#yes there is black mold and water damage in there

[scramratz]

Harlo’s Room

[thebibliosphere]

Joy I have to ask - what temperature do you think it is inside Wayne Manor?

Is it essentially outside temperature except where the fireplaces are? Does Alfred have a one man war against climate change? Is that why Bruce spends so much time in the basement?

Depending on which timeline you follow, Wayne Manor was built in the late 1800s. Having worked in giant historical homes, I'm telling you now it's a fucking pain in the ass to update the heating systems in those buildings. I know we've got comic book logic to contend with, and they've got massive generators in the basement to keep the cave running (sometimes it's turbines powered by the water flowing through the caves), but I also think it's plausible that to avoid damaging the historical facade of the building, you might walk around the house and see box fans shoved into the window frames during the summer because fuuuuck trying to install modern AC through 18th-century brickwork.

As for heat, well, for a frame of reference, the James J Hill house up here in MN—built roughly around the same time during the Gilded Age when the Waynes were pioneering industry in Gotham—was forced to rely on a boiler roughly the size of a steam engine to heat the house and used 250 tons of coal each year to keep it warm. That boiler provided hot water and ambient heat through steam radiators, but they also still had fireplaces in almost every room to try and compensate for the winter. The house was updated for modern heating and air conditioning within the last 40 years, but with a house that size and ceilings so tall, it's not particularly efficient. They still rely on box fans and space heaters to keep the space habitable during summer and winter.

New Jersey is not as far north as Minnesota, but the temperatures can still drop comparably low, especially when you factor in the seafront Gotham is on. So, while I do think they likely upgraded the heating systems at some point (they can't keep guzzling through coal like that), I also can't help but feel it's got to be cold as hell in that house unless they're being meticulous about lighting fires and airing every room out to prevent damp.

Because that's another thing. If you're not keeping your stone house warm, you risk damp and water damage, and I feel like Alfred would rather gnaw off his own arm than let Wayne Manor crumble to dust with black mold festering in the original French plaster.

So he's not so much fighting a one-man war against climate change as he's fighting a one-man war to keep the house dry. He's walking through rooms no one even uses, making sure the steam radiators are working and opening the windows a crack to let the condensation out.

Is he also turning off all the light switches as he goes? Yes. Is he always yelling, "Why is every screen in this house turned on if no one is using them?" also, yes.

Is Bruce also down in the cave huddled under an extra cape, overclocking the batcomputer to stay warm? Also a distinct possibility.

[yanderes-galore]

heyyyyy,

so i really loved your self-aware ethan winters and was hoping you could write a scenario with ethan finding a way to leave the game and darling is just wondering why is a man in the middle of the room

sending all my good vibes so you have a great day <3

sorry if there's any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language

Ah, sure! I'll see what I have, I never thought of continuing it so I'll try 😊 Thanks for the good vibes, your english is fine 💜 May be a bit tame, struggled a bit but did what I could for Ethan's yandere behavior!

Self-Aware! Ethan Winters Concept

Real

Yandere! Self-Aware! Ethan Winters Scenario

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Self-Aware game character, Swearing, Breaking and entering (?), Delusional behavior, Forced relationship, Poessessive themes, Cutting mention, Wounds.

When you woke up the first thing you smelt was mold. The thought puzzled you at first. Black mold... the type of mold that develops during events like water damage.

But you never had any water damage in your home.

That was the first incident that puzzled you. The next was when you walked towards the room you kept your game system/PC in... only to be met with something stranger. A man was on his hands and knees in your house, looking bewildered.

The musky smell of mold got stronger when you got closer. When you saw the man you stayed quiet and gazed at his clothes. They were dirty... familiar.

It was like those of a video game character... Resident Evil in particular. You decide to test your luck... this must be a dream, right? Why would any of this be real?

Maybe you were smelling mold in your sleep?

"Ethan?" You find yourself saying. There was no way it actually was him, dream or not. You're stunned into silence again when the man looks up.

"You... You know my name!"

The mysterious man's tone is less of a question and more excitement. His face reminds you of the rendered models you'd seen of Ethan Winters online. Were you scared... or just confused?

"Sir... that's really your name?" You ask with hesitance, moving your hand to the pocket that holds your phone. The man sits up on his knees with an intense gaze on you.

"E-Ethan Winters."

"Like the game character?" You narrow your gaze.

"Game...?" Ethan looks around and sees your copy of Resident Evil 7/8 on the desk. He stares at it blankly for a moment before slowly nodding. "I guess so...."

"Where did you come from? How did you get in my house?"

Ethan looks puzzled again before slowly standing up.

"Um..." He looks towards your TV/monitor. "Supposedly from there?"

You're both bewildered and confused at this point.

"Explain yourself or I'm calling the police."

"Wait, wait, wait! I've come too far for that!" Ethan holds up his hands. "This may sound weird... but I do think I came from your game. I've been trying really hard to come here-"

"The hell are you talking about!?"

"I-I've been the person you've been playing in your... game." Ethan starts, still new to the concept himself. "I've wanted to meet you for a long time since you're the player... and I found a way!"

"You're trying to say you're a game character...."

"Yes!"

"... and I'm supposed to accept this is not a dream?"

Ethan frowns at your response.

"... I can prove it to you."

"Really?"

Ethan pulls out the knife he always has in the game and presses it to his arm. You look away with a grimace when he cuts his arm... but there's no blood. Only mold... the same mold you've been smelling.

Ethan Winters... the GAME character... was inside your home....

"No shit...."

"Believe me?"

"How can I not after... that-"

"Great!" Ethan cheers, stepping a bit closer. "It's so nice to meet you...?" Ethan says, expecting a name to call you. You give him your name. Ethan smiles, saying it's nice on the tongue.

"What brings you... here?"

"Not sure how I did it... but I wanted to meet you since you're the only thing real in my 'life'."

"Only thing real?"

"My life is merely a game in your world..." Ethan sighs. "Don't you get it? Nothing I know is real except this place. No Mia... No Rose...."

You frown. Putting it that way is... really sad. You never thought of it like that. Then again... video game characters aren't supposed to be real.

"Damn...." You mutter. Ethan asks to sit on your couch and you comply.

"None of it matters... not when I'm here now, at least." Ethan gives a small smile. "Maybe I can make a new life here."

His gaze on you is unnatural. It feels synthetic... you know that he isn't entirely human, and that's not just because of the mold. However... you're still trying to understand the situation you've just been thrust into.

"Could you... show me around?"

---

Ethan already knew how to make connections between items in your world and his. After all, his world was modeled after yours. As a result... Ethan adapted quickly.

You, however, struggled to grasp the concept of Ethan in your home. You didn't think you could get used to it. You didn't even know what to tell people.

Ethan treats you like you're his savior. He praises you for opening his eyes. He thanks you for allowing him to stay. You only allowed it as you weren't sure what else to do...

You can't release him into the public.

Living with him was strange. Mold was a frequent smell that invaded your nose no matter what you did to cover it up. You also noticed Ethan doesn't eat... sometimes he doesn't even sleep.

He's unnatural... an anomaly.

You tried to treat him like a friend. If others asked... you said he was just a friend! Ethan appeared to enjoy it when you called him a friend....

If anything, Ethan just wants to incorporate himself into your life.

In his eyes... your fates have been intertwined since you first played that game of yours...

Why wouldn't he cling to you? You're like partners!

Partners... soon, Ethan starts to think you're better than Mia. Mia isn't even real... but you are, just like him! You wouldn't mind if he inched your relationship towards something more... intimate, would you?

After all, he technically was designed for your entertainment one way or another.

You notice Ethan become overly sweet towards you. He's always been sweet and respectful due to his character. Over time... it gets concerning.

Ethan vows to dedicate his whole existence to you, his player. He wouldn't be where he is right now without you! As a result... he doesn't want to leave your side.

Ethan feels he's your type anyways! You seemed to like the game he was a part of a lot... and you mentioned he's really sweet at times... surely he can make this work! Even if he's not fully real compared to you.

Ethan is more like a synthetic lifeform compared to you... still born of code rather than flesh and blood.

Ethan realizes this may cause problems. Yet... he's patient. After all, he isn't going anywhere. There's nowhere to go for him.

Even if he could go back to the game, he'd rather stay where's it's real.

Truthfully, Ethan believes fate will bring you two together in the end. Even if you don't reciprocate his gentle touches. Even if you ignore his words of praise and adoration... he's confident.

There has to be a reason you released him from the game. There must be a reason he's so drawn to you. You're partners... for everything!

Clearly Ethan will be here for you until the end...

If you can't get rid of him, why not choose him as your next and only partner instead of looking for someone else?

[wannastayugly]

Second and final part of this thing I wrote about the Storyteller showing itself to Jaskier as Geralt. TW for hurt character, but they're fine! Thank you very much for such a positive feedback! I'm very insecure about my writing, but I really love putting these little stories in the world and knowing you're enjoying them makes everything better!

-

Jaskier sits on the stool letting out a low groan of pain. He holds his chemise over his lap with both hands and keeps his eyes there, missing the warmth of it as a cold breeze invades the room and touches his exposed injured back.

It's been two months since Jaskier met the Storyteller. Two months of new poetry and ballads he has still not sang to anyone and which are fated to remain only as a collection of words in his notebook, ready to feed the fire.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice fills his ears with kindness, and Jaskier looks up as the witcher walks closer and touches his shoulder. He holds a wet towel and a bowl of salve, but Jaskier's attention goes to the blood stains on his black shirt. "Are you alright?"

Jaskier gives an insincere, almost inaudible positive answer and looks away. He remembers the monster's claws hurting his skin and the terror in Geralt's voice when he called his name. The singer had saved the witcher that morning, decided to give his life for him in his foolisher impulsive act of the season. But, together with the pain, Jaskier found a mad and surprising bit of relief when he realized there, again on a bloody floor, that whatever the Storyteller had meant when comparing him to Éile, his story would never follow the same tragic path, for Jaskier would never, in any reality, have the bravery to be the one killing the man he loved instead of letting himself be killed.

"Jaskier."

"Yes! Yes, I am fine." Geralt doesn't buy it. He slips his hand from Jaskier's shoulder to his neck and gives him an unpleased look. He can tell he has a fever by now, although the touch also leaves his cheeks warmer.

Touch. That's something Geralt only offers him every now and then, and Jaskier appreciates the attention now.

While Geralt starts taking care of his wounds, he thinks about the ballads he composed about the bard and her witcher, and how the simple act of writing those two words together in a song made him feel exposed. Every verse of fear, of desire or sorrow, spoke about his own heart. Forbidden to be heard, those words burn in his chest just like the soft touch of Geralt's calloused fingertips do now; like the wood that burned between them during the cold nights among trees and starry skies.

He closes his eyes, wanting to lean into the touch, clutching the fabric in his hands.

"I read your new songs."

The confession comes to wake him up like a bucket of cold water. His blue eyes go wide, his face is molded in shock and the world stops for a second, almost making him wonder if the Storyteller has frozen time again.

"What"

"Some days ago. Didn't mean to." Geralt continues. There's a bit of guilt and discomfort in his voice this time. Done cleaning Jaskier's wounds, he now applies salve to them, lessen the pain; his fingers now travelling the bard's lower back. Jaskier wishes he could still focus on them. "Witchers don't lose control like that. In case you've ever wondered."

"What- shut up"

"The stabbing bit was concerning, though."

"Shut the fuck up!" For Geralt's surprise, Jaskier's tone rises with rage, and, enduring the sharp pain of his damaged flesh, the bard stands up and finally faces him. Geralt stands still, a perfect portrait of regret. He still holds the bowl, unsure about what he should do with it. Now, it's Jaskier's eyes that burn. "You didn't have the right! You weren't- you-"

For a moment, Jaskier's own screams reminds him of their last major fight.

Caingorn.

He remembers letting out a confession when not even him knew what it was. He remembers Geralt's words stabbing him and pushing him away, and how he wished something would come from the woods and eat him alive while he walked down the mountain alone, feeling like he was leaving shards of his heart behind.

"Jaskier, look at me!"

Jaskier doesn't notice the tears rolling down his chin. Panic has now invaded him, bringing all his worst fears into his mind like a sadistic devil and enjoying his shivers when making him travel between all the reasons why he could now lose the little he had and was grateful for.

Not again, he mourns.

Geralt finally leaves the bowl aside and approaches him, too unsettled for a supposed emotionless man. Although the bard takes a step back, he doesn't want to avoid Geralt's closeness. Never really did.

Don't leave me alone again.

"I'm sorry, bard." Geralt's embrace is loose, careful not to touch him on the wrong spots. Jaskier groans in frustration when he sees himself hiding his face on the pale neck of the man who now caresses his hair.

"I didn't want this", Jaskier murmurs.

"I know."

He punches Geralt's chest softly. His eyes shut. Fear now gives space to shame, although he doesn't know exactly what he is ashamed of. I hate you, he thinks. A silly thing to say. Just like the Storyteller, Geralt has already known his truth for a long time.

"I love the fuck out of you, too."

Saying that, Geralt breaks the embrace to cup his face, presses their foreheads together and smiles. Gets lost in the eyes that stare back at him. A love song in blue and golden shades.

It doesn't take much for their lips to meet in an intense, rushed act. Jaskier digs his nails into the other man's skin and every bite, every touch on his exposed skin after that is like a fever dream.

"I should've done this a long time ago" the witcher would whisper breathless into his ear after a while; his hand slipping into Jaskier's now unbuttoned trousers, "right in the first time I heard your heartbeat run. Right in the first time the temperature of your body rose and you smelled like this."

That day, having Geralt with, on, in him; being allowed to taste his sweat, smiling against his lips, feeling his scars under his fingers and laughing of his concerned expressions when he'd touch the wrong places, Jaskier found himself alive for the first time in a long while. And in Geralt's arms, he contemplated in awe his own story, the most fascinating poem he had ever written.

[dollsonmain]

Since you all seem to enjoy (and learn from) my suffering...

Adventures in Plumbing!

So, no markings on the outside, BUT!

Oh, it was pointed UP before I.... I had it pointing down earlier ahaha I think up is wrong actually, looking at the ones for sale online. They all point down. It doesn’t seem to actually matter and I can pick which way I want it to go when I put it back together.

uh...

That tag is very handy! I need to remember to put it back before I put everything together again. Anyway, I started taking things apar...... Oh I put that part on the wrong way um... It can wait. The way I have it, it’s probably swapped hot and cold, which is nbd, I think they were reversed to begin with... Will test later and adjust as needed.

Anyway I started taking things apart and the blackness behind the faucet was creeping me the fuck out because that space opens into the furnace room. That sense of open, dark space...

Turning on the light in the furnace room helped (is that black mold or waterproofing.....). Now I can see that there are no hands creeping closer and closer to grab mine while I work...

ಥ_ಥ

I wish I had thought to do this sooner, because I dumped a bunch of water down the back of the wall and into the furnace room. There’s old-old water damage back there from, I would guess, another leak before we moved in.

So that’s an idea for you all if you need to change the cartridge in your shower:  prevent water getting into the wall AND dropping screws back there with a journal cover mold.... or a bottle that’s cut into a funnel, or whatever.

I just made it worse... There’s a fan on to help dry the area out.

Again.

Um....

I didn’t take a lot of pics while I was working because I was busy and had silicone grease on my hands (ew ew ew ew ew), but I took it all apart and went digging around, and as I suspected the little plungers were stuck. There are rubber or silicone plungers in faucets with springs behind them, and that’s what seals the moving parts of a faucet to the stationary water source without leaking.

Just like That Guy’s sink, the plungers were stuck so I pulled those out, lubed them up really well, reinstalled them, and gave them a few good pokes to see if the springs were still supple enough to put pressure on them, and yes.

Good.

Put it all together (enough to test anyway), turned it on, and water started gushing out. It wouldn’t stop no matter which way I turned the faucet.

Not good.

I tried rotating the handle assembly over and over thinking maybe I’d misaligned something somewhere, wiped off excess lubricant, etc. etc.  before finally deciding I needed to take it all apart again and figure out the problem.

There were two rubber washers/seals in the back of the cartridge housing that had come unseated.

So I dug those out, gave them a little lube to keep them moisturized and help them stick in their spots in the cartridge housing, put it all together again and YAY!

So now I have it partially assembled (looks like the one with the silicone mold to funnel water except the housing is on turned 180 because I forgot I even had photos of how it was supposed to go and I’ll either deal with that later or leave it after I test which way is hot and cold in the shower), and now I’m waiting to see if any water seeps out of the housing at any point, or if the shower leaks from the head again.

If it leaks or seeps, disassemble again and try to reseat it, and if THAT doesn’t stop the leak, then I’ll take a ton of photos of the cartridge and it’s label and go see about getting a new one.

And if it neither leaks nor seeps, put it all back together and do a little rooster dance of pride.

[authoralexharvey]

hi Alex!!! i am back from camping so have a very late but very happy wbw <3

is there nature magic in the world of ASMLP+co?? does the miasma mess with plants and animals (is that where inhuman monsters come from?)?? does it affect water/water environments??

i hope you have a lovely day!!

- @magic-is-something-we-create

PAX MY FRIEND HELLO! I got this question during my last day of work and was so excited to answer it's been all I can think about. I know it's not Wednesday, but fuck it.

Firstly, in terms of nature magic... kind of? I think there's a lot of folk magic and folk tradition and things we would consider to be more traditional "witchcraft". It was also a lot more prominent pre-Ascension, as non-Luricae had to forge contracts with the Gods directly or with Luricae in order to access magic, and thus would have to have more "noble" reasons for such. I almost want to say everyone has very, very mild ability to influence the world around them, which leads to folk magic practices and ritual.

But like. All-out druid stuff?... Also kind of. There are shifters, for example, like my crow person Ronne, and mermaids like Jayashekar. Luricae can also use their powers to influence nature, and this resurfaces with Casters (especially of the Evocation persuasion) but it's oft not regarded that way?

"Does the Miasma mess with plants and animals?" it absolutely fuckin does and that's why this ask made me so excited. But don't take my word for it. Here's Doctor Chloe Duval from the prologue of ASMLP:

I submitted Dominique’s sample to Professor Kontos and found the… whatever it was had been covered in miasma, not blood. This struck me as odd, though, given every miasma sample I’ve recovered from Idune looks the same. It’s viscous and black and inky. These new samples seemed more like a halfway stage, something between miasma and blood. Does this mean blood can turn miasmic? Can blood be so easily corrupted?

And then, later on,

In a sick twist of fate, Laurent’s injuries have allowed me another look at the fluid we recovered from the deer corpse last week. It appears this same fluid surging through Laurent’s system now is what we sampled and recovered before. It’s behaving in similar fashion, animated and reaching. I have no doubts now as to what caused it. There are monsters stalking these woods. Are they related to the miasma we’ve studied in Idune?

And, lastly,

It’s difficult to quantify their makeup, but it’s reminiscent of slime mold. Only… more sentient. I set traps and fed a couple of the sites what small vermin I managed to catch. They consumed the offerings. Or perhaps, like the stick I lost, the animals drowned in their depths and are fermenting somewhere below.

All this to say, the miasma is sentient enough to wreck havoc on the world around it. And, depending on who you ask, it's a living force. It consumes things--potentially, given how scant the research on it is. I don't have anything wrote for this, but Idune in TWEfA is even worse-off, having been entirely engulfed in Miasma and of creatures warped by it.

"Does it effect water/water bodies" the answer here in my heart is also yes... but less so. Especially with Idune's placement to nearby water sources, including one which leads directly to the ocean... how could it not cause harm to the water as well? But there's less life in the water for it to cling to and be able to cause substantial damage with, know what I mean?

[meowww-ffxiv]

Mordred took G'raha with him for the Nanamo variant dungeon.

.

Meowdred: Bleh bleh. It stinks down here.

G'raha: Oh.... That's mold. You need to put your bubble helmet on.

Nanamo: Your-- I beg your pardon?

Meowdred: *had conjured a bubble around his head* Whoaaa thanks. You really saved me there, Raha. ^u^

Nanamo: Can I have one?

(all three of them wore bubbleheads)

.

G'raha: I hear the gigas were once enslaved by the people of Thanalan.

Nanamo: Regrettably, that was true. Our forefathers exploited the giants for their hardiness for physical labor.

Meowdred: Hopefully, the rest of the big lads are much deeper underground, and maybe one day we can talk to them without getting a club swung at our faces for an icebreaker.

Nanamo: Do you believe that could happen?

G'raha: Take heart, Your Grace. We miqo'tes were also once slaves, brought across the sea by the Allagan Empire. Life and freedom find their ways, no matter how dark the mud.

Nanamo: Thank you. :0

Nanamo: *pulling Meowdred aside* You must NOT lose him, do you understand?

Meowdred: Isn't he soooo good? Isn't he the best??? ^w^

.

Nanamo: Mordred!!! You're not seriously going to-- to butcher those crocodiles we just killed!

Meowdred: Hmph. I suppose they're not going to yield good hides considering how much damage they took.

G'raha: Although maybe we should roll them back into the water and vacate this place quickly, in case other predators show up.

Meowdred: Oh nah they're meaty. *stuffs both of them into his bag which magically tucked away 2 giant crocodiles no problem*

Nanamo and G'raha: [Tails.jpg]

.

G'raha: Are you checking the waterways' mechanisms?

Meowdred: I'm trying to. But I'm gonna be honest. I can't see. :[

Nanamo: It's not that dark, is it?

Meowdred: I suppose not. But I'm pretty blind.

Nanamo:

Nanamo: What.

Meowdred: I'm nearsighted. I can only see you in a blurry pink form from here.

G'raha: He has very keen aether sense and spatial awareness, Your Grace.

Nanamo: I am hardly five yalms from him, though.

Meowdred: Yes ma'am.

Nanamo: This is lunacy... They said you never missed even a bird in the sky with your flames, unless those Ala Mhigo liberation stories had gotten far out of hands.

Meowdred: I don't aim with MY eyes... >.>

Nanamo: What does that mean.

G'raha: Oh look! A winch. We should pull it. Hahaha.

.

Nanamo: I have never seen you smile quite so much, Mordred. 👀

Meowdred: It's been a hard thirty summers on this wretch of a star, Your Grace. I'm overdue for smiles.

Nanamo: Nothing to do with present company?

G'raha: Erhem. Ahem. Eurgh.

Nanamo: Why, G'raha, are you alright? I still have my canteen of water if you need any.

G'raha: Oh I'm fine!

Meowdred: *already pouring water for him*

Nanamo: I See.

Meowdred: And for your question, aye, it's got everything to do with present company.

.

G'raha: You have extensive alliances with the Amalj'aa people, Mordred?

Meowdred: Yeah. They're fine metalworkers, and one of my black ma-- blacksmith mentors was an Amalj'aa.

Nanamo: Hm? Why don't you finish that sentence the way you meant to, Mordred?

Meowdred: Because I don't wanna go to jail, Your Grace.

Nanamo: I find it impossible to imagine any sort of jail you would tamely sit in, but very well. I will not press your secrets. Considering it is probably already known by most anyway.

Meowdred: Hey, I can keep secrets SOMEtimes. I keep state secrets.

Nanamo: By forgetting about them?

Meowdred: I can think of no better way, honestly.

.

(about the plundered treasure room)

Meowdred: D'you see a body?

G'raha: No. And I don't know whether to be glad or concerned.

Nanamo: Brrr, I am quite firmly of the former mind. Perhaps these guardians were tasked with cleaning up the aftermath?

Meowdred: Huh, that's a thought.

Nanamo: Why are you sticking your hand into the construct's mouth! It breathed fire just a moment ago!

Meowdred: *pulls out a femur* Aha. Incineration.

G'raha: 😬

.

Meowdred: *rolling the defeated gladiator mammet's head off* These are some pretty intricate machineries.

Nanamo: Are you going to put him back together after you are done with that?

Meowdred: To be fair, Your Grace. I just finished getting my ass beaten flat like naan by this thing. I don't fancy making it functional again just yet.

G'raha: Come, now. Give yourself some credit. You were scarcely singed.

Meowdred: My eyebrows...

Nanamo: Oh, hush. I shall loan you my kohl once we return.

[bluepenguinstories]

(Anxious) Mouse Vertigo 10

Pynchon once had a name he called his own.

But when he stared out from the tree stump he stood on, he wondered why he ever called himself anything.

His back was turned to a group, all in white cloaks. Everyone was looking forward to the day, he even fooled himself into rejoicing. There were six others behind him, and they turned every which way to stare at the damage done. That same damage which they all wished for. He was no different, he was complicit. That much was known, has been known for a few years now.

The sky was blanketed with a thin cloud of smoke and soot rained down. He saw several fumes billowing up, far away toward a civilization that might have once been.

It’s far too quiet. Did we all sleep during the collapse? What is left of us?

Despite the sunglasses he wore over his head shaved bald, his eyes were wide and the image was seared into his retinas. Little red streaks of veins filled his eyes and tears fell without him registering that they were tears at all. Indeed, despite the sting, they came off as little more to him than a mild allergic reaction.

In the distance, but not nearly as far, the Rockies had all toppled over, taking down several evergreen trees with it. Nay, those trees, once evergreen, were withered in the very same instant as the rest of the collapse. He caught a glint, a faint glimmer, of a lake, or some body of water, also covered in soot.

Surrounding the church members, him included, were dead beetles, lying on their backs, legs stood up stiff.

Yes, he knew what such a wish entailed, but like Joyce, he just thought of it as a practical joke that everyone was in on. Just some fun little get together with horrible implications.

His bushy, black eyebrows, his soft and pink cracked lips which trembled while he remained motionless. There was a last chance of salvation in his pocket, but at the moment, all he could think was:

“We did this.”

He was the second member of the church.

Never one to put stock into those cults with their egotistical leaders and their made up, bullshit worships, he only had a passing awareness of what such a world was like. Things like:

“Distrust outsiders.”

“Devote yourself to us.”

When he met the first member, the de facto leader, he wasn’t thinking about any of that crap.

No, with his sharp, black plastic rain jacket, he walked through the rainy streets of his city. The hood of his jacket was up and he had stretched the strings down to scrunch the hood in such a way that, in theory, it would have protected his face and not let the rain in.

Fat chance.

The rain came down with a slant, almost as if targeting his face specifically.

He hated the smell of rain, the raw and vinegary scent of the dumpsters he passed by, and the scent his hair got after it was drenched. Like mildew, or soft, fuzzy mold.

If he could, he would have left all of the scents of the city he lived in behind. There were never any prospects for him there and all the people he passed by either pissed him off or depressed him.

At one of his favorite haunts, however, he found solace:

A tavern, simply called the Fat Tiger. Somehow, the sidewalk near the bar had perfect, smooth sidewalks, while the sidewalk outside of the zone that was the ‘Fat Tiger Zone’ was cracked, uneven, and gravelly.

Inside the bar, it was cloaked in darkness and had that familiar, musty scent. As if everyone, man and woman alike, forgot what the concept of ‘hygiene’ was. He smelled no such floral scents, and the closest fruity scent was the sour grape smell that the patron’s sweat brought with them.

Little lights hung above, orange and glimmering. There was a strobe effect, but he couldn’t place from where or what it came from.

On the mat by the door, he dragged his feet along. His slick, black stiletto heels, which were once pristine leather, now had splotches of brown from all the mud tracked on it.

God damn puddles.

Even though he tried some modicum of politeness and hung up his jacket on the stiff, wooden coat rack to his left, he couldn’t help but drip remnants of the rain onto the wooden floorboards, sloppily painted red.

He forced himself to smile, even though he couldn’t break himself of the slouch he carried with him. While trudging his way to an empty stool at the bar, he spotted a tall lady, with shoulder length, plum colored hair, curled inward.

“Now what’s a...doing in a...like this?” He wanted to ask, but refrained from such trite questions.

He too had shoulder length at the time; black and matted. He’d try to tame it and keep himself neat and tidy, but gave up somewhere along the way. At work, he wore his hair in a bun, and a net over his hair. Ugh...just the thought of work was starting to give him a headache, and he had yet to have a single sip of ale.

He sat upon a stool, leaning one leg up before the other. He wasn’t exactly a short man, by any means, but those stools could be so god. Damn. Tall.

“Not wearing the usual deerstalker and flannel?” Meringue asked. She was a stocky woman, orange polka-dot sweater dress, saggy breasts, and bushy orange hair with hints of gray and green, almost as if her hair was a moldy tangerine. Somehow, that fit her, and some nights, Pynchon could swear that Meringue was the most beautiful woman in his life.

“Have you seen the weather outside? It just wouldn’t be appropriate,” he shook his head and folded his elbows over the table.

His usual attire which he wore to the bar, and the attire he wouldn’t part with, even after joining the church, was at home. He really didn’t want to think about returning there.

“Is there a spare room tonight?” He asked Meringue.

“Afraid not. Another gentleman beat you to it.”

“Ain’t that the pits?” He chuckled, his soft, but gravelly voice. It was the same kind of voice that Meringue had, and sometimes he could have sworn the two were the same people.

“Will you have your usual tonight?”

He shook his head.

“Just give me a bottle of hard cider.”

His usual drink was a pint of plum brandy. He would have preferred if they left the pit in, but he couldn’t blame Meringue for that; she was a simple bartender, not the one who brewed the blasted drink.

“How’s the knees? And them wrinkles?”

“Fuck,” was all Meringue had to say.

“Is there anything more to say about that?”

He chuckled, which was about all he could do these days. In order to produce a laughter more raucous, someone would have to tell him a joke funny enough to kill him.

Both of them were in their 40s and aged far too early, put under the weight of their lots in life. Despite all that, or because of that, to the other, they saw the other as a sort of divine beauty. It wasn’t a romantic attraction, however, nor anything else quite as sentimental: Meringue had her shitty husband, Pynchon had his shitty girlfriend.

Neither were satisfied, but both were far too accustomed to do much else.

“Does Lorelei know you’re out drinking?” The bartender asked while pulling a bottle out of the fridge.

“No. And it doesn’t matter.”

“Rough day?”

He chuckled again.

“When is it not?” His smile lowered back into that wide, glum expression he was far too used to.

By day, he worked at a paper mill. His clothes would get covered in the scent of mulch and pulp, with debris gathering all over as well. Any of his clothes that he once considered nice no longer applied, as several rounds in the washing machine could attest to. The money was decent, or, at one point was decent. By the point he was at, it was only just enough to get by, and even then, he could only afford to live in his home due to the income supplanted by his girlfriend’s job.

It was a rather twisted sense of hilarious, as any who passed him by might have mistook him for being homeless.

Meringue slid the bottle on the table, and he slid a $20 bill from out of his pocket.

He was about to say, “keep the change,” before he noticed that the lady with the plum hair beside him was without a drink.

She really is quite the looker, he examined before slapping on another $20 on the table.

“Get this fine lady a drink as well, will you?” He looked up at Meringue before tapping the stranger’s shoulder and asking, “hey. What do you want?”

She flinched, less like she was bracing for hurt, and more like she just got tickled when she turned to him, her face held a rather crooked smile, almost lopsided, like she was caught taking a cookie out of a cookie jar.

“A peter pan, please,” she said with a twinkling timbre. It reminded him of the first sign of spring. Her bangs were parted on each end, which revealed her forehead, with a few freckles, but nary a blemish otherwise. Her lips were a crimson red, and smeared just a little to give off the impression that she didn’t know how to apply lipstick. That, or…

Her lips were bloody.

No, he shook away such thoughts.

No matter what images sprung forth, he couldn’t deny the sight before him: like a porcelain doll, or a nymph bathing by a hidden fountain of water.

“A peter pan?” He asked. “You come to a bar, a seedy one at that, and you order a kiddie drink?” He almost sounded incensed, but he meant it in a joking way. It didn’t really matter. She could order cotton candy for all he cared and he would have still obliged her.

“I wish to have a clear head while it’s still mine.”

Her head was tilted, and her palms rested off to the side. The angle seemed to straighten out her face more than staring straight ahead did.

Damn. She really is...she’s…

He felt that spark in his groin. For now, he ignored it.

“What brings you to a place like this, anyway?”

“Well…” she kicked her legs about and looked up at the ceiling. A rather uninteresting sight, although he gave it a quick glanced. All he saw was a tiny abyss. “This isn’t a world I’m used to visiting, but I needed something to frighten me. I’ve fallen under hard times, you see.”

“Damn. You too, huh?”

“Yes. I lost my job. Or rather, there were things my job could no longer provide.”

“What did you do?”

“I was a psychological researcher. Not a psychologist, as I didn’t quite work with people. But I worked with the brain.”

“A neurologist?”

“No. Something close. My team’s research was rather famous. If I told you my name, you might have heard of me.”

“Probably not. I never cared much for that stuff. I already know I’m messed up, I don’t need to know the names for what I got. Part of the problem is society.”

“Yes. People don’t fear enough.”

“Don’t fear enough?! You’ve got surveillance, drugs, violence in the street, half of which is perpetuated by the authorities. We can barely afford to live and are in constant worry, and you’re telling me we don’t fear enough?”

“I’m sorry. I misspoke. What I meant is that we’re not in touch with our fears. We are afraid, but don’t know how to deal with it, and it keeps us from progressing.”

“Oh, yes, I’m frozen in fear,” he retorted. He never expected to get angry with such a beauty, someone who just a minute he considered akin to a Greek goddess. Blame the atmosphere.

“I know. You’re afraid of your life, afraid that it will never change, but too afraid to break out of it, either, for fear of disrupting your routine. Surely, breaking away would lead to a greater fear, but perhaps a greater life as well.”

Damn. I changed my mind. This chick’s nuts.

The room spun around him and he could have sworn he never took a swig from his bottle, yet it felt half empty in his hand. Shadows were cast on this lady’s face and all the features he thought he could once identify (the shamrock green eyes, the thin eyebrows, those freckles on her forehead) dissipated as her face turned to black clouded rain.

“People aren’t afraid of monsters these days because the monsters in their lives are always with them. But those fairy tale monsters, they do exist, you know? Ghosts, vampires, werewolves. I’ve seen them all.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I am not. I know you think I am, but haven’t you ever woken up to scratches you couldn’t explain? Felt a chill in an otherwise warm area? Walked into a room and forgotten why you were there? Do you really think those things only came from your mind?”

He waved his hand away.

Meringue came by and set down the glass: a cocktail of dry gin, peach bitters, and orange juice, with a couple of other mixtures. He couldn’t remember it all, nor did he care.

“Thank you. Has anyone ever told you how lovely you look? Especially that orange and green in your hair. You remind me of an orchard,” she told Meringue.

“Aw, shucks. You’re gonna make me blush.”

The lady, someone who Pynchon no longer had a grasp on, turned back to him.

“I want to help people with their fears. I believe with your help, we can guide the world. There’s a great mother waiting for us all, and I need five more people to make a complete group. Will you help me?”

He knew well enough.

She’s crazy, but good enough for a lay, he thought, before saying:

“I’ll think about it. Give me your number. If I’m interested, I’ll give you a call.”

She smiled and handed him a business card from her pocket. As he took it, the sensation conjured images of dipping his hand in black ink. It was repulsive, but not enough to get him to pull away.

Pynchon, or the name the man once went by, walked home in the blistering rain, chugging down his bottle and singing an orchestral tune along the way. He waltzed about, but he knew that as soon as he walked in the door of his home that the feeling wouldn’t last.

His home one was a, in relative terms, modest one.

It rested on the outskirts of the suburbs where grass didn’t grow. It was a yellow house, one floor, with paint scratched up and a roof covered in moss. Off to the side were wilted flowers, back from when his girlfriend tried to start a garden, but quit when she realized she would have to consistently water the plants. The windows which overlooked the front of the house were all boarded up. Some folks would walk by and whisper rumors about Pynchon’s home being a drug den. It was a joke between him and his girlfriend that they really did cook hard drugs in their home, even though neither did.

The truth was far simpler: some rowdy kids had accidentally tossed baseballs at their windows and shattered the glass, and rather than get them fixed, the couple settled with boarding them up.

He rustled in his pockets for his keys. A few blocks back, he tossed the bottle of hard cider in an an open-faced dumpster.

The drink didn’t get him drunk.

It barely gave him a buzz.

When he opened the door, it creaked and in the living room sat his girlfriend, Lorelei, cross-legged and cross-armed on their beige colored sofa. Her face, too, was cross.

“You reek of alcohol,” she grumbled.

“I reek of rain,” he argued. Whatever bliss he had on the way home left as soon as he saw her:

Her hair was dirty blonde and ragged, her cheeks sagged, and her eyes drooped. Not even the hazelnut shade of eyes which matched the shade of the burn marks of her cheeks (a childhood accident, a long story). She wore a white tank top (those thin ones...what did they call them again? Wife-beaters? Ha. What a joke) and gray, baggy sweatpants.

“Whatever. You’re always going to reek,” she went on.

“Then why mention it? Are you just looking for something to complain about?”

He shimmied over to her, even as all words told him not to.

The TV was on in the background, and flashing white lights filled the house. The kitchen, in the back corner, flashed. He didn’t even want to look at the mess that was the backyard.

Whatever. The whole house was a mess.

Some nauseating shade of brown always greeted him; the painted tapestry on the walls, some of which had peeled off. The living room was cluttered with stacks of books, magazines, and newspaper. There were stuffed animals of clowns and creatures from the jungle thrown about. On the walls were shelves, a darker, burnt shade of brown, which housed various trinkets they found at antique shops and flea markets, most porcelain or tin.

He sat next to her and felt a loose spring try to poke out from the cushion.

On TV was some old film, silent, and featuring a man in a striped suit pantomiming.

“Got anything nice to say?” He asked while crossing his legs and arms in the process.

“Do you?” She echoed.

“You know, I met this girl at the bar.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Would you get mad if I said yes?”

“I don’t care. Would you get mad if I was seeing someone else?”

At one point, he would have feared such a prospect. Now, it felt like winning the lottery.

“Maybe you should. Better make sure they make enough. I know you can’t survive on your current income. What would happen if I left? Would you go homeless?”

“I could ask you the same. If I got fired, or quit, you couldn’t afford to keep living here.”

Pynchon sighed.

“You know, if we ever both go homeless, I’m not going to stay with you. I would rather die in a ditch.”

Her face was stiff. He stared at her and noticed the stiffness and wondered if she would cry.

Damn it. Feel something.

She didn’t cry.

“We’re both going to die homeless,” she said, “maybe we should just quit our jobs or get fired and get it over with.”

It was an enticing offer.

Neither Pynchon nor Lorelei knew how the two had come to hate each other, only that they did now. There was no doubt that at one point, they gave each other warmth in their lives and even after fights, were all smiles.

Now, the only reason they were together was because they depended on each other to keep living. Neither understood why they let the other live.

Their relationship ran its course years ago. There was no returning to that, and anything it could turn into would have surely been worse than the current toleration of the other.

Even still, that strange woman at the bar must have had a point, as the very next day, Pynchon called her up and left the house, no note, no explanation.

He never knew what happened to Lorelei. He almost felt a sick, poisonous delight in the idea of her being destitute.

The strange, yet alluring lady, explained that she was starting something she called ‘the church,’ and that she named herself HD, after a famous author. She also urged him to do the same and pick the last name of an author to go by.

Of course he saw it as weird, but he went along with it. He was never much of a reader, but two books which stuck in his mind was Gravity’s Rainbow and Inherent Vice by the author Thomas Pynchon. The way that man wrote in simple, casual language really resonated with him. Forget shit like themes or plot structure, Pynchon just came off as the easiest name to use.

HD took Pynchon around the country in a white Volkswagen van, and they ate out at various restaurants and diners along the road. Pynchon ate better than he had in years, even while sleeping in a hammock in the back of the van.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was homeless, but at least he was away from his old life. That much he could get behind.

Sooner or later, she’ll let me lay her, he told himself, and to that end went along with every whim she had. It didn’t matter to him whether or not he believed her speeches. He was waiting on a promise that would never come to pass.

Watching the state of the world upon that stump made him realize that one promise was fulfilled:

“Do you know what it means to pray for Mother’s arrival? It means that we would be praying for genocide.”

The words echoed in his mind. The words he told to Joyce, the young man he recruited.

Now, he saw how true those words were.

He reached into his inner pocket and found his salvation.

I’ll still have the last laugh, he told himself while giving off a wide, crooked grin.

“Well, looks like my work here is done,” he announced, his voice hoarse, and with much less humor than he wished to express. It didn’t seem to turn any heads.

Tears ran down his face, and he was thankful for his round, dark glasses.

“Are you harboring doubts?” He remembered asking Joyce. In fact, it was the very same day.

He held his salvation up under his chin. He gulped and his throat hit the cold, steel barrel. It was loaded with a single bullet. If he failed, he would be in a lot of pain, but a heat rose within him which indicated that luck was on his side.

He pulled the prick near the end of his salvation and a shot rang out through the air, a sharp howl which echoed. It was like a banshee walked up to every member of the church and screeched.

Everyone’s heads turned toward Pynchon, who fell over, lifeless. The pistol dropped onto the ground next to the stump, on the other side of him. Blood had sprayed onto the ground and painted the black beetles red.

They all shook and their eyes went wide. Most didn’t react beyond that. One of them screamed, but no one could tell who it was, not even the one who screamed.

“What the…?” Joyce uttered and tears welled up in his eyes and flooded his face. Some of the blood had gotten on the cloak that Joyce wore.

Joyce wiped away the tears, even as they still flowed.

No. No. I told myself long ago that I was numb to all this, he tried to coach himself out of distress.

“Wow,” Ocampo said, and said nothing more.

She sat on the ground next to Joyce.

Behind them, the trio of Borges, Steinbeck, and Mansfield sat together. Borges to the left, closer to Ocampo, and Mansfield to the right, furthest away from everyone.

It didn’t seem like the three were shocked, but Joyce wasn’t always the best at reading people’s reactions, even though he knew that everyone responded to distress differently.

Pynchon had been off to the side of the white building that was the church’s headquarters, near the back. All the rest were near the front. Most of them were lost in their own conversations right before the shot rang out. Only the most fervent believers had an idea of what happened to the world. Joyce and Ocampo simply speculated.

“Well, then,” an absentminded and dull voice broke through the silence. “Now that I have your attention, I would like to explain what happens next.”

Everyone turned to face the tall woman in the white cloak, her hood down. She was bald, as was everyone else, and her pale skin, thin eyebrows, and freckles on her forehead were the main identifiers that separated her from everyone else. She often reminded Joyce of one of those department store mannequins.

Joyce often liked to look around and imagine what the church members used to look like before shaving the tops of their heads. Some of them had grown back part of their hair, even if at most, they had what he would describe as a pixie cut.

As usual, he looked around, except when his gaze met the back of Pynchon’s lifeless frame, he cringed and shuddered.

“So –” HD began to speak again, but Joyce wouldn’t have it.

“Hey! One of our members just committed suicide and you want to hold a meeting?!” Whatever tears he had faded away and in its place was a red-faced righteous anger.

HD glanced over to Pynchon’s corpse, then looked away in the other direction and toward the ground where the corpses of bugs rested.

“Yes. It’s quite sad. We’re down one church member. I often relied on him to recruit new members, since I’m...uh…” her pale face almost looked blue, as if she was gasping for air, “I’m not so good with people.”

“That’s what you’re sad about?!”

“We need seven to make it work.”

“Make what work?” Joyce huffed. His rage was palpable and he snorted out every other breath. What was more baffling to him was that no one else seemed to be as angry.

“That’s what I was going to get into. See, Mother has arrived. The world population of every creature has been reduced by over 90%. In its place will be beasts. There is no need to be alarmed, however, as each of us will help restore humanity. It will take seven church members, and scattered about are different objects. For symbolism’s sake, we’ll call these objects ‘trumpets’. Each of us will sound these trumpets and gain abilities which will help guide humanity.”

“Excuse me?” Joyce raised his hand. “I’ve been going along with this ‘mother’ business, but I really have to ask: do you have some kind of Oedipus Complex? Were you not loved enough as a kid?”

“Good one,” Ocampo slapped Joyce’s shoulder and sneered.

A soaring, glowing feeling worked its way into him and he wondered just how far he could carry that feeling.

“Um, well...are you interested in my personal life?” HD fidgeted in place without making eye contact with Joyce.

“No. I just want to know what your deal is. Why this Mother thing? I’m tired of everyone giving me vague crap instead of just coming out and saying what they mean.”

“Mother is...yes. I see now. Many civilizations have had their form of a mother goddess. The Anatolian civilization had Cybele, the mountain mother. The Babylonian civilization had Tiamat. Mother is no exception. A better name might be ‘Fear’ as that is what our Mother is.”

“Fear?” Joyce’s head tilted.

“Yes. Many see the emotion of fear as an enemy, rather than the nurturer it is. I have made contact with our mother, Fear, and I have been tasked to build a mythology. Are you familiar with the book of Revelations from the Christian bible?”

“Is this what it is? You brought about the apocalypse because you wanted to recreate a series of events that were meant to be allegory?”

“No. I wanted us to create a new mythology and make it into reality.”

“And you decided to copy a pre-existing one? How is that making a new one?”

“Well...nothing is wholly original…”

“Yeah, but what you’re describing is plagiarism.”

“I’m impressed,” Ocampo nudged Joyce, “you went past being skeptical of the world ending and are now just criticizing the one responsible.”

“Oh, no. I’m still skeptical. I just can’t deny what’s in front of my eyes. Maybe outside of Colorado, most of the world is fine. For all I know, HD might have just used some explosives or used special effects to give off the impression that actual damage was done.”

“I..didn’t. That would kill a lot of people,” HD interjected.

“Oh, right. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Joyce put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, “even though according to you, most of the world is DEAD.”

“I didn’t bring it about, though. I only invited Fear here. This destruction is simply a byproduct of Fear’s arrival.”

“If you knew it would happen, sounds like you’re responsible.”

HD turned her head, stared straight into Joyce’s eyes at last. Her shimmering green eyes shifted to a bright, orange, fiery look. Joyce shuddered.

“I see now. This is why Pynchon recruited you. I needed this,” she said with an icy calmness. Despite the burning glare, her words nor voice showed anger.

“What?” Joyce had no words of rebuttal, only confusion.

She continued, however, with no further explanation given:

“Each of you will be tasked with finding your trumpet. It may appear in any form, but each one will grant you abilities based on what suits you. Once the seven have been sounded, the next phase can begin.”

“What is the next phase?”

“Up to your discretion. It cannot truly begin until we have seven members again.”

“Why?”

“Because it felt most significant. That’s why there are seven trumpets. For each of us. They aren’t meant for anyone else.”

“I don’t know. I prefer six, personally,” Ocampo added her opinion, “with seven, it was always going to be uneven on the male/female ratio. With six, we can have an even three and three.”

Joyce counted each member, including himself: indeed, there were three male members (Joyce, Steinbeck, Borges) and three female members (Ocampo, HD, Mansfield). However, there was a glaring issue.

“Excuse me? Do you even count as a member? Aren’t you the leader? Shouldn’t that mean that we need two more members?” Joyce pointed to HD.

“Well...I thought we were all leaders…”

“No,” Joyce said, and nodded his head, slowly. “You organized this. You planned this. You supplied the food and housing, you brought your ‘Mother’ here. God damn, I must have landed in the most incompetent cult in existence, and this is saying something.”

“I need my trumpet, too,” HD whimpered and pursed her lips.

“I think you’re doing great,” Mansfield spoke up. Her face was gaunt and she looked so frail. “I hope we can find another member. Whoever they are, maybe I can fall in love with them.”

“Fat chance,” Joyce turned toward Mansfield, “who are you going to find? Most people are dead, if you haven’t noticed. Are you really expecting to find love in the apocalypse?”

Joyce couldn’t imagine anything more absurd than two people banding together in such desperate times against grotesque creatures and falling in love with each other.

“Let her dream,” Ocampo patted Joyce’s shoulder.

“Yes! Dreams! I cannot wait!” Borges stood up, his fist in the air. Joyce took note of Borges’ curled mustache and how round Borges was. It made Joyce think of a meatball, and he imagined that even when Borges had his hair above his head, he never had much of it.

“I for one like that the population has been reduced. Maybe now there will be enough food to go around for everyone,” Steinbeck sat and nodded while stroking his long, light brown beard. His wrinkles and creases all over his face, his dark, sunken eyes, all were signs that Steinbeck was the oldest of the group. Joyce imagined Steinbeck’s hair was once either blonde or white, and long and stringy, and that he liked to wear a straw hat.

“Are you kidding? That ‘overpopulation’ fallacy? The problem with the world was never how many people we had!” Joyce shouted.

“Never mind them. Worry about what you want to do and how you will survive,” Ocampo whispered into Joyce’s ear. He hated to admit, but he felt his member shift around in his brown, hay woven pants and stiffen.

These pants are too tight. My dick’s too uncomfortable. Damn it, why did she have to blow into my ear? Doesn’t she know how sensitive my ears are?

HD clapped.

“This concludes our meeting. While the church will still exist, in its current form, it is disbanded. Go out and do what you will. With any luck, we shall all meet again.”

HD was the first to walk off. Mansfield got up and ran behind HD. Maybe the two would follow each other?

For the moment, both Borges and Steinbeck remained in place.

As did Joyce.

While Ocampo stood up, Joyce stopped her from walking away, grabbing hold of her wrist. Once again, the appendage between Joyce’s leg stiffened further and began to throb as his legs heated up.

Why is holding onto her arm turning me on? What is wrong with me?

Ocampo looked down and smirked.

“What’s the matter, boy? Are you going to miss me?”

“Of course not! But what are we going to do about Pynchon? Shouldn’t we bury him?”

“Leave him. The carrion will find him. And if they don’t, the beasts will.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that crap! I don’t care if most of the world has died out, but that doesn’t mean there’s monsters all of a sudden!”

“I don’t know what is or isn’t real right now,” she shook her head while continuing to hold her smirk. “Like you and Pynchon, I never believed in this ‘church,’ I only joined and played along because I had nowhere else to go in my life. All three of us come from similar places, but that doesn’t mean we’re all the same people. I want to see what’s out there, and if I can influence the world, I will. Despite how horrible things have become, I still want to believe some good can come of it.”

“Let me come with you! We can survive together!”

She chuckled.

“You’re desperate, aren’t you? What’s the matter? The poor cynical boy who cursed the world started to catch feelings?”

“No! Quit fucking with me! You’re just the only connection to Pynchon I still have! He mentored me! You knew him, too!”

He let go of her wrist. She held her wrist in her other hand and rubbed it. Joyce knew he didn’t squeeze that hard, so he found the gesture odd.

“Good luck out there. May we meet again,” were her parting words.

He huffed.

Bitterness filled him.

Of course. Being alone still suits me best, he told himself.

Time and time again, he expected to die.

But one year passed and Joyce persisted.

At a certain point, a month or two ago, he raided a home in an otherwise wrecked suburbia. The once uniform, trimmed lawns, were overgrown, to the point they covered up many of the doors to the houses, or at least the ones that weren’t demolished by either the initial calamity or trampled over by beasts around the area.

In a way, the wrecked homes and furniture strewn about the cracked roadway with wilted flowers growing in between and overgrown grass lawns which could have housed any number of hidden beasts held a sort of obscene beauty in Joyce’s eyes.

Every now and then, he waited for a beast to jump out and tear him limb from limb. It brought him a perverse pleasure to imagine a scene of himself mauled by a beast while his intestines were pulled out by the teeth of a beast. His lifeless body turned into a mushy combination of yellow and red.

No beasts ever jumped out at him.

Instead, he found a button-up blue and white striped shirt from a dresser drawer. In another room of the house, he found a pair of blue jeans in his size. He abandoned his old clothes in the same house he found his new ones and moved on. As soon as he left the house, the large head of a hunched over beast poked out from the side of the house. It huffed hot air out of its large snout and several thin, human arm-like appendages poked out from the nostrils and wriggled about.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Joyce spotted the beast and fell back. He nearly pissed his pants, and his crotch grew cold. Despite that, the beast paid the young man no mind and took a step forward. The ground shook and before Joyce could get up, he fell again.

Yet again, the beast took no notice.

That was how Joyce’s life had gone. Beast surrounded him. Many resembling animals he recognized back before the calamity, but with oddities that didn’t fit with what he knew.

Despite all the danger he should have been in, the beasts never took notice of him. They never harmed him, they never looked his way. He never could find an explanation for it, and wondered if that was all the beast’s purpose served: to scare him, and nothing more.

He’d soil his pants on occasion and his apathy for life made him not want to bathe, even in situations when he could have done so. He ate whatever scraps he could find and raided any home he came across. Rashes developed on his arms and legs. Cuts formed from itching everywhere on his skin. Even when he didn’t have cuts, his skin was red all over. When it rained, he not only shivered, but it felt like his skin burned, and worse, his clothes clung to his drenched self.

He had yet to come across another person in his travels. No, that wasn’t true: once, he saw someone mauled by a beast while he watched, too paralyzed to help or run away. Ever since watching that person get murdered, he fantasized about it being him.

Where he stood at present was an unimpressive locale: a thick, forest atop a mountainous road. He knew that the road was close, and that the road was twisting and winding. What he couldn’t tell was whether he was still in the land once known as the state of Colorado, or if he had moved on to another former state. No, he knew such details didn’t matter to him. Names were in places, but now places were just places.

Few, if any hair, regrew on his head in the span of that year. Just brown patches throughout. Meanwhile, a thick mustache had attached itself and refused to let go, and curled hairs fixed its way across into what he could only call a haphazard goatee. His face had become larger, thicker than it once was, and his cheeks were constantly puffed out in a way that reminded him of a chipmunk. To make matters worse, it was once again raining that evening, and his clothes were not only drenched, he was not only broken out in hives, but he was also covered in mud.

The road was close. There was a bus shelter that he knew was close by, and its clear, glass awning would protect him from the rain. For the past few days, he dared not stray from the area near that bus shelter. It was like a shrine or temple to him.

“My, aren’t you an eyesore,” crooned the voice of someone he constantly tried to forget.

His usual slouch jolted him to turn around and for his back to straighten up. Before him stood a pristine, even as her white cloak had been grayed out from the rain, Ocampo.

“What? What are you doing here?!” He demanded. He blinked a few times, not sure if what he saw was real or not.

“It seems you’re still alive. Good,” she ignored his question. Her voice had that syrupy richness to it, and her smirk was the one thing he might have changed.

“Were you following me?”

“I already knew where you were.”

Between them, the bushes rustled. It could have been the wind, or some hidden beast nearby.

“So. Uh. How are you?”

She shook her head.

“Different.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s all real – all of it. The lack of life, the beasts, and the trumpets.”

“The trumpets, too?! Tell me where they are! I’ve been all over, but I don’t know where to look or what they look like!”

She shook her head again.

“You don’t want it. Trust me. It’s best to keep living as you have. I found mine, and I picked it up. It changed me. I don’t know if I’m still human, but I know that what I am...it’s not how I should be.”

“You’re not making any sense!”

“When I picked it up and it sounded, I saw visions: I think I know now why she called it ‘Mother.’ It’s the reason for the beasts. It gives birth. It doesn’t stop giving birth, either. It’s like a living factory. That’s all I can call it.”

A sudden ache erupted on the side of Joyce’s head and he clutched it while squinting. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had a full head of hair: deep purple, like the color out of space. If he squinted further, he might have seen stars in her hair. It went down to her waist. Joyce couldn’t help but be enraged.

Why does she get her hair back? What about me?

“Never mind that,” he said through his headache, “what I want to know about are these trumpets. If they’re real, what ability did you obtain?”

“The ability to change others. You may not have noticed, but I too am covered in mud. Truly, nothing is quite so filthy as cleanliness.”

“I disagree.”

“I can make others into the selves they never knew they needed to be.”

“What if somebody doesn’t want to change? Or what if how they change isn’t what they need? I’m not saying I believe you, but how is such an ability helpful if you’re forcing someone into a role that they didn’t accept for themselves? I thought you had a controlling husband! What makes you any different from him?”

As soon as he said those words, he felt like he was struck by lightning, but Ocampo continued her smile.

“He was controlling, indeed. Every night, he made me make the meals, do his dishes, clean his floors that he spilled his food and drink all over. I was to fuck when he told me to fuck, not when I wanted. I was too meek to say no, too bound by my routine. He would come home, with men and women alike, a different one every other night, and I was to make no comment. I knew they were fucking. I heard them. Those grunts, those screams. Don’t you think I wanted to fuck another man or woman every once in a while?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her smile faded, but she didn’t look angry.

“So I left. I had to leave. There was no freedom for me there. Once, there might have been love. There must have been some reason I had gone with him before I turned into this dutiful housewife. I put on a smile for the children, I let them do as they pleased, but it wasn’t enough for me. When I left, I didn’t return home. I thought, once, about returning home to pick them up. But if I did, he might have been there. Maybe he returned early from work. Who knows? He would have beat me back into submission, made sure I had no means of escape again.”

“You had kids? And you just left them?”

Her smile returned, but it wasn’t a smirk. Droplets of water ran down from her face – the rain.

“Yes, I did. But I can do right by others. I can coerce others into the same freedom I now have. I can remove the shackles they didn’t know bound them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Good. Keep it that way. If you want to preserve who are you, don’t seek out the trumpets. Forget about me.”

“You know I can never do that. I’ve always felt...”

She laughed and it sounded like the sounds of a macaw taking flight.

“Why, if that isn’t the essence of who you are: you say you don’t need anyone, but at the slightest hint that you might be into someone, you try latching onto them. You say everything is hopeless, but you so desperately want to hope. You’re not a pessimist, no: you’re a scared optimist.”

“Shut up! Everything is hopeless! No matter what I did to change the world, my efforts went unnoticed.”

“What’s more important: making things better or being noticed?”

“What I mean is, the people in power...they made sure the ones beneath them had no power. They blocked any attempt to make the world a better place at every turn. What hope could I have?”

“And? Where are these people in power now? Look around you: aren’t we the ones in power? What’s stopping you?”

“I lack resources! And look, the beasts! There’s nothing I can do unless I obtain that trumpet!”

“How have you survived as long as you have without finding one?”

“I’ve only survived because I went unnoticed! No matter how many times I thought a beast would kill me, they never looked my way!”

“My. Don’t you think that’s an amazing ability?”

“How? Tell me how!”

She shook her head.

“I don’t need to change you. All you need to do is see what you have.”

“What?”

But she disappeared from sight. There wasn’t a hint like she had faded away – no, it was like she was never there at all.

“Ha. I must have made up that whole conversation. Even made up a backstory for her that made sense to me. That’s all it was.”

His legs shook, but it wasn’t from the cold.

He found the bus station just as he left it. There was a thick fog in the air, but he was confident no beast would show up and attack him. He curled up on that stiff bench made of wooden boards and shivered. As he looked out into the fog, he thought he saw the outline of Ocampo’s face take shape. Everything was there, down to the mole under her lip and the widow’s peak of her hair.

“Look how feeble you are,” the wind howled in Ocampo’s sardonic tone.

Joyce curled up tighter and covered his face with his hands. With one final plea he shouted:

“MAKE IT END!”

[vgrc-llc]

Protect Your Roof with Expert Roof Blow-Offs in Spokane

Maintaining a clean roof is more than just about aesthetics—it’s about safeguarding your home. In Spokane, the changing seasons bring challenges like pine needles, leaves, and debris, which can wreak havoc on your roof. Let’s dive into how VGRC’s expert roof blow-off services can help keep your roof pristine and protected year-round.

Top Reasons to Schedule a Roof Blow-Off Today

Prevent Costly Roof Damage

Debris on your roof traps moisture, leading to rot, mold, and structural damage. Regular roof blow-offs remove these threats, ensuring your roof stays strong and leak-free.

Boost Energy Efficiency

Did you know a clean roof reflects sunlight better? Debris buildup can cause heat retention, raising your energy bills. Keeping your roof debris-free helps reduce cooling costs during Spokane's sunny months.

Extend Your Roof’s Lifespan

Routine maintenance, like roof blow-offs, prevents wear and tear. A clean roof can last years longer, saving you money in the long run.

VGRC’s Proven Roof Blow-Off Process

Step 1: Comprehensive Debris Assessment

Our experts inspect your roof to identify trouble spots, ensuring no debris is left behind.

Step 2: Safe and Efficient Debris Removal

Using specialized tools and techniques, we clear your roof without causing any damage. Your home’s safety is our top priority.

Step 3: Optional Soft Washing Service

For roofs with stains or algae, we offer soft washing to restore your roof’s appearance and prevent future growth.

Signs It’s Time for a Roof Blow-Off

Wondering if your roof needs attention? Here are some common indicators:

Debris Piles: Pine needles, leaves, or branches visible on your roof.

Moss or Algae Growth: Green or black patches signal moisture issues.

Water Pooling: Water collecting near roof edges or gutters.

Why Choose VGRC for Roof Blow-Offs in Spokane?

Locally Owned and Operated: VGRC is proud to serve Spokane and surrounding areas, offering personalized care for every home.

Expert Team: With Kc, the Pine Needle Warrior 👷‍♀️, and The Roof Ninja 🥷 leading the charge, your roof is in the best hands.

FAQs About Roof Blow-Offs

1. How often should I get my roof blown off?

It depends on your location and surroundings. In areas with heavy tree cover, we recommend blow-offs every 3–4 months.

2. Is roof blow-off safe for all roof types?

Absolutely! VGRC’s methods are designed to protect all roofing materials, from shingles to metal.

3. Can roof blow-offs prevent moss growth?

Yes, regular debris removal reduces moisture, a key factor in moss growth. For stubborn patches, ask about our soft washing service.

DIY Roof Maintenance Tips

While professional blow-offs are best, here are a few steps you can take between services:

Trim Overhanging Branches: This reduces the amount of debris landing on your roof.

Clean Gutters Regularly: Prevent water pooling by keeping gutters clear.

Inspect After Storms: Check for debris or damage following heavy wind or rain.

🌟 Positive Quote of the Day: “A clean roof is the foundation of a happy home!”

Schedule Your Roof Blow-Off Today!

Don’t let debris damage your home—schedule a roof blow-off with VGRC, LLC! We’re a true local company committed to protecting Spokane’s homes.

🔗 Visit our website to learn more about our services: VGRCLLC.com

📞 For immediate assistance, DON’T RISK FALLS—GIVE US A CALL!: 509-530-1330

💬 “Your recommendation means the world to us—just like a freshly blown-off roof!”

WE DON’T PLAY THE PART; WE ARE THE PART! A TRUE LOCAL COMPANY! 🏠

Follow VGRC on Social Media for More Tips and Updates:

✖️ Twitter: x.com/vgrcllc

📸 Instagram: instagram.com/vgrcllc

🔗 LinkedIn: linkedin.com/in/vgrcllc

📼 Facebook: facebook.com/VGRCLLC

🎵 TikTok: tiktok.com/@vgrc.llc

[namconstruction]

Is It Worth Getting New Siding for Your Home?

In short, yes. Replacing worn out, old or unattractive exterior siding on your home typically adds value. The extent of the added value often depends on the type of material used for the replacement. Enhancing the exterior of your home goes beyond aesthetics; it plays a pivotal role in shaping the initial impression and overall value of your property. While we may downplay the significance of appearances, the truth is, the exterior appearance of your house significantly influences curb appeal. Replacing old, outdated siding not only revitalizes the look of your home but also brings various additional benefits. Conversely, having worn-out siding, marked by signs of aging like fading, cracking, or outdated styles, can swiftly create a negative perception of your home’s overall appearance. New Siding Saves Money and Lowers Energy Bills As energy bills continue to rise, finding ways to save money and decrease home maintenance costs is likely a top priority. Siding for homes in NJ serves a crucial role in deflecting the sun’s rays, providing insulation, and contributing to energy efficiency. This can lead to significant savings on energy expenses by keeping your home cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Beyond financial benefits, environmentally conscious homeowners should consider that new siding consumes less energy, contributing to an overall reduction in environmental impact. Enhance the Longevity of Your Home with Reduced Maintenance With advancements in the siding industry and the introduction of new options, both the durability and maintenance ease of siding have improved. Modern siding is notably simpler to clean compared to older varieties, displaying increased resistance to hose or power washing. The enhanced durability also translates to a longer lifespan, reducing the frequency of replacements and mitigating the degradation experienced by previous siding. This becomes particularly advantageous for homes with wood siding, as wood is susceptible to fiber breakdown, mold, and fungus, posing a risk to the structural integrity of both the siding and the home. Upgrading to these new materials is a particularly beneficial choice in such cases. Increase Your Home’s Structure and Safety The impact of old siding on your home goes beyond its own structure; it becomes vulnerable to water seepage, posing risks to the overall structural integrity. Water infiltration can lead to various problems, primarily causing wood beams to rot, resulting in damage to interior walls or exerting stress on non compromised beams. Additionally, water is a significant contributor to interior mold, leading to unpleasant odors and potential health issues, especially with hazardous mold varieties like black mold. Upgrading to new siding establishes a protective barrier against water seepage, safeguarding your home’s structural integrity and potentially saving you from substantial repair expenses. Examine the siding on your home, does it appear faded, damaged, or outdated? Similarly take a look at your energy bill, have you observed a continual increase in heating and cooling expenses? If the answer is yes to either question, it’s likely time to consider replacing your siding. If you are looking for assistance for your upcoming home renovation project at New America Construction we provide Siding estimates for all NJ homeowners. Call us today for more information 973-804-9400  Find us in: Facebook, Instagram, Google and Yelp.

The post Is It Worth Getting New Siding for Your Home? first appeared on Exterior Contractor Company.

from https://newamericaconstructionco.com/siding-contractor/is-it-worth-getting-new-siding-for-your-home/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=is-it-worth-getting-new-siding-for-your-home

[freshmaple]

Get Perfect Solutions from Professionals for Tile and Grout Cleaning in Burlington

Over time, the accumulation of dirt could make your floor look black. If the grout color has faded, you should replace it immediately. You might attempt the difficult process of cleaning the tiled floor on your own. It's possible that the grout can't be restored to its previous condition and that the tiles are still unclean. Professional tile and grout cleaning in Burlington can help. Depending on your needs and our availability, we could clean your floors. It's time to say goodbye to the dust and clutter of your floors.

Get in Touch with an Expert

If the flooring in your flat is dirty, it won't matter how well you keep the rest spotless. If you try to clean them by yourself, you will waste your time as well as your energy. Experts should be contacted and asked for assistance. You may contribute to Fresh Maple's new flooring project. In Burlington, guests can hire professionals to clean their tile and grout. Don't hesitate to contact us if your Burlington house or company requires tile and grout cleanup. We aim to impress and delight our patrons by making every effort and employing all appropriate methods and equipment. Our cleaning procedure is comprehensive and will leave your home spotless.

Tools For Tile and Grout Cleaning

Have you ever tried cleaning grout with hand sanitizer when using a brush? A house can be thoroughly cleaned by gliding a toothbrush across the floor. The rough bristles of some scrubbing brushes can cause similar damage to tile and grout.

Several common household cleaners may make matters worse. Scrubbing your bathroom floor can disperse the grime instead of removing it. Surfaces can fade and change color despite your greatest cleaning efforts. Therefore, the filth remains. Finding the sweet spot between being aggressive and being realistic is crucial. Why? To avoid marring the surfaces in any way. Expert maid services are equipped to deal with items of varying textures. They also know which coatings will and will not be compatible with various materials. Consultation over; please wrap up as soon as possible.

Professional Floor Cleaning Services are Necessary

Yes! Tiles and grout can harbor mould if they are kept in a humid environment like a bathroom or near a pool. Care for your floors and restore their original luster by washing the tiles and grout between them. Mold grows in the grout, making the tiles slick and dangerous to walk on. When done properly, tile and grout cleaning in Burlington can quickly restore your floor's luster. Excellent! Instead of the wide variety of brands and chemicals used by many cleaning companies, we prefer eco-friendly materials that help clean and heal the land. We mainly used water-based treatments and natural components to lessen grout and tile marks.

How Can We Proceed?

• Once you've decided on our estimate, we may start processing your order right away and provide the top tile and grout cleaning service in Burlington.

• Because we always begin at the exact time we say we will, we will always be at your door fifteen minutes early.

• We spray a solvent on your hardwood before cleaning it to make the job go more smoothly. The professional steam cleaner will then use specialized swabs to disinfect the tile grouts.

We use hot water to rinse the dirt and grime from your tiles and grout once we've scrubbed them, ensuring that your floor will be spotless. After sealing, the quality and condition of each tile and grout are carefully checked. We never leave an unattended spot on your floor, no matter how small.

[youngster-monster]

i think my computer is possessed because there is literally no reason that it has to act the way it does, it is a Good Computer and yet i regularly have to sit down and wait for it to stop throwing a fit when i try to download my critically acclaimed mmorpg or in other cases Just Literally Anything Whatsoever. i have nightmares about the time that my monitors would periodically just turn black for a solid 10 seconds unprompted it’s ridiculous at this point

can we talk about the restarting issue i have been DYING to talk about the restarting issue it’s literally insane. prior to yesterday i haven’t been able to safely restart my computer because the last four times i tried to restart my computer it stayed in the ‘restarting…’ screen for over 3 hours and each time had to be turned off to cancel the restart, which, wouldn’t you know it, that means i can’t update anything that requires a computer restart to finish installing. these are not the worst computer issues i’ve ever witnessed but we won’t be unpacking all that. it is Ridiculous how many issues show up with this thing

i literally JUST want to play ffxiv i was sitting at my desk like oh my god i cannot WAIT to see what kinda character creator im workin with here i can’t wait to see ELVES and then my computer decides it needs to explode or something (a normal and reasonable reaction to a user attempting to download a god damn video game. it makes sense surely)

ANYWAYS. computer rant over if i talk about it more then i will inevitably reach the other issues and then we’ll talk about my freak computer’s other stupid problems that it has literally no reason to have

i await the day i am yeeted into the pool that is ffxiv with open arms and i will be trying to download it once again Today should time permit it

it IS robbing the youth from a crucial experience!!!! the children must lie on the internet about their age and give themselves lore that only other children would ever believe ever

and the lore.. ppl on that skinning forum i was on were crazy we just made things up as our irl backstory and would cover for eachother if a single soul said ANYTHING about how it wasn’t actually true. maybe there were a few people who were being serious but they sure weren’t on the same threads i was on!! ppl were making up characters in their real life that they’d tell you about and you just had to nod sagely at them and say you understand because you had some kind of bond with them. no there were no moderators or else none of what was happening would slide

i didn’t have the extremely crucial experience of helping grown men through divorces but this is good enough i think

My monitor used to do that as well! Turn black AND refuse to restart. 'you have to update your drivers' How.

Turned out to be water damage to my gpu though (on account of the Mold Incident) so I think yours being haunted is actually the better option

forum culture.... It's improv theater. To me. yes, and-ing the random teenagers saying 'this is X's brother speaking. They have died. Badly. because you were mean.' one of the childhood experiences for sure

[buildingperformancefl]

Process Of Mold Testing In Naples And Tampa, FL

Living in an old property for years, if not generations, needs some caution. Indeed, the dingy corridors and damp walls may be a testament to history, but dangers could lurk around. Yes! Most old homes are infested with molds that make living inside a risky proposition. A person who invests in such a home should not be satisfied with a cursory home inspection either. The realtor who arranges the inspection may not have the skills to look for tell-tale signs of mold mildew. It is best to contact a professional and ensure house mold inspection in Sarasota and Fort Myers, FL, before moving into the newly purchased house.

First things first, though! It is essential to understand the role of the mold inspector who would be examining the entire property for indications. The initial action would be to check the home visually, sniff the air, and conduct a few surface tests. The last two types of testing are sure to bring the type of mold infestation to light. The inspector would also be able to offer remediation advice and even help the homeowner find professionals to handle it.

Investing in a new construction home does not necessitate mold inspection, as airy rooms and freshly painted walls will not be a good place for the breeding of molds. Individuals finding themselves in any of the following situations can request a professional inspection to eliminate the associated risks ASAP:-

· Visible Molds- The mold may not always be visible, and one may only suspect the infestation via the symptoms. There are instances of molds being viewed in plain light as well. Finding the black-colored, furry substance on the water pipe, walls, and even the surfaces spell trouble. It is important to remember that all molds are not black or brown. Some may even be brightly colored. Trying to wash or mop the surface with ordinary domestic products will not work.

· Before Closing a Property Deal- It is always a good idea to inspect the entire house for mold before taking possession and moving in. This becomes even more important when the concerned property has been resold. A thorough inspection of the bathrooms, kitchen, drains, and gutter systems is imperative, as they may hide molds.

· After Water Damage - Molds thrive in dark and damp areas. Properties that have had water damage in the recent past can be ideal sites for the growth of molds. While the homeowner may request the inspection as needed, a professional company dealing with water damage restoration is sure to suggest it too.

· After Remediation- Admittedly, the next step of removing all traces of mold from the property is remediation. It is vital to request an inspection afterward as well. This will ensure the homeowner of the success retaining peace of mind for the residents as well.

There are various methods for mold testing in Naples and Tampa, FL. It is the mold inspector’s call to choose an appropriate procedure. The right method will reveal the presence of molds and the spores that may be airborne.

[treedoctorusasworld]

Developing Tree Wellness: Successful Strategies for Sick Tree Treatment

A healthy and vibrant tree needs proper tree care and attention to keep stress at bay. Unwanted infestation and lack of care or nourishment can diminish health and vibrancy. So, whether the leaves, the trunk, or roots show signs of distress, your trees need help. But how to help a sick tree to retain its healthy growth?

Of course, the accurate sick tree treatment is crucial. Before getting into how to cure a sick tree, let’s find out how did your trees get sick. Also, know what to look out for as a symptom of tree sickness.

Top Reasons For Trees and Plants Getting Sick

Potential threats of diseases

Unwanted Invasions Of insects, mites, fungus, and pests

Attack of bacteria, viruses, molds, and mildews

Shifts in weather

Over-watering or under-watering

Nutrient deficiency

Excess chemical fertilization

Poor quality of soil and weeds

Indicators For Identifying Sick Trees In Your Landscape

Black Flowers Or Shoots

Do your trees have black flowers or shoots? If yes, there are chances of Fire Blight disease to your tree. However, this disease is not unusual in San Diego, California. To date, hundreds of tree and plant species in San Diego are the attraction for Fire Blight disease. Thus, you require professional sick tree treatment to restrict further damage to infected and healthy trees. Also, you can revive the health and vigor of infected trees.

Bleeding Or Seeping On Trees

If you notice bleeding or seeping on trees, it is an indication of severe infestation. Often, it is due to the collection of alcoholic slime flux on the tree or plant base. The fluid possesses an unpleasant odor. Also, it will leave dark spots on infected trunks and branches. However, you will mostly notice such issues in warm weather conditions, which is quite evident in San Diego’s summer months. Seeking immediate tree inspection and treatment of sick trees will help cure trees quickly. Moreover, you can safeguard healthy-looking trees in your yard or garden.

Pale Brown Mushrooms Or Shelves At The Tree Base

Fungal attacks will form mushrooms, plates, or shelves around the infected tree base. However, the base will turn black over time. You will notice the stunted growth of tree leaves and branches. So, enhancing the strength and healthy growth of such infected trees is crucial. It’s best to go for an Arboricultural Consultant know how to help a sick tree.

Gray Growth

Invasion of fungus and pests can lead to gray growth. Stressed Birch, Cherry, Hickory, and Maple in San Diego are the main entry points of these fungi and pests, leading to gray stunted growth. Till now, the fungal attacks have created thousands of white pores at the bottom of infected trees and plants.

Bark Peeling

It is a clear sign of disease and infestation. The bark is a shield of the tree, as it helps to counterattack all stresses. With the peeling of barks, the defensive response gets suppressed, welcoming other diseases, insects, and pests to deteriorate health and vigor. Often, it goes unnoticed until the infected tree is at high risk. Regular tree infection can help to identify such issues at the early stage. Also, the professionals will recommend how to cure sick trees.

Powdery Mildew

Powdery mildew is always unpleasant no matter where it is found on the infected trees. You will notice a white powdery substance on leaves and branches. Humid weather conditions are ideal for powdery mildew to thrive. It will distort the leaves, leading to discoloration. For getting rid of powdery mildew, precise treatment for sick trees is crucial.

Browning Or Yellowing Of Leaves

When you notice that the leaves are turning yellow and brown, and at the same time, the tree growth is abnormally slow, it is an indication of Fusarium Wilt or Root Rot disease. Gradually all leaves will get jammed, torn, wilt, wither, and fall. However, the leaves will have blemishes, blisters, marks, or spots. Cracks and splits on barks are also signs of infestation. Over time, branches will die.

You can watch out for these signs to determine how to help a sick tree. Professional tree infection will track the symptoms and damages concealed inside the trunk and soil. Once you know the root cause of tree health care problems, it’s all a matter of diagnosing and taking prompt action. So, how will professionals retain the health of sick and infected trees? With no ado, quickly delve into what a Tree Doctor can do.

How Do You Treat A Sick Tree?

Call professional arborists instantly to safeguard healthy trees, limit the damage to infected trees, and revive the health of sick trees. They will prescribe various medications after a thorough assessment of all trees and plants in your yard or garden. It will help to curb the symptoms of infected trees. Also, they will diagnose and treat the root cause of the problem. As they have the expertise for all species, they will recommend preventive solutions to restrict the entry of unwanted invasions.

Professionals will offer balanced nutrition and supplements to enhance immunity and defensive response to pathogens. They will also perform maintenance tasks such as fertilizing, mulching, and soil aeration so that your trees will remain healthy and vigorous. Pre-emptive foliar treatments, trunk and soil injections, anti-fungal and anti-bacterial applications, etc., protect trees against the damaging effects of diseases, insects, and pests. So, why wait? Get a customized and multi-pronged treatment plan to cure stressed and vulnerable trees.

Original Source: Expert Tree Care Tips To Treat A Sick Tree

[sparklingcitywaterdamage]

Signs of Water Damage in Corpus Christi

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Signs of Water Damage in Corpus Christi, TX

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In a Hurry? Here Are Quick Signs to Take and Inspect For:

Mold and mildew

Musty odors

Water sounds

Uneven/warping floors

Peeling or bubbling paint

Wall stains and cracks

Increased water bills

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Noticed some weird smells in your property? Certain parts of your walls cracked? Your paint is deteriorating? Wondering if these are the signs of water damage?

If you’ve answered YES to some or all of these questions, you’ve come to the right place. In this post, you’ll learn common red flags to look out for if you’re suspecting that your property has water damage. 

Let’s cover each of the bulleted signs above step-by-step.

Water Damage Signs to Look Out For

Mold and mildew

Mold is the primary sign of water damage. Its presence in a property can put the health of all family members at risk, including pets. One of the most dangerous mold species, Black Mold (officially known as Stachybotrys chartarum), can go as far as to cause respiratory problems. 

Mildew is just a certain type of mold. Learn more about differences between mildew and mold. 

The tricky thing is that mold itself can sometimes be difficult to spot. Mold grows in dark and damp areas, often lurking in the shadows. However, if you have a lot of it, it can be pretty hard to miss unless you don’t check the room very often (like, for example, the basement). In addition to this, mold is often accompanied by a very unpleasant, musty smell. 

If you’ve noticed that but you can’t see mold, perhaps you should do a little more digging or even hire a professional mold inspector to help you. But there’s a catch…

Musty odors

Presence of musty and damp odor doesn’t ALWAYS have to be a sign of mold, only water damage. We don’t need to describe how dampness smells – stale and pungent, exceptionally uncomfortable. Sniff around if you’ve noticed such a smell and try to find a leak. Be careful though, inhaling too much of this smell can potentially cause you to feel dizzy and nauseous. Use your own judgment to tell if you can access the potentially hazardous area on your own. 

Water sounds

Weird dripping sounds that keep your children awake at night? No, it’s not ghosts but there’s still a reason for concern. If these sounds are persistent, please inspect for a leak, especially if some of the previously mentioned signs are present too. 

Uneven/warping floors

In this case, depending on the situation, you may WANT the cause to be water damage instead of something else. That “something else” can happen to be foundation damage which at times can be extensive and very expensive to fix. 

In a nightmare scenario, water damage occurred in your basement and has damaged the home’s foundation, potentially to the point of it being irreparable. 

Please note that this does not AT ALL have to be the case. Most of the time, your hardwood floors simply warped due to a leak. However, to be sure, you still want to further investigate if your floors are uneven.

Peeling or bubbling paint

Peeling paint can be caused by multiple things, but one of the most common perpetrators is water damage. To simplify, paint doesn’t get along with moisture and dampness, and it starts flaking off due to the paint’s adhesion being weakened. 

If you’ve properly painted your walls and they were clean prior, there’s a good chance that your paint is peeling because of water damage. 

Same goes for bubbling, although this can also be caused by heat. 

A good tip for you to use if you’re unsure is to look for all or multiple signs from this list, not just one. You may be unsure if the bubbles were caused by water or heat, but when combined with presence of mold and bad smells you do get a very clear answer in most cases.

Wall stains and cracks

Similar point. Wall cracks can be caused simply because of the house “settling” and they pose a tiny annoyance inexpensive to fix. However, wall cracks AND stains/discoloration can indicate a leak.

Increased water bills

After everything else, if your wallet is suffering due to increased water bills, yet everything seems fine on the surface, stay on high alert. Your wallet could take a much harder hit down the line if the leak keeps going at it for months (or years). Inspect for a leak if you have a suspicious water bill lately. 

Water Damage Restoration Corpus Christi, TX

Got what you needed? Inspected for a leak and found one? Need help with water damage restoration? 

If these questions also yielded a “YES”, then hear us out. Sparkling City Water Damage Restoration will help you with water damage restoration in Corpus Christi, TX and the surrounding areas. We’ll have your entire situation handled promptly and professionally, with no leftovers. 

In such scenarios, there is no time to waste so give us a call and let’s get started with the restoration process!

Our services:

Water removal

Basement water damage restoration

Commercial water damage restoration

Sewage cleanup and restoration

Storm and flood damage restoration

Fire damage restoration

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