from the Birdman of Hampton to the Tennessee Wildman, and even several possible Sasquatch sightings, including a possible winged Bigfoot encounter.

A weird report from the Mutual UFO Network (MUFON) was given by a rather reliable witness, in this case a police officer in the small town of Mercerville, New Jersey. The unidentified officer claimed that he had been off duty and sitting on his back porch when he looked to the sky and saw quite a bizarre sight, in the form of a dark grey, snake-like creature flying through the air on two sets of wings, a “regular one and another set of smaller wings at the end of its body,” and he also mentioned that it had no discernible head. The witness says of the very strange “snake bird,”:

I couldn’t see a beak either. It didn’t have legs or feet. It was about 10 feet long and thin, like a snake. Its wings were very thin and long, and it moved like an eel or snake. It moved through the air like a sea creature would move through the water. I am familiar with anything that moves around us in our natural habitat. This was not any natural earthly flying creature.

So what was it then? An alien, cryptid, or interdimensional interloper? Just a tall tale? Considering no other sightings of the unusual creature were reported we will probably never know. Just about as completely outlandish and utterly surreal as anything we have looked at here so far is a series of reports given to Cryptozoology News involving humanoid entities described as being able to cloak themselves “like the Predator” from the popular science fiction film franchise. Yeah, it’s strange. Let’s take a look.

The first report comes from a woman who says that her and her husband moved to a new home in area in western Pennsylvania in 2000. After getting to know the area, one evening they went out with a spotlight to view deer in the wilderness, taking a series of bumpy isolated dirt roads past farms and rural countryside, the only light that which they cast out from their spotlight. As the light stabbed out into the night, the beam captured something within it, although it was not the deer they were expecting to find. The witness says of what they saw:

As I stared at this shape, I realized that I did not know what I was looking at. I knew it wasn’t a deer. It wasn’t any animal at all! As my brain tried to comprehend what I was looking at it became more clear the longer I stared. What I saw had the shape of a man but it was not a man. It was not see-through as a ghost. The only way I can describe it was that it was like standing water. But it didn’t cast a shadow. It didn’t have any glare to it as the light was on it. It did not reflect the light. It was not gas. As gas does not have a significant shape. Gas will ebb and flow with the breeze or at least have an inconsistent shape. Rather, what I saw had a defined shape. That was the only way I can see it because, it had the shape of a human and I could make that out because of the defined edges and curves. Only because of its outline was I able to make out what I was looking at. When I realized that I was looking at a human shape, I noticed the posture was similar to a person skulking or sneaking. It was hunched over a little and one of its arms were frozen in place in front of it. As though it knew we saw it and it froze its position to try to be undetectable.

For moments that must have seemed like an eternity for the frightened woman, the thing remained motionless, as if it were studying them, before creeping off down a knoll and then it just sort of vanished into thin air. She did not know if the creature had been seen by her husband, and the entire encounter had lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to send the woman into a state of panic. She warily told her husband about what she had seen, thinking he might make fun of her, but was shocked when he breathlessly told her that he had witnessed the exact same thing. The witness says:

He saw that it was the shape of a man. He saw that it was hunched over as if caught red-handed. He saw that it was cloaked like the predator but it didn’t have a jagged camouflaged look. The thing we saw had a smooth look. It was like standing water without the reflective aspect and its outside shape was smooth, definitive. I do not know what we saw, but I do know it was real! I have been really guarded about this experience and have only told a few people. Because, I know how skeptics are. I am one of them! Yet I cannot refute what we saw. It was real. Nevertheless, whatever it was or is we saw it. There is no doubt in my mind or in my husband’s.

Yes, it was dark. But, the spot light was exceptional with its quality and there was no mistaking what we saw being confused with any shadows, strange light reflections, optical illusions, gas leaks, ghosts or any other possible phenomenon. The cloaking capabilities were of absolute exceptional clarity. It bent the light in such a way that it looked like the surrounding environment without any flaws save for the outline of the man/humanoid being. Aside from the distinctive outline, we would not have been able to detect that anything was there at all. Now, if light affects the cloak in the daylight then more people will have more sightings. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that our spot light defected the cloaking mechanism in such a way that we were able to detect the outline because of it.

Was that what was going on here? Was this entity using some kind of cloaking device? If it were just an isolated incident one could almost think that their minds had been playing tricks on them, but unbelievably there was another report that came in that seems to describe something remarkably similar. In this account, a man in Tulalip, Washington, 47-year-old Gerald Phair, came forward to say that he has on many occasions spotted “invisible humanoids” lurking about on his property, that can only be faintly seen if a spotlight is shone on them or if the angle is just right. He says of one such sighting:

They are in my backyard sometimes. I watch them for hours. I think they know I am watching them and they mess with me later at night. They have a human shape. At first, I thought they were people in camouflage. It is really predator-looking military style. It’s been three months now. One day I counted over 30 of them.

If invisibility cloaked humanoids aren’t strange enough for you, then how about a sighting of a winged humanoid described as looking like an angel? This is what an anonymous witness who identifies himself as a Firefighter/Paramedic told Cryptozoology News says he saw near his home in Sidney, Ohio in July of 1990. The witness claims that he was walking home when he saw the humanoid entity, which was around 8 or 9 feet tall and had an impressive wingspan. The witness describes what happened:

I was walking home facing North in a residential street, approximately one block from my house. It was a very hot afternoon and winds were picking up. I could see my house in the distance. The sky had turned very dark due to a pretty significant thunderstorm. The sky was very dark in the northern part of sky and the blue sky and clouds behind me. It was approximately 1500 hrs. As the winds were picking up something white against the dark sky caught my attention. At first I thought it was a large piece of white paper or sheet.

Then I noticed it was like flapping its wings. It flew from my right to left approximately 400 ft up and maybe 120 yards from me at about 25 degrees from my perspective. It was large and very white. It looked humanoid but taller and muscular. My brain couldn’t reference anything other than what an angel would look like. It had a huge wing span and flapped just like a bird’s wings would. Couldn’t make out smaller details like hair or facial features but had a head, two arms, two legs, and two wings. It was flying from East to West, not with the wind. Leaves and grass were blowing in my direction.

As with all of the other reports we have looked at here we are left without a clear idea of what this being could have possibly been. Was this an actual angel? Was it something crossing over from some other dimension into our own reality? Who knows? In the end we are left with all of these bizarre, one-off cases of very unearthly creatures that defy conventional categorization and have only been seen to a very limited degree, in most cases only once. What does this tell us about these sorts of cases? Does it mean the witnesses are lying or delusional? Was their imagination just playing tricks on them? Did they just misidentify some natural phenomena and their brains just filled in the details of weird monsters? Wherever the answers may lie, countless cases like these flit about on the periphery, out on the very fringes of the strange and paranormal, defying reason and classification to remain the bizarre of the bizarre.

#supernatural #cryptid #paranormal

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thewildwaffle · 6 years ago

Text

Abduction - Chapter 10

I know these chapters aren’t as long as I’d like them to be, but I do try to get them out in some decent time frame! Thank you to everyone who has left feedback or comments in previous chapters! The next few chapters are going to be a lot of fun! - Fun for me to write, not so much fun for my characters... oops.

Chapter 1 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

***

“It started out as a normal day. Hot. A little muggy, which was nice. Found another oogin creeper crawling around outside my sleeping bunk. Mean little things, but hey, made for a quick morning meal. Flargin’ thing nearly stung me before I got it down. Another day in paradise, I guess.

“But anyway, as I was saying, day seven hundred forty-one started out quite unremarkably regular. Then I saw the lights in the sky. I’d noticed them some time ago, as stated in previous entries, but they never really moved much, they were just… there. Until early this morning. Their movements were strange though, hard to make out. I knew it had to be something very high up in the atmosphere to look that distorted. Then stuff started falling, and I realized whatever was moving up there was from far beyond the planet’s atmosphere. From what I was able to salvage from the first three crash sites, it looks like the Galactic Confederation’s not having a very good time.”

The remainder of the recording was filled up with a mix of chuckling and clicking, which was replaced near the end with heavy, labored breathing. The bug-like alien scuttled down the steep incline, slipping the recording device into a pack on its back which had been growing heavier and heavier with each visit to a crash site.

Most of the debris burned or broke up in the atmosphere, completely disintegrating long before it reached the surface. A few things, bits of fighter clippers, chunks of engine frames, etc. but without a doubt, the prized find so far had been the ion core, still in its casing mind you! It was worse for wear, sure, but with a little bit of touch up and care… well. Who knows?

Maybe I’ll finally be able to get off this blast-drub rock.

In any case, the ion core had earned a very special spot in the pack - safe and secure as its new owner scurried quickly down the steep ravine towards the newest site.

Large foliage hung over the path, attempting to block the way, but it was quickly cut down by thin but sharp insect-like forearms. This new site was going to be good - it didn’t look like it had broken apart like the others - whatever had crashed could still be in good condition indeed!

The trail, if one could call it a trail- more of a route that run-off water takes after rain, became very steep and rocky. Scuttling legs were soon struggling to find purchase and were slipping and sliding. It became less of a hike down the slope and more of a fall-while-you-reach-from-tree-to-tree-to-break-said-fall down the slope. This was going to be a miserable hike back up to camp later.

It had better be worth it.

***

It seemed normal out here. Hot. A little muggy, which was awful. But it was breathable. Oh! It was breathable. Thank goodness.

“Okay, you were right about the atmosphere, but I’m still ticked and you’re still an idiot.” Wenona had been very hesitant about leaving the pod. This was an alien world, afterall! Who knows what kind of hell was waiting out there. They knew very little about it other than what they could see out the port window and what they could make heads or tails of from the pod’s readouts. Jeb had said it was habitable, and it sure looked that way - there was a lot of vegetation out there. The thing was, this was an alien planet, not Earth. Who’s to say these plants weren’t pumping out cyanide or some weird gas instead of oxygen?

Mike had gone off on how it had to be oxygen - because of how the sky looked, because of a reading on the console (a reading which was still in an alien language, which she had pointed out), and a bunch of other reasons. He had made some good points, but this was their lives on the line here, and his argument had a lot of assumptions sprinkled through it.

What’s more, Jebannuck still hadn’t woken up. They’d unfastened him after landing and laid him on the floor so he’d be more comfortable. Wenona had found some basic first aid supplies in one of the storage bays above the harnesses and had been able to clean and bandage him up. He was bleeding from his head injury - dark, gray/purpley blood was already starting to dry on his face. It didn’t look as bad once she cleaned him up. Head injuries were like that. She was mostly worried about any concussion when he hit, and also his shoulder, which looked like it’d been cut open in the explosion. The wound stretched around the top of his left arm, over his shoulder and around and down his back. They cleaned it up the best they could and tried to position him in a way that he would be comfortable.

Wenona insisted that they wait until Jeb was feeling better before they went out. Or at least wait until he woke up.

Yeah, that worked out well.

Thankfully, the captain had indeed sent them to a habitable planet. Or at least, the atmosphere didn’t immediately kill them. Still, that didn’t make Mike’s smug grin any less annoying.

“See, I told you.” somehow Mikes stupid smile got even bigger as he spun in the small clearing they had landed in. “Totally safe. They wouldn’t have sent us down here if the planet was dangerous.” “You mean more dangerous than the freakin’ war zone they sent us out of? Kind of hard to top that, Mike.”

Mike’s grin morphed into a frown as Wenona’s tone seemed to finally reach him. He folded his arms across his chest and furrowed his eyebrows, “Yeah? And who knows how long that’s going to last up there? We don’t know how long we’ll be here - we would have had to have left the pod eventually. We need to figure out where we are and what resources are nearby.”

That was a good point. Which was even more infuriating.

“Eventually. We would have had to have left the pod eventually. That doesn’t mean ‘Hey Mike, how about five minutes after we land, you jump out and put us all in danger from who knows what could be lurking around on a lousy alien planet!’”

Mike spread his arms to gesture at the clearing around them, “Maybe not, but look around. We’re fine, aren’t we?” “You didn’t know that before! You just act, you always just act without thinking! Whatever impulse flashes into your mind, you just go!”

“If I remember, me doing just that is one of the reasons we’re still alive - you’ve never had an issue with that before!”

“This is different - we weren’t fighting for our lives,” Wenona’s voice rang through the clearing, echoing back slightly. “There’s a time and a place, and you need to grow up and figure that out!”

Mike uncrossed his arms and took a step back. “Grow up? I should grow up?” He looked like he’d been slapped in the face. After a moment, he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, tightly. Instead, he turned around and began walking toward the other end of the clearing.

“Where are you going?” Wenona yelled after him.

“Like I said,” he hollered back gruffly, “we need to find out what resources are nearby.”

He disappeared amongst the bright greens, yellows and purples of the trees. Wenona watched him go, still fuming. She stomped a few steps back to the pod door. There was a rounded object on the ground nearby, it looked like it must be made of a chunk of rotting wood. It was a weird shape to just find lying around, but it looked like it make for a good thing to kick. She really needed to kick something.

She took a lunge at it, wound up her leg, and… it exploded into a puff of spores. Poof! Her foot continued through where it had been, the momentum from her kick causing her to lose her balance and she fell in the now-settling cloud of spores and dust. She lay there for a moment before she covering her face with her hands to help muffle a scream.

Once getting that out of her system, she slammed her fists on the ground on either side of her. Her right hand landed in a growing pile of the spores. A sharp pain shot through her hand and up her arm. With a swear, she rolled over and scrambled to her feet. After pulling down her sleeve, she was able to cover up her hand as she squeezed - the pressure seemed to help alleviate the pain a little bit. Stupid alien tree ball!

“I freakin’ hate space, I hate this planet, I hate this forest, I wanna go home,” she muttered to herself over and over like an angry mantra as she walked back towards the pod. She hoped there was something in the first aid kits that would help.

***

“Well. Alright then. This is odd.” The object that had fallen from the sky had indeed been whole and intact. That what had been hoped for, and that’s where the expectations ended.

Upon arrival, it was apparent that this particular find could go two ways. One, the pod was empty, it had maybe been deployed accidentally in the madness, or perhaps had been blown loose under heavy fire. Two, the pod had someone aboard, or multiple someones, and were, no doubt, scanning the area. If it was option two, her current hiding spot would be discovered in a matter of time. Stay or go?

It was a risk, but after the long hike down she wasn’t about to give up and leave so easily.

“Wait it out. Wait it out”,” she whispered under her breath, fidgeting with a short makeshift blade that had been pulled out of the pack upon arrival.

To her extreme surprise, the pod opened after a short while and a strange, bipedal alien walked out. It appeared to be wearing a Galactic Confederation uniform. Another one followed it soon after. This one was slightly smaller and the fur on top of its head was longer and darker. They appeared to be of the same species, but it was a species that she was unfamiliar with. They were… oddly cute? They had no tails, no wings, and yet there they stood, there they walked around on only two straight legs. Their mouths? Well, what she thought they were their mouths were long and wide across the front of their heads. One, the second alien, opened its “mouth.” Large white teeth could be seen as it started making a variety of humming and chirping sounds. It was speaking to the other alien.

Whatever language they were speaking to each other in was apparently not included in her translator chip’s software. However, she didn’t need to know what they were saying to know the tone of the conversation.

From looks alone, she hadn’t expected that such creatures could get so loud. Or look so angry while being so loud. Between their soft looking skin and roundish faces, their anger almost seemed amusing, like an angry pet glahrkut. They didn’t appear to have any natural weapons or defenses, but all the same, there was something about them that made her feel glad to be hidden away in the trees. Something… she couldn’t quite put her antenna on why.

Ponderings were cut short as the first alien turned and started stomping towards her. She glanced up at the trees around her. Krag, too tall, and while carrying the loaded pack, there was no way she’d make it up there without being seen. If she made it at all.

“I’ll be fine,” she thought, “if I don’t move, it can’t see me with all the surrounding foliage. Unless it walks right into me. In which case,” she slowly pulled out the makeshift blade from the pack again, “this thing’s gonna learn real quick to not cross a montauk.”

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#abduction #chapter 10 #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #aliens #planets #mike #wenona #jebannuck #montauk #space

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evolutionsvoid · 6 years ago

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The Mellicorpus is a plant species that is well known in its region for its bizarre look and "special" sap. While some of its more common names refer to this species as a "tree," due to its large size and woody nature, the Mellicorpus only fits that term in its broadest form. It does not have the abundant branches or green leaves that many think of when someone uses that word, but its general shape definitely evokes the idea of one. It possesses a gnarled network of roots at its base and the upper layer of this mass sits above the soil. The rest burrow down below, but they do not go nearly as deep and wide as other tree roots do. This is because the Mellicorpus is a bottom heavy plant, so it doesn't need an expansive anchor system to keep it from tipping over. The trunk of the Mellicorpus is where the weirdness really begins. It is a lumpy, warty distorted thing that looks more like a malformed limb than a mighty, sturdy tree trunk. The bottom is bloated and covered in what at first appears to be large burls. From there, the plant grows upward in a twisted, crooked manner, becoming thinner and thinner as it rises. At the top, it splits off into curvy branches that stick out at awkward angles. Long vine-like growths spew forth from buds that run along them, and these ugly limbs are topped with purple flowers. If you haven't guessed by now, I am not a fan of this plant species. While it is indeed a fascinating specimen that has a lot of unique adaptations, I find it to be quite unsettling. At first sight you would find it hard to believe that this thing is actually a plant. It is more fitting as some deep sea monstrosity than a tree or shrub. To me, it is a hideous thing, but I am not writing this entry just because it is an ugly plant. Like I said before, it has some special adaptations that make it a worthy species to write about, but they aren't all that pleasant. While its strange appearance definitely gains one's attention, the real fame of the Mellicorpus comes from its "special" sap. Like the sap of any other tree, it is a thick and sticky substance that hides below the woody surface. Unlike other trees, though, it produces this substance in obscene quantities. I don't think I have ever seen a single specimen of this plant that isn't leaking its sap everywhere. Those large "burls" I mentioned are actually more like woody cysts, as they are filled with this orange, honey-like fluid. While its bark is thick in other spots, these protrusions have a very thin skin on them, causing them to split and leak at the slightest nudge. At the rate they ooze their sap, I almost believe that they pump these cysts full of the stuff until they split open from the pressure. They just leak this stuff everywhere, making them one of the more messy plants one could put in their garden. All this oozing sap, though, is not by accident. There is a reason that it wants its sap on the outside, and you only need to take a whiff to understand. If you are hunting for this plant in the wild, you will smell it before you even see it. Its sap has a very sweet, aromatic smell to it, with people comparing it to a "fruity honey" or a "citrus flavored dessert." I won't lie, it does smell quite good, enough to make one's belly rumble with anticipation! Unfortunately, that is what the Mellicorpus wants. It wants its wonderful fragrance to draw you in, it wants your mouth to water at the slightest whiff. Insects, beasts and people will follow that pleasant smell until they come upon the tree. With all that sap oozing out, it is hard to resist going in for a taste, and that is where the problems start. To get an idea of why this is a bad thing, just realize that one of the common names for the Mellicorpus is the "Honey Bile Tree." The sap of the Mellicorpus is indeed sweet and flavorful, but it hides a nasty little secret. If you have a little taste of it, you may be able to pick it out. The flavor begins with a punch of sweetness, and it flows quite smoothly, but near the end it grows bitter. That is because the sap contains a digestive agent! While it can be compared to honey and tree sap, it also has some similarities to stomach acid. It is not super strong or extremely caustic, so don't expect it to melt off your tongue upon the first taste. Instead, it is a very slow acting agent that is limited by time and quantity. One drop of the sap will not cause damage to you, as your saliva and own stomach acid will easily dilute it and neutralize it. In large quantities, however, the sap will easily overpower any of your body' defenses and begin to break things down. With the draw of sweet smells and taste, victims will come in and gorge themselves on the abundant sap. Small insects and critters may wind up getting caught in its sticky hold, causing them to drown and become digested. Larger creatures may eat so much that they become lethargic, which gives the sap time to slowly eat away at their stomachs. Those who succumb to this engorging will die as the sap destroys their stomach or throat, and their corpses will lay upon the soil and roots. In time, sap and decomposition will break them down and transfer nutrients to the ground and tree, which is ultimately what the Mellicorpus wants. The Mellicorpus requires certain nutrients that are missing from its environment, so it gets them by digesting other creatures. Their broken down flesh will be sucked up by the roots or will be used to enrich the soil around the Mellicorpus. One way or another, it shall get its meal.

Though this may sound utterly horrific and terrifying (which it kind of is), the Mellicorpus is only a real threat to insects and the foolish. In fact, it is believed that the Mellicorpus gained these adaptations in order to prey upon the abundant insect populations around it. With such a sweet aroma, sugar-loving bugs can hardly resist its temptations. They shall track down the plant and go on a feeding frenzy, which will either end with them drowning in the sap or being digested from the inside out. The Giant Ants are one of the Mellicorpus' primary prey species, as they are easily entranced by its smell and their size provides plenty of food for its roots. Due to their reliance on pheromones and smells, a heavy dose of the Mellicorpus' scent can practically hypnotize them, causing them to mindlessly rush to the tree to feed. Caught up in the sugary buffet, they will be oblivious to the sap's deadly secret and will perish. A funny thing about their relationship with the Giant Ants is that the Mellicorpus cannot survive in close proximity to one of their colonies. You would think having one of these trees right next to a nest would be a perfect scenario for them, but it is actually a bad thing for the plant. With it so close to a large population, its aroma would entrance too many ants at once, causing a massive feeding frenzy that would ultimately destroy the plant in the process. Instead, the Mellicorpus wants to be on the outskirts of a colony's range, where it can only be detected by hunting and gathering parties. These small groups are much more manageable and enough time will pass between the arrival of these parties for the tree to repair any damage caused by the crazed ants. So in the end, the Mellicorpus seeks to feed on insect species more than man or beast, but that doesn't stop the hungry and foolish. If one listens to their stomach more than their brain, then they may become a victim to this insidious plant. With such a delicious sap and deadly trap, the Mellicorpus has gained quite a reputation for itself. While one may assume that this plant has nothing but infamy, it is actually more of a mixed bag. Those who live in the regions where this plant grows know to be wary of it, but they don't necessarily despise it. Any trees that are located near a town or village will have warning signs posted all around it, and many parents are sure to use horrifyingly graphic stories to warn their children. Though seen as dangerous, certain cultures will harvest the sap and use it for cooking. In minute amounts, it adds an interesting level of sweetness to a dish, and in such small diluted quantities, it poses no harm. With its sweet sap, the wood of the Mellicorpus carries a pleasant fragrance that lingers long after harvest. While its mangled shape prevents it from being used to create houses or furniture, the wood is often used to create ornamental pieces or trinkets. The petals of its flowers are collected and used as an aromatic. Some people place them around their house to keep things smelling nice, while others may use the petals to mask unpleasant odors. Fittingly enough, the flowers of the Mellicorpus are often used in morgues and mortuaries to help cover up the smell of death and decomposition. This emboldens the theme of death that surrounds this plant, and I can understand why. In certain places, the Mellicorpus is seen as a symbol of death and deception. The term "demon tree" is thrown around a lot, and some cultures believe that a Mellicorpus grows from the corpse of a wicked soul. Their cysts help strengthen this image, as their ruptures and splits may create the illusion of a drooling mouth or bleeding eyes. For dryads, the Mellicorpus is a plant that is not tolerated near villages or towns. Since saplings are raised on a diet of nectar, they tend to have a taste for sweetness which makes them an easy target for the tree. To prevent horrible tragedies, many dryad villages destroy any of these trees that grow nearby. On the other hand, there are certain collectors and gardeners out there that find the Mellicorpus a fascinating specimen. This is due to several reasons. The first and the most obvious is its wonderful smell. The second is its interesting nature and cultural significance, which is sure to make for an interesting talk or presentation. Thirdly is its sap, which can be used to cook and impress any guests. Lastly is the fact that the Mellicorpus requires very specific conditions to properly grow. It certainly is not any easy plant to raise, which makes it a boasting point for any who succeed in growing it. Any botanical garden worth its salt will have one of these plants, and you can be sure that it will be a flaunted centerpiece. As for me, I have had my fill of these things (pun not intended, but appreciated). I do indeed enjoy their unique nature, but my time studying them has ruined them for me. They're just...creepy. That alien look, those face-like cysts and that powerful smell. Stick around these trees long enough and that odor will become noxious and sickening. Spend enough time looking at them and you will swear that they move, or at least I did. On some days I felt like it wriggled and squirmed like a lethargic worm, and those faces seemed to grin and mock me. I know I always laugh at those who cling to superstition and myth, but I can't help but feel that these things have earned their horrible image. Even the sap doesn't appeal to me. Yes, it does smell good and indeed it does taste good, I am not denying that. But when you watch prey of this tree die in a slow and horrible manner, when you walk past those melting, bloated corpses, you won't be able to think of anything else when someone hands you one of those fancy little desserts. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

#monster #creature #tree #tree monster #plant monster #art #drawing #carnivourousplant

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weakzen · 6 years ago

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The Sanguine Prophet

Aloth's first assassination attempt does not go as planned, in more than one way.

Rating: M Spoilers: Aloth's initial conversation after leaving Port Maje, if anti-Leaden Key Content Notes: gore

AO3 Version

In extremely small doses, the venom of the palmsling snake thinned the blood and inhibited the formation of clots. In large doses, it ruptured blood cells and corroded arteries and veins, spreading trauma through the body with every successive pump of the heart. It attacked organs and bones as it circulated, softening them to be more easily digestible. The palmsling's prey died quickly, fatally hemorrhaging not far from where bitten, their flesh slowly dissolving from the inside-out.

The finger-sized phial he was currently carrying in his satchel contained enough of its venom to condemn a man to that fate twenty times over, or so Aloth had been told.

As he crept down the cloister, he hid himself in the shadow of the roof and columns he passed, his shoulder nearly skimming the wall as he avoided the areas of illuminated tile. He moved on the balls of his feet with each step, shifting his weight lightly and quietly. The scarf looped over his head and across his mouth muffled his breathing as well, leaving only the noise of frogs and chirping crickets to indicate anything stirred in the night.

Fireflies drifted lazily through the abundant flora of the temple's courtyard. Nocturnal flowers opened wide and yearningly in the moonlight. And the moons themselves, both swollen full, hung aloft in a star-splashed sky and the glassy reflection of a pond below.

If Aloth were anywhere else, he would have called the sight beautiful. He would have stopped and passed under the arcade to walk along the gravel paths. He would have meandered hours away winding through that expansive garden, savoring every sight and smell and sound.

As it were, though, all he could muster for its spectacle was a sneering glare.

He glanced away and hurried on, rounding a corner that lead away from the courtyard and down another arcade. He made a right, then a left, descending stone steps and traversing another short walkway until, at last, he reached the locked door.

Kneeling in front of it, he slid two picks from inside his bracer and slipped them into the lock. As he worked the tumblers, a smile ghosted his lips. He'd never been properly appreciative to her at the time, when she'd insisted that he learn how to pick basic locks, at least, if they were going to delve into ruins together. He was grateful now, though, for that lesson. For so many others.

For her.

An ache of fondness rolled through his chest and, not for the first time, he wished she were here with him too.

The sentiment faded quickly though, when the lock popped and the hinges shrieked. The door swung inward, creaking and shuddering under its weight, until it hit the wall with a rattling clang. He froze, panic lancing white-hot through his core. His shoulders drew tightly about his neck as he reached for his grimoire and strained to hear anything above the pounding of his own heart.

After a long and tense minute, only the distant wail of a loon acknowledged him.

He forced himself to exhale, then to take a few steadying breaths before he pushed himself up from the tile with trembling hands. The hinges needed attention before he could proceed—he couldn't risk that racket again and he couldn't leave the door open, either.

Twisting his satchel to the front of his body, he fumbled through it until his fingers reluctantly closed around one of his more prized possessions. As he opened the small bottle, he gave its contents a final whiff and couldn't help the resigned, sighing exhale that followed. That scent wouldn't be easy to find outside Aedyr—and even he didn't know when he would visit home again.

At least, he rationalized, while he coated his fingers in his hair oil and rubbed it into the iron, the waste of it could serve as a lesson to be better prepared in the future. In his haste to examine the lock when he'd scouted the temple, he'd neglected to give the hinges the same consideration. He'd gotten lucky this time, that he still maintained the habit of permanently storing his belongings in his bags in case he needed to leave quickly. Even so, he would still have to hope no one noticed the scent of rainwood tomorrow morning. They might overlook the improved condition of the hinges, but he doubted they'd ignore a strange smell.

Uncertainty coiled in his stomach. He didn't like leaving all these variables up to chance, but he supposed there was nothing to do for it now. If he didn't seize this opportunity tonight, then he'd have to wait one more month. And, given how this past month had made him feel, he didn't know if he could bear another.

Finishing his effort, he tucked the nearly-empty bottle away and wiped his hands clean on his trousers. He gave the door a few tentative tugs and, once he was satisfied it wouldn't betray him again, he stepped through the opening and quietly shut it behind him.

Inside, he squinted in concentration then called forth a small flame in his palm to illuminate the windowless room. Linen vestments swayed softly on their racks and cast long, spinning shadows up the wall. Bronzed ceremonial objects glowed warmly from their places on floor-to-ceiling shelves. A round table sat in the middle of everything, covered in a row of knives that followed the curve of its edge all the way around. And in the center of their circle, above them—always above them—lie his knife, in a display case of glass and crushed velvet.

Aloth strode towards it and snapped it open, wrapping his fingers around an ornamental hilt carved with symbols and inlaid with centuries of dried blood. He tucked the sheath between his arm and torso and pulled the blade free, holding it up to his face to examine it. As his eyes roamed the rippling folds of metal, something quiet reminded him that it wasn't too late to just leave. He didn't have to do this.

But… even as that reminder spoke, something louder insisted that he did.

Because, if he didn't, then how many more people would this knife's owner kill? How many more children wouldn't reach their fifth year because the sanguine prophet demanded their blood to water that sickening, odious garden?

Aloth's hand squeezed the knife until his knuckles turned white. He swallowed around the dry, hard lump in his throat and slowly shook his head. He couldn't leave. He wouldn't. Not after what he'd seen. Not after what he knew of the Leaden Key's involvement here.

Not after how many years he'd unknowingly spent aiding them in creating horrors like this.

He hadn't directly contributed the situation here, he knew, but he still bore responsibility for it. He owed these people their freedom and any help he could provide them to that end, even if that meant resorting to underhanded tactics.

Even if that meant killing someone.

The flame in his hand guttered out as he closed a fist around it. Then, when he opened his hand again, a sphere of ghostfire popped out to float near him. In its eerie light, he donned a pair of leather gloves and unstopped the phial. As he carefully smeared drops of venom across the edge of the blade, his thoughts unwittingly traveled back to the morning after the last full moon, to the sound of desperate, choking screams and the guttural, insistent justifications shouted over them.

His mouth pressed into a hard line. He understood his risk of being caught increased the longer he tarried, but Aloth still applied the venom slowly and methodically, layer by layer, letting each coating dry fully before the next, until the phial dribbled empty at last and his work was done. He gingerly removed his venom-soaked glove, turning it inside out before disposing of it, the phial, and the other glove inside a sack tucked within his satchel. He sheathed the knife, returned it to its case, closed the lid, then glanced around to verify everything was exactly as he'd found it. Nodding to himself in conformation, he snuffed the light between his fingers and exited the room, re-locking the now acquiescently silent door behind him.

Then, as dawn grasped at the horizon, he fled the temple as quickly and quietly as he'd arrived.

It wouldn't be noon for hours, but already the cicadas buzzed incessantly and the air sweltered.

Aloth, at least, had some fleeting relief from the sun, in a patch of shadow cast by a thickly-leafed palm. Most of the villagers in the garden below weren't so fortunate, and instead attempted to alleviate the heat with wicker fans. Of all of them gathered here this morning, only the prophet was truly sheltered from the elements, in a lasting shade provided by a canopy of white canvas atop the dais.

Only the prophet could lead all of them to true shelter as well, Aloth garnered, as the man gesticulated and lectured the crowd in thick Vailian. While Aloth knelt and listened, his nails dug into his palms. He fought to keep his expression blank and his gaze cast submissively into the dirt. He needed to be patient—and he needed to remember to act his part. Cydrel was a proper, respectable guest, after all. Here all the way from Aedyr too, humbling seeking guidance in an effort to reach true salvation.

Even so, he felt his lip curling in disgust again as his eyes wandered to a particular patch of soil nestled between clusters of vibrant, orange lilies. The stain was gone, but he could still see it there. Her too, crumpled facedown in the flowers. He stared at the spot unblinkingly as the sermon droned on, until the prophet and the insects faded into indistinct humming, until his eyes watered and his jaw ached from clenching it.

No one had said anything, when the acolytes picked up and carried the child away. No one had protested when the prophet squatted down beside her mother, not to minister comfort, but to coldly slice open her arms with the exact same implement that had killed her child. No one had dared look at the woman either, while she bled there mutely, curled into the dirt where her daughter fell, not when the prophet rose above them all, towering as he leveled his gaze against at each and every witness.

No one had stood up that day. No one had ever stood up to him, the blood-splattered culmination of Thaos' influence in this small part of the world.

Not until today.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Aloth flinched to attention, turning to see an acolyte gesturing toward the prophet. He stood, wincing as feeling returned to his legs, then he shuffled toward the center of the dais. The old man patted the cushion next to him and Aloth—Cydrel—knelt on it, pressing his palms together as he bowed deeply. The gesture was returned, albeit shallower and more hastily, as though the man held more respect for notion of formality than he did for the actual individual receiving it.

He spoke then, in rapid, confident Vailian, vacillating his attention between Cydrel and the crowd, his voice gradually increasing in pitch and cadence. Smiling mirthlessly, Aloth only understood every third word, but he understood enough. His fingertips dug nervously into his thighs and a knot slowly tightened in his stomach. Then panic spiked through him, raw and electric and confirming, as the man removed his knife from its sheath and presented it to Cydrel on flat palms.

His eyes widened as he glanced from the blade up to the prophet’s wrinkled, expectant visage. His gaze snapped back and forth between the two a few times. For a moment, all he could do was gape in response, his mouth wavering open while his heart thundered in his chest. Guest's rights? Guest's honor? Why hadn't this come up last month? He hadn't planned for this, for the man to actually deign his knife fitting for the use of a commoner, and a foreign one at that. But, as he withered beneath the man's increasingly intense stare, Aloth realized what he needed to do.

Bowing deeply, so deeply his hair ties clanked against the ground and his forehead almost touched the dais, he closed his eyes and summoned forth his best Vailian to issue an apology.

He was sorry.

He was not worthy of first blood.

He would shame himself eternally if he tainted the blade and body of a mighty servant of god with his own weak and still unmarred flesh.

Then he begged for forgiveness.

After an uncomfortably long and worrying moment of silence, he felt the prophet's hand fall on his shoulder to bid him upwards. Cydrel sat up, letting out a long, shuddering—and not entirely feigned—sigh. His back and shoulders were stiff and he kept his gaze fixed firmly downward as he apologized to the man again.

It, too, wasn't entirely feigned.

Chuckling softly, the prophet lifted Cydrel's chin upward with two fingers and nodded, seemingly pleased. Once more, the old man slowly rose to tower above everybody else. He turned to face the villagers and stretched his arm outward, flattening his hand and spreading his fingers widely. He held that position for a long moment, his heavily-scarred limb trembling with the effort, then he rotated his arm and made a fist.

And, with no further hesitation, he sliced himself open with three successive, parallel gashes.

Blood immediately ran down his arm in rivulets and spattered onto the ground below the dais. He grunted and squeezed his fist repeatedly, encouraging the flow. The sudden tang of copper made Aloth mildly nauseous. Or maybe it was the anticipation. Or the worry that had plagued him ever since he purchased the phial. In theory, the venom should have remained potent, even when dried. But, it wasn't as though he'd ever attempted this before, or knew anyone with experience in such proclivities. The local libraries certainly had no texts on the topic. And the chemist who reluctantly sold the venom to him had been of no help either, only emphasizing its danger and strongly encouraging a regimen of leeching instead.

Aloth pressed his lips together grimly. Perhaps he should have tested it on something first.

Before he could dwell on his mistake, however, the prophet spun and beckoned him upwards with the bloodied tip of his knife. Aloth hesitated, cringing inwardly, but Cydrel bowed stiffly and reluctantly obeyed. He walked to the edge of the dais, where the man deftly flipped the knife, caught it by the blade, and offered it to his guest once more. The confidence and determination that had filled Aloth when he'd snatched the knife in the darkness of night was nowhere to be found by the light of day.

His fingers slowly curled around the hilt once more. It was warm from the prophet's touch. Aloth's face was warm too, uncomfortably so. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and the knife quivered in his grasp. His thoughts raced desperately, searching for another graceful delay or an acceptable excuse, but they found nothing. He didn't have his grimoire, either. And he doubted he could run fast enough to make it out of the courtyard before somebody caught him.

Perhaps— Perhaps the venom wasn't working after all, and it would be okay if he made one small incision. A tiny slice. Or, perhaps he could pretend to trip, and lose the knife in the pond. No, that wouldn't work. It was too far away. He needed to think of something, though.

The prophet's eyes narrowed beneath his drooping, sun-mottled brow. His lips pulled into a disapproving frown.

He growled Cydrel's name, then roughly grabbed Aloth's free arm and yanked it parallel to the ground. He nodded once at the knife. Then at the exposed flesh. Then he bent Cydrel's hand back painfully for emphasis.

Fresh panic jolted through him. Why wasn't it working? He'd used the entire phial! How was the man still standing? And, for that matter, how had he ever thought himself clever for this plan?! Sickness roiled in Aloth's stomach. His skin thrummed unpleasantly. He felt lightheaded and dizzy, almost faint—

Faint.

He let the knife clatter to the ground, then buckled his legs to follow it.

As Cydrel collapsed, the prophet fell with him. A communal gasp sounded from the crowd when they both crashed into the dais. Immediately, his wrist stung and Aloth knew he'd landed on it poorly, but he didn't dare move or open his eyes. Atop him, the old man spat a litany of curses, then pushed himself up, carelessly jabbing his hands and weight into the flesh beneath him while Aloth fought to remain still. The man made a noise of derision, then Aloth heard the scuff of sandals and the metallic draw of a blade as it was picked up from the ground.

Right.

If the man hadn't offered any mercy to a trauma-shocked mother, then why would he care at all about someone who'd merely fainted?

He tensed as the prophet's hand circled around his wrist again. The grasp was sticky and Aloth tried not to shudder as he felt the other man's blood start to trickle down his own arm. The old man dragged him a short distance, grunting with the effort, then released his limb. It fell over the edge of the dais, ready to water the garden.

If he rolled over, he could fall too. Then he could still try running away. Or he could startle awake and plead sickness. Or cowardice. None of those options would truly stop anything, though. At this point, if a good way out this mess still existed, then Aloth couldn't see it. All he could do now was wait to feel the sting of the knife as it finally bit into his own flesh.

But… did escaping that fate even matter? His plan seemed to have failed spectacularly. And now he'd possibly ruined his cover identity as well.

Around him, a soft breeze ruffled his hair and the cicadas continued their ceaseless drone.

…Was he not even worthy of offering his blood anymore? Had he insulted their hospitality by passing out? Or— Had he already been cut, and just not felt it? The blade had seemed awfully sharp. No, if he'd been cut, then surely he would have felt his own blood. So… what was taking so long? Why hadn't he been cut yet?

What was wrong?

Dread settled his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. Something was wrong. He couldn't hear the villagers or the prophet anymore. He couldn't hear anything but the insects and a steady patter of drips. He swallowed softly, then chanced cracking his eyes open to take a peek, hoping that no one would notice.

He needn't have worried.

From the limited angle he had on the crowd, he could tell they were looking toward the dais, but not at him. And they weren't just looking. They were staring. In wide-eyed horror. One man turned away. Another covered his mouth with both of his hands.

Then a woman screamed and the crowd erupted with her.

Shouting and more screaming and the slap of sandals against gravel all echoed across the courtyard. Aloth's hair whipped back and forth as several people ran by him. In the chaos, all he could discern from the noise were fleeting snippets of prayer cried out to many gods by many different voices. As the clamor around him intensified, he opened his eyes fully and slowly turned to the center of the dais.

He immediately wished he hadn't.

A few feet away, the prophet knelt spread-legged, his back arched and his head tilted toward the sky. His eyes were dark pools of crimson weeping ribbons of blood down his face. It oozed from his nose and ears and mouth too, staining his skin red as it streaked down his body, down his arms, down the blade, down to the ground to pool around him. Convulsions racked his torso and pulled his sopping vestment taut then loose with a sickening, rhythmic squish. Stringy bubbles foamed and popped between his lips—and Aloth realized the man was choking on his own blood.

This… wasn't what he'd wanted. He just… the man needed to die, yes. But Aloth had wanted him to die without suspicion, in the exact same manner he'd condemned so many others. Not like… this.

Aloth tried to sit up, but when he put his arm behind himself, it slid out from under him. He fell back into hot wetness. His eyes widened then he scrambled backwards in a panic, slipping and falling several more times as he tried to gain traction. He turned over and struggled to his knees, crawling away from the puddle as he gasped heavily. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take deep breathes against the sickness rising his throat.

It didn't help that he could taste the blood in the air, acrid and metallic. The smell coated his tongue and nostrils. Somehow, the courtyard reeked of it more than it had month ago. Or maybe it only seemed that way because he was… soaking in it. He exhaled through gritted teeth and tried not to think of the gore wetting his hair or the stickiness coating his arms or the gunk imbedded under his fingernails. Vile as it made him feel, none of that was important, not truly. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that he'd achieved what he set out to do, even if he hadn't accomplished it in the manner he would have preferred.

The prophet was dead. The people were free of his tyranny and his bloodletting. And the Leaden Key's stranglehold here had finally been ended.

A faint smile pulled at his lips. He wanted a long, hot bath when he got back to his room. Though, he doubted he'd ever be able to fully clean himself of what he'd done today. That too, didn't matter. Somebody needed to do something to stop this—he had needed to do something. And, dirtying his hands, literally and metaphorically, well, Aloth could live with that, knowing the village would finally be allowed to prosper as a result. Now, all he needed to do was make sure that knife was cleaned too, before…

He craned his head to the side and felt the world drop out from beneath him.

No, they—

They didn't have to do this anymore. He'd stopped it. He'd— The man was gone! Why were they still cutting themselves open?!

Aloth's stomach sank as he watched in stunned and growing horror.

…What had he just done?

Notes:

Written for @pillarspromptsweekly #54 re: how the companions learned their multiclass talents for Deadfire. Hope it, uh, counts.

When Aloth admitted to the Watcher that he'd arranged for somebody to have an 'accident' in Old Vailia, that certainly read as the action of a rogue to me, right down to the obfuscating language he used to describe the assassination he committed. And, Aloth being Aloth, I like to think his direct knowledge of all things roguish was experimentally self-taught and hard won, that his classroom was wherever he labored against the Leaden Key, and that his lessons were difficult, painful, and frequently teetered on disaster.

Oh, Aloth, you sweet summer child.

#pillars of eternity #pillars prompts weekly #aloth corfiser #zfic

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thecoroutfitters · 6 years ago

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Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

Preppers can reap some big rewards by applying some of the habits of successful market gardeners and small farmers to our home gardens.

See, they have an eye on profit, which means an eye on efficiency. Most preppers aren’t looking at cash income from the garden, and scale matters even in for-profit growing, so there are some common practices we should actively avoid, but there are plenty that can save us time and resources.

That’s precious enough for now, and will be even more so any time our spending power is limited.

Establishing a Market

Before planting, successful market growers tend to have established their markets. It could be farmer’s markets, tailgate sales, roadside stands, restaurants, grocery outlets, or an ag professional who compiles orders for those latter from numerous local farms. Each market requires figuring total produce needed, and working backwards to planting dates so they can be served. The growers who wing it without either step tend to make less profit.

We want to emulate the first group.

We don’t have to worry about diversification or coolers of product that didn’t move because restaurants went under or weather kept the public from shopping, but it’s the same general concept.

We want to start out with an idea of our end goals in types of produce – how much we want for fresh eating and preserving – and from there work backwards to harvest goals, and have an idea of when we’ll be harvesting.

Covers

One thing almost all market growers do, from tiny backyard operations to folks cultivating in excess of 2-5 acres, is invest in row covers.

Usually, there are several in play – a mesh or cloth cover used to prevent insect access, which can also function as frost protection, and plastic sheeting used for cold protection.

Those covers add too much time to the period when a cultivated plot can remain in production for most professional growers to skip the investment. They may start small and add to it incrementally, but they get them.

In addition to plant covers, market gardeners also regularly cover their soil during dormant periods.

That patch we were just growing in is precious. We want to keep as many nutrients and soil amendments in place as possible, and prevent as many weed seeds as possible now that we’ve spent hours a day/week/month weeding and conditioning it. However long it will be between plantings, especially the smaller ag operations get it covered.

Pros are mostly going to go to poly silage tarps sooner or later.

For home growers, anything goes. Baby pools, straw, cardboard, a cover crops, salvaged wall paneling, leaves, heavy-duty curtains, thick blankets, wood chips, newspaper weighted with sticks – anything that doesn’t run away fast enough. Flip the wheelbarrow over a patch, park the mowers at the ends, whatever it takes to cover as much as we can, best as we can.

Really. Whatever it takes.

Hedge Seeding/Planting

Whether they’re direct sowing or transplanting, growers regularly start an extra set of seed to fill in any gaps that appear. It gives a uniform harvest and makes the best use of space.

This video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyNacaaUWsI demonstrates market garden practices for beets that applies to preppers, to include extra seed sets. The indicator crop demo’d with radishes is also a biggie – and on most home scales can be harvested for spicy sprouts or spaced out more for the roots.

Exceptions also apply here.

For a super small gardens and those feeding even 5-8 people, the predictable, consistent yields and turns from a whole vegetable bed at once isn’t as vital. Having a 2’x3’ or even a 30”x25’ patch at different stages of development doesn’t affecting our harvest efficiency or totals that much.

There are also plants that will basically catch back up, especially if we have more than 100 days to our growing seasons. Indeterminate squash and pole or bush beans are examples where even if they don’t reach the same total yield, replacing a non-starter with seed with a 10-21 day gap instead of having same-age transplants doesn’t greatly affect our harvest or space use.

There are also cases where, due to stronger light and warmer soils, fill-in-the-gap direct-sown seeds will catch up to buddies that were started under cold frames or planted as soon as the soil was warm enough.

It’s typically the crops like salads and small tubers and roots, that are both densely planted and faster-growing (35-65-day harvest ranges), where we’ll want to have backups to transplant if there are holes. Otherwise, we’re potentially “losing” the yields that empty space would have produced.

Big-time commercial growers will accept losses – like expecting a certain ratio of blanks in a corn field. Smaller growers, even the professionals, can’t afford it.

Avoid Thinning

Now, there are absolutely exceptions and scale totally matters on this one, but… Thinning is wasteful. Market growers and preppers in a busy world or in a world with reduced or nonexistent outside resource and are in lockstep on waste – we want to minimize loss wherever we can.

Both daily hours and seed are finite resources. For most of us, so is both growing space and growing season.

If we’re thinning, we’ve spent time and resources planting unnecessary amounts. Then we spent more time (and possibly additional resources) pulling them out to avoid overcrowding.

We also “spent” soil fertility on them (we’re moving homemade compost or manure around, or are buying and spreading fertilizers, which those seedlings may have started sucking up). We may have pumped extra water for them. That’s additional time and resources used for something we’re pulling out at 1-12”.

Especially if the trimmings are laying in a field, hitting compost, or represent such a low fresh feed amount we’re not adjusting anything for livestock … that’s not making use of a byproduct. It’s just extra work and resource waste.

There are exceptions. Planting schemes that make it fast and easy to harvest edible seedlings for human or livestock consumption works for most small-scale growers. Gardeners with truly limited growing season and who are super-crunched on space but have the time and copious seed are also exceptions.

High seeding rates for plants with low germination is a given – that’s not waste at all. If they’re doing the job of a cover, where having denser plantings actually lets us save time and improves our harvest because it limits weed competition, that’s different, too.

Business Analysis

Any good organization tracks expenditures and results, sports teams to charities to production and services. It’s easier for us than market growers, here, too, though. We’re just going to cruise our pantry stocks and make notes (actual notes).

If we ran out of tomatoes, we want to plant more and-or trial some alternatives and-or increase types to avoid a big shortage if it’s a bad season. If we have more left from the previous season than we want when we start canning/drying again, we assess how many extras we have, and decrease.

(If I want to reduce pantry stock by 30% next year, I’d only decrease planting for a 20-25% reduction in case it’s a bad year. I’d rather decrease again the year after than run short.)

If we still have a few as we’re canning/drying more, we’re on the money and trials will be solely about increasing variety, efficiency, or productivity.

Professional growers must spend additional time tracking and crunching numbers on whether a crop type is worth growing or not, outlay in pest control and fertilizer and water, labor hours, and planning ahead for infrastructure maintenance.

Ideally we’d do the same there, as well. We just have a different baseline for profitability.

Seed is a cost they factor as well, especially since the pros aren’t keeping back their own seed. Yields by variety and finding the ideal seeding rate can hugely affect their business. That’s one we want to dial in, too, as much as possible.

We also both consider packing and packaging, just differently. Our other infrastructure and skills will affect where we most want to concentrate on post-harvest processing and storage.

Ask For Help

It’s a great time to be a market grower. Small urban and suburban farming is exploding right now. Those growers have a lot riding on their success. Since they can’t risk repeatedly failing, they ask for help.

And, the climate being what it is, usually they find it. Like us, they have to cull through a lot of information, find answers from people growing in the same environmental conditions and styles they are, but it’s largely a supportive community.

Small-Farm Market Grower Strategies

In this golden internet age, we can easily find blogs, Facebook groups, and YouTube channels produced by market gardeners. Some of them are especially useful for preppers with tight land limits as urban and suburban ag continue to enjoy increased attention.

Remember, though, that while many of the tricks of the trade apply to balconies and backyards, our bottom line is different – they need dollars and cents, and we’re trying to maximize food value. That means that especially what we grow, and how much of it, is going to be significantly different.

Also bear in mind there are also planting styles, medias, and schemes that can be very efficient and profitable at a small scale that wouldn’t work for market growers.

Mostly, though, we share a focus on making our efforts profitable. That makes professional-level strategies an excellent study while practicing our survival gardens.

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The post Market Garden Strategies for Survival Gardens appeared first on The Prepper Journal.

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shoelacecollection · 6 years ago

Text

Worst Nightmare

The Newdle’s got mites!

(You should expect this as a given with any new snake. Better safe than not.)

What do you do about mites? You get down to business. (TL;DR at the end.)

1) Quarantine, Quarantine, Quarantine!

Mites are the devil and can spread diseases from snake to snake in the same way that mosquitoes spread malaria. Whenever you bring a Newdle into the home, keep that man the hell away from all your other little buddies. A month will work for mites alone, but I’m a proponent of long-term quarantine of 6 months or greater if you can manage it, mostly for a little disease called Inclusion Body Disease, an invariably fatal, contagious monster of an illness which both Pythons and Boas are susceptible to. Don’t risk it!

2) Isolation and Cleaning of the Snake Itself

Regardless of whether you were quarantining or not, you’re gonna want to get the affected away from the rest of your animals right away -- and furthermore, assume that the entire rest of your collection is affected and proceed accordingly.

Take the infected animal(s) and give them a soak. They’re probably already soaking, because snakes sit in water to try and kill off their parasitic little friends -- but nonetheless put then into a ventilated bin and give them a soak. (Then when they foul the water, clean the whole entire thing and put them BACK in for the REAL soak.) Add a little betadine to the water after they’ve fouled the water, been put into new water, and had their fill of THAT water to help soothe all the bites. This won’t kill the mites, this is purely for the poor snake’s comfort because mite bites are like mosquito bites and clearly make the animal uncomfortable.

After they’ve had their soak, I recommend wiping them down with a product called Reptile Relief. It’s snake-safe and it can help kill off anything you miss. It’s about the only thing you can apply directly to an animal -- don’t even think of trying it with the other thing I’m about to mention.

3) Cleaning the Enclosure (and Everything Else)

While your snake is safely tucked away somewhere surrounded by paper towels covered in Reptile Relief to deter anything getting out of the bin (NE Herp does this to keep mites out of their fly colonies,) it’s time for the nuclear option on the enclosure itself.

If there are other animals in this room, including feeder insects, get them out before you do this. Wear gloves, open the windows, and turn on the fan, because we’re dealing with some serious stuff now, and it can be fatal to small animals and make you sick your damn self.

Deep clean the enclosure in your usual method, making note that when you’re done you’re gonna be washing whatever you’re wearing on hot. Throw out anything porous -- sorry, but you’re not saving it now. Anything in there that’s got little cracks/crevices or isn’t made of hard plastic, glass, or metal is a lost cause.

This is the nuclear option, but it’s time to go nuclear. Mites are no joke.

Once everything’s cleaned, either take it outside or put it somewhere with great ventilation. Protect yourself, too -- gloves, a mask if you got one, it’s not gonna kill you outright but you don’t want it on you.

Then spray every item except the water bowl down on all sides (though you don’t need much!) with a product called Provent-a-Mite.

PAM is a miticide, it’s an insecticide for mites, and if you don’t like chemicals you’re just gonna have to move past that today. It’s long-lasting, and it will kill both the mites that exist, and the ones that are going to hatch out for the next few weeks. One can will last you for ages if used as directed, so it’s always good to keep it on hand... just in case.

While the enclosures are airing out, turn to the room itself. Spray the doors, the perimeter around each enclosure, and things like snake hooks and bedding or other soft materials where snakes might have been and deposited mites in the process. Don’t spray anything used in feeding like hemostats, tongs, or (god help you) a pinkie pump, or anything meant to hold your snake’s water, as you don’t want them ingesting this shit.

(If you already know what a Pinkie Pump is and what it’s for, you probably already know everything in this guide.)

Once that’s done, leave everything to air out for at least six hours, but go to twelve if you can. You do not want fumes hanging around.

4) Aftercare

You are going to need to be stringent in cleaning everything from here on out. To quote Mad-Eye Moody here for a second, CONSTANT VIGILANCE. Check everything. Toss sheds right away. Change clothes -- yes, really -- between handling the infested and the rest of your collection. We’re back in quarantine mode, folks, function over form, sterilization over decoration. Paper towels, two hides, water bowl, heat source. To add more gives the mites a place to potentially hide. Your snake will be fine in this setup until you can clear the room and the rest of your house as a mite-free zone.

Continue to clean as you regularly do. Fresh water every day, replace paper towels as needed, always check for mites. I recommend spraying more Reptile Relief once a week, but if using PAM you probably don’t have to do that. Do a complete teardown once a month and reapply PAM to at least the enclosure and fixtures, making sure to use the proper precautions when doing so.

Yes, it’s a lot of work. It’s a pain in the ass. But it’s better than the alternative, and it’s what our animals deserve.

Keep to the routine for at least three months after you stop seeing mites. Do not take for granted that they are gone until you can be POSITIVE that they are gone, because it only takes one missed mite to start this whole ordeal over again.

5) Prevention is Worth an Ounce of Cure

Mites are scary, and the worst. What can you do to prevent them?

Quarantining new arrivals is the biggest kindness you can give to your pets, folks. I cannot stress this enough. Even if the animal you get in is sick or mitey or otherwise ill, at least by quarantining them, you prevent the rest of your animals from winding up as sick as the poor new guy. Quarantine is the single best defense between one sick animal and nothing BUT sick animals. It’s worth the hassle.

Freezing substrates can also help, though, as can making sure you buy bedding from places that don’t generally carry animals. Mites are like ticks, and they can survive for a quite a while without food. Getting something where there aren’t any other animals simply decreases the risk of encountering mites in an already-healthy collection. Prophylactically spraying down bedding and new enclosures with PAM before you even set them up can be a great help to get a head-start on killing off any mites that might be coming into your house on an animal in the mail, too, and it really doesn’t take much to get the job done, so it’s a worthwhile endeavor in my opinion.

Feeding frozen-thawed can help, too -- but that’s not an option for everyone (lizard feeders, you have my sympathy.) For those who can do it (and that’s the majority of people who keep herps,) do it! It’s safer for everyone involved.

One more thing you can do, though don’t do it if you’re using PAM, is buy a bag of Hypoasis miles -- mites that eat mites. I’d only do this for people with sensitive animals like amphibians who can’t handle chemicals nearly as well -- especially since Hypoasis need high humidity environments to survive.. They’ll eat anything that lives on the surface of the soil and above, and they’re a self-limiting population that will feed on themselves if they run out of food. 1000% recommended if you have a problem in a planted vivarium or another setup that’s difficult to just tear down and put back together. (That said, they’re a little pricey!)

Afterword and TL;DR

At the end of the day, most keepers are probably going to run into mites at some point in their life. Whether you keep noodles, lizards, or something else entirely (’sup, backyard chicken community!), mites are the great equalizer, and even the best-kept animals still run the risk of mites or ticks. So it’s better to be prepared and aware of what to do ahead of time, rather than to frantically google it and wait days for fancy reptile products to get shipped to your home.

Don’t be the me of the past, and I hope no one ever needs this guide.

TL;DR

QUARANTINE so you don’t have this issue

ISOLATE if you have this issue anyway

CLEAN everything, snake, enclosure, the works

TREAT the snake, the bedding, the enclosure, the room

VENTILATE this step is important I’m serious

MONITOR the animal going forward

MAINTAIN the treatments for at least 3mo after the last seen mite

CONSTANT VIGILANCE

This has been my PSA on mites and what to do about them.

#mites #snake mites #care sheet #herpblr #petblr #snakeblr #what to do about snake mites #how to treat mites #how to treat snake mites #how to kill mites #kill mites #mite treatment #snake mite #mite #psa

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