#mountain creeks and swamps

[tothesolarium]

Thinking about how I kinda pitched my story as a hell striving for utopia, with a lil hint of the moral authority being the “mad/bad guys”

When it’s more like, a hopeful critique of Utopia. It’ll always be struggle to make a safe place, but that struggle with keep Many happy and safe, even if not perfect

And that the moral authority, while being tortures are also soul themselves that have experienced a millennia of grief and been traumatized by their family as well as the memory of an earth that can no longer connect to, and really want to bring Justice to a life they feel will never be just

And how there’s whole other parts of hell with their own magic rules, coping with grief by making reality a dream. Spirits crafting their own rules on the backs of sleeping demons, demons acting as if they’re just a tree to watch what will happen, quiet nudges, or a world unlike anything seen before

[vandaliatraveler]

In the shrinking sunlight of early October, life in Central Appalachia's forests and fields shows no signs of slowing down. A proliferation of asters and goldenrods fuels an insect feeding frenzy, at the same time ensuring that a late season eruption of seeds before the first frost will bring new life in the spring. From top: dog tooth lichen (Peltigera canina), also known as felt lichen, whose lobes are tipped by red apothecia ; large cranberries (Vaccinium macrocarpon), which dot wet mountain meadows and bogs; crooked-stemmed aster (Symphyotrichum prenanthoides); brown-eyed Susan (Rudbeckia triloba), which blooms later than black-eyed Susan and has three-lobed basal leaves; a bumblebee (Bombus) taking nectar from purple-stemmed aster (Symphyotrichum puniceum), also known as swamp aster; an American hoverfly (Eupeodes americanus) similarly drinking from purple-stemmed aster; blue wood aster (Symphyotrichum cordifolium); question mark butterfly (Polygonia interrogationis); and wrinkleleaf goldenrod (Solidago rugosa), also known as rough-leaf goldenrod.

[reasonsforhope]

"When considering the great victories of America’s conservationists, we tend to think of the sights and landscapes emblematic of the West, but there’s also a rich history of acknowledging the value of the wetlands of America’s south.

These include such vibrant ecosystems as the Everglades, the Great Dismal Swamp, the floodplains of the Congaree River, and “America’s Amazon” also known as the “Land Between the Rivers”—recently preserved forever thanks to generous donors and work by the Nature Conservancy (TNC).

With what the TNC described as an “unprecedented gift,” 8,000 acres of pristine wetlands where the Alabama and Tombigbee Rivers join, known as the Mobile Delta, were purchased for the purpose of conservation for $15 million. The owners chose to sell to TNC rather than to the timber industry which planned to log in the location.

“This is one of the most important conservation victories that we’ve ever been a part of,” said Mitch Reid, state director for The Nature Conservancy in Alabama.

The area is filled with oxbow lakes, creeks, and swamps alongside the rivers, and they’re home to so many species that it ranks as one of the most biodiverse ecosystems on Earth, such that Reid often jokes that while it has rightfully earned the moniker “America’s Amazon” the Amazon should seriously consider using the moniker “South America’s Mobile.”

“This tract represents the largest remaining block of land that we can protect in the Mobile-Tensaw Delta. First and foremost, TNC is doing this work for our fellow Alabamians who rightly pride themselves on their relationship with the outdoors,” said Reid, who told Advance Local that it can connect with other protected lands to the north, in an area called the Red Hills.

“Conservation lands in the Delta positions it as an anchor in a corridor of protected lands stretching from the Gulf of Mexico to the Appalachian Mountains and has long been a priority in TNC’s ongoing efforts to establish resilient and connected landscapes across the region.”

At the moment, no management plan has been sketched out, but TNC believes it must allow the public to use it for recreation as much as possible.

The money for the purchase was provided by a government grant and a generous, anonymous donor, along with $5.2 million from the Holdfast Collective—the conservation funding body of Patagonia outfitters."

Video via Mobile Bay National Estuary Program, August 7, 2020

Article via Good News Network, February 14, 2024

[rabbitcruiser]

Yellowhead Lake, BC

Yellowhead Lake is an irregularly shaped lake that is located about 3.7 km southwest of Yellowhead Pass within the boundaries of Mount Robson Provincial Park. It is on the lower reaches of Yellowhead Creek, a large creek that flows into the upper Fraser River above Moose Lake.

Yellowhead Lake is a very odd shaped lake. It is about 5.6 km long & its width varies depending on where you are. The lake is fed at its northeast end by Yellowhead Creek, which flows through several swamps above the lake before entering it. About ¼ of the way down its southern shore, its only other named tributary, swift-flowing Rockingham Creek enters the lake. Yellowhead Creek exits the lake at its southwestern end & soon reaches the Fraser after passing under the Yellowhead Highway.

The lake was first referred to as Cranberry Lake by HBC governor George Simpson as he made his way toward Athabasca Pass in 1824. In 1863, the lake was called Buffalo Dung Lake by Overlanders in search of gold. It was in 1872 that the lake was given its present name, as suggested by George Grant. He named it after the nearby pass.

Source: Wikipedia

Leather Peak (2,457 m/8,061 ft) is located on the border of Alberta and British Columbia and is the highest of the four peaks on Yellowhead Mountain. The peak was named in 1918 by Arthur O. Wheeler.

Source: Wikipedia

[chimachapterbooks]

Wolf Games - From the Wolves and Crocodiles activity book

"This is boring," a white Wolf named Windra muttered.

Worriz, resting against a nearby tree, said nothing.

Windra glared at him. "I said—this is BORING!"

"I heard you the first time," Worriz snapped, "but we have to stay here.Cragger wants us to guard this pass to keep the Lions from getting at the weapons the Crocs have stored, so that's what we're going to do."

Windra stood up and stalked over to Worriz. She looked at him with suspicion in her eyes. "Is that the only reason we're here?" she hissed.

Worriz knew better than to lie to her. Windra could smell deceit a mile away. Though she was one of the prettiest Wolves in the pack, she was also one of the most vicious.

"Cragger says we move around too much," Worriz finally replied. "He never knows where we are. 'How am I supposed to beat the Lions and get the CHI if I can't count on you to be where I need you?' he says. So we're supposed to stay here and guard the Crocs' secret stash of weapons."

Windra's eyes narrowed. "Since when do we take orders from Crocodiles?" she sneered.

"Since we joined the Crocs in the battle for CHI," Worriz answered. Then he flashed a savage grin. "At least until we take the CHI from them. Now, come on. We need to check the bottom of the mountain to make sure there aren't any Lions sneaking about."

Windra Followed after him, though she wasn't happy about it. Staying in one place wasn't in her nature.

In fact, it wasn't in any Wolf's nature. This was the third day in a row that the Wolves had been stuck in this spot, and the entire pack was going crazy.

A group of Wolves watched Worriz and Windra head down the mountain.

"I'm so bored," a Wolf groaned once they were out of earshot. "I don't know how much longer I can take this."

"Hey, l've got an idea." Another Wolf suddenly ran up alongside them. "Let's play Hide-and-Go-Howl!"

Everyone nodded eagerly. Hide-and-Go-Howl is the packs favorite game. The rules were simple, one Wolf was “it” and all the rest went and hid. (If there was one thing anyone knew about the wolves, is that they loved to hide.)

When a hidden wolf was found, he became “it” and had to howl to let everyone know.

Plus, it was nighttime. That meant they could play Hide-and-Go-Howl-in-the-Dark!

While Worriz and Windra were off scouting the rest of the Wolves quickly determined who would be "it." Then they ran off and hid while the "It" Wolf counted. Some darted behind trees. Others dug holes and jumped inside. One wolf even dove into a nearby creek.

"Ready or not, howl I come!" cried the "It" Wolf.

He began searching for the other members of the pack. Everyone was relieved to finally have something to do other than just stand around on the Crocs' orders.

Little did they know, they weren't the only ones enjoying themselves. A small group of Lions was hidden nearby, watching the game.

"Come on," whispered Laval, the Prince of the Lion Tribe. He grinned. "This is our chance, while the Wolves are busy playing!"

Under the cover of darkness, Laval led the Lions through the pass and right to where the Crocodiles were storing their weapons for their next attack. The Lions took as many as they could carry and slipped away again without being spotted.

The next day, after Worriz and Windra had returned from checking the base of the mountain, Cragger came to visit the camp.

"Are my weapons safe?" he snarled.

"Of course," said Worriz. "When Wolves guard something, it stays safe!" The two went to see the cave where the spears and axes and swords had been stored. To their shock, they discovered that most of the weapons were gone!

"I thought I told you Wolves to stay here and protect these things!" Cragger cried.

Just then, Winzar came bounding into the cave. "Ha! Found you! Now you're 'It!' Great hiding place, by the way."

Before Worriz or Cragger could respond, the Wolf scampered away, howling as he went.

While Worriz gathered the pack to reprimand them, Cragger went back to the swamp very, very angry. When he finally calmed down, he decided that maybe the Wolves just weren't meant to stay in one spot and be guards.

Maybe it would be better to let them go where they wanted and cause trouble for the Lions. At least then something productive would come out of their wandering.

He went back to the pass to tell Worriz the Wolves could leave... only to find they had already left. Off in the distance, the Crocodile heard a Wolf howling, "I'm 'It!' I'm 'It!' Howl I come!"

—————

This is the cutest the wolves have ever acted.

[fishenjoyer1]

Fish of the Day

Today's fish of the day is the bluegill! Requested by @personshapedsplder

The bluegill, scientific name Lepomis macrochirus, is a fish native to Northern America, known for their widespread range and their species sub types. Due to their widespread nature, this fish has also been called names such as bream, brim, sunny, copper nose, or perch, despite not being a part of the perch family. Rather, as a part of the Lepomis family they are a true sunfish. Their range stretches from far northern sections of the US to Northern Mexico, and they have been found coast to coast, with an exception of the Rocky Mountains. 

Bluegills live in freshwater environments, from lakes, ponds, rivers, creeks, and even some found in Chesapeake Bay, implying they can handle a salinity of up to 1.8%.but they prefer to live in swamps and other murky waters where they can't be easily seen. In their environment they are known for hiding in fallen trees and old stumps, and if there is a particular lack then they will spend much of their time in aquatic plants and water weeds. Their diet consists primarily of insects, eating insects that live along the water surface as juveniles, and preying mainly on insect larvae in adulthood. Prey is caught by sucking in water around it. This allows them to get to sizes as large as 16 inches, although most of them will remain 4-12 inches in length.

Breeding season takes place in the late summer, building nests and protecting them fiercely until the eggs hatch, at which point they will leave their children to fend for themselves. During their lifespan they are predated on by many other species, otters, larger sunfish, bass, trout, turtles, pike, perch, catfish. This is why they are a keystone species in their areas, and their reducing numbers is something to be worried about. However they have some adaptations to evade predation: primarily, they have the ability to swim backward, and turn their body at sharp angles. Swimming backward is done by producing a steady motion with the pectoral fins, and beating the dorsal and anal fins to make the backward motion. However, this backward motion is less steady than the forward motion, and can't be kept up for long periods. When startled, the fight or flight center of the fish allows them to turn their body in a sharp C motion, and then prepulse away from predators. This is called the C-start escape response, and allows the fish faster response times and a wider trajectory of movement.

Have a good day, everyone!

[gettingfrilly]

Where is Peach Creek?

People have been theory crafting this for decades and the canon answer is somewhere in America and that's about it. BUT if you have my flavor of autism and require accuracy and details then here's my own personal headcanon.

Here's all the canon information we have:

According to the series bible, Peach Creek is an American suburb.

Peach Creek experiences all four seasons. We've seen a hot summer, fall foliage, and a snowy winter, so it can be assumed there's a spring time as well. This combined with the broad leaf forest between the cul de sac and the trailer park places Peach Creek in a temperate deciduous forest biome.

Peach Creek has a peach orchard that was there since settlers first arrived in the area. The peaches native to North America grew solely in the southwest.

Peach Creek was founded over 300 years ago by pilgrims. We don't have an exact canon time period for when Ed Edd n' Eddy takes place, but its safe to say it's somewhere towards the end of the 20th century, which would mean Peach Creek was founded some time in the 17th century (the 1600s.) This would place Peach Creek east of the Mississippi, as the west was being colonized by Spain at this point.

In BPS, we learn that Peach Creak is a day's walk away from what APPEARS to be the ocean (more on that later.)

Between Peach Creek and the possible Ocean exists rural farmland, a desert, and a swamp. There is also a snowy capped mountain range visible from Peach Creek Junior High.

This is all a lot of conflicting information! There's no place in America that checks all these boxes. I commonly see people place the Eds somewhere on the north or central Atlantic Coast, because of the possible ocean seen in BPS and the fact that Peach Creek was founded by pilgrims in the 1600s. This checks the most important boxes for me, too, and I would agree, however...

Pop. The kids call carbonated beverages pop. NO ONE on the north or central east coast calls it pop. We call it soda. This is a minor detail for sure and considering all the conflicting information about Peach Creek's location, one that can very much be ignored. But as someone who grew up in New England, I can't ignore it (refer to beginning of post, my flavor of autism.)

"But HOW could they be so close to what looks like the ocean, live in a town founded by pilgrims, and NOT live on the east coast?" I hear you ask. Well, here's my answer: The body of water in BPS isn't the ocean. It's one of the great lakes.

Picture id: Hamburg Beach, Hamburg New York, on the shore of lake Erie.

Sure, Mondo A-Go Go is very ocean themed (the whale trailer, the shark head, the wild prawn) but it could be just that; a theme.

Another reason I like this theory is that THIS GUY:

Picture id: Danny Antonucci, creator of Ed Edd n' Eddy

Also grew up in The Great Lakes region.

And to cinch the deal:

Picture id: Color coded map displaying which U.S.A. regions predominately say pop, soda, or coke.

They say pop!

The further east the Eds are, the more their location makes sense, so I place them in western New York, near lake Erie. It's a rural area with a large city sky line nearby (Buffalo, NY) and there are also Appalachian ski resorts, which would explain the mountain range. There's some swamp land as well, which ticks off all the landmarks seen in the show other than the desert and native peach orchard (though peaches can certainly be cultivated in this biome!)

Also, when looking into travel times in the area, I came across this:

Pictue id: Google map screen shot with a town called Cherry Creek in the center.

Picture id: Incredibles meme. Top text: Coincidence? Bottom text: I think not!

SO that's my theory. The Eds grew up in rural western New York, close enough to the shore of Lake Erie that they could get there in a day's walk. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, etc. etc.

[inspofromancientworld]

Legendary Creatures: Bunyip

By Henry Dowling, John Murray - Reproduced from The Tasmanian Journal of Natural Science [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3275930

Wet places, especially places that remain wet most, if not all, of the year give rise to many legendary creatures. To the Wemba-Wemba Aboriginal people of southeast Australia, near modern-day Victoria, the bunyip was one of them.

By Gerald Markham Lewis - http://nla.gov.au/nla.pic-an21971935, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1805519

The word bunyip is usually translated as 'devil' or 'evil spirit' but the creature itself and its role for the Aboriginal people was more complex than those translations allow. There's also an apparent linguistic connection to Bunjil, who was 'a mythic 'Great Man' who made the mountains, rivers, man, and all the animals'. While the name comes from the Wemba-Wemba people, there are variations of the bunyip throughout Australia with Robert Holden identifying at least nine variations in his 2001 book Bunyips: Australia's Folklore of Fear.

By Macfarlane, J. - https://viewer.slv.vic.gov.au/?entity=IE7218367&mode=browse, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1816013

The bunyip is usually aquatic or amphibious, living in the lakes, swamps, rivers, lagoons, billabongs, and other bodies of water. The Moorundi people of Murray River describe it as as written in a description by George French Angus,'It inhabits the Murray; but … they have some difficulty describing it. Its most usual form … is said to be that of an enormous starfish'. There used to be an outline of a bunyip that until the mid-1850s was visited annually to be retraced by Aboriginal People in the banks of Fiery Creek near modern-day Ararat, Victoria, that was only described as '11 paces long and 4 paces in extreme breadth' by The Australasian newspaper in 1851. In 1878, Robert Brough Smyth wrote in his Aborigines of Victoria that 'in truth little is known among the blacks respecting its form, covering or habits; they appear to have been in such dread of it as to have been unable to take note of its characteristics'. It is also described as having an morepoke owl's snout and probably nocturnal.

The origin of the bunyip is also debated and murky. Some think the origin is seals making their way up-river where they're not usually seen. Others think that it is a cultural memory of some extinct marsupial or possibly fossils. Still others say that it might be the southern cassowary as it seems to match the description of the Aboriginal people in Far North Queensland. Others say it might be the Australasian bittern as the male's mating call sounds like a 'low pitched boom'.

[dawn-of-worlds]

Many Small Streams...

[Emex turn 2: rest (4) + bonus (1) + dice (6+2) - 2xShape Land (2x3) = 7]

Emex creates a great river, passing through an area of vast forests, floodplains, and swamps

When the world was young, the stubborn mountain spirits of the High Range hoarded vast glaciers of snow and ice to claim the title of Highest. But with the right mode of persuasion such spirits can be handled, and they eventually released parts of their accumulated wealth as melt-water. It flowed in creeks and brooks and rivulets, that all found ready-made furrows to follow.

Individually small, they all eventually flow together, and form the great Cardinal River, growing in size as it flows steadily eastward. Where it meets the sea is a great marshy delta, and surrounding the fertile valleys of its tributaries are great oak forests.

[bigfootbeat]

Bigfoot Hotspot in Arkansas

Arkansas has always been a popular destination for Bigfoot fans due to its thick woodlands and untamed landscape. The state's abundant biodiversity and vast wilderness, which provide the perfect environment for the possible existence of such a monster, draw researchers and intrepid explorers alike. The Fouke region in Arkansas is one of the most well-known locations for Bigfoot sightings. Early in the 1970s, this small hamlet became well-known due to stories of the Fouke Monster, a localized Bigfoot. The Legend of Boggy Creek, a movie based on the stories, popularized the cryptid and raised awareness of the region across the country. Over the years, several locals and tourists have reported seeing a big, hairy, ape-like creature that lurks in the swamps.

Another hotspot outside of Fouke is the northern Arkansas Ozark Mountains. The isolated valleys and thick woodlands make for a perfect backdrop for Bigfoot sightings. Numerous campers and hikers have claimed unusual tracks, mysterious noises, and even sightings of a tall, bipedal creature. The untamed terrain and large wilderness areas hinder widespread human penetration, fueling speculation about the potential existence of an undiscovered species. Another source of Bigfoot mythology in Arkansas is the Ouachita Mountains, which straddle the western part of the state. There is a combination of wide fields and deep woodlands in this sparsely populated area. Campers and outdoor enthusiasts have reported seeing a creature that fits the Bigfoot description over the years. The area's natural beauty and isolation attract researchers seeking evidence of the elusive species. Another significant area is White County, where reports of several sightings have occurred. Witnesses frequently report finding enormous, human-like footprints and hearing odd vocalizations. The local landscape, a combination of streams and woodlands, provides a feasible habitat for such a species.

The group of enthusiasts who frequently plan trips and get-togethers contributes to Arkansas's position as a Bigfoot hotspot. These gatherings frequently consist of group hunts in the most frequently reported hotspots, presentations of the evidence, and discussions. Even though there are doubters, the prospect of possibly seeing a mysterious species in the wild captivates many people. In conclusion, Arkansas is a wonderful place to see Bigfoot because of its varied landscapes and rich folklore. Isolated wilderness regions and intense local curiosity sustain the myth of Bigfoot in Arkansas. Regardless of one's belief system, the sightings and legends add to the state's distinctive cultural fabric and entice tourists who are keen to solve the enigma.

[voices-of-hyrule]

arstaóth (lands)

⦁ earst ♀ ("land"; "country"; "region"), pl. arstaóth ⦁ uilead ♀ ("province"; "prefecture") ⦁ searann ♂ ("heartland"; "interior [of a country]") ⦁ mealcuid ♀ ("kingdom"; "monarchy") ⦁ meilc ♂ ("king") ⦁ meilce ♀ ("queen") ⦁ naoischead ♀ ("principality") ⦁ noisich ♂ ("prince") ⦁ naoische ♀ ("princess") ⦁ íomrad ♀ ("duchy") ⦁ íomar ♂ ("duke") ⦁ íomra ♀ ("duchess") ⦁ rodhnad ♀ ("county"; "earldom") ⦁ rodhn ♂ ("count"; "earl") ⦁ rodhna ♀ ("countess") ⦁ barúinead ♀ ("barony") ⦁ barúinn ♂ ("baron") ⦁ barúine ♀ ("baroness") ⦁ damhaill ♂ ("state [sovereign polity]"; "government") ⦁ damhlainn ⚥ ("governor") ⦁ gamthúir ♂ ("republic"; "democracy") ⦁ rás ⚥ ("president"; "mayor") ⦁ moighlís ♀ ("council"; "committee"; "[of parliament/congress] chamber") ⦁ sáinidinn ♂ ("parliament") ⦁ seansailéir ⚥ ("chancellor"; "prime minister") ⦁ maoir ⚥ ("steward"; "exchequer") ⦁ acaidhd ⚥ ("marshal"; "minister of war") ⦁ rás-aoir ♂ ("capital city"), pl. rás-aoireóth

⦁ iabhaill ♂ ("[large] river") ⦁ nothaill ♂ ("[small] river"; "creek"; "stream") ⦁ iám ♂ ("ocean"; "sea") ⦁ oghaim ♂ ("lake") ⦁ breiche ♀ ("pond") ⦁ maisteanca ♀ ("swamp"; "fen"; "wetland") ⦁ eoghar ♂ ("forest") ⦁ chúirse ♀ ("woodland") ⦁ saoide ♀ ("field [both cultivated and wild]"; "grassland"); pl. saoid ⦁ óchu ♂ ("meadow"; "pasture") ⦁ teill ♂ ("hill"), cns: teall ⦁ gíbhea ♂ ("ridge"), pl: gíbheóth ⦁ oimhc ♂ ("valley") ⦁ gabhua ♂ ("highlands"; "uplands"), pl: gabhuóth ⦁ stúc ♂ ("cliff") ⦁ thárr ♂ ("mountain"), pl: tharairimh or [less commonly] thárraimh ⦁ caoiread ♀ ("village"; "hamlet") ⦁ beild ♂ ("town"), cns: beald ⦁ caile ♀ ("fortified town"; "burgh") ⦁ aoir ♂ ("city"), pl. aoireóth ⦁ cáire ♀ ("continent"; "landmass") ⦁ aoidh ♂ ("island") ⦁ innis ♂ ("peninsula") ⦁ spúir ♂ ("beach"; "shoreline"; "coast") ⦁ áraibhe ♀ ("desert") ⦁ seolchainn ♂ ("mesa"; "flat-topped mountain") ⦁ uach ♂ ("oasis") ⦁ taile ♀ ("canyon")

[heron-knight]

The Swamp Man

horror short story

content warnings: violence, amputation, industrial accidents, bugs, self-harm, self-amputation, self-cannibalism, frogs, and the sounds thereof.

chances are I'll post this to other sites as well, but if you think someone else is plagiarizing it, feel free to let me know and I'll tell you whether or not that's me.

It was not exactly an old town, or one that was particularly well known. The houses neither new nor falling down.  There was an odd feeling about the place, however. Nothing really noticeable, just a profound strangeness in the air as he arrived in the town. A feeling that something wasn’t quite right. An itch on his skin even though it was too early in the year for mosquitoes. He absentmindedly tried to scratch it with a left arm that wasn’t there. He laughed, slightly, as he leaned against the car, the metal a bit warmer than was to be expected this early in the spring. It had been almost half a year now. Almost half a year since the sharp metal had pierced through his skin and muscle and he had felt his bones snap and stab into his arm from the inside, as if a thornbush had grown beneath his skin in that moment. Almost half a year since the cold machine had pulled back its steel jaws, its unfeeling mechanisms doing as they had been made to, for it did not know what a “human” was and it did not care. Almost half a year since his flesh had made that horrible snapping sound that he could still hear if it was quiet enough. Since he felt his blood soak through his work uniform, saturating every part of it before pooling on the concrete floor beneath his feet. Almost half a year since he turned in his notice, not that they would have had any use for him after it happened, anyway. 

He had grown up in this state, but his old town now felt different. The familiar way the light filtered through the old buildings and maple trees only reminded him that he couldn’t feel it with all of his body anymore, because there was no longer any such thing. As he would walk beside the building of his old school, he tried to once again put his hand to the rough brickwork as he walked, only to realize that he could not do so on the way back without circling the building. He felt, on some level, that the town was made for someone that no longer existed. Someone that had stopped existing even before it happened, maybe. So here he was, in this small town by the swamp. A new home perhaps. A new start. Maybe if he started again, then what he was now could be all of him instead of just most of him. 

Despite everything, some things were the same. The air still felt pleasantly cold as it blew from across the lake and over the mountains, the tapwater still tasting better than any of the stuff you could find in a plastic bottle. Then, of course, there was the forest. There was nothing like the kind of forest you get here. A place with a history to it, the old slate-stacked walls crisscrossing the tree-covered hills always coated with a thick moss. Creeks winding down the ridges, each pool a world of its own if you bothered to look closely. There was a way the moonlight reflected off the still pools of the quarries, the walls of smooth granite on all sides topped with trees that had worked quickly to retake the hills from which they had once been removed. There was a sort of silence, once you got into the forests here. One made of presence, not absence. A silence that was the true state of things. Many things had changed, but nature was always the same. Even if a tree falls, there’s the knowledge that it was never meant to stand forever. 

He sighed slightly, his eyes gazing upwards at the mountains in the distance. There was a swamp of sorts upriver from town, he had heard. He made a note to investigate when he got the chance. 

That night, his dreams were of a song that came from the swamp. One woven from the voices of everything that was born and lived and decomposed in the cloudy water. A song that told him that here, he could be whole. The words stuck with him as he got dressed and left his small house, now a mess of unpacked boxes. They echoed through his head as he saw a man, walking through the center of town. A strange scar forming a ring around his leg below the knee. It was only then he thought of how strange it was that he had picked this town. Far too small for anything interesting to happen there, and definitely not as many job opportunities as he might find in Burlington, even if going near the college presented the same torn nostalgia as all of Montpelier did. He watched the man continue to walk, limping slightly as if he wasn’t quite used to that leg. His hands twitched slightly, as if there was an itch he wasn’t allowed to scratch, his eyes reflecting what seemed to be a sense of determination not to claw at his mysterious scar. “You can be whole here.” What did that really mean?

He awoke that night long before sunrise. The moon illuminated his nearly empty room at an angle that meant it couldn’t have been up for more than a few hours. The air conditioning had been on to compensate for the odd heat, but he still found that the bed was soaked with sweat. His mind raced with a feeling he couldn’t understand. Somewhere between longing and hunger, almost to the extent where he felt a need to snatch one of the long shadows that danced across the wall with the movement of a passing car. His whole body itched, although this did not extend to the empty space beyond his left elbow. Instead, he felt something, far away yet more intense than any feeling he had experienced since the pain that day. An intense desire that pulled him from his sweat-soaked mattress and into the night. He didn’t know what he would find as he stumbled through the near-darkness, stopping at the river and gazing into the dark water before wading slowly but deliberately across and continuing upriver along the bank. The plants of the streambed wrapped around his legs as if inviting him to sink. The night was more alive then he had expected, the size of the town inverse to that of the ecosystem. Only as his feet began to sink into the mud of the swamp did he realize exactly what he was doing, and where exactly he was. With a sudden panic, he spun around frantically, trying to remember which way he had come from, when suddenly the frogs began to sing.

There is a frog called a “spring peeper". A charming name, given to it by someone that has seen one. It is a curious creature, for to see it before you is a falsehood. Its true nature is the sound it makes. In the dark, damp places where the shrubs grow thick and the mud causes you to sink almost past your knees it is a shrill sound that surrounds you, drills its way into your brain itself through your aching eardrums like ten thousand tiny needles from all sides. On the spring nights where all things that crawl below your sight sing of their desire to multiply, it feels as if there is nothing making that sound, for nothing could possibly be capable of making it. all that exists is that pulsing melody that reaches into your mind with every piercing note and pulls all thought from you. It doesn’t matter where you go. Even as you drag yourself through the mud, submerged branches clawing at your flesh and as the vast clouds of insects begin to partake of your blood, it will just keep getting louder. And here, in the depths of the swamp, the river doing little to carry away the stagnation, it was deafening. Forgetting his desire of returning to the place he tried to call home, he clutched his ears as much as he could and fled into the forest, each thorn and twig tearing at his skin. He did not know how long he ran, that horrible sound not pursuing him because everywhere he went it was already there. His clothes nearly shredded, leaving bloody rags clinging to many thornbushes across the forest. He came to a stop in a clearing, the unsolid ground still clinging to his exhausted legs as he came to a stop in the center. 

The moon was directly overhead, but only helped to cast the areas beyond the clearing into total darkness. The stars were nowhere to be seen, the light pollution from the town drowning them out. Humanity feared the night, and because we could not pull the stars from the skies, we made our own, in the process hiding the true ones, and further darkening the places we feared. He gazed into the dark beyond the trees, hearing every snap of a twig, every heavy breath that he hoped desperately was his own. Nights such as these he thought are when everything we evolved to fear emerges. So who are we to claim that what can be seen in the light is all that hides in the dark. It was then, at the moment the cold light from the moon was muted by an encroaching cloud that spread across the sky, that standing in the middle of this place, the horrible sound piercing his mind with each pulse, the mud beginning to pull him down almost to the waist, the innumerable things that crawl in the dark hungering to take him apart with a thousand tiny jaws, that he came to a realization.

All life is fundamentally made of violence. From the creatures that tear into our still-warm corpses and feast on our organs to the bacteria which, once symbiotic with us, begin to consume us from the moment of our deaths, rendering us unrecognisable. Everything in this world is formed from something that met its terrible end, digested and decomposed and shaped into something new. Beneath what humans see as beautiful are countless things, eating and killing and multiplying. In the swamp, this cycle of death that can never die, each pulse of the deafening sound, each crunch of the footsteps of some unseen thing, each buzz of the mosquitoes that now covered him, all formed a note of this wonderful song of ending. Of decomposition. Of being taken apart and distributed every speck of your biomass being reshaped into a worm or a frog or a leaf. It sang that he could be whole. The words were not there, for the thing that sang them to him had no need of such things. The meaning was forced into his brain with every voice of the maddening chorus-- we see you. You will be whole. We will make you a part of us, and we will feast on what is left. You will feast too. He had sunk past his waist into the dark mud of the swamp, clawing at his ears and at his itching skin. In the dark, he was unsure how he could see it when the flower sprouted and bloomed from the ooze before him, unfolding until the center of it was revealed-- an arm. A left arm. Mosquitoes swarmed over it, piercing it with their needle mouths and filling it with the blood they had taken from him. As the melody of the swamp reached its crescendo, he lunged forward as far as he was able, seizing the arm that sprouted from the mud and tearing it from the flower. He felt his teeth sink into it, a warm, metallic flavor seeping between them and down his throat. With a quick motion, he jerked his head to one side, tearing off a large chunk of flesh. The arm twitched as he crushed a finger bone with his jaws, shredding off the meat to expose the broken bone and drink of what was inside. As he ate, each drop of blood that fell to the ground bloomed into great patches of mold and moss, spreading to where he sunk and tracing a path up along the lines of blood that dripped down from his face. He could feel them follow it into his mouth, filling his stomach and lungs and veins. He did not care as he snapped a bone before grinding it into shards with his teeth and swallowing them. He didn’t care as each one pierced his tongue and all he could taste was blood. He didn’t care as the crawling things came up from the mud and burrowed into his skin. He would be whole. 

He awoke to the sun filtering in through his window, illuminating the piles of yet-unpacked boxes. He rose, putting weight on each leg which had no beetle-holes, feeling the light on his not-bloodstained face. He reached up to brush the hair from his eyes. With his left hand. He stared at it, a look of amazement on his face as he ran his fingers along skin which had disappeared into the machine months before. A pattern of scars ran along it, branching like roots before ending in a ring around the place where it had once been severed. He felt amazing, as if he had discovered some great truth about the universe as he exited his sheets, which were devoid of any sweat. The day proceeded as usual, though there was a peculiar itch in his left arm, not just following the pattern of the scars, but almost within the arm itself. He scratched at it absentmindedly, and it left grey marks where his fingernails touched. He didn’t notice it as he ate breakfast (a bit more than usual), wandered the town (strangely empty) and did his work (though neither the manager nor anyone else had bothered to show up.) 

as it became later in the day, however, it intensified, but he refused to scratch it in earnest. An idea filled his mind, two words in his own voice-- don’t look. He glanced at his arm, but there was nothing to see. Nothing besides the gray marks which now oozed some sort of fluid. As he tried to wipe it away, the itch increased, spreading to everywhere the liquid touched until it coated all of his left arm. Finally, surrendering to the urge, with a scream that could not have come from a human he dragged his fingernails along his skin. There was that same sensation of an open wound. That same sickening warmth that drips from it down your arm and onto the ground. There was no blood, however. He stared at the rotting wood beneath the thin layer of flesh that coated it, cloudy water dripping from the cuts and soaking his shirt. A small insect, perhaps a beetle, recoiled from the light and burrowed away into the soft wood, the top of its carapace sliding against the inner layer of flesh that wrapped around it, he felt it chewing through him, and in a panic he withdrew his pocketknife, sinking the blade into his arm before sliding it along the length of it, widening the cut and tracing the path that he believed the beetle had taken. Each movement of the knife revealed more rotting, infested wood, like that of a tree that had fallen weeks before. He screamed again in that voice which wasn’t quite his as he saw that it extended well past the ring-shaped scar on his arm. He hacked at it, hoping to uncover some bone or artery beneath the soaked and decomposing mass, but as he reached the other side of the core of his left arm, the hand dangling limply, held on by a section of flesh that did not bleed, he realized what he had left in the swamp to be consumed. 

He staggered through the empty town, trying not to look at what seeped from under the doors of many houses, the things that were blood and the things that were not blood oozing from whatever sat behind each door, chewed and decomposed and hopefully not still alive. From each dark red puddle bloomed reeds and flowers, reaching up towards the sky. His left hand continued to drip dark water, hitting the soil like raindrops and leaving a trail of thick moss wherever he walked. He felt the soft snap of old wood every time he took a step, felt the creatures burrowing through what he knew was his innermost layer. it knew immediately that it was not human. It had left its humanity in the swamp and it was going to get him back. It shambled through the tall grass, the dense plant growth barely impeding its movement, the mud surprisingly solid under its feet. It was of this place now. The sun became muted as the trees became denser, producing a darkness that supported the variety of fungus that sprouted from each shadow like fingers reaching up from the dark. The forest floor smelled old and rotten, or was that just the scent of his arm as numerous tiny centipedes slithered in between the soft, damp fibers. It had left its humanity here, discarded a piece of him amongst the roots and mud with each step it had taken the night before. It could feel him wandering here, and every now and then saw scraps of torn clothing or glimpsed a movement of three limbs that quickly disappeared into the trees. It walked, its legs not growing tired for it was not truly walking at all, merely moving a piece of itself through its own body. Blood cells do not tire as the heart forces them through the veins, and in this way it did not tire as it moved through the swamp that was itself. It spun around as it heard the snap of a twig behind it. Nothing. Where was its humanity hiding? Did he fear the thing that it was now? He could not survive in this place. He would need to let it become him again. What is a human to the swamp? Nothing but food, correct? But no. no, that was not right. To the swamp a human is an axe. A fire. A hunter. An invasive species.

 It realized then that its humanity was not hiding from it. He was following it. It was of this place, and he meant to harm it. It felt something strike it in the side of what would be its ribs, the wood caving in on itself and a thousand tiny things that crawled within it scurrying away from the damaged area that now dripped mud and water. It saw him, the humanity he had left behind, stalking it from the trees. He was not meant to be here, His body fundamentally incongruous with the mind that had abandoned it for one formed from the cycles of decomposition found there. His skin was scraped and bloody, every mud-filled cut inflamed and oozing as he stumbled towards the self that was no longer part of him. His emaciated form drained of blood by the swarms of insects that still carried it away, landing on the swamp-man and depositing it into the flesh that wrapped around its rotted core. It mixed with the dark water that seeped from the wood. He shambled from the forest, swaying side to side as he clawed at the beetle-holes in his skin and at the roots of the flowers which burrowed into his flesh. He reached up to the side of his neck with a dry right hand, gripping the base of the flower that pierced through the muscle and wrapped around the spine and with a sickening sound of tearing meat he tore it loose. What little blood remained in his body dripped down from the wound, flowing down his shoulder and soaking into the twisting mass of roots and vines that had sprouted from what remained of his left arm, woven through his flesh nearly up to the shoulder and creaking audibly with each pained movement of the joint. His dehydrated flesh pulled tightly across his face, stretching it into an unsettling smile of still-bloodstained teeth. With a scream that was too human he lunged at the swamp-man, grasping one shoulder with his right hand and piercing the other with the sharp branches that replaced his left. The rotted core of it provided little resistance as the numerous points of his left arm punctured through it. It screamed its inhuman scream as he sunk his teeth into the side of its face, tearing away the loose-fitting flesh before spitting it to the side and  biting once more into the wood at the center. He could taste the rot and fungus and feel as many crawling things within were crushed between his jaws, their innumerable legs twitching wildly and their segmented carapaces contorting as they burst, coating his tongue with a bitter flavor and the texture of a thousand twitching legs.

 A soft rain began to fall, the light impact of each drop punctuating each consecutive point of the left arm as it was driven once more into the swamp-man’s chest, one spike breaking through the flesh to the core within, then another, then another. The frequency of the raindrops speeding up as it gripped his arm feebly with both hands and, in an attempt to remove it from his shoulder, jerked its arms to one side, the old fibers of the wood of them snapping softly in an instant. Both limbs now hung uselessly by its side as he rose his right arm, the bones nearly breaking the skin as he tightened it into a fist and brought it down again and again on what remained of the creature’s face, each strike landing in time with the thunder as the skies poured the tears of eyes that had just been torn out. The ground beneath their feet began to soften as the rain pooled around them. With the last of its strength, the swamp-man lurched forward, slamming into him and bringing them both down to the mud. Its knees crumpled from inside as they landed, the creature desperately trying to tear out his throat with teeth that turned to damp splinters against his skin. He could feel the things inside crawl up from the depths of its core, now spilling from its mouth onto his neck and beginning to burrow into him. He tore into its stomach, ripping out the slimy fungus caps that mimicked organs, pushing aside the firmer roots that acted as ribs. They fell to the ground beside him, blooming into things that grew upwards at unnatural angles and into his sides. He searched for the heart of it, some central thing it could not live without it, but as he snapped the thing-that-was-not-a-spine, and he felt it convulse as he placed an arm on each half and pulled the thing in two, it remained clinging to his throat, the crawling things burrowing deeper within him. He knew then that this thing could not die. For as long as there was water and nitrogen and phosphorus. For as long as things lived and died and rotted. This was not a creature. It was the swamp that it was. He let his arms fall to his sides as the mud liquified around him, and they sunk together to the depths of the swamp. The thing that was whole and its humanity that believed he was not. 

[vandaliatraveler]

Photos above are from a trip into the mountains yesterday. I managed to get out to Lindy Point in the Blackwater River Canyon before the overlook was swarmed with sightseers (top two photos). The rhododendron is blooming now - the drive in from Blackwater Falls State Park is magical this time of year. As it descends through the canyon, the Blackwater River transforms into turbulent whitewater, but just above the canyon, where it turns out of Canaan Valley (5th photo down), it's a gentle, serene stream perfect for floating. I also tried out some different trails in Yellow Creek Natural Area and Canaan Valley National Wildlife Refuge. The lowbush blueberries are ripening now - a sweet little snack to improve the hiking experience. :-)

[odditiesnoctobermidnightroad]

What's that's supposed to mean? There's LOTS to do in the Haunted Hollow! It's a luxury haunt!

Our creek (fresh runoff between the sea and the Eerie Mountain lake) is nicely shaded (even if you can't eat the fish) and it's always packed for the summer with both swimmers, bathers, divers and fishermen. We even have a lifeguard to keep the zombies from taking themselves apart all the time. Does your swamp-creek have a lifegaurd? I think NOT!

(please do not eat the fish)

Our inner-Hollow area has lots and lots to do. We have crafting and shops and eateries and Man Eater Support Groups and the Wolf's Bane Alley for entertainment. We even have our own projector-based movie theater! Granted, it's haunted by an angry spirit who needs the projector to run 24/7 or he'll suck us all into his inner dimension of pain...but he's nice about it. And, he's not fussy when it comes to silent cinema or old public access films, which is great background noise for mahjong and chess games.

Movie Night is every friday by the way. This week they're showing Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Again.

And lets not forget the tv-game room inside the werefolk's trailer. Literally everything a kid or family could want to play with in there; games, board games, card games, audio books, soda pop and chips. The adult person's hog the plasma screen, but no matter. The main room has a patented system of TWO tvs -one which spouts a picture but no noise and one which spouts noise but no picture. Very Modern. AND we have DVD players! Quite luxurious. Perfect for summer nights sleeping in.

What's this about "just watching witches"? Why ever would you even do that? What are you doing watching witches?

Please ask us more questions here.

[cowbutch-chastity]

Homesick Vent I guess

So I was born and raised in one of the Appalachian Valleys but around 9 months ago moved a bit farther south to be with my lovely partner with a bit more affordable rent so we could save up money and eventually move back up to our home region. But this last weekend we took a vacation back home for my birthday, visiting some friends as well.

Basically getting to see even the outskirts of Appalachia and the valley again was really god damn nice. And now that I'm back to my place down south I'm realizing just how homesick I am. Southern coast swamps are pretty and all but god I miss the mountains. I miss my culture, the blue collar folk I grew up around and that my ma came from. I miss hiking on mountain trails and watching deer run through my backyard and the way my boots felt against trail dirt and gravel roads rather than wet humid mud.

I miss Coyotes and creek fishing and drinking beer by the turkey hill just a quick walk away from a forest. Miss the accents and banjo music and I even miss those shitty mountain churches that I'd never set foot in again. I miss walking out into the woods with my friends and finding old crumbling buildings and railroad tracks that would lead to bridges over offshoots of the Susquehanna.

I miss the little one road town I went to college at and the bookstore with the pride flag always up and the pub where I'd watch frat boys play pool and wish I had a bunch of lesbians to play with. I miss the ways mist would roll in from the river around the mountains in the early morning and it would look like something out of Middle Earth, and the way power lines cut through the hills like scars.

I just miss Appalachia. I miss my home.

[ultfan]

aesthetic.

what are your muse’s aesthetics? BOLD any which apply to your muse! remember to REPOST! feel free to add to the list!

[ COLOURS ]  ~  burgundy. red. crimson. scarlet. maroon. mahogany. copper. amber. chocolate. brown. tawny. tan. bronze. brass. orange. gold. saffron. yellow. chartreuse. spring green. lime. mint. green. olive. forest. turquoise. teal. cerulean. blue. navy. cobalt. periwinkle. indigo. pewter. plum. purple. magenta. fuchsia. lilac. lavender. pink. coral. peach. ivory. cream. white. silver. grey. smoke. charcoal. ebony. black. pastels. vibrant. matte. metallic. muted. dark. light.

[ BODY ] ~ mutations. claws. fangs. wings. tails. feathers. webs. spikes. scales. fur. stripes. spots. freckles. acne. bruises. scars. scratches. gashes. lashes. wounds. amputations. burns. brands. teeth. gums. tongues. lips. beards. mustaches. cheeks. noses. ears. eyes. eyelashes. eyebrows. hair. heads. neck. shoulders. collar bones. arms. elbows. wrists.  hands. fingers. breast. back. ribs. abs. belly. hips. curves. butts. legs. thighs. knees. shins. ankles. feet. toes. nails. sweat. spit. tears. blood. heart. stomach. lungs. liver. veins.  guts. bones. spine. muscle. skin. feline. canine. masculine. feminine.

[ WEAPONS ]  ~  bites. fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. bow. crossbow. hammer.  shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers.  machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. bombs. missiles. boomerangs. lethal pets. lasers.

[ MATERIALS ]  ~ metal. gold. silver. platinum. pewter. titanium. iron. steel. copper. bronze. brass. tin. bismuth. diamonds. pearls. rubies. garnets. sapphires. emeralds. jade. peridots. alexandrite. opal. topaz. jasper. quartz. rose quartz. smoky quartz. amethyst. citrine. fluorite. amber. malachite. turquoise. lapis lazuli. sodalite. pyrite. labradorite.  moonstone.  petrified wood. wood. paper. parchment. hemp. canvas. burlap. oils. skin. muslin. rayon. faux. wool. fur. lace. leather. skins. suede. corduroy. silk. satin. chiffon. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. rocks. flint. asphalt. brick. granite. marble. dust. rust. glitter. sand. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. nylon. polyester. plastic. glass. porcelain.  bone. shells. coral.

[ NATURE ]  ~ grass. leaves. trees. bark. flowers. roses. daisies. forget me nots. tulips. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. roots. ocean. pond. river. stream. waterfall. creek. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. tropical. jungle. marsh. moors. swamp.  plains. hills. highlands. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space.  clouds. mountains. fire. lava. ice. frost. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun.  heat. cold. steam. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise.  sunset. dewdrops. shadow. tornado. hurricane. water spout. thunder. hail. twisters. humidity. dryness.

[ ANIMALS ]  ~ birds. penguins. eagles. owls. falcons. vultures. hawks. swans. parrots. parakeets. doves. pigeons. ducks. robins. cardinals. blue jays. bluebirds. blackbirds. crows. ravens. magpies. mockingbirds. flamingos. ostriches. seagulls. albatross. peacocks. condors. finches. pelicans. chickens. geese. quail. bats. sheep. cows. buffalo. deer.  hedgehogs. elephants. horses. giraffes. cats. lions. tigers. pumas. cheetahs. jaguars. foxes. dogs. wolves. coyotes. bunnies. mice. rats. monkeys. apes. bears. pandas. polar bears. snakes. iguanas. chameleons. alligators. crocodiles. turtles. lizards. frogs. toads. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. stingrays. octopus. lobsters. crabs. bugs. spiders. ants.  moths. butterflies. flies. maggots. roaches. ladybugs. beetles. cicadas. dragonflies. fleas. termites. leeches. worms. snails. mosquitoes. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. dinosaurs.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ]  ~  pepper. salt. sugar. honey. syrup. caramel. candy. bubblegum.  mints.  candy canes. gumdrops. lollipops. chocolate. vanilla. cinnamon. ice cream. cake. cookies. brownies. biscuits. pie. tarts. lemonade. soda. champagne. wine. brandy. rum. whiskey. vodka. tequila. sake. beer. soju. gin. crema de cacao. cocoa. latte. coffee. tea.  spices. herbs. fruit. apples. oranges. lemons. cherries. strawberries. blueberries. raspberries. cranberries. watermelons. cantaloupes. bananas. coconuts. grapes. kiwi. pomegranates. tomatoes. vegetables. potatoes. cucumbers. carrots. turnips. onions. leeks.  celery. broccoli. cabbages. lettuces. roots. nuts. white meat. red meat. raw meat. veal. pork. chicken. beef. venison. fish. lobster. oysters. pizza. ambrosia. pasta. sandwiches. soup.

[ HOBBIES ]  ~  music. piano. flute. woodwinds. whistles. drums. guitar. cello. synthesizer.  violin. lute. harp. fiddle. harmonica. trumpet. brass. singing. composing. folk.  classical. bluegrass. blues. jazz. big band. pop. country. rock. punk. metal. electronica. hip hop. reggae. ska. rap. vinyl records. cassettes. cds. soundcloud. itunes. spotify. art.  sculpting. pottery. painting. watercolour. drawing. pastels. charcoal. sketching. graffiti. printing. inking. collecting. fighting. martial arts. self-defence. boxing. fencing. sumo. wrestling. jousting. paintball. lazer tag. duelling. hunting. fishing. climbing. weight lifting. training. sports. football. football (usa). rugby. baseball. cricket. lacrosse. volleyball. basketball. tennis. badminton. skating. cycling. sailing. rowing. hiking. running. gymnastics. dancing. ice skating. hockey.  reading. writing. cooking. sewing. acting. photography. video games. horseback riding. gardening. smithing. shopping. traveling. movies. theatre. libraries. books. magazines. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. science.

[ STYLE ]  ~ nudism. perfume. cologne. piercings. tattoos. henna. body paint. war paint.  make up. lipstick. mascara. eyeliner. eye shadow. powder. beauty marks. blush. nail polish. lingerie. fishnet. pantie-hoes. socks. stockings. leggings. long johns. under armor. corsets. sports bras. bustles. camisoles. blouses. button ups. tunics. vests. waistcoats. leather jackets. ponchos. sweaters/jumpers. hoodies. skirts. jeans. kilts. breeches. scarfs. cravats. ascots. belts. sashes. gloves. heels. sandals. platforms. tennis shoes. penny loafers. jordans. slippers. boots. cowboy boots. rain boots. army boots. armor. justaucorps. trench coats. capes. cloaks. burqa. suits. tuxedos. kimonos. saris. sun dresses. gowns. jewelry. earrings. nose rings. lip rings. tongue piercings. belly rings. gauges. eyebrow rings. necklaces. pearl strings. leis. bracelets. bangles. cuffs. watches. friendship bracelets. rings. pendants. lockets. broaches. boutonnieres. pocket watches. cuff links. hats. crowns. circlets. flower crowns. helmets. hijabs. turbans. baseball caps. cowboy hats. brocade. doublet. gorget. bracers. masks. cowls. braces. glasses. sun glasses. eye contacts. pyjamas.

[ MISC ]  ~ balloons. bubbles. candles. battle. war. diplomacy. peace. money. power.  clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies.  loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. sex. hugs. duality. sin. lust. greed. wrath. envy. sloth. gluttony. pride. virtue. chivalry. honour. piety. charity. diligence. chastity. gentleness. aggression. romance. hatred. grief. pity. success. bitterness. sorrow. joy. fear. anger. good. evil. relativity. vampirism. sapphism. life. birth. time. death. illusion. silence.