Merveloyd's Content Dump

getting ahold of it at all is a special kind of hell. Be thankful that was already over and done with by the time you stumbled into her life. Not a lot of legal ways to find enough to turn someone—and even less ethical ones. Don’t ask where she got the vial. It’s probably nothing too bad, but you’d be surprised how much someone can hate themself even for getting it in any of the better ways. That’s not your job—not your fucking business. She trusts you—you said you’re trustworthy—but sometimes it’s better not to make too many promises, especially if nobody’s kept them for her before.

setup should take at least twice as long as the process itself—make sure you’re schedule’s clear, that you won’t run out of hot water—plenty of clean towels and washcloths, plenty that you don’t mind never being clean again after this. Check your knife—is it clean? Is it sharp? Double check, then double check your spares. Nine times out of twenty, you won’t need it at all—but if you forget something you need, or use a washcloth that’s too rough, or moon forbid rush any step of the process—well, you only get one shot at this. Don’t mess it up. Food is a must have—nothing solid. She sure as hell won’t be able to chew anything properly past 20 minutes, but you don’t just lose that much blood without needing enough calories to feed an army after—not to mention, she hasn’t eaten anything in days leading up to this.

There are guides—there are checklists, there are step-by-step instructional PDFs—no food from three days prior up until two hours in, make sure the bath isn’t too hot but still keeps the air plenty humid so the skin detaches easier—washcloths. Painkillers. Disinfectant. The knife, just out of sight, just in case you need it. All the info in the world.

but none of it tells you just how fucking scared she is.

do you have any idea? Any fucking clue how much she was told that this is going to kill her? Turn her into a monster, a demon, all the things that everyone she ever thought cared about her said she’d be better off dead than becoming?

the guides don’t tell you this, but whatever you do… just please. Please don’t try to be fucking professional about this. Don’t try to stay emotionless, expressionless, strictly transactional—

be there for her. Please. She really, really needs it right now.

speak softly as you help her out of her oversized, baggy shirt—hold her steady as you lower her, slowly as possible, into the water. Give her a second in between each step—she’ll have all the time in the world after this. Take that extra moment. make sure she’s settled in before you start, and make damn sure you’re telling her how great she’s doing every step of the way.

The blood itself is intoxicating in all senses of the word—that feeling, that raw euphoria the second it hits your tongue, sinking into your brain until that craving, that overwhelming desire for that thick, metallic taste to fill your mouth is all that you can feel, all that you can taste. She should really pace herself, though. One-third of the dose to start—another once the changes start. The rest the second her skin starts to peel. It’s a little paralytic—not to mention the fact that anything can be hard to swallow when your body feels like it’s turning inside out. Depending on how concentrated it is, you might have to tilt her head back and massage her throat a little to get the last of it down. Remember, just a little at a time at first—you don’t want her to chug it all at once and start thrashing around. Expect her legs to shake a little after the first few sips though.

Squeeze her hand for this next part—and pray to the moon you gave her enough painkillers because while nine times out of ten any side effects you’ve heard about are fearmongering bullshit, the “bleeding from just about everywhere” part? That one’s real.

The first stage of the shift goes about how you’ve heard—a violent purge of what scraps of humanity are still present in one for whom there is no cage more painful than that. Than “humanity.” A sort of visceral catharsis—all the masks, all the lies, spiraling down the drain as you empty half the bathtub to refill with clean water.

lean her forward to help her cough it up. The blood will give her more than enough energy to the point where she doesn’t technically need to breathe, even at this point—but her brain still tells her that she needs to, and she might panic if you’re not careful. You should be careful not to panic either—she’s lost so much blood just a few seconds in as to turn the water itself a warm, opaque crimson, but this is all to be expected. She’s going to be okay, don’t worry.

she’s going to be better than okay.

Give her the next dose once she stops coughing and starts whimpering—it means the teeth have started growing in, and it hurts like hell. The blood itself should take the edge off a little, but please don’t expect it to be sufficient on its own—Injectable numbing agents are the best, but tricky to get ahold of. Those who can afford it tend to get the canines pulled in advance, so the new teeth can emerge easier but hell will freeze over before a single insurance company covers anything associated with this—and seeing as she’s doing this in the bathtub in her apartment with only her roommate there to help if something goes wrong, it’s safe to say she can’t afford to pay out of pocket.

All in all, full growth and emergence of the new canines can take anywhere from thirty minutes to upwards of an afternoon.

give her something to chew on while you start cleaning up the blood—half to help the current teeth loosen, half for the pain. Some food too but again, nothing solid that might suddenly bend a tooth at a weird angle, And whatever you do don’t let go of her hand.

the molting process should begin around the four-hour mark.

it’s a strange feeling—twisting, growing, new structure stretching at thick, dead skin, New layers forming beneath—and on top of that, it itches like you wouldn’t believe. It doesn’t always hurt much, in comparison to the other stages—it just feels really, really weird. Quite enjoyable to some, actually, and if the noises she’s trying and failing not to make are any indication then she’s very much enjoying it too. the dead shell will start loosening after a bit—color draining as the last of the blood vessels of the epidermis empty, small tears appearing along the greatest points of stress. Don’t pull on it yet—you could really fuck things up if you do that too early. Give it some time, and only use the knife if it doesn’t split after three or so hours.

it should start up near the spine, in most cases—more rarely along the joints, with a pretty good chance of splitting along the side of her chest depending on how much rapid growth there’s been. Empty and refill the bathtub one more time—make sure the water’s as warm as it needs to be—do one final check of your emergency supplies, and tell her again how great she’s doing. Go slow, go carefully—and once you’re absolutely sure that you’re both ready, you can begin.

gently, start to pull it away—just a little at first, don’t expect it to all tear away at once—just lift it a little from her body, pouring a bit of water over her to help it unstick before sliding a finger or two between the layers of dead and alive skin.

ask anyone with half an ounce of knowledge and they’ll all tell you the same thing—there is nothing more sensitive than a vampire’s skin right after molting.

she’ll be exhausted—she’s just been through quite a lot, after all—so please, don’t put her through the ordeal of being forced to try and stay quiet. She’s going to squirm just a little bit, that’s inevitable—but if you tried at all to stop her from straining her lovely new voice by making enough noise to wake up the neighbors all the way down the hall as you run your hand along the freshly grown skin of her back, she might thrash around enough to really tear something important and who knows what the smell of fresh blood would do to her now, even her own. Let her be loud—she’s earned it. Besides, her new voice is simply intoxicating. Start higher up—her back, her shoulders, her face, unsticking the dead layer before peeling it away bit by bit with the other hand. Breathing might not be necessary for her anymore, but it’s still comforting—Something to center herself once you move lower and the sensation becomes mind-obliteratingly euphoric. Lean her against your side as you do, so that if she does pass out from it you can support her.

Gently, lower her back down into the water as you remove the last of it—tossing it away to the corner of the room, nothing more than a useless, painful shell that she’d be delighted to be rid of if she was capable of complex thought at the moment. Chances are, she’ll fall asleep right after.

It’s astonishing, almost—just how beautiful she’ll have become. Still exhausted, still bloody—still hurt in ways you can’t even imagine—but finally, it’s her. Every layer, every aspect, every cell, and holy fuck is it beautiful.

also apparently this rock art dates across multiple periods spanning thousands of years? but i couldn't find much detail on that so i can't give specifics

but yeah, this isn't just a memory of giraffes, but of giraffes now absent encountered by people just 2000 years (the difference between the late roman republic and today) out of the ice age, in a climate unfamiliar to any of the hundred billion people born since the desertification of the sahara drove the ancient egyptians to the nile, near the start of the agricultural revolution

the time between this and the birth of the sahara was nearly as long as the time between the birth of the sahara and now, in which all recorded history is contained, and all languages we can recognise at all - the language and culture of these people would be totally alien to current libyans, twice the difference between the oldest european language and english, predating all but libya's mountains!

Yeah, I think a lot of people tend to look down on Aboriginal art because they think it's a form of abstract art that is just lines and shapes but almost all of them tell a story. Sometimes it's a very obvious story, such as the emu dreaming where the waterhole flooded, and sometimes it's more symbolic.

the circle in the middle is a waterhole/dam or billabong. The squiggly lines coming out of it are small rivers. the dots represent the earth but because they are in neat lines, it almost feels as if they have been flattened by the flooded water, especially as the vector lines draw out from the waterhole in the middle. the emu tracks are heading toward the waterhole, and the three lines in the middle are marks left by their tail, implying that they are wading through the mud to get there.

It's a birdseye view of a moment just after the waterhole floods and afterwards the emus go looking for food.

It's Interesting, because the original artist D. J. Ross was from Yuendumu which is in central australia, so this would have been a rare time that there was enough rain to flood the waterhole.

Dreaming stories, kinship links, sacred rites, keeping track of biodiversity and songlines are some other topics covered by Aboriginal art.

In the same way monet painted the middle class and the local landscape in the late 1800's/early 1900's Aboriginal people also paint the average lifestyle of our people. It just looks different.

For example, this picture shows a LOT of activity. The men at the top left of the picture are doing a cultural burn near and around a sacred site, the women at the bottom left are digging for food. across the river, on the right the people are preparing food and in the center, two people (presumably elders) are preparing for a ceremony.

I wouldn't say these all happened at the same time, more that this was a common undertaking over a set of time.

it takes time to understand and not all symbols are the same in all areas, but once you do understand them it becomes easier to see the story being told.