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About Literature / Hobbyist Emily EricksonFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
The Dragon's Flight
The amber light of dawn creeps into your cave, gently awakening you from your slumber. You rear your long, scaly head and sniff at the air, which is ripe with the scent of morning dew, the droppings of various mammals and birds, and of course, the ever-present stench of rotting meat from your private stores. You rise to your feet, your long black talons scraping against the stone floor, and peer over the ledge of your side of the mountain. The crisp autumn air is inviting, and a playful breeze entices you to spread your great leathery wings, to stretch your fingers as wide as they will go. You draw back, coiling your rear legs. Unconsciously, your long, spiked tail curls, lifting itself into the air. With an almighty heave, you launch yourself off the face of the cliff, allowing your wings to fold ever so slightly, and you plummet towards the distant ground, picking up speed. Once you feel that you are going fast enough, you flare your wings, ignoring the searing pain in your shoulders
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Literature
To be Human
I've learned many things from my past, and many more from the mistakes of my past. When I look back on my youth and the things I've done (and more importantly, the things I should have done), I find that I can only think: What could I have done differently? Strangely enough, through all of my experiences and mistakes, and the things I've learned from them, I can only count the number of lessons that truly stuck with me on one hand.
Unlike most doctors of my time, I didn't grow up in a wealthy family. In fact, my parents were quite the opposite. Even more so after the crash of America's stock market in 1929, when I turned six years old. I can only consider myself lucky I was still able to start primary school that year.
In my second year of school I got to choose a second language. While most kids decided to study French or Italian, I was one of five kids in my year to choose English. To me, it was just like learning a different version of my own native German. Even from that age
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Literature
Gift of the Vril Chapter 7: Evacuation
"Hold still Schweinhund! I'm trying to help you-- augh!" Johannes clutched at his jaw and glared at the man in front of him. His patient offered a sly grin, drawing his fist back for a second time. Johannes twisted to avoid the blow and grabbed his patient's wrist. Thankfully the patient's other hand was tethered to the railing of the bed, giving Johannes an opportunity to reach around his own back and pull out a pre-filled syringe. He uncapped the needle with his teeth and plunged it into the man's exposed arm, causing the patient to howl in pain.
"Oh, hush. It's only a twenty-gauge needle." Johannes said unsympathetically, discarding the empty syringe on the floor and carting the patient to the door. "Patient sedated and ready for evacuation." A nurse nodded and took the bed immediately, then disappeared down the hall, allowing Johannes to move onto the next patient, who was curled up on his bed, head in hands and absolutely trembling.
Johannes took a deep breath and counted t
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Literature
A Place Between and Beyond Worlds
The bright, sterile lights of the infirmary burned through Horst's closed eyelids, causing him to grimace in discomfort. Sirens blared in his ears, mingled with shouts and noises of struggling that filled the hospital wing, and Horst sat up shakily and looked around. The entirety of the medical staff was in the infirmary, and it seemed like almost every person was locked in some kind of fight.
Horst struggled to his feet, but fell to the floor immediately. Someone grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him to his feet, and Horst leaned heavily upon his assistor, allowing himself to be deposited back on the gurney. "Where's Johannes?" he asked groggily, shielding his eyes from the blazing white lights over his head.
"They're bringing him up now," the doctor tending to him said absently. "Just try to relax. There's been a major explosion and we're evacuating the facility. The higher-ups think we might be under attack."
"What?" Horst shot back into a sitting position and looked aro
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Literature
Gift of the Vril Chapter 5: The Gate
He was walking down a narrow hallway beside his friend, Johannes, gleefully recounting the day's events and laughing at Kurt Metzger's expense. Horst elbowed Johannes and mimicked punching the air, and the pair laughed loudly and paused outside the infirmary. Smiling, Horst turned to his friend. As he did so, he felt that something was terribly wrong. Johannes faced Horst and spoke, but no words came out. Instead, a high-pitched screeching met Horst's ears, accompanied by a horrifying sight: thick, black liquid was slowly seeping out of Johannes' mouth, eyes and nose. Without warning, Johannes lunged towards Horst and wrapped his hands around his throat, the ear-piercing wails louder than ever. Horst's vision was fading now, and he knew this was how he would die. He fell to his knees, now unable to see, with nothing but that otherworldly sound filling his ears.
Horst shot up into a sitting position, panting heavily, and looked around his still darkened bedroom. His face was damp with c
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Literature
Gift of the Vril Chapter 4: Hearts and Clubs
"Hilege scheiße..." Horst said quietly.
He looked down at the hand he had been dealt and frowned. The Queen of Spades had somehow found her way to him once again, as did the Jack, Queen, and King of Hearts. To make matters worse, there was no passing them off this round. Will nothing go his way today? He laid down the two of Clubs in the center of the table, and watched as Johannes placed the five of Clubs on top of it. Markus tossed over an Ace, then Klaus finished the round with a three. With no points won this round, Markus took the pile, then threw down the ten of Spades. The hunt had begun.
A six of Spades was thrown on top of the ten. The Queen and the four were the only Spades Horst had this hand. Resigned, he tossed down the lower of the two, and cast a tired look to the left, at Johannes. A King of Spades landed on the pile. Johannes grinned at Horst in a predatory fashion as he pulled the pile towards him and threw down a Jack of Spades. A five landed on to
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Literature
Gift of the Vril Chapter 3: Johannes Reiniger
He knew that voice all too well. It was a voice that sparked flashbacks of leisurely card games lasting well into the night, late evenings filled with beer, football and laughter, and sleepless weekends of studying, poring over textbooks and anatomic diagrams. It was the voice of a man who couldn't be more unlike the messy-haired, down-to earth doctor that Horst was, and the voice of one of his closest friends.
Horst groaned as light flooded his pupil, shot through his retina and bombarded his optic nerve. It took him a few seconds to perceive all of that light as an image, but when he could finally make out more than simple blurry shapes, he managed a tired and shaky smile. "Hallo, Johannes."
"Ah, ah, ah. That's Doktor Reiniger to you, Ahlbach." Despite his stern tone, there was a shadow of a playful smirk on the other man's long, pale face. Johannes had a very strict air about him, as he was taller than Horst, and also much thinner. His lanky frame exaggerated his heigh
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Literature
Gift of the Vril Chapter 2: The Black Fog
It was quiet. But it wasn't a calm kind of quiet. It was the eerie silence that screamed something was very wrong. When Horst looked around, he saw that he was still in the same room that he had lost consciousness in, but it looked different. The colors were faded, shapes distorted, as if he was seeing them through a thick fog.
On the ground in front of him he saw an oddly misshapen object. It looked crumpled and vulnerable somehow, and seemed extremely out of place. Horst dropped to his knees beside the object, astonished to see that it was a body, the body of a man in a lab coat and boots, a uniform identical to his own. The body was on its right side, curled up in a kind of half fetal position. Its right arm was stretched out along the ground, the fingers pulled into a loose fist; the left arm was simply draped over its chest. Horst reached out to turn the body over, but his hand simply passed through it like smoke. Confused, Horst edged around until he could see the man's face, and
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Literature
Gift of the Vril Chapter 1: November, 1938
BASE LOCATION: COASTAL ANTARCTICA
CODENAME: NEU SCHWABENLAND

Ice. That was the only geographical feature visible. Pure white as far as the eye could see. It was like a blank canvas waiting to be painted on, or an empty page, completely devoid of words to upset the desolation. Off the coast of the frozen wasteland lay a vast ocean, deep blue and ceaselessly churning and slapping against the ice. All throughout the waters, vast battleships blocked out large portions of the sea from view, and every now and then, the occasional metallic whale would surface or dive, transporting soldiers and scientists alike between land and boat. Above, the sky was a constant flood of gray clouds that stretched in all directions as far as the ocean and the ice could reach.
Far beneath the surface of the frozen landscape, hidden from the outside world throughout a vast span of history, lay an ancient city known at the time as Excavation Site AF-958. Between the city and the surface of the land lay a
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Literature
Something simple
                                                                                      Just
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Literature
The Burning House
The burning house. It's a vision that is't unseen. It's a smell that's never truly forgotten. It's a lifelong memory that never fades away. The dead of night comes to life, while the rest of the world is sleeping, and the house that's been called home for many years is up in flames. The windows glow an eerie orange color, faintly illuminating the surrounding walls. The fire trucks approach, and in the distance, their sirens scream into the night, accompanied by ambulances and police cars. It's a hair-raising sound that brings an air of alertness fluttering throughout the atmosphere, but its stopped in its tracks by the thick wall of dark smoke billowing from the roof and windows of the building.
A burning house has the aroma of a campfire, but with a much more vulgar scent underlying it; it's sickening and poisonously sweet, and weighs the lungs down with its heavy smoke, but coughing does nothing, and the need to vomit is overwhelming. Even the normally vile scent of diesel exhaust fr
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Mature content
I Spy :iconpiespie8743:PieSpie8743 1 2
Helga's Little Prank SKETCH by PieSpie8743 Helga's Little Prank SKETCH :iconpiespie8743:PieSpie8743 2 1 Furious Teutonicus SKETCH by PieSpie8743 Furious Teutonicus SKETCH :iconpiespie8743:PieSpie8743 2 2
Literature
The Unknown Mann
It was out of sheer luck that the Medic had gotten the weekend off. He hadn't had a drink in months, and, quite frankly, he felt he deserved one.
The local bar was perfectly empty on Friday evening, which was odd, but the Medic dismissed this and sat down at the farthest end and ordered a drink. The bartender gave him the glass without comment and sat down facing the taps, thumbing through a magazine. The Medic pulled out a small stack of papers and hummed quietly, sometimes muttering a few lyrics as he read over some sheet music. The door to the bar opened and the Medic glanced over at the man who entered. He had a build similar to the Soldier, and a voice to match as the bartender rolled up his magazine and greeted the man with a smile. Tony, as the Barkeep addressed him, sat three seats away from the Medic, a respectable distance, and ordered a drink for himself.
Not keen on picking a fight with this American, the Medic ceased his humming, but continued reading through the piece, ta
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Activity


Holy hell, how long has it been since I posted one of these?

So last night I was feeding Harley, my young female Western Hognose, some boiled egg. Needless to say she was very enthusiastic about this rare treat, and me, being perfectly stupid, ended up getting bit by her. Over the past few years, there has been some debate on whether Hognoses are venomous. My personal answer, along with the answers of experts including Al "ViperKeeper" Cortiz, is a firm and resounding yes. Even at approximately six inches (15 cm), she has (relative to her size) long, sharp fangs that she uses (like many species of viper) to grab her food one side at a time and pull it into her mouth. I was punctured twice on the pad of my left middle finger by her left fang, and within a half hour, the fingertip had become red and stiff, not to mention a bit swollen. about an hour and fifteen minutes after the bite, the swelling and stiffness had spread to the second joint, and I could not bend the first joint at all. A half hour after that I took some Benadryl, and an hour after that the swelling began to go down. Now, about 24 hours later, my finger is still a bit swollen and tender, however I've regained full movement of the first joint, and I have two small fang marks on the side of my finger, and an entertaining story to tell to friends.
The amber light of dawn creeps into your cave, gently awakening you from your slumber. You rear your long, scaly head and sniff at the air, which is ripe with the scent of morning dew, the droppings of various mammals and birds, and of course, the ever-present stench of rotting meat from your private stores. You rise to your feet, your long black talons scraping against the stone floor, and peer over the ledge of your side of the mountain. The crisp autumn air is inviting, and a playful breeze entices you to spread your great leathery wings, to stretch your fingers as wide as they will go. You draw back, coiling your rear legs. Unconsciously, your long, spiked tail curls, lifting itself into the air. With an almighty heave, you launch yourself off the face of the cliff, allowing your wings to fold ever so slightly, and you plummet towards the distant ground, picking up speed. Once you feel that you are going fast enough, you flare your wings, ignoring the searing pain in your shoulders from the strain of holding onto nothing, and you immediately begin to glide forward. You pump your wings down and backward, scooping air behind you and lifting you upward, then return them to a gliding position. The sharp wind bites at your eyes and exposed teeth, but it's not enough. You pump your wings, down and backward, then raise them and pull them towards your head, down again, gaining height until you once again become level with your cave. You cock your head to the left, raising your snout ever so slightly, and twist your left wrist forward, allowing air to spill over the wing and pull you into a graceful turn. You level out again, and below you a great sapphire river twists and bends beneath you. You feel the air pushing against your wings, carrying you. Every tiny adjustment you make; the twitch of a single finger, the position of your thumbs, is so important in keeping you on the exact course you're traveling. You battle the tiniest changes in the speed and direction of the wind, you dive or beat your wings every now and then to keep your speed constant, and as you travel over an empty, burnt-looking meadow, it happens. A burst of hot air rises beneath you, warming your empty belly and pushing against your wide, sail-like wings, and you let the thermal carry you high into the clouds, until you can barely see past your own snout. You let loose the tiniest burst of flame, and the clouds disappear. You steer yourself back over the river, and fall into a stoop, plummeting towards the water. At the last possible second, you pull up, but not before reaching down to take a large mouthful of water in your powerful jaws. As you flap yourself back to a safe gliding altitude, you swallow the water, which, lucky enough for you, had a couple of small fish as well. You shake your great scaly head and veer back to your cave, and as you reach the mouth, you swing your powerful legs forward and flap your wings to slow yourself down, then duck your head into the cave and fold your wings rather haphazardly. You let your wings droop lazily, but keep them from dragging along the floor of your cave as you effortlessly navigate the maze you had set out for any potential thieves. After a full ten minutes of twisting, turning and bending, you reach the end, and settle yourself down at your stockpile of food. Carefully choosing the freshest of kills, you dig in greedily.
The Dragon's Flight
In which we take a look into the dragon's mind and take flight with our imagination.
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Emily Erickson
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I'm an outdoorsy person who loves adventuring and creatures of al kinds (Except spiders... I don't like spiders... *shudders*). I love reptiles, amphibians, insects, birds and mammals, I'm also fond of drawing, photographing, writing/reading poetry and short stories, and I also like the occasional novel. I'm currently living in Massachusetts, (But I'd MUCH rather live somewhere with less city... MOAR FARMS AND FEILDS AND TREES AND STUFF) Where I'd lived my whole life. To keep my passion of all things nature going, I also have a website, so feel free to check it out!
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:icontaijutsugirl0:
Taijutsugirl0 Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2016
:iconmedicakeplz: Happy Birthday! :iconmedicakeplz:
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Wild-Fire-1187 Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2016   General Artist
Thanks for the fave!
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ClassicFiction Featured By Owner Oct 12, 2015
Thanks for the +fav and +watch:happybounce: 
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Derwen Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2015
I SCHMELL B-DAY!!! :cake: :party:
*gives you a huge yummy CAEK.*


*cosmic hug of cosmic love*
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PieSpie8743 Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
:squee: Thank you dear!!! <3
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dieKritzelei Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2015
Thanks a bunch for the fave!
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NikolasZeMedic Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Danke for ze vatch *smiles*
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infamously-dorky Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2015  Student General Artist
Thanks fro raiding my gallery lol XD
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:icontaijutsugirl0:
Taijutsugirl0 Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2014
:cake: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! :cake:
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:icongustauve-drakenhime:
Gustauve-Drakenhime Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy Good Friday!
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