#it's not generating a forest scene and then sticking a cabin wall on top and then cutting out a window

[sesamenom-misc]

@postoctobrist here's some stuff I noticed!

[blarrghe]

Merry Christmas to Me they are going on a Date

The air was crisp, and perfectly still. The thunk of Dorian’s car door slamming shut sounded out soft, almost muffled by the quietness of the snow-covered street. There were no other cars parked in the tiny lot in the centre of it, which divided two rows of quaint little shops on either side. The street rejoined itself around the empty parking lot and wound away in either direction. The side streets that branched in awkward zigzagging patterns off of it, sparsely lined with picturesque little cottages with wide yards of snow between them, weren’t even plowed. The main road ran up and down; up, winding slowly through a forest of trees and disappearing into the mountainside, and down, towards a glowing town square lit up at its centre by a tall, festively decorated pine tree. 

Dorian watched his breath form a cloud of mist in front of him, and pressed the little button on his keychain. His car’s lights flashed, and the horn beeped once, obnoxiously loud against the silent scene. For a moment, he glanced up the road, and then lifted his head higher, arching his head way back to take in the peaks of the mountains overshadowing the quiet town. The sky was fading into sunset, and pink light glowed through the trees and sparkled off the snow in the distant mountaintops. The mountains loomed quietly, shining in orange and peach with dark evergreen trees blanketing around their roots, and among them little golden lights from mountainside cabins were glowing softly through the snow. It was beautiful and serene, like a scene directly out of a holiday card, and Dorian hated every single thing about it.

He sighed, breath forming a long whispering mist from his mouth and disappearing into the air, and rubbed his hands together. He scanned the shops on the street before him, windows all dark, signs all turned round to ‘closed’, and then with another, more irritated little sigh, looked at his watch. 

Half past four, said the large gold analogue contraption on his wrist. He sighed again, and strode forward across the street, his shoes slipping awkwardly against the packed down snow. He stepped up onto the sidewalk and frowned at the crunch of coarse salt under his foot. Then he glanced up and down the line of shops one more time, his eye landing on the only lit window on the whole street, and with one last heavy sigh, walked carefully towards it. 

The buildings looked old; stone foundations with thick wood or brick walls, mostly two stories tall with little apartments slotted in above, and topped with high-pointed dutch roofs complete with smoking chimneys. He passed a dark-windowed chocolatier with displays of intricate candy ornaments and gold foil wrapped chocolates in the window, and a bakery with windows decorated with paper snowflakes and quintessentially charming gingerbread houses. All closed as of four in the afternoon. 

"Ridiculous." He muttered aloud to the empty street. 

The open shop, when he came to it, had a large sculpture of a wooden bear in the window, and a tower of suede moccasins on display. Lavellan's Crafts, said a sign on the door. Looking in through the window he could see more display stands; postcards and keychains and little animal figurines. 

Fantastic, thought Dorian bitterly, a chintzy souvenir shop. Just what he needed. 

He pushed the heavy wooden door open, and it grunted on its hinges as his feet stomped over the welcome mat. And it was a Welcome! mat, woven out of coarse fabric and dotted with thematic pine cones and holly leaves, the happy greeting stencilled on in uncomplicated calligraphy. 

The warmth and the smell of the place washed over him immediately. The walls were left unpainted, beautiful old wood varnished and shining in the warm incandescent light from an intricate wooden chandelier that hung overhead. A nearby shelf littered with artisanal scented candles and boxes of "genuine" incense sticks wafted out a mix of bold scents; patchouli, sage, maple, pine. He moved away from it, scanning the other shelves and displays. 

Beaded decorations and wind chimes hung in one window, and further into the shop, past the little rotating displays of animal figurine keychains and greeting cards, larger items stood out with hefty price tags. He paused in front of a collection of large canvases displaying boldly painted landscapes of the local scenery in all seasons, and portraits of rustic looking elves engaging in various traditional activities. His eyes lingered on the paintings a little too long, caught up in the crisp lines and bright colours. The people all had joy on their faces; rosy cheeks and bright eyes, colourful dresses that very nearly looked to be moving. As he stood struck by their expressiveness, he almost forgot to remain unimpressed. 

He picked up a bar of handmade soap scattered with gritty bits of lavender, sniffed it, and put it back down. Then he wandered over to a display of wooden tree ornaments, and spun it absently, watching the little wolves and caribou and bears sway about. 

"Looking for something specific?" Said a soft voice out of a dark nook behind the counter at the back of the shop. 

Dorian turned to look with a start, and before he could think better of it, he complained.

"Got anything that says 'happy holidays, thank you so much for dragging me out to the frozen middle of nowhere to spend the holidays in some stuffy little cabin that doesn't even get cell service. Not that it matters, since the entire dull little village shuts down at four in the afternoon, and in all probability there won't be anywhere for miles to find decent company or even a decent brandy?’ " He asked. Then with a twinge of self-aware guilt for his attitude, he amended the rant with a vaguely apologetic "no offense". 

Behind the counter, the soft voice was laughing. Then an elf came into view, leaning his elbows over the counter and looking at Dorian with sparkling green eyes. He kept laughing, chuckling mildly under his breath and shaking his head so that golden light danced off the messy curls of his dark red hair. His face was tattooed, like the elves in the paintings, and they glowed against his warm toned skin. Dorian had never seen work like it in real life, and once again found his eye lingering a little too long.

"Sorry, I don't think so." The elf said finally, a sideways smirk resting on his full lips, "but the shop down the street sells chocolate truffles filled with brandy that are quite nice. They don't open again until ten tomorrow, of course. Can I interest you in a postcard of our dull little village, instead?" 

Dorian's cheeks burned, and not half because of the chiding tone of the shopkeeper's rebuttal. Mainly, he was busy getting hot at just how striking those eyes were; how they glittered across the room at him with perfectly patient bemusement. 

He sighed. "Apologies. Long drive." He muttered, quickly grabbing an ornament carved like two fish swimming after each other's tails, and a wintery postcard decorated with a photograph of the tree in the town square. He walked himself up to the counter and set the items down, hastily digging into his pocket for his wallet and avoiding the elf's still-penetrating gaze. 

"If it's for someone you don't like, you should go with the wolf." Remarked the elf, still leaning his elbows on the counter and making no moves to ring him up, or stop smirking. "Around these parts, we tell stories about a Dread Wolf who tricks tourists into getting lost in the mountains." His smirk broadened. 

"Then why put it on an ornament?" 

The elf shrugged. "They're good stories." His soft voice lilted with an accent Dorian couldn't place, musical and sweet, but there was still a good deal of cheek to his tone. "Actually, the wolf represents strength and loyalty. The Dread Wolf is just a local legend." Then he winked at him, and slid the postcard across the counter to the register. 

"Strength and loyalty." Dorian shook his head, "and fish?" 

"Balance." 

Balance. As in work-life? Ironic, given the intended recipient. "I'll stick with the fish." 

"That everything?" 

Dorian nodded. 

"Hold on, I think I have something in the back that might interest you." The elf disappeared into his dark little nook and through a storeroom door, the teasing smirk never once leaving his face. When he came out again he was holding a single gold foil wrapped chocolate, and he nudged it across the counter with a friendly nod. "Happy holidays." He said, and the smile on his face shifted into one that was somewhat less amused, and more sincere. 

Dorian took the chocolate tentatively, and finished paying for the ornament and card. It totalled more than he would have expected for some faux-Dalish tourist fare, and he took a second to properly look over the ornament before tucking it into his pocket. No factory logo, just the initials TL burned into the wood. So maybe it wasn't quite a chintzy souvenir shop. 

"This all local?" He asked, suddenly feeling a new wave of guilt over his earlier disparaging comments. 

The very obviously Dalish elf in front of him raised an eyebrow and nodded. "There's a collective." 

He plucked two business cards and a pamphlet out of the brochure stand in front of his cash register, and slid them across the counter. The business cards had gallery names on them, and the pamphlet advertised the services of a local community centre, including an ongoing holiday craft fair. Dorian glanced over the rest of the brochures in the stand. There were a few other business cards for local shops, and pamphlets for companies offering various adventure packages; mountain climbing, horseshoe tours, trail rides. 

The elf's gaze followed him with a faint degree of amused judgment, and the expression fell on his striking features in a way that made Dorian's throat dry. He cleared his throat, picked out a general ‘Village Businesses’ brochure from the stand and smoothed out his expression. It was entirely unfair, this striking elf looking at him like that. He could fix this. 

"Well, now I've made a fool of myself, might I more humbly ask for a recommendation?" He passed the brochure over the counter with a gracefully apologetic smile. 

The elf unfolded the page on the counter top. Then he grabbed a pencil from somewhere out of that mess of hair, and flashed him a quick, toothy grin before bending over it and beginning to circle and scribble away. 

"This might help keep you from getting bored, even without cell service. When do you leave?"  

Dorian's heart jumped at the retort, and the elf glanced up at him with another quick flash of taunting teeth.

“Two weeks.” He answered roughly, throat dry again. 

The elf passed back the brochure, and tucked the pencil back onto a braid behind his ear with a slight frown. “Not really enough time, but hopefully you can manage to enjoy some of it.” He said, leaning back and smirking again. Dorian went back to feeling flushed. “But we close in five minutes.” Of course you do. "If you want, I could show you where to get a good beer, if not good brandy.” Oh.

[djinmer4]

Little Red Riding Hood (Lovecraft!AU)

“I thought you said that Jimaine had come from Bavaria.  This is Baddem-Wormberg, I totally just mispronounced that, didn’t I?”  Kitty tugged the red hood over her head, then took it off again.  No, it wasn’t going to fit over the backpack, she needed to re-arrange this.

“Baden-Württemberg.  And you were born in Chicago and now live in New York.  People do move, after all.”  A black tentacle reached up and plucked two white apples off a tree.  One went into a shark-toothed maw, the other was held out to her.  Kitty looked it over, then assured it wasn’t going to turn into a maggot or otherwise harm her she accepted it and put it in her pocket.

“You’d better have been honest about the information we’re working off of this time.  Captain Britain’s not going to accept another screw-up on this case.”

“Bitte liebe, it’s not worth my time to lie you.”  Apple consumed, stem, core, seeds and all, the creature dived down to lie in her shadow.  Hopefully, the swaying leaves and brisk wind would disguise the inhuman, moving nature of her stalker’s presence.

Kitty put on the red cloak (brighter than the one she used as Shroud) then put the backpack on top of it.  Pulling up the hood, she activated the communicator.  “Angel, this is Shroud.  Can you see me?  Over.”

“Roger, Shroud.  Yes, I can see you.  As long as you stick to the path I won’t lose sight.  Warn us if you need to go off the path, otherwise, I’ll set off the alarms for Cyclops to bring the search teams in.  Over.

”Roger that, Angel.  Synchronizing watches in three . . . two . . . one.  Mission begin.  Over.”  She clicked the dongle of her watch, then headed into the Black Forest.

Over the past few months, the new Captain Britain had worked through his backlog until Excalibur was almost on schedule again.  Now one of the few open cases he had left were the murders in the Schwartzwald, the same mission that the X-Men had met Nightcrawler.  Most of the other perpetrators had been apprehended but there was still one child killer at large.

Cyclops hadn’t wanted to go back, but they still owed Jamie Braddock a favor.  In addition, Nightcrawler had informed them that the case was related to Jimaine Szardos, the sorceress who had recently attacked the X-Men.  In the interest of cleaning up any loose ends, Cyclops had agreed to fly the team back to Germany.

Kitty really didn’t relish playing bait for a child-killer, but there weren’t many options.  None of the other X-Men could pass for being below twenty, and Cyclops wasn’t going to send an actual child to play bait.  With some judicious hair styling (Kitty hated pigtails) and careful fashion choices, Kitty could pass for fourteen, which was the very edge of the killer’s target range.  And she could be trusted to defend herself.  So Kitty-catnip it was.

She wandered around, occasionally taking pictures and samples of flora as part of her cover.  She saw a number of people on the paths, and a few even stopped to watch her, but the only ones who accosted her were a pair of lost American tourists.  She didn’t even have to break out the German Jean had planted in her head.

“School project?”  Kitty looked up.  A young man, deeply tanned and dressed like a stereotypical Gypsy (white shirt, tight pants, vest, and red bandanna) was leaning against a tree at a fork in the trail.

“Ja, for biology.  We’re supposed to make an album of pressed plants for the final.”

He gestured to the path on his left.  “Try over there, to the south.  There’s a meadow with some early fall flowers still blooming there.”

“Danke.”  She hesitated though.  

“Go ahead,” hissed Angel into her ear.  “He fits the profile, and I want to see if he follows you.”  Kitty showed no sign, but nodded and smiled at the man (he couldn’t possibly be Roma in that outfit) and walked to the meadow.

“He’s watching you.” Her closer shadow said.  “But not following.”

She ended up spending two hours collecting samples. (Maybe she really would make a pressed album.  She certainly had enough plants to do so.)  The fake-Roma went down the left-hand path after half an hour, but she stayed to see if he (or perhaps someone acting on his orders) showed up.

“We’ve wasted enough time on this gambit,” she said, standing up and brushing grass off her knees.  “I’m going down the other path to see where it leads.”

“That’s got a lot more treetop cover.”  Angel worried.  “I won’t be able to follow you from the air.  Check in every fifteen minutes.”

“Acknowledged.”  Kitty went back to the fork and looked at the sign.  “So the meadow is Weg der Stifte-”

“Path of Pins.”

“-and the left-hand path is Weg der Nadeln.”

“The Path of Needles.”

“Does that mean anything?”  She got one confused noise from Angel and lots of giggles from Nightcrawler.  Going along she noticed that the overbrush indeed got thicker until it was as dark as the valley she had met the monster in.  “I should take out a light,” she muttered to herself.

“Oh, but when you stand in the light, you can’t see the monsters but we can see you.”  Nightcrawler breathed in her ear.  She shuddered but continued. 

After about half an hour she spotted a small cabin alongside the path.  “Ah, that is what you’re looking for.  Jimaine’s workshop.”

She put her hand on the doorknob.  “It’s locked.”  One deep breath and she phased in.  Turning on the light, she heard the hum of a portable generator starting up.  “Okay, my first thought is that there are way too many books for me to carry away on my own.  Angel, go tell Cyclops that I’ve found the secondary objective, but I’ll need some help.  Tell him to take the trail past the Mummelsee then at the fork go left to the Weg der Nadeln.”

“What about the primary objective?”

“It’s only the first day.  We can try again tomorrow, or Meggan can take over as the bait after that.”

“If I go guide Scott, I won’t be able to come to monitor you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, the door is locked and there’s no place for someone to hide here.  I’ll be fine.”

“Alright then.  Stay safe.  Over and out.”  The crackle of static replaced Angel’s voice until she turned the communicator off.  Kitty went over to examine all the totems and other artifacts on the wall, being careful not to touch them.  When she reached a basket of black eggs, she stopped.  “What creature lays black eggs?  Are these even real?”  She leaned over, but carefully kept her hands behind her back.

“These eggs were laid by a human.”

“What?”  Kitty’s musings were interrupted.  A crash came from the locked door.  Whirling around she saw a second blow put an ax through, though the hole was still too small for anyone to come through.

As she watched, the red bandanned man from before stuck his head through the hole and looked at her.  “Grüße, eindringling.”  More blows before the door gave way.  Kitty frantically looked around for something to defend herself with but there was nothing that looked safe.  Then she froze once the man came through, staring at the ax.  Maybe someone less informed could have mistaken those stains for rust, but Kitty had seen too many scenes of massacre and death to mistake those brown patches for anything other than blood.

“-bodies found hacked to pieces, probably by an ax or other-”

“How nice,” Nightcrawler giggled.  “Looks like you found your primary objective too.”

Kitty backed herself up against the wall and tried to decide which would be a better idea.  Running away and potentially getting lost in the woods or trying to time her dodges and phasing and staying in the cabin.

Then she was pulled into that dark plain again.  “If I can’t defend myself, I’m going to die right now.”

“Why don’t you just kill him?  Phase through his body, rip out some organs on the way through.  Watch him falter and die for his crimes.”

“I won’t kill.  I won’t.  I won’t.”  Something squirming, round and furry wound it’s way around her limbs.  If she didn’t know better, she would have called it a hug.

“Ah, that’s right.  You said you wouldn’t kill for me.  Never mind liebling, I’ll handle this for you.”  Then she was back in that cabin in the rooms.  The man raised the ax above his head but paused before he could bring it down.  Instead, a black tendril slipped around his throat and pulled.  With barely a cry, the head of her attacker twisted around 360 degrees before being pulled clean off his shoulders.  Kitty cried out as the skull hit the ground and blood pumped from the collapsing body.  She scrambled up onto one of the tables and closed her eyes and covered her ears.

She didn’t know how long she stayed in that fetal crouch.  When she was finally brave enough to look up again, she saw the creature poking at the still body.  “Not hungry?”

Oh, what an inane thing to say in this situation!

“Hmm, I’ve got a better use for the blood than to feed my own desires.  Pass me the basket of eggs beside you.”  Kitty looked around and saw that in her mad scramble to get away she had knocked everything off the table except the basket of black eggs.  “Why?”

“Well, they're about to hatch.  Unless you want to feed them from your own blood . . .”  Indeed, when she looked down, there were cracks forming on the tops and a weird peeping noise.  She all but threw the basket at the creature.  IT’s tail caught the wicker easily, and IT carefully lifted each egg and placed it somewhere on the corpse.

“What are they?” she mumbled as the first few animals, dark and slimy like annular worms broke free.

“They’re a type of familiar.  They need to be fed on blood, a lot of blood.  Fortunately, we have this dead body right here.  Very convenient.”  Some of the creatures were licking the floor, others burrowed into flesh.  Kitty turned away and ignored the scene.  All she had to do was wait for the other X-Men to show up.  Then she could go home and have a nice screaming fit with only her usual shadow as witness.

Nightcrawler dropped one of the familiars down her shirt.  “AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!”

“Now, now, don’t be like that.  This one’s fed enough on the body.  It just needs a little more blood to bond with you and then it will curl up and go to sleep.”

“What if I don’t want to bond with it?”  The creature slipped below her clothes and she frantically tried to get it out.

“Meine liebe this is just the first of your gifts as herald.  Once you’ve bonded, you will be able to see through their eyes and use their dimensional travel capabilities.  All it needs is just a little of your blood.”  The familiar stopped at her waist and she felt sharp teeth dig in.  While she was distracted, Nightcrawler placed another on her thigh.  It bit through the denim, then bit her too.

She tried to scream but found her vocal cords paralyzed.  The Crawling Chaos picked her up then arranged her gently on the bed of the cabin.  Once she was as comfortable as could be expected, he started adding more familiars.

Kitty felt the first one withdraw.  Nightcrawler picked it up.  Instead of a toothy, slimy worm, it looked almost cute.  Round, like a baby animal and furry all over.  But then it yawned and its teeth were as sharp as they had felt.  The creature carefully tucked it into her bosom, where it slept peacefully.

She had no idea how long it took for them to feed.  Once all the familiars had fed, Nightcrawler carefully arranged them over her body, almost like a set of living stuffed animals.  “The others are coming.  The paralysis should have worn off by then.”  Then he dove back into her shadow.

Beast was the first to find her.  “Shroud?  Are you there?  This is the only cabin along the path but-”  He stopped once he entered through the broken door.  Yellow eyes took in the decapitated body on the floor, her shredded clothes and the bite marks all over her skin, and finally, the furry blue pile that kept her warm and prevented her from slipping into shock.  “Oh, Kitty.”  A rare moment of empathy among the X-Men.

“Hank, I want to go home so bad.”

“I know, Kitty.  I know.”

[markpauldaphotography]

Cloudcroft New Mexico

Whether I’m hiking or mountain biking, Cloudcroft is my top spot to escape the West Texas Summer heat.  Nestled up in the Sacramento Mountains high above the desert, this is where I enjoy a glorious view of White Sands in the far distance before starting out on my favorite trek—Trestle Trail.  What a sublime scene it is. The area’s elevation and closely woven pine trees offer immediate relief from the West Texas heat.  As I descend the winding trail, the air cools almost to a chill.  Vegetation becomes denser and more varied, with clusters of vines clinging to any support they can find.   The murmur and trickles of water can be heard as streams make their way to the high canyon floor.  The sights and sounds are calming.  This is beauty in nature at its best. This trail is not to be rushed, as it is here that nature awakens the senses to its idyllic beauty, its euphonic natural sounds, its savory green and earthy scents.   The treat at the end of Trestle is to lie in the tall wispy grasses at the bot- tom, without a care for anything awaiting outside these mountain walls.   Its as if the world slows; the roller coaster of life comes to a halt, even if for a brief moment in time. The village of Cloudcroft and its environs lie within Lincoln National Forest, a protected forest in New Mexico that encompasses more than a million acres.   The forest is birthplace of Smokey Bear—known to generations of children as the embodiment of forest fire prevention—the forest was named in honor of Abraham Lincoln. The name Cloudcroft, which means a pasture for the clouds, suggests the area’s high elevation compared to that of the surrounding Chihuahua Desert.   The town of Cloudcroft was put on the map in 1898, when a railroad crew discovered that the area wasn’t just an accessible source of timber—it was a place that could attract visitors.  If you visit at the weekend, you'll immediately be met with a throng of other visitors. In the winter, Cloudcroft offers sports such as cross-country skiing, snowmobiling, and ice skating.   Winter or sum- mer, the area confounds the expectations of those who believe the Southwest is invariably hot and dry.   Pack your hiking shoes, pull out your walking stick, wheel out your mountain bike or rent a cabin to extend your stay. Read the full article