#east side delta

[kitchenlegrecords]

Vorsicht Kinder on (mini)tour!

alert alert! Vorsicht Kinder starts in only two days!

13.10 Hamburg-Druckerei 14.10 Leipzig-Giezerstrasse 16 16.10 Berlin Loophole!

[mapping-elysium]

Let's start this off right with one of the most notable lore-dumps in the game, the Plaza Rain Shivers check.

In the west

Stairs to the water

Sea Fortress > Bay of Revachol > Sky scrapers of La Delta

What’s down the shore?

Defunct R+E building > Abandoned Church > Coal City

In the east

Industrial Harbor (Locked) > La Drisienne - King Dris’ Passengers Harbour > River Distributary > Couron > “The Class Divide”

In the north

Whirling Yard > Capeside apartments

“Standing in the rain, looking north, where jamrock rock city stretches inland”

In the south

Traffic jam, roundabout, statue > Road ascends to 8/81 (ghetto beneath) > Jamrock

OTHER NOTES

Where do i live?

On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

“YOU CANNOT RETURN”

SOURCE MATERIAL BENEATH THE CUT

Shivers - All around you, rain falls on the great city of Revachol. Rain drips from the eaves and floods the gutters, washing the filth away.

Shivers - The spring thaw must be here. The snow is melting...

You - What am I doing?

Shivers - Looking up at the sky, cold water dripping from your hair.

You - What do I see?

Shivers - Grey sky like great battleships, clouds colliding with one another. Rain falls down on the world.

You - How does it feel?

Shivers - Your shirt sticks to your chest. The shoulders of your disco blazer grow heavy. The cold finds its way in under your skin. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

Composure - You're not dressed for this weather. You should get an overcoat, or a patrol cloak.

You - What is in the west?

Shivers - Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.

Shivers - The ruins of a half-sunken seafort crumble on an inlet. Beyond the Bay of Revachol, ghosts rise into the sky.

You - Who are you, ghosts?

Shivers - The skyscrapers of La Delta, the financial district. Faint golden light seeps from the office windows.

Inland Empire - Will you ever go there?

You - Will I?

Shivers - No. You are just one of the hundreds of thousands who watch them rise across the bay from Martinaise every day.

You - What is down the shore?

Shivers - Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once seized by revolutionaries. An old wooden church stands on stilts above the water.

You - And beyond that?

Shivers - Coal City, end of all lines.

You - Run your fingers through your dampened hair.

Shivers - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance.

You - What's in the east?

Shivers - The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.

You - Clench your teeth to stop shuddering.

Shivers - Behind the gates -- heaps of supply crates. Red and blue metal shipping containers slick with rain. The Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour is an artificial mountain range. Immense wealth resides within, and immeasurable poverty in its shadow.

You - And before that?

Shivers - You -- on the Martinaise plaza. A small dot looking up at the sky. Droplets form on your eyelashes.

You - And beyond that?

Shivers - La Drisienne, King Dris's Passenger Harbour. Cruise ships flanked by dock arms. Cranes watching over the mouth of the river distributary.

You - What is across the distributary?

Shivers - Couron, the lower middle class. Distributary after distributary cuts the city blocks in half. Seven-story buildings trail off into the rain.

You - What is beyond the Couron?

Shivers - A silvery curtain of rain over the houses. The class divide.

Rhetoric - You have never been there. They don't need the law east of the river.

You - What's in the north?

Shivers - Capeside apartments -- tower blocks crowd one another, 4.46 mm bullets still lodged in their war-torn stone walls.

Shivers - Hallways collapsed from the mortar hits of a war that was lost long ago. Clotheslines go to waste in the rain. Radios play.

Rhetoric - The morning news.

You - And closer to here?

Shivers - A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Filthy water pools around a body. Droplets of rain slip from the dead man's cold cheeks.

You - What's in the south?

Shivers - A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.

You - What's on the other side?

Shivers - The road ascends; a raised motorway loops above the ghetto. Beneath its concrete columns -- a sea of rooftops, woodwork, and tar stretches northward. Four-story buildings as far as the rain can fall. The snows melt in Jamrock.

You - What is Jamrock?

Shivers - Revachol is the capital of the world. Jamrock is the capital of Revachol. Droplets form on your eyelashes.

Inland Empire - It's home.

You - Why am I not there?

Shivers - To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.

You - What am I doing here?

Shivers - Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.

You - Where do I live?

Shivers - On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

Shivers - YOU CANNOT RETURN.

You - "Motherfucker." [Finish thought.]

[justacynicalromantic]

A wave with a height of 4-5 m will hit the Antonivsky bridge east of Kherson after 7 p.m. After that, the water will rise up the Ingulets River, and after 4-5 days - the water will rise up the Bug River to Mykolaiv.

Several smaller towns and villages on both sides of the Dnieper will be flooded, and when the wave reaches them, it can be very dangerous and cause human casualties.

The isthmus at the end of the bay outside the Dnieper delta (Kinbourn spit) will be heavily flooded and almost completely submerged, although this will begin approximately 50 hours after the dam breach.

❗️Demolition of the dam in Nova Kakhovka by the Russian Federation terrorist forces

is a war crime according to the Geneva Convention.

The destruction of hydroelectric power plants is considered a weapon of mass destruction and a war crime of indiscriminate action, according to Article 56 of Additional Protocol I of 1977.

Secondary effects:

❗️Zaporizka NPP

The supply of cooling water to Europe's largest nuclear power plant, ZANP, which requires cooling even for shut-down reactors, is likely to stop.

❗️ North Crimean Channel

The supply of water to Crimea will stop again. Simply, a shot in the foot. They were going to stay there for a long time. Or not?

❗️ Reclamation of Tavria and the Kakhovsky Canal

The supply of water to the field irrigation systems of the Kherson, Dnipropetrovsk, and Zaporizhia regions will be stopped, and mainly on the occupied lands. It is not clear whether processing is currently taking place there, but without water it will definitely lose its meaning.

Many cities and villages that consume it from the Kakhovsky Canal will remain without drinking water, in particular occupied Berdyansk.

❗️ Kryvyi Rih

The 600,000-strong industrial city consumed 70% of its drinking water from the Kakhovsky Reservoir - now there will be difficulties with this.

❗️ Factories

Without a sufficient amount of water, the work of large industrial enterprises of the metallurgical industry in Marhanka, Nikopol, and Pokrov will have to be stopped.

❗️ Demographics

According to the information of the ecologist Maksym Soroka, up to 400,000 refugees affected by the dam explosion and, in the long term, up to 1,500,000 climate refugees may arrive in other regions in the near future.

❗️ Ecology is the worst!

A one-time reduction of water in a huge reservoir will lead to unpredictable ecological consequences: the death of a large number of fish, waterlogging of drained lands and a change in the climatic regime of the region.

⭕️ On the other hand, the sandy bottom will open and we will get a new desert with all the climatic consequences, such as a decrease in precipitation, dust storms, and a rise in temperature in the region. And accordingly, the risk of drought in the fields of central and southern Ukraine is greater.

The lack of water in the Kakhovsky Sea will lead to the drying of the fields of southern Ukraine with further desertification. The Zaporizhzhia NPP and dozens (if not hundreds) of large factories will have to be closed, which will not have enough water and electricity for production processes.

Accordingly, the population will leave this region en masse due to the impossibility of living in difficult climatic conditions and due to the lack of water and jobs.

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

FOUND FAMILY LUCY & THE GHOUL SUPREMACYYYY!!! your fic is perfect in every way… a shining beacon of light in these dark times. idk if you’re going to write a long story with them or anything but i fucking love your mind and already know i wld be eager to read whatever you might write about them <3 !!

thank you! i'm a found family bitch til the day i die, i simply cannot help it. i am technically working on a full length fic with them, but i'm not sure if/when i'll ever string it all together into something coherent lmao

but hey, here's a scene in the meantime!

-

About halfway through their journey to Las Vegas, nearly perfectly sandwiched between a week’s worth of miserable walking to the west and another week’s worth of miserable walking to the east, they stumbled upon a small town in the middle of the desert that called itself Delta. There was a sign and everything—a really old one with faded grayish lettering on faded reddish stone, all of it bearing more than a few well-worn cracks. But there was also a painted sun on it, half a shining sun rising above the town’s name like it was just peeking over to say hello, and that sun was almost still yellow.

Someone must have cared enough to maintain it, she thought, even just a little, and something about that felt important.

Lucy never bothered mentioning any of this to her companion, of course. He probably would have blown it off as nothing if she did, especially if his standoffishness ever since they entered the town was any indication.

Speaking of which.

She shifted, turning over onto her side on the twin bed she’d rented for the night—a real bed, and after so many nights of sleeping in the sand, she wasn’t even turned off by the musty smell of these sheets—and she wound her arm underneath the poorly stuffed pillow for some extra support, looking across the little motel room. He was still sitting up on his own bed, one knee bent up and his gun propped up against his thigh, and he was still looking at the door.

When she moved, though, it did get his attention. He glanced in her direction and frowned, as if to ask, What the hell are you looking at?

“You know,” she said, before he could say that out loud or tell her to go to sleep, “we’re not in the middle of the desert anymore.”

“Is that right? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn—”

“We’re not out in the open in the middle of the desert anymore,” she cut him off, rolling her eyes. “I’m just saying, we don’t really have to take turns sleeping tonight. We’ve got a door. With a lock. You could actually go to sleep, too.”

“Mm,” was all he said to that, and he returned his focus to the door.

Lucy sighed, and she rolled over onto her back, frowning at the ceiling. She really didn’t know what his issue was. This town was actually nice. Don’t get her wrong, it wasn’t like anyone had rolled out a red carpet for them and sprinkled flower petals at their feet, but no one here had shot at them, no one had tried to steal from them, no one had even said anything particularly mean to them. The woman who owned this motel—a lady named Josie who might have been fifty or might have been a very healthy ninety for all Lucy could tell—had barely even spared either of them a second glance, let alone turned him away for being a ghoul, and they were even allowed to bring Dogmeat into the room with them for an extra ten caps.

She folded her hands over her stomach and tucked her toes under Dogmeat’s side. Dogmeat didn’t seem to mind; she just let out a soft groan, stretching her legs out and settling back down with a sigh.

“Not everyone is trying to kill us,” Lucy said. “I know a lot of people are, but not everyone is.”

“Is that right.”

“Yes! Some people really do just want to help others. There are good samaritans out there. Just because you don’t see them very often doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“You wanna bet on that?”

“Yeah, actually. I will.”

“Go on, then. What’s your startin’ bid?”

She thought about that for a moment. She was certain that she was right about this, but technically, given that they were walking through a desert from one end to the other, they weren’t likely to run into very many people, period, so the odds weren’t exactly in her favor.

Finally, she offered, “One bottle cap.”

He actually huffed a laugh at that, and when she turned her head, she saw half an amused smile on his face. “One whole cap, huh? You better watch yourself. You go making gambles that big and you gon’ be broke as a joke before we even hit Vegas.”

She shrugged, looking back up at the ceiling. “It’s more about the bragging rights than the money anyway.”

“That so?”

“Yep.”

“Well, now, no one here in Delta counts, y’know,” he said, “seeing as we paid ‘em for the help.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” she admitted. “But even if they’re only helping us because we paid them, they are helping us. Right? That’s something. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any of these people breaking down the door in the middle of the night after that. I don’t even see why they would want to.”

He was quiet for a moment.

He was quiet, actually, for long enough that Lucy felt the need to look at him again. When she did, she found him exactly as he was before, looking straight ahead at the door in exactly the same way he’d been doing since they got to their room over an hour ago. Something had changed just a tiny bit, though—it was in his eyes, like he wasn’t looking at the door so much as he was looking through it. He was thumbing the safety on his gun, though not enough to switch it on, and she wondered if he was only doing it to remind himself that it was off in the first place.

Finally, quietly, he said, “People always got their reasons, Vaultie.”

Lucy blew out a raspberry through her lips and pouted, looking up at the ceiling again.

It was true, of course, that she didn’t know even half of the terrible things that people up on the surface were capable of—actually, no, that wasn’t fair. Not just people on the surface. As it turned out, she didn’t know even half of the terrible things that anyone was capable of, up here braving the radioactive wasteland or tucked safely away in a Vault or anywhere in between.

But even knowing all that, even knowing the sort of terrible things that certain circumstances could drive a person to do, she had to believe that most people still had something altruistic and selfless and good underneath.

Deep underneath, in some cases.

Very, very… very deep underneath.

“Okay,” she conceded, because there was a time and a place for debates about the nature of humanity, and this probably wasn’t it. There was also a certain type of person that it was worth having said debates with, and it almost certainly wasn’t him. She pulled her feet out from underneath Dogmeat, and she turned over, putting her back to the ghoul and his gun and the locked door. “Wake me up in six hours?”

“You know I’m gonna.”

She half-buried her face in the pillow, waiting for the exhaustion of ten-plus hours of walking to finally take her under.

She didn’t have to wait long.

[egyptologylessons]

Pectoral Collar of Pinedjem I (1070-1032 BC) 21st Dynasty Pinedjem I (𓇋𓏠𓈖𓌸𓅮𓇛𓏭) “p3-nḏm=y mrı͗ ı͗mn” ‘Panedjemy, Beloved of Amun” was the High Priest 𓍛𓊹 “ẖm-nṯr” of Amun at Thebes 𓌀𓏏𓈈𓊖 “w3s.t” in Ancient Egypt from 1070 to 1032 BC and the de facto ruler 𓋾𓏘𓄿𓀭 “ḥqA” of the south of the country from 1054 BC. He was the son of the High Priest Piankh. However, many Egyptologists today believe that the succession in the Amun priesthood actually ran from Piankh to Herihor to Pinedjem I (Wikipedia). The design of the pectoral displays two bees 𓆤 “bity” (symbol of kingship of Lower Egypt 𓇾𓇊 “t3-mḥw”, which is the northern Delta) on opposite sides of Khepri, the scarab beetle 𓐍𓊪𓂋𓂋𓆣 “ḫprr”, representing the rising sun in the east 𓋁𓃀𓏏𓏭𓈊 “3b.t”. Underneath the scarab beetle is the symbol for the rising sun 𓈍 “ḫ3”, and above is the sundisk 𓇋𓏏𓈖𓇳 “ı͗tn” being carried forward by Khepri 𓆣𓂋𓇌 “ḫpri”. Dimensions: Longueur : 60 cm Material : Gold Second Material : Lapis Lazuli Technique : chain, inlay cloisonnée and repoussage 📸 @museelouvre 𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬𓋹𓎬 @egyptologylessons 𓋹𓊽𓋴𓆖𓎛𓇳𓎛 © 𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁𓊁 #Ancientegypt #ägypten #egyptology #egypte #egitto #egipto #이집트 #egyptianjewelry #pharaoh #pinedjemi #highpriest #necklace #louvremuseum #lapislazuli #goldnecklace (at Louvre Museum Paris) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnZ-AabOaOh/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[campgender]

“Lullabye for a butch” by Melinda Goodman, published in The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader ed. Joan Nestle (1992)

Saturday night November 1980

I am 23 driving a '68 Delta east on 4

to the George Washington Bridge

jockeying with other drivers

coming off routes 80 and 47

for a clear veer to the lane my lover

works, the 3-to-11 post-Thanksgiving shift

She grabs my hand as I fly

money green flags

in her direction

laughing over the moan of diesel brakes

her wool-gloved fingers pry then tangle

in my naked palm

Ignoring the blaring horns outside the booth,

our mutual radios pump the club

version of Grace's "Warm Leatherette"

as she steps out on exhausted concrete

to place an orange cone

between my bumper and the

bumper behind mine

I like her uniform:

fresh polyester dark blue

and bright white collar

topped with overcoat,

scarf and ski cap for the blizzard on the way.

If it snows the Port Authority

puts her up at a motel otherwise

she stays at my place but has to be back

by dawn or be counted AWOL

So she's up before five

folding her flowered pajamas

into the bottom drawer

of my colonial chest

with handles like rings

through a bull's snout

“You got my nose”

moaned the only teenaged woman

who ever loved me

and my tollbooth honey

reminds me of her

as I chain the door behind her

hearing steps down five flights

to the street, the bridge,

and the gunmetal morning

I always loved

gentlemanly attentive butches

even those who won't fuck

for the first five dates

'cause they “want to get to know you”

till you beg

and by that time

you're married

They want to make sure

all those free concerts

fish dinners

and stories about home

won't get thrown back

in their teeth

After all...

butches are vulnerable

It's the femmes that are fierce

with their long legs

and tight jeans

making you watch them

Butches are the sweet ones

with their clean shined shoes

and socks

and underwear

smelling of baby powder

and Camay

I loved

the way she wrote her name

in purple script

all over the top sheet

of my coloring pad

when supper was done and the dishes stacked

I wish I could kiss her now

slide my tongue through her teeth

erase the years I fell

for women as distant as Queens

is from the Bronx

Just hold this butch in my arms

make her know

It's not the 2 condominiums

she bought with rare pennies

collected on her job

but her

her strong back

and big hips

and corny sparkling eyes

when she walks around

to open the door

on my side of the car

in front of the skinny eyes

of the fat boy dealers

strutting in and out

of their customized vans

and the heads rolling in

from Jersey

She doesn't even see

the tooth-sucking teens

as she walks back around

in her ten-gallon brim

to slide behind the wheel

Doesn't tell me where we're

going till we're parked and walking

out of the lot

up the block

arms linked

to see Patti Labelle

live at the Savoy

and I'm on my heels

all night screaming

through till the last song

running my fingers up the back of her neck

till the walls come down, tables break in half,

everybody's glass explodes

ice cubes hailing the city for miles

as Patti rains on

somewhere

over the rainbow

way up high

there's a

land that I dreamed of

once in a lulla-

bye.

[livewireatalanta]

task 001. muse dossier NADIA ATALANTA; "LIVE WIRE"

Dragged by the wind / Taken by the stars / Carried with the madness and scars. -"Dark Matter", Les Friction **art credit: Vietnamese Holy Beasts by Xuân Lam

BASICS.

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄. Huỳnn Loan Phượng The name on Nadia's birth certificate is her family name, Huỳnn, her middle name, Loan and her given name, Phượng. The luan is a deified bird across East Asian mythology, often representing an omen of peace to come and virtue. The phượng hoàng (pictured in the banner art of this post) is commonly referred to as the "Chinese phoenix," a composite creature made up several birds (which often change) and other animals. Its body represents celestial bodies and the 5 fundamental colors of its feathers represent the 5 virtues of Confucius. While it does not bear many similarities to the Western phoenix, there is an association with fire, as it is said to have been born of the sun and is commonly depicted with a fireball. It is a positive symbol, often an omen of peace, prosperity, and happiness, but also represents loyalty and honesty.

Nadia Atalanta Growing up in middle America in the late eighties/nineties meant that Nadia was encouraged to pick an "American" name that was "easier" for American teachers and friends to pronounce. Nadia was chosen from a list of names her first grade teacher had (a little dated, as she believes "Nadia" was there due to the popularity of Nadia Comăneci in the seventies). Atalanta was the call sign given to Nadia when she joined MTF Delta-5. In Greek mythology, Atalanta is associated with Jason and the Argonauts and was a disciple of Artemis. Prior to those adventures, she refused to marry unless her suitor could best her in a footrace.

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒. None. Some of the more childish members of MTF Xi-13 took to calling her "Nads." She provides her current surname, "Atalanta," when asked her preference. (She will be rolling her eyes at all of their new call signs and will probably be huffy about responding to "Live Wire.") If you call her Nadia, well...you had better be Dying Breed.

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌. Levy Tran

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒. A long-healed scar around the left side of her chin not quite reaching her bottom lip; a deep scar that looks like gouged claw marks at the center of her abdomen and trailing off toward her left hip; an uneven circle of puncture scars around her right shoulder that sure does look like something bit her...but what has a mouth that large? She's usually seen with her shoulder-length hair done in twin French braids, tight, down the back of her head. When not in tactical or field gear, she's likely to be wearing a sweatshirt or flannel that doesn't seem to fit right, too large and for a more masculine frame (these items belonged to her brother).

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. She has two piercings in both ear lobes but rarely wears anything in them. No tattoos, despite Levy Tran's extensive artwork. Nadia is still living by the regulations of MTF Delta-6 and undercover best practices.

𝐀𝐆𝐄 / 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁. 38 / January 25, 1985

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂. Aquarius Sun, Scorpio Moon, Taurus Rising. All Nadia knows is that she’s an Aquarius and that makes her an air sign. Anything beyond that is out of her range.

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍. A suburb of Rockford, Illinois. She usually just says "Chicago," because it's easier.

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘. Mother, deceased 2011 Father, resides in Boston Brother, deceased 2017 Nadia's father left when she was a child and she has had no contact with him since. Her mother died of complications from lung cancer in 2011. Her brother, Mark, was her twin. They were recruited into the Foundation together and shared an apartment (when Nadia was home). He was a researcher primarily focused on habitation of anamolies in containtment. His death was the result of a fatal containment breach and the official ruling is that Mark's lack of adherence to protocol caused said breach. As you may imagine, Nadia does not believe this and has tried to discover anything she can about the incident.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒. Cis woman; she/her/hers 

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘. Bisexual

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒. Single. Never married. Dare you to ask a second follow up.

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒. Level-headed, just, resourceful

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒. Stubborn, defensive, sarcastic

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒. Unnerving eye contact, going barefoot in private quarters, wearing her brother's clothes, a weakness for high-end body and hair care products, usually has a packet of some kind of candy on her person and will be pulling it out to snack on noisily during boring meetings, prefers Dr Pepper to coffee but makes an exception for Barb's vanilla caramel lattes, seems like a smoker but really only does it socially or when peer pressured in the field or when trying to annoy Dying Breed by stealing his cigarette, generally eats like a teenaged boy (in taste and quantity), as of late has been relying on misuse of prescription medication to sleep more

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒. Watching documentaries, doing puzzles (of all kinds), strength and combat training, running outdoors, reading historical books (nonfiction and fiction alike), visiting fine art or natural history museums

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒 (𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄). none.

THE FOUNDATION.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄. Ranked Corporal as MTF Operative with MTF Chi-00

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍(𝐒).  Operative with Decommissioning Department (2023 - 2024) MTF Operative (Corporal); MTF Xi-13: Sequere Nos (2019 - 2023) MTF Operative (Sergeant); MTF Delta-5: Front Runners (2008 - 2019)

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓: Decommissioning Department Nadia has only been with the Decomissioning Department for a few months. Prior to this post, she was on 8 months of medical leave due to injuries sustained during the incident with SCP-192001-01 while with MTF XI-13.

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒: Fluent/conversational in several languages (English, Vietnamese, Latin, Spanish, Greek; Cantonese, French, German, Italian), hand-to-hand combat, knife/blade combat, basic firearms, basic SERE skills, undercover work

EXTRAS.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘. Nadia was recruited into The Foundation directly out of upper-education, concurrent with her brother, Mark, in the greater Chicago metro area. Both Nadia and Mark excelled quickly, she in field work and infiltration and he in research and containment. Mark would eventually become respected within the Experimental Containment Research group and Nadia would be assigned to Mobile Task Force: Delta-5: “Front Runners.”

The majority of her career was spent with Delta-5. There, she proved intelligent, adept, and obedient. She expressed a deep satisfaction for the work within MTF Delta-5 and it has been reported from multiple supervisors throughout this time that Nadia was one of the brightest operatives they had seen in an age. The general consensus was that she would achieve MTF Commander at an exceptionally young age.

In 2017, Mark  entered into a routine encounter with an anomaly that would prove fatal. Officially, the Foundation maintains that failure to adhere to protocol led to Mark’s death. Nadia vehemently disagrees, as Mark was always meticulous. Directly following his death, inquiries were made and the initial decision was upheld. Nadia has refused to accept the Foundation’s explanation. Most information and files related to his death and the incident have been expunged and data-locked.

Following 3 months of leave, Nadia returned to active duty. Her discipline had collapsed and her behavior became erratic and dangerous. There were numerous disciplinary warnings and write-ups, culminating in the incident with a member of  GoI-004: “Church of the Broken God,” where Nadia deliberately sabotaged her cover to enter into an unprovoked physical altercation. She was reassigned to Mobile Task Force Xi-13: “Sequere Nos” as a consequence. There was a successful, largely uneventful year with MTF Xi-13 – and then the encounter with SCP-19-2001-1.

Nadia’s assignment has been in flux for the past year since the encounter with SCP-192001-01. Directly following the incident, she was remanded to 6 months of medical leave. An additional 3 months of mental health leave was recommended, but Nadia declined. Since returning from leave, she has been working in the Department of Decommissions.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. Paragon, Fallen Nadia used to be an exemplar within the Mobile Task Forces, particularly MTF Delta-5. She rose through ranks fast and easy, enjoying her work and eager to gain her own command. That's all in shambles, now, but it if your character has been through MTFs, they may have heard about Atalanta, or any of her triumphs from the earlier days. If not, there's still the chance that your character worked with MTF Xi-13 and could have encountered the current shade of Nadia. Personal Project Nadia is still desperate to find out exactly what happened to her brother. I can definitely see her picking the brains of anyone who might have information, whether about that specific incident or just containment and breaches in general. Hand-to-Hand When she's not avoiding everyone in her room, Nadia will likely be training in the gym facilities. While she prefers to train solo, she also loves to spar and practice combat. If your character is a fighter, or would like to be, they could potentially cross on the mat. Wilderness Scouts Nadia has not joined the Walking Club (Seriously?), but she is often wandering through the wooded area around the base. While she is absolutely looking for solitude on these treks (with the rare exception being made for Dying Breed), your character could encounter her and, if they're quiet, they may just be allowed to walk with her.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 / 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒. Action Girl, Aloof Dark-Haired Girl, Angsty Surviving Twin, Braids of Action, Chosen Zero, Deadpan Snarking, Final Girl, Haunted Hero, Ice Queen/Defrosting the Ice Queen, The Paragon Always Rebels, Seeker, Showing Up Chauvinists, Tsundere, Twin Telepathy

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. Alanna of Trebond (Song of the Lioness Quartet), Veronica Mars (eponymous), Jessica Jones (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99), Megara (Hercules, 1997), Jyn Erso (Rogue One), Dana Scully (The X-Files), Rogue (The X-Men)

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.

[actionsurges]

matt mercer messed up my dnd experience because. I haven't gotten a chance to dm (yet) but I genuinely thought that the best way to introduce players to the world was to just describe it at them for like ten mins and would be confused when it Wasn't

yeah no that does not work lmao.

i write a prep document that has some information on the setting and also information what i'm looking for for a particular game. for my setting jackal gulch, i also have a player setting guide that is the condensed highlights of major world lore and landmarks so they ccan get information on the setting without it being too overwhelming.

here's an example of the pitch i wrote for an upcoming 3-5 session arc i am running:

Serenity Ford sits in the lushest corner of Jackal Gulch along a river delta. Typically the land is moist and lush, seemingly blessed by Pholtus for good farming. This summer, it is almost bone dry. A stranger has stepped off the train, many travel here, however, this man is looking for something, or someone, and is dogged in his pursuit of information, turning over the town by revealing the secrets of its denizens, turning neighbor against neighbor. Whether you're from here or just passing through, if you have a secret, it might be exposed, and wha carnage might tear the town apart if no one stops him. However, he appears to be a powerful cleric, an emissary of the archangel Daniel himself. He calls it sacred work, and no one wants to risk the wrath of an angel. Do you? This premise is perfect for a character from the south and/or east side of Jackal Gulch as well as characters motivated by a secret that could be dangerous for them if exposed. It also lends itself to those who have some relation to Pholtus or the Archangels and having their viewpoint opened to some of the darker truths on that front. 

[greatandquestionablecontent]

3 -- In The Mirror I Saw Who You Could Have Been

painful magical healing, energy vampire, captive prisoners, captor POV, military setting I've changed a few things since the last update (Trystan he/him has been changed to Delta they/them, although Delta remains a very Trystan-like character, and is referred to by many other characters as he/him). Part 1. Part 2. Read it on AO3. Masterpost. @for-the-love-of-angst you asked to be tagged in updates of this!

Thankfully, they were still alone with the prisoners when their body was finally able to cry. They doubted Archel Constance would have taken kindly to them shuddering and weeping and whimpering. It wasn’t very becoming of an experienced and powerful war mage, was it?

Did the others usually bear this silently through sheer willpower? Did they use their magic to tamper down their own reactions? Or did they all cry, and they did it alone or the legends had simply never mentioned it?

Delta had never thought to ask, and Andromeda had not been focused on teaching them not to cry. She wasn’t cruel like that.

Eventually Delta’s sobbing dwindled out and they were able to grasp some kind of composure.

The prisoners didn’t dare mock them for it. If Delta’s display of weakness had any effect on the prisoners, they kept that private. They did, however, start begging almost as soon as Delta sat up.

There were two, both young, muscular, military men with strong northern accents, stripped down to their dusty underwear, chained together and staked to the ground.

Like goats awaiting slaughter. Their voices blended together in a miserable chorus.

Please, sir, please have mercy, please don’t hurt us, please let us go, please be kind to us, please kill us quickly if you must, please sir, we’ll do anything.

“Stop,” Delta rasped, their voice sounding exactly as awful as they’d expected. Clearing their throat did nothing but send a fiery burn through their diaphragm, but the men immediately silenced.

Sitting up hurt, speaking hurt, but everything had hurt for so long that it didn’t matter now. Maybe that was the secret to the endurance of the N’Vitri – eventually you simply accepted the pain and moved forward, even if you could never get used to it.

“Where are we?” Delta whispered.

One of the men hesitated, but the other answered promptly. “In the foothills, sir. On the east side of the mountains,” he added when Delta simply stared at him. “At, uh, Camp Marshal, sir. The –- the Raj Nacht basecamp?”

Perfect. Not the way they’d wanted to arrive at the basecamp, but satisfactory nonetheless.

“How long was I out?”

“The battle was two days ago, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” the other man agreed. “We were brought in yesterday and you’ve been…” He trailed off. It didn’t really need saying.

“What’s the date? And stop calling me sir. Please.”

That didn’t relax the prisoners, but they obeyed without question. Delta peppered them with as many mundane questions as they thought they could get away with for someone who had been unconscious, and then a few more, that presumably they ought to have known already.

The prisoners were perfect sources of information, in a way. It wasn’t like they would rat Delta out, and soon enough they would be dead.

“What’s my rank?”

They exchanged a glance. Were ranks even something enemy soldiers would be aware of?

“N’Vitri?” One of them tried.

“A-archel, sir?” Tried the other. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t — Archel, please forgive —”

Delta shook their head, letting their weary eyelids fall shut for a moment. They were tempted to tell the prisoners to calm down, but they couldn’t promise anything, and the prisoners were unlikely to trust anything a N’Vitri said anyway.

Delta supposed they would have to kill the prisoners, sooner than later. They didn’t relish the idea.

“How many other N’Vitri are there? Are they all the same rank? What are their names?”

“I think Archel is the mage title,” said the man who seemed to know more. “I don’t know anything else, Archel.”

Great, a new title instead of sir. Not what Delta had intended. “Who was the woman who was in the tent earlier?”

Both men shook their heads. “Another N’Vitri, Archel,” the other mumbled.

“And who was the man?”

“His name plate said Larsen, Archel. That’s all I know.”

Delta nodded, considering, stringing together their thoughts through the fog in their brain. “While I was unconscious, how have you felt?”

The men exchanged another wary glance with each other. “Fe — could you… rephrase the question, please, Archel?”

Delta could have laughed. They didn’t. “Have you been growing weaker? Were you in pain? Could you feel something draining your energies, at all?”

Another question any true N’Vitri should have known the answer to. Hesitantly, wordlessly, the men nodded.

So, somehow, in Delta’s state of limbo between undeath and consciousness, they’d managed to successfully harvest the prisoners’ internal energy to heal themself, another autonomic magical process they couldn’t control. They suspected somehow they were even doing it still, to a lesser extent.

Delta could see the force in the men more easily with closed eyes. It wasn’t quite like smell, or sight. It was like reaching out in the dark towards something warm, and their mind wanted to ascribe colors to that heat.

They’d never killed someone before. Or rather, they had, of course they had, but that was before Andromeda.

Delta opened their eyes to find both prisoners staring, frozen in terror. A sound of pain escaped Delta’s throat as they scooted closer, but they ignored it and pressed their fingers to one man’s warm bare chest, closing their eyes again so they didn’t have to face that awful expression.

There. Now they could truly feel it. It wasn’t heat, or smell, or sight. It was proprioception, the way they knew where their wrist ended and their hand began, they knew where their fingers ended and another being began. And inside that being, they could feel those channels of energy more clearly than ever before, and oh, those veins were begging to be cut open, leaking and ready to burst.

It wasn’t proprioception or touch or smell or sight. It was taste, a taste like just a morsel placed on their tongue, but they couldn’t chew or swallow or take more of it, even though they craved, desired, lusted…

This was what they’d expected coming into their powers would feel like, beyond the stifling safety of Andromeda’s guidance. They’d always known it would never be the same as tapping into what she gave to them of herself, doled out carefully and slowly so it didn’t destroy her. As grateful as Delta was for her sacrifice, the scraps always left them feeling hungry and itchy, and some days every human they passed seemed like a tempting target. Of course, they could never have told Andromeda that.

Thanks so much for ripping your life force out of your body to feed to me. By the way, whenever your friends and family walk by, I think about murdering them.

But now, here was that hint of raw power, a magic only a handful of individuals in the world could wield. If — no, when — Delta tapped into it, they’d always known it would be intoxicating, overwhelming. It would heal every hint of their pain and fill their body with bliss and they would glow with ecstasy and strength, enough to take out an entire battlefield of armed soldiers, all alone.

And these bound, petrified men would be screaming and thrashing as Delta ripped all that life from their bodies, until there was no energy left to scream and they collapsed, their last breaths silent. All that would be left were lifeless husks, bearing no wounds but sapped more thoroughly and efficiently than if Della had drained them of blood.

And Delta wanted it. Fuck, they wanted it more than they’d ever wanted anything.

No wonder the prisoners were so afraid. No wonder the very idea of the N'Vitri sparked fear in everyone who spoke of them, even Andromeda herself.

next

[aurpiment]

amtrak needs to fix their general online experience im sorry IM SORRY im gonna die on this hill tho .

i understand the funding is. well it isnt.

but like hear me out if they just take a leap of faith and find the RIGHT furry coder to hire then itll get fixed so so quick. idk like what im tryna get at is.

i NEEEEEEEEEDS to begin the life of train trippin like. deadass shit u not met a panhandler (no teeth. like. either he went home to put his dentures in or he truly was livin in the streets of the east side holy hell.) who told me abt how he was gonna just hop on a train down south to texas to like. i dont remember something about his car got reposessed and somethin somethin maybe he had a daughter out there? no fucking idea dont quote me i couldve hallucinated the whole damn thing for all i know.

point being

idk like. i grew up living along a major old style train route!!! and then i moved further east (midwest. ) where its like ..... idk all the train tracks are just. dead. VERY stagnant

i forgot there WERE active train lines out here. like idk im getting so fucking emotional abt trains and god damn travel infrastructure in the lower 48 """"united"""" states of (north) america

its just something about the very fucking ridiculously poetic irl motif bullshit about like. growing up in the south near trains and all these things i just Lived and Learned shit about the natural environment around me OF THAT REGION/CLIMATE and ESPECIALLY the like . social aspect in a way??

but then fwoosh holy fuck now im in the corn land midwest wtf why is it so rainy and gross hot out here. and its like crazy how nowadays im like hold on wait what do yoh MEAN theres only one fucking casino within like 4 hrs. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, hold ON, i literally lived TWENTY MINUTES from one when i was little my grammy LOVED that shit lol anyways

i know nothing but change and new experiences and all i can hope is to make connections with my roots and wherever im thrown around out here u kno.

like ive resented this corn Hell but now im like u kno what. i accept you corn land i may not agree with everything here but im making efforts to Understand this corn bs even if its STUPID it still matters. and that is what happens when you smoke some street weed that was definitely laced with SOMETHING moons upon moons ago in your haphazard youth and yet despite the hardships every adverse experience becomes a teaching learning moment.

fucking hate my ex's granddad peepaw johnson or w/e but that man spat some truth sometime.

I DUNNO. change hurts but theres always something to learn if u learn to pick the bullshit apart

dont EVER let people tell u delta 8 aint shit just try it. i mean its jack shit but its also Real.

also listen to Tanya Tagaq kthxbye 🙏💥🫶🫶🫶❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🚞🚂

我 爱 火车 ！！！

你 最 非常 喜欢 吃 男朋友 的 屁股 。。 🥸🤓

There’s a lot going on here but I also love riding trains and meeting people on trains nd I wish American trains were better 💯

[kitchenlegrecords]

Lockkunst e.V. , East Side Delta and Pink Noise are proud to present on stage:

S A R R A M [Drone-Doom Post-Rock | Sardinia | Subsound Records] A dark ceremony inspired by the wild, ancient landscape of Sardinia. A crushing but yet graceful composition where drone, ambient and minimal post-rock blend to invite the listener to an intense sound journey.https://sarram.bandcamp.com/album/albero https://www.facebook.com/sarramproject https://youtu.be/l182x5Kg-98

VORSICHT KINDER [Alkopop | Berlin, Kitchen Leg records] Einzigartige Mischung aus Genussmitteln und Musik und prägen damit ein völlig neues Genre: den Alkopop

https://vorsichtkinder.bandcamp.com/.../verschluck-dich... https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100048890238719 https://youtu.be/8R_qgQ_JFL4

AUNT [Electropunk Shoegaze | Berlin] Born in August 2022 from the ashes of Skinny Downers. Crying out loud with Dean O’Sullivan (bass, vocals), Stella Sesto (guitar, backing vocals) & a mean 4/4 machine.https://auntberlin.bandcamp.com https://www.facebook.com/aunt.berlin

SECTOR 7G [Visual Art Performance | Berlin] Our favorite visual art collective will take good care of your eyes. No introduction needed!

https://s7g.show https://www.youtube.com/@sector7g/videosDoors 21:00 | Gigs from 22:00

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Goddess-Touched Snippet - (15/?)

happy late MSM!! post-labor day edition

Word count: 601 Content warnings: This one starts rather soft, but dips into a bit of horror at the end (don't know the exact words, but there are implications of impending attack from unknown things in the darkness) POV: Ember In which Ember wakes from a nightmare and seeks comfort from Gab.

When I wake with a cold sweat dripping down the back of my neck like the water of the ocean floor on the third night [of our travels], I go to Gab as soon as I’ve caught my bearings, and take up my post as secondary guard at his side.

“Another?” he asks softly as I tuck myself up to him, resting my head on his shoulder. When I nod, he hums lightly, concern underlying his voice as he brushes one of my ever-lengthening locs from my face and wraps his arm around my side. “Anything new?”

“No,” I croak. Clear my throat as gently as I can, and he reaches for his waterskin without me even needing to ask. “I mean, they’re all different, but...”

“Cryptic bullshit?” he guesses as I take a sip.

I nod again, finish wetting my mouth, and snuggle closer to his side. We sit in the quiet of the night, listening to the chatter of the nocturnal insects all around us and the scurry of animals through the distant patches of brush and frail trees. As I grow more alert with each passing moment under the light of the moons--Delta’s is full, though I can’t recall ever learning which belonged to which Goddess--he seems to get more drowsy, his breathing slowing and his ears drooping.

And eventually, he falls asleep with his head resting on mine, his breath steady and full, his body warm and comfortable next to mine.

I’d wake him if I felt any threat of falling back asleep myself. But my track record for failing to do so after the hissing omens of the Deepfolk has yet to run out, and under the open sky with a fire burning at the barest of coals behind me and all of the wonderful, new horizon ahead, I am enough to keep watch on my own.

Time passes. I woke just after midnight, by the height of Delta’s moon in the sky, and as the hours slowly creep toward our before-dawn start, I watch the unfamiliar stars march past the world, trying to come up with my own constellations.

It’s around two thirty in the morning when the first of the strange sounds in the distance tickles at my ears, fainter than the intermittent bird calls that have peppered the night thus far.

But this sound quiets everything but the bugs.

Unease settles in my stomach like a stone, hearing the world fall silent.

Instinctively, my ears perk, straining for some sign of something beyond the rattling of the insects. My muscles tense as the silence drags on, some basal, innate part of me knowing something’s wrong.

And then the sound bubbles up again, closer.

And I could swear it’s a peal of laughter.

All hesitation to disturb Gab’s peaceful sleep dissipates in an instant as the cackling in the distance trails off. I’ve shrugged myself away to string my bow and peer out into the darkness within a matter of heartbeats, letting him startle awake from my sudden motion, no communication beyond a sign for him to keep quiet, pay attention.

I wait, squinting into the shadows that stretch all the way until the very furthest reaches of the star-blanketed sky. Cock my ears in different directions, trying to listen for footfalls, breathing, anything quieter than the laughter itself.

Just as Gab draws breath to presumably whisper, another guffaw breaks through the air somewhere to the east.

Gab’s breath hitches. He’s on his feet too in hardly a second.

“Pass me my quiver,” I tell him quietly, eyes trained on the horizon. “And start waking the others.”

[fellow-weary-traveler]

And so in our day every Masonic Lodge represents the Universe. Each extends, we are told, from the rising to the setting sun, from the South to the North, from the surface of the Earth to the Heavens, and from the same to the centre of the globe. In it are represented the sun, moon, and stars; three great torches in the East, West, and South, forming a triangle, give it light; and, like the Delta or Triangle suspended in the East, and inclosing the Ineffable Name, indicate, by the mathematical equality of the angles and sides, the beautiful and harmonious proportions which govern in the aggregate and details of the Universe; while those sides and angles represent, by their number, three, the Trinity of Power, Wisdom, and Harmony, which presided at the building of this marvelous work, These three great lights also represent the great mystery of the three principles, of creation, dissolution or destruction, and reproduction or regeneration, consecrated by all creeds in their numerous Trinities.

Morals and Dogma - 13th Degree Royal Arch of Solomon

[irishgolfadventure]

Day One

Hi to All - We arrived early this morning in Dublin at 8:00a which was 3:00a ET in the U.S.  Everything went smoothly with the exception that Delta canceled our flight out of Indy and put us on an earlier flight which caused us to have a six hour layover in Boston. Small inconvenience.

Once we landed in Dublin and secured our rental car, we headed north for Newcastle which is about 80 miles up the east coast from Dublin located in Northern Ireland. Of course getting adjusted to driving on the opposite side of the road with the steering wheel on the right side, caused some early anxiety for both driver and passenger. The round-a-bouts were and continue to be the most confusing part of the driving adjustment!

Newcastle was very busy today as the people of Northern Ireland celebrate May 1st as a holiday. So the streets were packed with people and the pubs were doing a brisk business. So we parked our car and walked around and enjoyed some people watching. Rural Ireland seems like a step back in time to the fifties and sixties which to us creates a quaint cool vibe!

We’re staying at The Briers Country House. The property was recently acquired by Darren Fenton the new owner. He and his staff personify the friendly nature of the Irish people. Very helpful, kind and always willing to strike up a conversation...and it may last a while. And they have a trait we could all use more of - very attentive and great listeners! 

We learned some of the differences between Ireland and Northern Ireland which were helpful. First of all, they are both separate countries and occupy one island! Northern Ireland is part of the UK and Ireland is a sovereign country that is part of the European Union. Northern Ireland’s currency is the British Pound and Ireland is the Euro. There are no patrolled borders but since Brexit there is ongoing debate as to whether there should be. I’m sure you’re thinking that’s enough info on this topic!!

Tomorrow we play our first round of golf. And we’re starting with one of the courses I’m most excited to play, Royal County Down. By all measures RCD is one of the best courses in the world and you can find it ranked anywhere from number one through number ten in the world. Pics and videos will be in tomorrow’s post.

Are you wondering why I included a picture of Tom Coyne’s book, A Golf Course Called Ireland in this post? First of all, the book is a very enjoyable read whether you’re a golfer or not. Secondly, I reached out to Tom and was able to have a 90 minute Zoom call and a couple of other follow up calls with him to go over our agenda. He was extremely helpful and gave me a ton of names and places not to miss along the way. He also told me using his name would be helpful with acquiring golf merch and course favors at many of the courses! Of course you know, I would never think of doing such a thing.....by the end of the trip people will think Tom and I are brothers! :-)  

Have a good evening! Look forward to sharing our Royal County Down experience with you tomorrow. gb

[ifelllikeastar]

John Lee Hooker

Growing up, the Hooker children were homeschooled. They were only allowed to listen to religious songs; the spirituals sung in church were their earliest exposure to music. In 1921, Johns parents separated and the next year his mother married William Moore, a blues singer, who provided John Lee with an introduction to the guitar (and whom he would later credit for his distinctive playing style) Another influence was Tony Hollins, who dated John's sister Alice. He helped teach Hooker to play, and gave him his first guitar.

At the age of 14, John ran away from home, reportedly never seeing his mother or stepfather again. In the mid-1930s, he lived in Memphis, Tennessee, where he performed on Beale Street, at the New Daisy Theatre and occasionally at house parties.

John worked in factories in various cities during World War II, eventually getting a job with the Ford Motor Company in Detroit in 1943. He frequented the blues clubs and bars on Hastings Street, the heart of the black entertainment district, on Detroit's east side. In a city noted for its pianists, guitar players were scarce. Hooker's popularity grew quickly as he performed in Detroit clubs, and, seeking an instrument louder than his acoustic guitar, he bought his first electric guitar.

This son of a sharecropper rose to prominence performing an electric guitar-style adaptation of Delta blues. He developed his own driving-rhythm boogie style, distinct from the 1930s–1940s piano-derived boogie-woogie. He was ranked 35 in Rolling Stone's 2015 list of 100 greatest guitarists.

John Lee Hooker was born in Tutwiler, Mississippi. He died on June 21, 2001 in Los Altos, California at the age of 88.

[quinnlarrabee]

Are you a vibe?

If listening is more your vibe, feel free to play the audio recording of this post:

Who hasn’t stared into the mirror after a long night in Williamsburg, Silver Lake, or Hackney, wiped from their left nostril a light dusting of powder that they hadn’t noticed in dim candle lighting, and asked themself, “am I a vibe?” Other than getting an invitation to a private play party, there is no greater achievement for younger, nomadic residents of California, the Northeast (except Boston), and bits of Europe who have joined the 1% through family money or the proceeds of a company acquisition and consider themselves polyamorous and spiritual – let’s call them Spiritual Poly Rich Millennials, or SPRM – than being called a vibe. Having a fellow SPRM call you a vibe is a life affirmation nonpareil. It means that you have achieved a unique frequency that people want to tune into, an energy that others strive to emulate, and a social media presence that people high-key stalk. Because none of these are quantifiable metrics (except looking at who has viewed your stories, which is not a vibe), and because one must be called a vibe by someone else who is universally agreed to a vibe, it’s hard to know your score on the vibe-o-meter. I’m going to help you determine for yourself your exact caliber of vibe and even help you optimize your vibe, because anxiously waiting for your vibe coronation is not a vibe. 

You may be wondering what exactly a vibe (vīb, noun) is. 

Despite the efforts of other publications to intellectualize and politicize its meaning, there is no concrete definition of a vibe, but when ~vibes~ (vībs, plural noun) are present, people feel that the odds are high of having sex with one or more people they have just met. ~Vibes~ can be created any time of day and anyplace in the world (except Boston), and ~vibes~ can be generated by a combination of candles, expensive functional elixirs that don’t actually function, bland vegan food decorated with edible flowers, deep house music that originates from someone wearing a flat-brimmed hat pressing a button on an Apple laptop, the stench scent of palo santo, and gratuitously sincere connection activities, such as staring into a total stranger’s pupils for a literally eye watering amount of time. The vibe of any location (except Boston) can be elevated when the majority of people are dressed in capes, kimonos, or culturally appropriated ethnic clothing that makes white people look like they shopped at Goodwill in a foreign country, because United1 lost their luggage, which is still covered in Playa dust. 

There are certain experiences where the vibe is likely to be particularly high or low. For example:

~Vibes~ are high at Brooklyn floor parties. ~Vibes~ are low at Midtown happy hours.

~Vibes~ are high at European football games. ~Vibes~ are low at American football games.

~Vibes~ are high in Southern Europe. ~Vibes~ are low in Northern Europe (except Copenhagen). 

~Vibes~ are high on the Upper West Side. ~Vibes~ are low on the Upper East Side. 

~Vibes~ are high in Topanga. ~Vibes~ are low in Calabasas. 

~Vibes~ are high in the Apple store. ~Vibes~ are low at the Samsung store.

~Vibes~ are high at Torrisi. ~Vibes~ are low at Carbone.

~Vibes~ are high at the new La Guardia Airport. ~Vibes~ are low at LAX. 

~Vibes~ are high in a bathtub. ~Vibes~ are low in a shower (unless it’s an outdoor rain shower in Bali and you’re on molly).

~Vibes~ are high when you’re summering. ~Vibes~ are low when you’re “on vacation.” 

~Vibes~ are high after a bump of K. ~Vibes~ are low after a shot of Jaeger. 

~Vibes~ are high on Delta. 1~Vibes~ are low on United. 

With these inanimate examples as the foundation of your vibe education, let’s progress to notable people who are a vibe and vibe-nots:

The Dalai Llama is a vibe. Deepak Chopra is not a vibe. 

RBG was a vibe. Amy Coney Barrett is not a vibe. 

Tommy Lee Jones is a vibe. Tommy Lee is not a vibe. 

Albert Einstein was a vibe. Robert Oppenheimer was not a vibe. 

Haruki Murakami is a vibe. Stephen King is not a vibe. 

Ai Weiwei is a vibe. Damien Hirst is not a vibe. 

Venus Williams is a vibe. Serena Williams is not a vibe.

Han Solo is a vibe. Luke Skywalker is not a vibe. 

David Remnick is a vibe. Anna Wintour is not a vibe. 

Art Garfunkel is a vibe. Paul Simon is not a vibe.

Cockatoos are a vibe. Parrots are not a vibe.

Oprah Winfrey is a vibe. Ellen DeGeneres is not a vibe. 

Johnny Cash was a vibe. Garth Brooks is not a vibe. 

Johannes Brahms was a vibe. Pyotr Tchaikovsky was not a vibe.

Barack Obama is a vibe. Actually Barack Obama is the only living politician who is a vibe.  

Sergey Brin is a vibe. Elon Musk is not a vibe.

Queen Elizabeth was a vibe. King Charles is not a vibe.  

By now many of you are probably wondering, “am I vibe?” 

If you have to ask, you are probably not a vibe. Most people who are a vibe were born a vibe – with a vibe trust fund, so to speak, or endowed with vibes through vibe nepotism (vibepotism), only vibes are usually passed on from the maternal side, like Judaism, which is a vibe. There are, however, things you can do to improve your intrinsic vibe. 

Some people need only a bit of tuning to become a vibe, and others require an entire vibe overhaul. For example, if you are a hedge fund manager living on the Upper East Side who spends summer weekends in East Hampton, goes to St Tropez for New Years and Aspen for a week in late February, shops at Vineyard Vines, considers a four-day weekend of golfing at Shadow Creek and strippers in Vegas with HBS buddies a good time, and will quietly vote for Trump in 2024, it will take extreme measures for you to have even the slightest chance of becoming a vibe. These measures would include quitting your job, doing a 2-year silent vipassana, attending every regional Burn in the world for three years, getting a masters in sustainable agriculture, adopting a three-legged rescue cat, learning to surf blindfolded, becoming pansexual, suffering from and recovering from a mild meth addiction, and moving to a communal fruit farm in Topanga. 

You must frame the process of becoming a vibe as less of an end and more of a means to an end. Think of it like physical fitness (which is a vibe), where training is the means and activities that require fitness are the end. Once you have achieved the means of being a vibe, the end is getting away with openly dating a lot of people at once even if they are not polyamorous, being entirely hosted at all manner of costly experiences (e.g., Burning Man, the US Open, and peak experience trips), and getting tagged in Instagram stories even if you are not in the photo in the hopes that you will re-share the story to elevate the vibe of the person who originally shared the story. Note that you will not re-share the story, because that’s not a vibe.

Like fitness, becoming a vibe is a long, slow process. For example, if you were to try to do an ironman triathlon (which is not a vibe) without any training, you would definitely lose and probably die. Attempting to accumulate a vibe too quickly will reveal you as someone who is trying to be a vibe, and the appearance of trying is antithetical to being a vibe. Foundational to becoming and staying a vibe is not giving a fuck about being a vibe. If this seems counterintuitive, you will never be a vibe. 

Now that you have a baseline understanding of what a vibe is and can associate ~vibes~ with a variety of experiences, places, and famous people, you are ready to discover your own personal level of vibe. To facilitate this important leap of self-awareness, I have created a vibe-rater. Use it on yourself, or use it on a friend. 

Does a semi circle form around you at parties (before everyone sits on the floor)? Yes: +1, No: -1 

2. Can you single handedly initiate a cuddle puddle? Yes: +7, No: 0

3. Are you sat at the end of a table at dinner parties? Yes: +3, No: +1 (for being invited at all)

4. Are you often made a co-host of a party even if you aren’t paying for it, doing any work to prepare for it, or providing any kind of tangible value? Yes: +13, No: 0

5. you on the permanent GA list at Gospel after going 3 or more times? Yes: +1, No: 0

6. Are you on the permanent GA list at Gospel but you have never once been to Gospel? Yes: +11, No: 0

7. Which text you are more likely to receive? “Are you around?” +3, “Are you in town?” +8

8. Has the date of a party ever been changed because you are not in town? Yes: +6, No: 0

9. Do people ask if you have a dealer in random foreign countries? Yes: +12, No: +12

10. Do people ask what fragrance you’re wearing when you aren’t wearing anything? Yes: +4, No: 0

11. Do people ask what fragrance you’re wearing when you’re wearing Baccarat Rouge 540? Yes: -54. This is a trick question. Baccarat Rouge is not a vibe.

12. Do people you don’t even follow watch your stories on the reg? Yes: +2, No: 0, I don’t know: +15

13. What is your text / DM response time?

1 second: 0

1 minute: +1

5 - 15 mins: +2

15 - 60 mins: +3

1+ hour: +4

1+ day: +10

14. What is your attachment style? Anxious: +2Avoidant: +9Secure: 0Anxious avoidant: +10

15. How many DJs phone numbers do you have under their real name? None: +6 One: +2 Two: +4 Three: +6 Four: +10 Five or more: -10 (you are a club promoter) 

16. Are you a DJ?Yes: +5No: +10

17. Do you have “a fund”?Yes: -3, No: 0

18. Where do you summer?

In the US: +2

In Europe: -1 (summering only in Europe = new money)

Europe in July, US in August: +12

Summer is not a verb: -12

19. How many times can you say you’re not going to Burning Man and people still totally know that you’re definitely going to Burning Man?

Once: +1

Twice: +5

Thrice: +15

Four times: +30

Five or more: -30 (you are Eric Schmidt, and the people who are asking are your second-string girlfriends)

20. Do people ask you to DJ when you don’t actually know how to DJ and have never had any kind of DJ training other than creating a Spotify playlist?Yes: +20, No: 0

21. Where do you live?

Please refer to the National Vibe Distribution map for scoring if you are American (if you are a New Yorker, you are not American – skip to #22), and the Global Vibe Distribution map if you pay 80% tax and drive a weird version of the cars we have here. Note: anyone living in Lisbon for the vanity passport and tax evasion who isn’t Portuguese gets -10.

If you live in NYC, use this more nuanced map, which shows Vibe Distribution by neighborhood:

22. Has anyone ever given you a vinyl record as a gift without knowing you have a record player?Yes: +5, No: 0

23. Do you go to Barry’s Bootcamp?Yes: -18, No: +20

24. Did you dress up for Halloween? Yes: +15, No: 20

25. Where do you keep your party costumes?I just order shit from Amazon and then throw it out the next day: -20In a drawer: +5In an entire dedicated closet: +8People just give me stuff to wear: +10

26. Are you 100% straight?Yes: -15, No: +15

27. How many plants do you have?None: -12One: +6Two to six: +12Seven or more: -20 (you are agoraphobic)

28. Do people often ask you if you got a haircut when you haven’t gotten a haircut remotely recently?Yes: +2, No: 0

29. Do designers ask you to wear their clothing?Yes: +5, No: 0

30. Do designers pay you to wear their clothing?Yes: -15, No: +20

31. Do you wear sunglasses at night?

Yes: -8 No: +8 So I can, so I can watch you weave then breathe your story lines: +30

Corey Hart was a vibe, RIP J/k he’s fine, but he’s Canadian so..

32. Do you have an aquarium? Yes: -20, No: +20

33. Do you do yoga? Yes: +5, No: 0

34. Do you talk about yoga?Yes: -50, No: +15

35. Are you vegan? Yes: -75, No: +20

36. Do you work?Yes: -3, No: -8, “I have projects”: +10

37. Do you own more than once vest?Yes: -30, No: 0

38. Are you a subscriber?Yes: +30, No: -100

Did you actually add all of this up? Yes: -30, No: +30

Should you feel drawn to vibe coaching to improve your score, I am available at the rate of $1,100 per hour.