#geographical location who I count as friends outside of my family

[writing-prompts-for-friends]

Questions to Help World Build

I’ve realized I have a big problem with my writing. I am awful at world-building. Like, I just start writing without thinking about the world. And since I write fantasy. Well. That’s pretty no bueno and leads to all kinds of problems down the road. So I did some brainstorming with my friends and we created a list of over 100 questions to help think about our stories’ worlds and make them more concrete. Thanks to everyone who chimed in and gave me a hand! 

A traditional Japanese clock, wadokei, that counted hours from 9 to 4, starting from sunrise, and then starting once again from sunset. (1-3 were not used for religious purposes.) They’re super interesting and confusing. You should definitely check them out.

Temporal

Is your story set in the past, present, or future?

Specifically, what year(s), month(s), day(s)?

Are days 24 hours? Or does time pass differently in this world?

How many months are there in a year? Is it a seven day weekday? Does the concept of weekends exist?

Have most existing societies developed a timekeeping device?

Is there a way to communicate across long distances?

The concept of time zones is still relatively new to our world. Prior to the late nineteenth century, timekeeping was a purely local phenomenon. Each town would set their clocks to noon when the sun reached its zenith each day. Do standardized time zones exist across the world?

Geographical

From a planet perspective, is it Earth? If it is not Earth, or an alternative version of Earth, what is it like? Is gravity the same? Does it have a moon or multiple moons? Can you see other planets? Is it closer or further from the sun? If so, what impact does that have on the climate and passage of time?

What town, state, region, country, continent, planet does this story take place in? What are its bordering/nearest neighbors? Draw a world map if you want.

What kind of land is it? Landlocked? Mountainous? Along the sea? Desert? Tundra? Tropical forest? Plains? Agricultural? Industrial?

What kind of plants and animals are common to the area? Are there any that do not exist in the real world?

What are the most common crops and livestock in various regions? What geographic features influence certain regions ability to grow/raise their crops and livestock (positively and negatively)? Are the regions diets strongly influenced by what they are able to grow themselves, or do other circumstances (like strong international trade) allow them to have more varied selections? How does religion influence what is considered ‘normal’ to eat?

What, if any, natural disasters are common to the region? Earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, monsoons, blizzards?

How many seasons does it have? Are any longer than others?

What is the typical weather like for those seasons?

Does the region have any unusual geographical features that set it apart? Perhaps there is some weird thing like Devil’s Tower just chilling out. Or hot springs because of volcanic activity?

Is it easy to travel from place to place within the area? Is it difficult to travel because of terrain/technology issues, or because travel is strictly regulated?

Main Locations: Cities

Many stories take place within one city. In Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, a character remarks, “So, if a city has a personality, maybe it also has a soul. Maybe it dreams.” What personality does this city have? What soul does it have? What does it dream of when it slumbers? If your story takes place within a settlement, town, or city, give these questions some thought.

Exactly where is it located within the lands you conjured up in the above Geography questions? Does it have a bay? A river? Does it butt up against mountains? Draw a map of the city.

How big is the city? Is it compact, or sprawling?

How old is the city?

What is the history of the city? How did it come to be? What tumults and triumphs has it seen?

What is the population? Is it currently increasing, decreasing, or remaining the same?

Does the town have any claim to fame? Any tourist attractions? What are they? What’s the story behind them?

If it’s a big enough city, how many and what kind of districts does it have? Residential, Commercial, Industrial, etc. Where are they?

Are there any areas that are deemed unsafe? If so, where are they and why are they unsafe?

Is there public transportation? What kind, bus, tram, train, subway, monorail? Is it good?

How do people get around this city if not by public transportation?

Are the roads narrow or wide? Crisscrossing in a methodical grid or higgledy-piggledy?

What are the buildings like? What materials are they made of? If they’re wooden, are they new wood, old wood? If they’re painted, what colors? If they’re stone, what stone? If they’re brick, is it new red brick or blackened, crumbling brick? If they’re glass and metal, are they sparkling with new hope or dull and jaded?

Are there many skyscrapers? Or are most buildings 1-3 stories tall? What does the skyline look like?

Are there many parks?

How is the city powered? Coal? Hydroelectric? Wind? Nuclear? Has it always been so?

What is the city’s main source of revenue? Agriculture? Tourism? Manufacturing? Mining? Something else? A combination? Dive deeper into this. If it’s agriculture, what do they grow? Tourism–what is famous? etc. This will help to determine what a lot of people do for a living.

What are the demographics? Ethnicity, age distribution, distribution of upper, middle, and lower class, etc.

How many schools are there? Universities? Are any of them good? Do they specialize in anything? Do schools even exist? Perhaps there are clans that teach their children everything they need, for example, or education isn’t viewed as important.

Are there any particular landmarks within the city that standout?

How many and what kind of restaurants are there?

Are there supermarkets, open air markets, or both?

Where do young people go to spend time? What about adults?

Do people there bustle or do they amble?

What are the nights like? Does the city grow quiet, or does it grow rowdy?

What does the city smell like?

If you had to give your town a color, one that represented its personality, what color would it be?

Main Locations: Houses (or buildings, but mainly houses)

There are many stories that have a house or headquarters or hospital or some sort of building as their main setting. These questions will mostly be geared towards helping you figure out a house, but you can apply these to other buildings too probably.

Exactly where is the house located within the city or outside the city? How does your character usually get there? Draw a map. 

What year was the house built?

Was this house built by the current family or their ancestors? Who else lived in the house before the current dwellers? What were they like? Did they leave their mark on the house somehow?

What style is the house? Bungalow? Cabin? A shed? A cave? (makes the following questions mostly useless if so lol)

How many stories is it?

What is it made of? Wood? Brick? What color is it?

Does it have a lot of windows?

Are the curtains usually open or drawn? Are thee curtains at all?

What does the front door look like? 

Is there a porch?

You enter the front door. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you use the side door because the front door is for show or something. Anyways. You enter the house. What room do you step foot into?

Draw out the floor plans for each floor. How many rooms are there? Where are they? How big are they? How are they connected? What color are they? What style of decor?

Is there a basement? Is it used or is it just a home for spiders and darkness and unwanted things? How about an attic? Crawlspace?

How many bathrooms? 

Are there any rooms that only certain people are allowed to enter? If so, why? 

What is the flooring? Carpet? Wood? Tile? Linoleum? 

What does the house smell like?

Government/Military/Economy

In other words, “the boring stuff,” if you ask me. But this is a very important aspect of any world. 

What sort of government is in place? Democracy, oligarchy, etc? Is it a just or corrupt government?

How are goods exchanged? Bartering? Money? Coins and bills? Credit cards? A specific kind of sea shell? Lol

What are the police like? Strict? Lax? Is there a curfew?

Do taxes exist? If so, do the people feel as though they are heavily or unduly taxed?

Where is the intersection between theology and law? Is it common to have religious leaders in positions of power? Are laws based around religious ideology, or is there an effort to keep them separate?

Is there an organised structure devoted to halting criminal acts? Are they corrupt? Who runs the organisation? How does their reputation change based on demographic? What is the history of the organisation, and how does that history influence how it operates today?

Regarding potentially criminal acts, what is the elgality of prostitution, sex work, ect.?

What about drugs and other illicit substances? Alcohol, illicit drugs, recreational use. Legality, festivity, age limits, etc.

Underbelly. How prevalent is crime, what sort of crime (scaled from pickpocketing to human trafficking) is there? Are there areas that have bad reputations because of it?

Regarding war, are there currently conflicts in the world? Are they international or civil wars? How common is it to have an active war? What is the history of war? What does current warfare look like (Is it dudes in metal suits swinging swords? Have longbows been invented? Gunpowder? Tanks? Missiles?) Is military service mandatory or voluntary? How is the military seen? Is there a sense of patriotism for the military, or does the common man fear it?

Is there stigma around certain genders entering the military? Are come genders regarded as better recruits than others? Is it illegal for some genders to enter the military? Does a person's sexuality affect their ability to serve?

How has religion influenced war? Have there been holy wars in the past? Do any religious institutions hold their own military forces?

Cultural/Historical

I’ve put these together because events in history lead to cultural change. You can apply these questions not only to the world/country, but also the city or even the neighborhood, workplace, or school that your story takes place in.

What is the history of the region? Who was it settled by? Was another group of people displaced? After that, did any new cultures come in? Did they get along?

Were there ever any wars or serious conflicts in the region? What was the cause and what was the outcome of the war if there was one?

In our world, the internet, social media, and film/tv are massive cultural drivers. They determine the latest fashions, jokes, topics, and expressions. What are the big cultural drivers in your world? Books? Plays? Radio? Oral tradition?

Is it a collectivistic or individualistic society?

What languages are spoken by your characters? Is multilingualism common?

What sorts of cultures can be seen? Do any clash? Do any mesh?

What sort of foods are most common?

What superstitions do people hold? Is there a version of “knock on wood” or throwing salt over your shoulder after a funeral? What are the roots of these superstitions?

Are there religions? If so, what are they? Do any conflict with each other? Are zealots or extremists an issue?

Does slavery or indentured servitude exist?

Are there any class or caste systems? If so, what are they, and what does an average day look like for a member of each class/caste?

How does a person's appearance change from country to country? Do certain countries have very distinct fashions? If so, are the fashions influenced by religion, surrounding countries, the cultural majority or international trade partners?

How does a person's clothing relate to their social standing? Is it very easy to assume someone's roll by appearance alone? Are there punishments for dressing above or below your social standing?

Does the society place a great deal of importance on a person's presentation, or is the society more lenient on such things?

Is there an emphasis on conformity to a dress code, or is individuality encouraged? How strictly is clothing regulated by gender binary? Is it commonplace to see a man and a woman walking down the street in the same cut of clothes? Is there a social stigma when a person does not conform to the most common form of dress for their gender?

How are sexual rights viewed? Does the LGBTQ community have the same rights as people outside the community? How are sex acts between people of the same sex viewed? Is it legal? Taboo? Are there cultures that encourage those relationships in some circumstances (like how the romans were down with guys with guys in the military)?

Are there any groups of people that are victims of prejudice? If so, who are they, who holds these views against them, and what views specifically are they?

In regards to gender, do certain societies hold differing beliefs? Is there a commonly accepted number of gender identities or does it change regionally? Is the most common gender spectrum a binary, or do certain racial and cultural differences allow for a wider range to be seen as the baseline?

Are children raised by their biological parents or are children considered to be in the care of the wider community? Is it common/acceptable for extended family to raise children, such as parents needing to study, work, or serve time in the military? Is adoption a common thing in society? Is there a stigma around adoption/being adopted? Do cultural or religious views impact how adoption is seen by the wider community? What is adoption like for a single perspective parent? When adopting, is interracial adoption accepted/common, or is it seen in a negative light? Are some societies more open to adopting children outside of their own race?

How is sex and virginity viewed? Does religion influence it? What is the age of consent? What is appropriate on a first, second, third date? Is sex something that is talked about openly, or something taboo? Are you supposed to wait until marriage? Do couples stay monogamous while dating? Do some regions place higher importance on virginity than others? Do some place higher importance on one gender’s virginity than others?

How is marriage viewed? Are arranged marriages a big thing, or are people free to choose? Is monogamy common? How is a marriage symbolized? A wedding ring, or something different?

How is divorce viewed? What is the divorce rate? Can people remarry?

Magic and the Supernatural

If magic or spooky stuff doesn’t exist in your story, disregard this section.

Does magic exist? If so, who can use it? What are the limitations to their magic? What things are they capable of using their magic to do? What things are they incapable of doing?

Are there laws against what kind of magic can/cannot be used? What sort of laws? Who enforces them? What are the punishments for breaking said laws if they exist?

How does the existence of magic affect religion? Are there religious institutions that infuse magic into their worship? Are there religious sects that see magic as immoral and in direct opposition to their faith? Have there been conflicts in recent or ancient history between religion and the supernatural? Do some sects employ people to hunt and/or enforce law over the supernatural?

Assuming that magic does exist, is it taught? Are there different schools of magic? Is there a system of ranking for magic users based on their skill level?

Do non-magic users look towards magic users with respect or fear?

What role does magic play in this world? Has technology not advanced because magic solves many problems? Or has technology advanced and the use of some magics has become unnecessary?

Are there any mythological creatures/monsters, such as vampires, demons, skinwalkers, dragons, or other creatures of your own creation? Are they common? Do people believe in their existence? Do people worship them? Where can they be found? Do they interact with humans? Do humans fear them or try to put up with them as they do nature?

Do the dead continue to exist in some form, such as ghosts or zombies or the like? Can the dead be summoned or brought back to life?

Are there human/supernatural hybrids? Perhaps a half-demon half-human, for example? How are these people viewed by their peoples, and by society as a whole?

How has the supernatural influenced war? Do armies tend to have a mix of regular and supernatural soldiers/weapons? Have there been wars between the supernatural/magical and those without? How does magic influence a person standing in a mixed army? Is it more likely for a magical being to be promoted than a non-magical being? Conversely, are supernatural being forced into service and seen as pawns?

The End!

Please feel free to reblog and share, and add on any questions you think should be added!

[slowly-writing]

Almost Lost You

Jennifer Jareau x Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Requested by: n/a

Warnings: canon typical violence

This case was stumping the entire team. The dump sites had seemingly no correlation, so Ried’s geographical profile was out the window. The MO was all over the place which made it hard to nail down a profile on the unsub. The only thing that proved these murders were connected was the flowers the unsub was leaving in the victim’s hand, and even with that you were beginning to question it all.

“Does anyone else feel like their brain is melting?” JJ groans and you feel inclined to agree.

“Your brain can’t actually melt. You could boil the water in your brain but the fatty tissues that make up the majority of it are harder to break down,” Spencer says and you smile, at least his facts are always consistent.

“That’s not what she means, Spence. It’s a metaphor. She means she’s tired of getting nowhere with the case and she feels like all the work is physically hurting her,” you explain and he nods in understanding, looking at JJ whose head is now laying on the table of the conference room the three of you have hunkered down in.

“Did you know it’s actually proven that fresh air can increase productivity and reduce stress?” Spencer pipes up again and you chuckle as you rise from your seat, grabbing JJ’s shoulders and coaxing her up.

“Good call doc. I think I’m gonna take her outside for a bit before she puts that brain melting theory to the test. You take a break too, alright? Even geniuses have a breaking point,” you wait until he agrees to stop for a bit to lead JJ outside.

“It just feels so messy. Like there’s no way to get through it all,” JJ has tears in her eyes as she looks up at you and your heart breaks at her obvious frustration. You often wonder how JJ got into a field like this, so painful and gruesome. She has such a tender heart, if you had met her outside of work you would’ve guessed she was a teacher, maybe a social worker, but certainly not a profiler whose job was to hunt down some of the worst people the world had to offer.

“I know it feels like this will never end, but it will. I promise it will, because we’re not going anywhere until we catch this creep. Hotch and Emily are interviewing the victim’s families again as we speak and Morgan and Rossi are at the crime scenes. They will all get us some more to work on and eventually we’ll nail this guy.”

“You promise?” JJ’s voice is soft and you can’t resist the urge to pull her into your arms, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I do. Are you ready to go back in?” JJ nods and you pull away, “then let’s go crack this case.”

xxxxx

“Rose Allen, Jessica Phillips, and Sara Parker have been found dead. Now I don’t know about you guys but I sure as hell don’t want a fourth name added to that list,” Morgan snaps, slamming his hand on the table. You all look up from your notes at the outburst, and none of you blame him. JJ grabs your hand under the table and it calms you both as tensions rise in the room.

“What do you think we’re doing here? None of us want this to go on. We’re trying our best,” Emily knuckles are turning white as she clenches her first.

“Okay let’s all calm down. If we all put our head together then we can crack this. So, the women disappear from their daily routines, they are gone for a week before being found in various locations with different causes of death. What does that tell us?” Hotch starts the discussion and everyone settles in to work.

“He’s obviously stalking them. He knows their routines and is able to grab them without anybody seeing,” Rossi is the first to join in and you nod along.

“And the manner of the killing isn’t important to him, as long as they die. With victim number one we have strangulation, then stabbing, and last dehydration. He doesn’t care how they die as long as he can see them suffer,” your brow is furrowed as you think out loud.

“The flowers obviously mean a lot to him, right? It’s the only consistency,” Emily jumps in and everyone voices their agreement.

“They’re yellow roses. Those symbolize friendship, maybe these women told him they just wanted to be friends?” JJ says and you think she’s onto something until Spencer speaks up.

“Historically yellow roses have a different meaning. Now they are known to symbolize friendship but they actually used to stand for infidelity or unfaithfulness. He could’ve had a childhood trauma involving an unfaithful individual that still haunts him,” Hotch perks up as Reid finishes.

“Rose and Jessica’s family members said they were having relationship troubles, Sara’s family didn’t have much to say, but with how hostile her fiancé was, I’d bet my career that their relationship was rocky,” the analysis makes sense, at least it’s a start.

“Okay, so we have an unsub targeting people whose relationships are failing. Considering he targeted the girls I’d guess they were the ones who were unfaithful, who would know if they were?” Rossi asks and you all think through the list.

“If it was me I’d only tell my closest friends,” you say and try not to wince at the way JJ’s head snaps to face you. “I’m speaking hypothetically of course. I’ve never cheated so I don’t know what it’s like in that situation. I can only make an educated guess on the thoughts and feelings the victims were having in the moment,” you stare ahead as you say it, nobody knows you and JJ are together, and this is not how you want them to find out. “That was a poor choice of words,” you say and Emily raises an eyebrow at you.

“Ignoring y/n’s over explanation of how she’s never cheated on anyone,” Emily says slowly and you avoid eye contact. “None of these women shared friends. Garcia couldn’t even find evidence that they knew each other, let alone had the same confidants.”

“When Will and I went through all that we went to a relationship counselor. Is it possible they saw the same one?” JJ asks and Garcia pipes up for the first time.

“I can have that answer in just a few moments,” the sound of a keyboard can be heard through the computer, “aha! According to their credit card records they all saw Dr. Damien who is a well renowned relationship counselor in the area. She was, however, out of state for a conference when Rose and Jessica’s bodies were found and did not return until after Sara was reported missing.”

“It could still be someone in her office. Receptionist, coworker, hell even a janitor,” Morgan seems as desperate as you all feel.

“I have a receptionist who was working during all three intake appointments, Jacob Daniels and-oh gosh-At age 8 his father murdered his mother, in the trial he claimed it was because she was cheating with the neighbor who denied the allegations. Regardless there was no family and Jacob bounced around the foster system until he aged out five years ago. Three months ago he landed a job in Dr. Damien’s office and within a month and a half the first murder was commited,” Garcia relays the information, her eyes wide.

“That would be the stressor. Hearing about the failing relationships was too much for Daniels and he snapped. Garcia, do you have an address?” Hotch asks as you all stand, grabbing your gear.

“Like you even have to ask. Be safe my lovelies,” Garcia tells you all as she ends the call.

xxxxx

“Jacob Daniels FBI! Open up!” Hotch yells as he bangs on the door. You hear a crash inside and Morgan takes that as his cue to kick open the door. You’re the first inside and Daniels freezes when he sees the guns trained on him. He may be damaged, but he knows he can’t outrun a bullet. Instead he grabs a knife and points it towards you.

“Stay back!” He yells and you raise your hands, holstering your gun before speaking.

“I just want to talk, Jacob. Can we do that?” you ask and you can see him shaking as he looks between you, Morgan, Hotch, and Ried. Everyone else is still en route.

“They needed to die,” Jacob starts and you blink in surprise as he jumps straight into it.

“Why?” he focuses more on you, relaxing despite the three guns still pointed at him. You inch forward as he begins to talk.

“They didn’t know how to love. No woman knows how to love!” He yells.

“Now that’s not a fair statement, plenty of women know what love is,” you say and you can hear the other team calling their ETA through the comms, but you’re hoping to have this wrapped up before the three minutes it will take them to get here are up.

“Do you? Know how to love? Do you have someone?” Jacob’s voice is soft, almost a whisper as he desperately tries to prove himself wrong. You’re only a few feet away now, and he’s slowly lowering the knife. If you can just get a few inches closer you can grab it.

“I do. She is the most important person in my life.” Out of the corner of your eye you can see the confusion on your team’s faces but you don’t have time to focus on them right now. “I can’t tell you why someone would cheat on the love of their life, but I can tell you I never would. A few bad people isn’t a reason to give up on love or life. They hurt people, but they didn’t hurt you Jacob,” his head snaps up and you quickly realize that was the wrong thing to say. He lunges for you and before anyone can get a shot off he has your back pressed to his chest and his knife to your throat.

“Woah calm down man!” Morgan yells, his panic alerting the rest of the team that this just went south.

“Let her go, Jacob,” Hotch’s words inform the team that he has you, the only female in the room. He doesn’t waver though, ever the calm one in the storm. You can hear the tires of the other SUV squealing to a stop outside. Lucky for you so can Daniels and you use his distraction to slam your eyebrow into his ribs. His grip on you loosens and you’re able to take him down. Morgan takes over, cuffing him as you feel a body slam into yours. JJ throws her arms around your neck and you wrap one arm around her waist, the other cradling her head as you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m okay,” you tell her and she lets out a shaky breath before pulling away from you completely.

“You idiot!” she yells slapping your shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” your hand goes to the place she just smacked, though it didn't hurt much.

“Why would you get so close to him! He could’ve killed you!” She slaps your other shoulder and you groan.

“But he didn’t. I thought I could disarm him, but it's okay now. So can we just agree it was a dumb move and stop hitting me please?” you ask and JJ pulls you into a hug again. You wanna laugh at her conflicting emotions, but you know how scared she is.

“I almost lost you,” she whispers and you sigh.

“You didn’t. I know it was scary, but I’m okay.”

“I could hear the whole thing.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise that I’m okay. You didn’t lose me,” you tell her and she nods, pulling away again. The bubble the two of you have been in is popped as you both turn to see the whole team staring at you, Morgan apparently having passed Daniels off to local officers to make sure you were okay.

“How long has this been going on?” Morgan asks and you look to JJ.

“Six months?” you ask her and she nods. You turn back to the team and nod, “yeah, six months.”

“How did we not notice?” Rossi asks and you laugh.

“I was thinking the same thing. Some profilers you are,” JJ teases them but they all seem to be in too much shock to register it.

“So when you went on that rant about not cheating…” Emily trails off and you roll your eyes.

“Did seriously none of you notice how she was looking at me? I thought I was gonna be the next murder victim!” They all laugh and JJ looks at you.

“You ever cheat on me and you will be,” she says simply with her arm wrapped around your waist and a smile on her face.

“How do you say such aggressive things but look so cute doing it?” you ask, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and placing a kiss on the top of her head. “But I would never cheat on you, my love. I’d have to be an idiot to risk losing you. There’s nobody in the world I’d rather be with.”

“As cute as this is, I’m ready to get out of here,” Morgan teases and you roll your eyes.

“Let’s finish up here and we can talk more on the way home,” Hotch says and you all nod.

“And we know Garcia is gonna want all the details, I wouldn’t mind them either, so drinks when we get back?” Emily offers and you agree.

“Sounds like a plan.”

tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or taken off)

@rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff

Criminal Minds tag list: @reidingandwriting

[beca-mitchell]

curling at christmas (1/1)

Summary: Beca’s first Christmas with Chloe’s family. Curling and chaos abound.

HAPPY PITCHMAS!! For @ittybittytinypaws​​—sending you all my love and well-wishes. May you have some Bechloe this year. ❤️

Endless thank yous to @emilyeetsonnett and @cleareyesfullbeers without whom this fic would just simply not be...your curling knowledge/resources was beyond helpful. I know nothing about curling and I apologize in advance for any errors both grammatical and substantive.

Word count: 4921

Read on AO3 or below.

For a group of people who live in a geographic location which doesn’t necessarily get a lot of snow, Chloe’s family in Portland has a fascination with all ice sports.

Including curling.

Which explains why (and yet...that seemingly explains nothing at all) Beca finds herself skidding face-first across the ice to the amusement of Chloe’s brothers (and Chloe, even if she will never admit it).

But first, a brief detour back to where it all began.

— — — —

It starts off slowly.

An inevitable force bringing them closer and closer together.

Slowly because they’ve been friends for years—close to a decade, really—and now they’re living in different cities for the first time in at least eight years. 

But all it took was a visit to Los Angeles for the weekend, a casual outing as Beca Mitchell’s plus-one, then one glass of wine to top off the night. 

And of course, the brush of impossibly soft lips against her own like Beca had never experienced before. The kiss had been impossibly tender, incredibly light: it had been surreal, both of them spending Christmas away from their own families because of commitments and other situations. Chloe’s eyes had been impossibly bright as she admitted to harboring a crush for years now and oh, wouldn’t Beca just let her forget about doing any of this?

It would have been easy to agree. Almost too easy. Beca found herself on the verge of nodding, even as her tongue flicked out to swipe at her lower lip unconsciously.

But impossibly—almost impossibly—she hadn’t. She had shaken her head and pulled Chloe in for another kiss, both of them whimpering at the sensation.

The next morning, tangled up in Beca’s sheets, Chloe had been remorseful in saying she had to return up to Davis, but she wanted to talk about it and the last thing she wanted to do was forget about it.

(“Best Christmas present ever though,” Chloe whispers, kissing the mark she had left on Beca’s neck.

Beca’s not sure she’ll ever top this Christmas.)

They did end up talking about it, but talking was really all they could manage with Beca suddenly being shipped off across the country on a tour for the following months. Winter turned into Spring, then finally summer and Chloe ended up spending the entire summer interning in Los Angeles.

So it starts off slow, but somewhere between two Christmases, Beca Mitchell ends up dating Chloe Beale.

— — — —

And of course, for all the in-betweens, that summer together cements a lot of firsts together: first fight, first long weekend away together, first ugly tabloid rumor, first public night out as an official couple...many firsts and many memories.

Distinctly, one first is missing, but years of repressed emotions and secret crushes make for a difficult time getting those words out. Three words, that’s all it is. Yet, three words never seemed so intimidating.

— — — —

“Christmas in Portland,” is how Chloe greets her after a long day of class. Class for Chloe. Domestic chores for Beca which she is doing happily as an escape from L.A..

Beca is putting Chloe’s groceries away before Chloe is pinning Beca up against the counter and pressing a long, slow kiss against Beca’s lips.

“What’s that?” Beca questions, distracted by the sensation of Chloe’s lips against her own. Chloe tastes like coffee and something sweet, likely the blueberry scone she enjoys with her drink.

“I said,” Chloe murmurs, tilting Beca’s lips up for another kiss, perhaps a touch inappropriate for the middle of the day with the fridge wide open and Chloe’s roommates just down the hall. “Christmas in Portland?” she repeats. She leans back, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. While a rarity, Chloe’s insecurities still bubble to the surface occasionally. “I was wondering if you wanted to spend Christmas with my family this year.”

“Oh,” Beca says. Her heart begins to thump in her chest, a product of nerves. It isn’t like Beca has made any other Christmas plans, which she knows Chloe is aware of. Beca’s mother is travelling with her own friends this holiday season and her father is spending time with her stepmother’s family. It would be such an easy yes and in all honesty, she kind of wants to scream it.

Chloe takes her hesitation as a negative, beginning to blush under Beca’s gaze. “It’s—it’s fine if you don’t want to. I just brought it up because I knew you didn’t really have Christmas plans. And I honestly debated going home at all this year, but my parents really want to see me and…” Chloe trails off, pulling Beca close. Their bodies settle neatly together, like two pieces slotting together at long last. “I know they really want to meet you.”

Beca’s brow furrows. She trails her hands up Chloe’s arms before settling on looping her arms around Chloe’s neck. “They’ve met me before.”

“Not like this,” Chloe murmurs.

“And what’s this?” Beca challenges.

In response, Chloe kisses her. It is more thorough than the last. Kissing Chloe thrills Beca every time. The sensations ricochet all the way through her body, usually lingering somewhere in her chest. This kiss isn’t one that Beca necessarily wants to stop, so she lets the heat build pleasantly between her legs because Chloe’s hands are slipping up the back of her shirt, Chloe’s foot is kicking the fridge closed, and Chloe’s tongue is doing sinful things to her mouth. Beca, feeling significantly warmer from both the fridge finally being closed and Chloe’s ministrations on her body (more of the latter than anything), kisses back and opens her mouth more to allow Chloe’s tongue to continue its exploration. 

Just as Beca feels the urge to shift and clench her thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure building, Chloe is slowing down their kisses, a fact belied only by the way Chloe’s hands are now cupping Beca’s breasts over the thin material of her bra. Beca whimpers and tilts her head back to glare at Chloe reproachfully as if to say “pick a speed”, but Chloe tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and stares at Beca questioningly. It is a little unfair, Beca thinks, that Chloe is one hundred percent using her body (and her familiarity with Beca’s body) to get Beca to respond to her inquiry...not that Beca would have really not agreed to go to Portland. It’s the principle of it all.

Still a little dazed, Beca can’t help the grin that stretches across her lips. “Well why didn’t you just say so?” she asks, a bit more breathless than before.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “So is that a yes?”

“Definitely a yes,” Beca murmurs. “Thank you,” she adds, completely sincere and grateful for Chloe Beale as always. She pulls Chloe in for another kiss, settling on the sensation of Chloe’s smile against her lips and the small giggles that rise up between them. Of all the kisses they have shared and will continue to share, this variation is Beca’s favorite: messy and a little off-base, but still tender and filled with affection. It reminds Beca of everything she likes about their relationship—all the ups and downs and everything that brought them to where they are now. Kissing in Chloe’s tiny apartment kitchen in Davis at the end of November. 

Beca doesn’t protest as Chloe pulls her through the apartment to her bedroom, both of them leaving behind the small pile of groceries on the counter.

— — — —

Last Christmas, Beca and Chloe had spent it in Los Angeles—most of it in bed—only starting to figure out their feelings for each other. 

This year, Christmas in Portland with pretty much Chloe’s entire family could not be a bigger change in scenery.

Hailing from Seattle herself, Beca hadn’t expected Portland to be much different. She had never really been there before and even during her stop on the tour, she hadn’t been able to really travel around and explore. Some similarities exist: that general smell of rain in the air, decently-sized population, good culinary scenes, pretty friendly people (more than Beca’s used to from both Hollywood and New York at least), and of course the proximity to bodies of water.

Still, Portland is smaller and Chloe’s family lives further outside the metropolitan area than Beca’s family did in Seattle. 

But none of that matters. What matters is how nervous Beca feels standing in front of Chloe’s parents' house, staring up at the impossibly intimidating family home. Intimidating in all the warmth it seems to eminate. 

“Beca, it’s just my parents,” Chloe says softly. She gently presses one luggage into Beca’s hand. “They like you a lot.”

“That was before,” Beca hisses. She tugs the bag up the front steps with unnecessary force. 

Chloe looks entirely too amused. “Before what?”

Like a puzzle piece—the final puzzle piece—slotting neatly into place, Beca feels the oddest comfort ripple through her. Something tightens in Beca’s chest. She turns to face Chloe and for a moment, things seem to fade away: Beca can no longer see the obnoxiously bright Christmas decorations on the front porch, she can no longer hear the sound of the rain lightly coming down around them, she can no longer hear the sound of one of Chloe’s parents’ neighbors loudly singing Christmas carols while putting up his own decorations. 

Instead, she sees a drop of rain slip off the end of Chloe’s nose as if she’s seeing things in slow motion. She sees the flutter of Chloe’s eyelashes as eyelids open and close to reveal her favorite shade of blue. She sees the twitch of Chloe’s lips as she offers a reassuring smile. She sees, somehow, an entire future together spread before her, better than any of her best-laid plans before.

She could have never planned for this—could have never asked for anything better.

Her retort dies on her tongue with something else coming to mind instead. But she finds herself too stricken to voice it; too shy to blurt it out.

Chloe’s brow furrows in confusion and concern. “Bec.”

“I...Nothing.” 

Beca is saved from further inquiry when the door finally swings open, startling both Beca and Chloe out of their staring match.

Delighted squeals fill the air and Beca finds herself pulled into her first family group hug of the holiday season.

(Maybe ever.)

— — — —

Despite Chloe’s reassurances that her family will like Beca regardless and that they already do, in fact, like Beca, Beca finds herself staring warily across the kitchen table at both of Chloe’s brothers who have somehow instigated some kind of interrogation without Chloe’s knowledge.

“Chloe?” Beca calls over her shoulder, waiting to hear if her girlfriend will respond.

“Beca,” Cooper—the younger of Chloe’s two older brothers—says, folding his hands neatly on the table. “Chloe’s helping mom in the basement.”

“She can’t hear you,” Mackenzie—other brother—adds helpfully. 

They’re not necessarily threatening statements, but Beca is feeling decidedly threatened. She inhales. “How do you like Seattle?” she directs at Cooper. “Chloe told me you just started a new job there.” He stares at her. “I’m from Seattle originally,” Beca adds quickly. 

“It’s fine. Not too different from here. And I’m glad it’s not too far from home.” He grins at her. “Away from home often, Beca?”

“Beca,” Mackenzie says suddenly. “How do you feel about team sports?”

Beca groans.

— — — —

“They’re harmless,” Chloe promises.

“They look like they could easily pick me up.”

“Beca, I can easily pick you up.”

“Huh. Must run in the family.”

— — — —

Later that night after a relatively harmless—as promised by Chloe—family dinner, Beca hesitantly climbs into bed next to Chloe who is uploading photos of themselves to Instagram. “Chlo,” she says lightly. “Why did your brother ask me about team sports today?”

“Who, Mackenzie?” At Beca’s nod, Chloe laughs. “Oh, he’s a manager at Evergreen. We do a family day during the holidays if enough of us are around. I thought I told you about that.”

“Uh, no,” Beca squeaks. “You definitely didn’t. You know how I feel about physical activity.” Beca’s brow furrows. “And what’s Evergreen? Is that a community center?” She doesn’t like Chloe’s grin. “Chloe,” she whispers harshly. “I need to be prepared.”

Chloe puts her phone down before twisting to curl an arm around Beca’s waist. “Prepared for what?” she asks, laughing.

“Emergencies, like playing sports.” 

“But you do like physical activity,” Chloe points out.

“No I don’t.”

“Some,” Chloe clarifies. To make her point, Chloe begins kissing Beca’s neck pointedly. Her hand tightens on Beca’s hip when she feels Beca’s body shift and curl into her own instinctively.

“Chloe, no,” Beca hisses when she comes back into herself. “It’s almost Christmas and your parents are right down the hall. Your siblings are in this house.”

“I don’t see how any of those are related,” Chloe whispers, brushing the tip of her nose along Beca’s jaw.

“I don’t see how you can’t see how this is all related,” Beca retorts without any real bite. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation of Chloe’s hand trailing up her shirt. “Stop, I don’t have a bra on,” she murmurs.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” Chloe murmurs. Still, she pauses her hand, stopping it in its path. She presses a slow kiss against the corner of Beca’s mouth. “I’ll stop if you really want to,” she promises. Damn her, Beca thinks. Her voice is low and raspy, just how Beca likes it most.

“Fine, but be quiet,” Beca grumbles without any real animosity. She twists so she is smoothly sitting astride Chloe’s hips.

Chloe raises an eyebrow at the action, running her hands up her thighs. “Are you sure I’m going to be the one having problems being quiet?” Her grin becomes downright lascivious. “You know how you get when you’re on top.”

Leaning down, Beca presses a heated, thorough kiss against Chloe’s mouth, intent on proving her wrong.

— — — —

It feels very wrong, scrambling to put on any piece of clothing when Chloe’s mother knocks on her bedroom door the next morning.

It also feels incredibly inappropriate to thank Chloe’s mother for the warm custom-made sweaters while wearing one of her daughter’s oversized t-shirts clearly snatched up from the closest drawer.

But, unfolding the sweater, Beca nearly tears up when she traces the stitching of her name into the cheerfully red and green fabric.

Chloe pulls her into a warm embrace, kissing her cheek without saying a word.

The sweater is also designed like a sports jersey, which really should have been yet another clue, but Beca is too overwhelmed with emotions.

— — — —

I am probably going to be nominated for a Grammy Award next year, Beca thinks to herself while Chloe loads up a video about curling of all things. Probably remembering their previous conversation a few nights before. I can learn about curling.

“Two minutes,” Chloe promises. “And if you have any questions, I’ll explain.”

“You’ve played before?”

“Pretty much played it growing up. My family loves it. It’s basically a Christmas tradition.”

Beca grins at the side of Chloe’s face. “You’re so weird.”

“Shh, Beca—” Chloe glances at her. “Beca! You’re missing it!”

— — — —

“Do you have any questions?”

“...No,” Beca lies.

She should have asked why they were watching a video about curling.

— — — —

It happens quicker than Beca expects.

It being that...Portland begins to grow on Beca. She loves the friendliness and the food and the way Chloe happily introduces her to everybody they meet as “my girlfriend, Beca” with all kinds of fondness and happiness in her voice.

She could get used to this.

— — — —

It’s hereditary—it must be: she knows that Chloe has a penchant for sports of all kind, even if she kind of sucks at everything except volleyball. Beca has seen Chloe crush it at beach volleyball, but the girl really isn’t much good at anything else. That’s still one sport Chloe has over Beca who would much rather prefer being a passive observer. She has kind of limited her physical activity since leaving Barden.

(She still engages in some physical activities. Very limited physical activities. Fun ones. With Chloe, ideally.)

Regardless, Beca knows that Chloe is a huge fan of the Olympics, particularly Winter Olympics, so she should have seen this coming really. She just hadn’t been expecting curling. Nor had she been expecting Chloe’s brother to work at the Evergreen Curling Club. She had sorely underestimated her girlfriend and suddenly wishes she had put two and two together sooner.

“Curling,” she repeats, looking at Chloe for help while they make their way through the doors. “I’m not playing,” she says immediately.

“You don’t have to play,” Chloe promises. “Just show some support. And,” she whispers, leaning down to nip at Beca’s ear. “Just a couple of hours of this and we have the house to ourselves tonight because my family’s going out.”

Beca can’t really argue with that.

Still, just to be clear: “Okay, but I’m not playing,” she repeats clearly.

— — — —

“Here,” Chloe says, pressing a brush into Beca’s hands. Beca stares at the offending item, then back at Chloe. “Try,” she implores. “We don’t have to play officially, but I think you’ll look cute sweeping.”

Beca looks at Chloe suspiciously. “You never say that to me when you’re trying to get me to clean my apartment.”

“Do you want me to say that to you?”

Beca pauses. “I’ll consider it.”

Chloe opens her mouth to retort, probably with something supremely inappropriate in a deceptively sweet tone. Beca is disappointed when they are interrupted by a new voice cutting through their high-school level flirting. 

“Chloe?”

Chloe turns, nearly whacking Beca in the face with the tip of her brush. “Sarah! It’s been so long!”

Beca waits for Chloe to introduce her to whom she assumes is one of Chloe’s cousins, with how comfortable Chloe is with this person. And how this person runs a hand up Chloe’s arm like she’s familiar with doing so. And how this person gazes at Chloe with an interesting amount of more-than-platonic interest.

Beca bristles and slowly shuffles closer, gently poking Chloe in the shoulder with the end of her brush. “Hi,” she greets. “Sabrina, was it?” She ignores Chloe’s sudden knowing grin.

“Sarah,” ‘Sabrina’ corrects. Her smile is tight and there is a certain air of forced nonchalance, but Beca is used to spotting recognition in people’s eyes by now. Fake.  “Have we met before? Do you work here?”

Chloe snorts. “No, this is Beca Mitchell. My girlfriend.”

Beca refrains from gloating or saying something incredibly stupid but incredibly true like you might have heard me on the radio. That would be inappropriate. Maybe later. “Hi,” she says again. “How do you two know each other?”

Chloe clears her throat. “Family friends,” Chloe explains, then hesitates. “...And we dated in high school. A fling.” One glance at Sarah and Beca can tell that she doesn’t necessarily agree. “We’ve still kept in touch from time to time though.”

“Mainly through social media.” 

“Are you playing today?” Chloe asks quickly.

“As if your parents would allow me to sit out.” Sarah sighs. “My family versus yours. Just like old times.”

Chloe’s hand comes up slowly to slip into the back pocket of Beca’s jeans discreetly. “Yeah, just like old times. I’ll see you out there.”

Beca resists from sticking her tongue out. She pulls her hair over her shoulders so Sarah can see her name emblazoned on the back of the knitted sweater when they turn around.

Chloe’s hand on her ass probably helps.

— — — —

It’s fine until the game itself starts and Beca pretty much forgets about old flames who don’t matter. It starts off slow.

Beca is enjoying how handsy Chloe is, teaching her how to have proper form while both sweeping and throwing the—

“What’s this thing called?”

“A stone.” Chloe nudges it with her foot. 

“A rock?” Beca leans forward to try and lift it, before nearly crashing face first onto it at the unexpected weight. “What the fuck? Why is it so heavy?”

Chloe ignores her. “You’ll want to be careful while throwing the stone,” she explains, like Beca knows what that means. “When you release it, put a turn on it. It’s all very precise,” Chloe says with some reverence in her tone.

“That’s one word for it,” Beca mumbles. She tilts her head, watching Chloe stretch out her legs and how nice she looks in those jeans. "But uh, show me again?"

— — — —

Beca has seen some clips of people curling and maybe she snuck off to the bathroom five minutes earlier to quickly rewatch the two-minute video Chloe had showed her the day before, but she is still surprised by the amount of passion Chloe’s entire family seems to have for the sport. Even Chloe’s father whom Beca had exchanged three whole sentences with (he’s her favorite so far) is suddenly yelling incomprehensible things down the ice while Chloe and her brothers take turns sweeping. Beca tilts her head, admiring how focused Chloe is even if Beca thinks she looks a little ridiculous. Still, she darts over to her phone off to the side and snaps as many pictures as she can, intent on sending them to the Bellas group chat.

But Beca feels jealousy surge through her at the way Chloe’s high school flame (high school exes are nothing) is eyeing Chloe from the other team. All kinds of inappropriate things float through Beca’s mind even if Chloe isn’t paying any attention to Sarah. Casually and not at all awkwardly, she wraps an arm around Chloe’s waist, pulling her into a side hug.

Chloe leans into her, tilting her head to press a quick kiss to Beca’s cheek. “What’s up babe?” she asks, watching the ice intently.

Beca’s brow furrows as she tries to refocus on the ice, trying to see what Chloe sees. 

She has no idea what she’s looking at and she still doesn’t fucking understand curling.

“Nothing,” Beca finally says. “Just cold.”

— — — —

It is the jealousy. It has to be. Or is it possessiveness?

Some innate and stupid primitive instinct is triggered and Beca finds herself agreeing when Chloe’s younger sister Madison politely asks if Beca wants to have a turn on their family’s team.

— — — —

It’s honestly fine. The game moves at an odd pace, with a small amount of waiting around, a balance between fast and slow.

Beca sweeps, attempting to put some amount of force into it and stops trying not to think about how fucking awkward it is to hear her girlfriend’s father yelling at her from the giant target. Not to mention traumatizing. The curling rock-thing (“stone,” a voice corrects) slides into the gigantic target (“house,” Chloe had said earlier. Beca hadn’t questioned it.) and Beca is somehow done.

She’s still standing upright.

Chloe is surprised, but admiration and delight still shine in her eyes as she applauds Beca’s sweeping efforts. Chloe’s father nods approvingly and Chloe’s mother squeezes her shoulders affectionately. Beca, who has no idea whether she did anything helpful, simply accepts the praise and the kisses Chloe places on her cheeks. 

“Do you know what you just did?” Cooper asks Beca out of the corner of his mouth.

“No idea,” Beca responds. He laughs and side-hugs her, making Beca feel inexplicably happy at the inclusion.

Clearly a little high off Chloe’s affection and praise—as well as her family’s acceptance of her subpar curling skills—Beca agrees to throw by some magical Christmas force.

— — — —

The fucking stone weighs as much as she does.

First of all, it takes a couple tries to even push herself with the weigh in her hand.

Second, Beca is not expecting being dragged across the fucking ice.

Third, she noise she makes as she goes down is entirely unexpected and totally uncool.

Fuck.

— — — —

Suddenly Beca is blinking, lifting her head from the ice. Nothing really hurts, but her face stings a little. 

She’s mostly glad she isn’t crying, but Jesus—she can’t even look to see everybody’s expression.

“Oh my God!” Chloe’s voice sounds, cutting through the laughter. Beca groans, turning over just as Chloe’s hands grab at her shoulders, helping her sit up. “Beca,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” Beca shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she mutters quickly, embarrassed beyond belief. “Did we win?” she tries, going for levity.

Chloe shakes her head. “Let’s go home,” she murmurs. “Let me help you, baby.” 

For a second, Beca considers protesting. She considers shaking Chloe’s hands off her and pushing herself off the ice herself. She doesn’t need help walking—she can do that herself. 

But slowly, something changes in the air—and then all at once. Chloe is so concerned and so caring in such a specific way that it sends a flutter of emotions straight to Beca’s chest and she finds herself breathless once more. Standing slowly, Beca keeps her eyes on Chloe’s face even as Chloe leads her off to the side. Both of them, for the time being, ignore the laughter still sounding. Beca, however, doesn’t find herself caring much about whether anybody’s laughing at her, not anymore.

Not when she’s won.

“Beca,” Chloe says again a little urgently. “Are you okay?” Her arms come up to wrap Beca in a hug, pressing their bodies close together as if Chloe thinks the warmth of her body will somehow regenerate the brain cells Beca lost from the light smack of her head against the ground. Beca isn’t complaining. She nuzzles into Chloe’s neck, finding comfort in how close she feels to Chloe then. Chloe, clearly confused but choosing not to say anything, simply tightens her arms around Beca.

“I love you,” Beca whispers finally, voice only just loud enough to be heard over the music and voices echoing all around them. She’s clutching on to Chloe’s arms in the middle of a curling game between Chloe’s family and her family friends. Chloe looks both concerned and on the verge of laughing, her lips constantly twitching like she can’t decide which emotion to settle on. Beca still doesn’t understand the sport and she doesn’t understand how anybody could dedicate their entire life to something like this.

But at the same time, she gets it—that unexpected dedication to something. Unexpectedly enjoying something she previously thought was lame. Falling in love in the most unexpected of places.

So, loving Chloe—it’s not a new revelation. It was born out of a seed planted years and years ago. Loving Chloe was the easy part. Loving Chloe—it’s weeks old, months old, years old, and staring at Chloe now, she’s sure Chloe knows. But finally saying it aloud after years of dancing around each other and months of finally having each other…Beca feels some of the weight on her chest ease up—as light as she had felt when the rock (“stone, Beca” she hears briefly in her mind—a voice that sounds eerily like Aubrey’s) finally left her hand after dragging her across the ice for an embarrassing distance; she feels as breathless and airborne as she had felt just before she had skidded across the pebbled ice, almost face-first towards what she had felt like a very certain death.

“I love you,” Beca repeats, just to hear herself say it again. She tilts her head back to observe Chloe’s expression and catches the reddening of Chloe’s cheeks. She can see it especially well because of how close they’re standing. As well, Chloe’s heart skips a beat. Beca knows this because she feels it.

(Or it’s a fantastic figment of her imagination…one born out of a concussion from curling.

Fucking curling.)

Somehow, even amidst all the noise, Beca feels silence descend upon them. This is a frequent occurrence now, since she agreed to go home with Chloe for Christmas. Moments where she should have filled the air between them with the three words she hadn’t yet said. That they both haven’t said to each other.

But this silence is good because Chloe’s smile is brilliant and vibrant. Her response comes only a second later, but her voice is sure, even if she is also whispering. “I love you too, Beca.”

Beca feels impossibly warm suddenly, like somebody finally opened up the ceiling to the building and the sun finally took its chance to burst past the clouds above. Warmer than Los Angeles. Warmer than even her favorite comforter.

Warmth like Beca has never felt before on Christmas.

Warmth because Chloe’s parents are smiling at her like she belongs and they wouldn’t have anybody else for their daughter. Warmth because Beca is wearing an admittedly adorable family sweater, clearly meant only for the most important people in Chloe’s family.

“Thank you,” Beca murmurs, still unable to think of anything else to say. “I love you,” she repeats again, almost with a hint of awe. Just because she can. She twists to press the softest of kisses to Chloe’s lips, briefly squeezing Chloe’s arms. She refrains from adding that she literally almost died, anticipating that Chloe probably wouldn’t appreciate that. “But let’s never play this again,” Beca suggests against Chloe’s mouth, unable to help herself. “We can make new Christmas traditions.”

Chloe chuckles and runs a hand through Beca’s hair, smiling at how ruffled Beca looks from the hat she had been wearing. “Deal,” she agrees, sounding a little teary, but immensely happy.

Together they shuffle off the ice, hearts full.

fin.

[st-just]

I've seen you post a few times some interesting world building snippets, is there a setting your working on at the moment, or are they unrelated? (Feel free to use this an invitation to talk about the world, I'd love to hear about it)

Well, since you did ask for it!

They’re mostly theoretically written to be in the same setting, with a sort of acceptance that when put together it’ll probably be a bit incoherent around the edges. Given that it started as the setting for a D&D game that ended like a year ago and has just stewed and metastasized since then, that’s kind of a given, really.

But honestly, the initial impetus was reading...I think it was Strangers Drowning?, anyway, there was a discussion of how rather than just ‘selfish versus selfless’, a more useful distinction is how people distribute moral weight between themselves, their friends/family/close circle, and the general public/world at large. And, being an utter nerd, my second or third thought was “huh, that’s a pretty decent chassis for an alignment system that’s meaningfully distinct from good vs. Evil”.

So then I ended up working out three Great Powers for a world as sort of ideal types/expressions of each extreme, and then coming up with cultures and aesthetics that seemed kind of fitting after the fact, which I’m fairly sure is not how you’re supposed to do it, but anyway.

So on the one extreme you’ve got the Sublime Commonwealth, called the Esheri by everyone without a government job. A universalist, bureaucratic state, governed by Janissary-technocrats plucked from orphanages and schools, without family or property or the right to any sort of legacy beyond what they can contribute to the Common Good. Mandatory public education, but it’s solely in the equivalent of Esperanto. Religious freedom, as long as the temples accept state funding and choose their preachers and officials from government-approved seminaries and madrassas, with the more or less explicit goal that after a few generations of modernist theology and Higher Criticism the whole thing will be unnecessary. Family ties considered broken at the age of majority, or when the parents are deemed negligent, with newly formed households encouraged to take their name from some civic virtue or geographic feature rather than anything related to their cultures or ancestries. Public sanitation and healthcare and food relief, but also if the Committee on Strategy determines that they really need a new naval port you might find out you’re moving in a month, all your sacred rites and trade secrets will be carefully recorded for inclusion in the next edition of The Encyclopedia, and so forth. Titles like “Empiricist.” “Special Adviser to the Secretariat,” “Alternate Member of the Committee on Industry and Progress”.

The second power would be the Holy Ilyrin Empire, or possibly Ilyrin-Belthaya, depending on who you ask and where you’re standing. Not so much a unified ‘state’ as a vast and sprawling collection of crown in personal union, sworn vassals, various sorts of tributaries and protectorates, and a thousand other sorts of distinctions fit to make any central administrator cry. The Empire’s exceptionally big on tradition, you see and while the Queen-Empress is clearly the Heavens’ chosen Vicegerent, she and her court have no special authority to meddle in the natural and organic constitutions of her various subjects, save to defend them from unnatural innovation or outside influence. Family, lineage, and inheritance  are all exceptionally important, with infertility being treated like a malignant tumour that’s too humiliating to discuss in public, and disinheriting a child or repudiating ones family being more or less unthinkable, though the particulars of just who counts as your ‘family’ or ‘children’ can vary quite a bit, depending on location and circumstance. Regardless, nepotism and patronage are so widely accepted there’s barely words for them, and certainly no stigma attached-really, not going out of your way to help out distant relatives or family friends with any jobs or trading tips you happen to be able to hand out is what would get you ostracized and looked down upon. Religion is everywhere, and all-encompassing, but despite what the Hierarch in Imir might desire, most minority faiths have sort of official compact with their lords and ladies mandating toleration as long as they keep to themselves and know their limits. Education is handled through guilds and churches, without any sort of central organization or certification scheme, and the vast majority of really useful or impressive knowledge is hoarded by particular sacred orders or guilds or family lines. Absolutely all relief against misfortune relies upon your local churches and notables and whether your family or social circle can support you, but on the other hand if you’ve got a good thing going there’s essentially zero chance someone is going to come in from on high and destroy it, and if some system works then it’s going to be allowed to keep working. Titles like “Earl Marshal,” “Lady Protector.” “Witchfinder-General”

Third and the Free Cities, or the Federal Republic, or the Unconnected Collection of City-States Who Share Many Prominent Citizens And Trading Interests. Words are wind, and honour is an affectation, duty and loyalty are chains the cunning try to fasten around the necks of the strong. Notably, the only democracies-in a somewhat Athenian sense, with crimes against the City being tried before an assembly of citizens and determined by popular vote, without reference to written law, and open campaigning for command of armies and bidding for the right to exact tribute from the various hinterland tribes. As a matter of principle, there is no obligation that is not freely accepted, whether to family or faith or sovereign. The great and good of the Cities enrapture the masses with their feuds and romances, and a vital part of any political career is providing grand spectacles and public feasts to entertain and sustain the masses living on the street, the vast majority of whom can rely upon no other source of charity. Religion is commonplace, though objectively a large fraction of them are probably better called ‘cults’, sustained by direct sponsorship or force of personality, feuding with all the other street gangs and syndicates in bloody, shadowy affairs, each sect rising and burning out like a seasonal fashion, though each City has something like an official patron and a few festivals widely observed enough to have the mob firmly behind them. As the City Assemblies assign duties or assignments and not occupations, there’s officially speaking no title higher than the elected captain of a ship or mercenary company. Not allowing this to humble them, it’s an accepted practice for the famous and important to take various grand sobriquets and epithets-”The ingenious,” “the magnificent,” “Maestro of Falling Stars,” “Weaver in Blood and Bone,” and so on.

....I can keep going on pretty much indefinitely, but I’ll stop writing their in the interest of actually posting this relatively soon after receiving it.

[twofootedbones]

Wooden Boxes (Entire Story)

Summary: Small group of friends finds themselves in the forest just to get drunk and burn tree branches in a fire pit. One thing leads to another and now John is stuck with some kind of cheap horror movie plot box and a becomes responsible for a murder. Now that is all just between him and Father Erik. 

"Father I believe I have done more than sin, " John sat calmly on his side of the confessional. The calm demeanor wasn’t going to last long as his story continued and he knew this. "Tell unto me your troubles child, " Father Erik had invited the boy into the safe space after his recent suspicious behavior. John hadn't always been one to make it to church every single Sunday, but the boy's family was well known here. The man had watched him grow up watching him become more and more of a strapping young man each Sunday up until he had gone off towards college. But for the young man to suddenly appear in his church after all this time, it was obviously a moment of need. John stared down at his shoes, simple black sneakers that he could see the collecting dust fall towards. The woven brown reeds were pierced by the dyed sunlight coming from the stained glass. Greens, blues, and reds danced around the space making everything seem like it was all a children’ room. 

"It started through a party, " 

Erik would've never expected the boy to say anything like that. The blonde never seemed like the type to go to any party higher than a get-together. But there could be a lot about the boy he didn’t know.

 "We were all drinking, no one driving, it was technically supposed to be a camping trip, "

-

"If you haven't finished that wine yet you better fucking pass it bitchboy, " Conner gargled and cackled. His voice slurred through 2 fireballs and more than his fair share in beer. John clung to the white wine like it was a bar of gold. "You drunk slut! Get your own!" He yelled swatting away the hands of his brother. Saron sat across on a separate log, laughing into his premade sex on the beach, while poor Rick sipped from his Vermouth. He had to be the slightly sober one out of all of this, having to get at least a gallon or two of the booze before getting any kind of buzz.

 The blonde twins on the other side of the fire continued to argue about who should get the long empty white wine bottle. The air was crisp, untouched by human pollution, it was strange to both Rick and Saron but to the other two, the forest was a second home. Everyone held their own geographic location close to their hearts, while Saron loved the feeling of sand and the sounds of the sea, John craved the smell of the great pines and the sight of the growing ivy. The fire crackled before them, embers flying up into the now dying daylight. The chill of the wind started to hit everyone but the safety of Rick's van was only feet away. John shot up, almost immediately falling back over in the process. 

"I'm going to go take a piss, and I'm taking my wine with me, " he announced while stumbling towards the surrounding trees. "Don't stay out there for too long!" Rick called after him. Saron pats the older boy on the chest. "This is John we are talking about, if he gets lost then we're in a different forest, " 

The blonde did a sloppy job doing his business, hitting everything around the tree trunk rather than the tree trunk he was currently touching foreheads with. Something yelped behind him, it was like a scream that was gagged too soon. The blonde shot around, zipping himself up with more precision than his blackout brain would've wanted. He had never heard a sound like that in the forests before, no bird or mountain lion could ever make such a sound. There was someone or something out there amongst the leaves with him. 

Eyes started to search the leaves desperately, his drunken brain making him see and assume the worst of the worst. Was there a body amongst them? Did the poor boy wander upon a murder scene? The wind blew through the leaves, the temperature dropping with the sun. Once green trees are now turning black. The forest colors dripping down into the ground, making everything a harsh brown and an unforgiving black. Those green eyes wandered across something that might've matched the scenery, but the shape was wrong. A thick and tall wine box sat rotting amongst the forest floor. The top of the box was covered in layers upon layers of various colored candle wax. It seemed to be fresh wax, no dirt visible in the brightly colored substance. It sat straight up, facing the boy and almost inviting him in. At first, he was going to laugh, no amount of adrenaline could sober him up. He giggled at the box, unable to see any seriousness in the situation, believing that this thing could just be someone’s time capsule or some kind of harmless prank.

 "Did you just scream?" he asked the box. He moved closer, stumbling and slow. He started to talk to the box like it was a small dog, fear had left him. "Ya cold out here buddy? Come on, let's go back to the bonfire, " with that John picked up the box and started to carry it back towards camp. Everyone had already crawled their way into the van by then, so he slipped the box into his lemon of a car, placing it in the passenger side before forcing himself into the pile in the back of the van, shutting the van door behind him. He pushed himself onto the end being back to back with his brother. Having all of the blankets stolen from him before he had even fallen asleep. The sounds of the forest seeming to pierce the metal walls and echo through the vehicle. 

-

"This box, " 

Erik interrupted the story snapping John back to the tan comfort of the confessional. "What did it look like again?" 

John knew all too well what the box looked like, he knew every single detail and wax smudge on that stupid box. For something so simple it was stapled into his mind so well. The bright tan of the wood and how it was stained different shades from the candle wax. How the locks on the side looked so out of place and how the screws were put in wrong.

 "It was a wine box, one of those old ones like the cigar boxes, with white and purple candle wax all over it, " 

“Hm,” 

-

The sun tried it's best to pierce through the dirtied and fogged up windows of the van but had no such luck, only creating a dim and dusty light that stained everything yellow. John had woken up first, almost expecting the sound of his alarm to attack his senses, but instead it was just the lovely symptoms of a hangover. The night before started to come back to him as he gazed upon the white wine bottle he fought so hard to keep cuddled up to him. 

While the red of the metal walls and the yellow of the light provided comfort, something was off. There was something wrong about the scene, it felt as if he shouldn’t be here. The forest was silent, no morning birds, no sounds of the small creatures running through the leaves and the bushes, nothing. Something was stopping everything. 

No matter how hard he tried to shake it, the feeling of someone watching him overpowered his murderous migraine. Rick, the patron saint of all their outings, had packed not only a surplus of aspirins and a cooler of just orange juice. His pounding mind pleaded for him to try and get up to get the two miracle products but something was stopping him. Something was looking right at them, he could feel it. A pair of eyes all too bigger than his own we're starting him down and he could feel them on him. Three deep breaths and counting the number of breaths that came from the rest of the room grounded him. Three of his own and three others. The sunlight started to brighten, desperately wanting to get inside of the van. How much time was he wasting staring at the ceiling? And how much longer was this feeling going to last? 

Then something else tried to get in. An unidentifiable head covered the small back window, much too large to be a human's. It didn't move, just stood there. John couldn't see the window, but when the light that once covered the roof had up and left him, so did any calm demeanor that he once had. "Rick, " 

He called out for the silver-haired boy, hoping and praying that he could see what he was seeing. "Rick, wake up, " John' eyes refused to leave the ceiling, watching and waiting for the light to come back. "Rick, " he repeated in a harsher tone. 

"Wh- what? What?" He had finally woken up, and just like that, the light was back. John finally got his bones to move, sitting up and changing his focus from the roof to the window. "I think there's someone outside the van, " 

"What?" was apparently the word of the day. "Yeah, I think there's someone outside, they were just looking through the window, " 

Rick untangled himself from Saron and pushed himself up against the same window that the head was once hiding behind. The boy pushed to unlock the door while the other two struggled with their own hangovers. Conner lazily watched in awe as the silver-haired boy moved so fast. He swung the van door open as well as started swinging, looking back and forth for anyone around. “Hello?!” he called out to the empty, empty forest. John trailed out after him, wobbly from the sun’s rays attacking his eyes and brains. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s out here,” he said a bit calmer to the staggering blonde. “But there definitely was, look at your poor car dude,” 

John staggered over towards his vehicle, hearing the van door slide shut behind him, the two left there no doubt snuggling back up and falling back asleep. The entire windshield was covered in sap. A full brown and golden coat covered the glass, almost completely obscuring the view. “It must’ve been some fuckin prankster kids or something,” Rick shook his head, reaching to touch the syrup. “I have a snow scraper under the seat it might work,” the blonde mumbled. 

-

“The whole front glass pane?” the older man interrupted with another question. “If it really was just some hooligans, where would they have gotten all that tree sap?” 

John laughed on the other side of the thin woven wall. “It would be quite the prank to pull, no matter how much I scraped, there was no real way to get rid of it,” the boy would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about gathering tree sap just to do that to Conner or believing that Conner had done that to his car himself. “Six car washes later it’s not as sticky anymore but the windshield wiper still gets stuck,” 

“Continue with your story, my child,” 

-

The door swung open all too fast, slamming the door handle into the thankfully placed door stopper. It wasn’t like it was stopping much due to the many doorknob sized holes in the wall. The apartment manager wasn’t exactly happy about it, but this wasn’t exactly anything new. He’s been living here for a year now, when he moves out he’ll fix it. The aspirins had started to wear themselves off as they lacked the power to last the whole migraine. That’s only expected from gas station migraine meds. He shut the door behind him with his foot, unable to touch the handle with his hands as they were both filled with the simple camping equipment and the new antique he gets to add to his collection, free of charge. He set the wine box down on the coffee table, for now, the glass clinking as the metal corners hit the surface.

John left the box there, wandering further into the two-bedroom one bath apartment to shove the other items there before returning to the couch where he would further hibernate. On the way back to the living room, he kicked off his shoes only to leave them somewhere in the hallway. Right now was not the time to keep things simple and clean. The shirt came off next, being thrown somewhere towards the kitchen but he never saw where it landed. A pale body flopped onto the small pull out couch, his feet hanging off the other end but being too lazy to pull the whole small bed out of the couch. Green eyes stared at the wine box that made the coffee table it's home. The box was surprisingly clean for being somewhere in the forest. John started to search for his phone, slapping his pockets until he could recognize the size of his ancient smartphone in his front pocket. 

While Conner begged for him to update his phone and finally live the 5G life if it wasn’t broken don’t fix it. John clicked open the phone and started his common words search. Wine box covered in wax? Spiritual box? Vintage box covered in wax? Spiritual wine box? 

The last search is when he actually got anything. Dybbuk box. What was currently sitting on his coffee table was something called a Dybbuk box. Thousands of clickbait videos showed up in the results. Tens of them having “Gone wrong” somewhere in the title. He opened up Youtube, clicking through the thousands of videos till he could find some kind of informational video that was obviously a child's clickbait. A short video by some kind of news site told him everything he could need to know. Well, not really but get the gist. The box held some kind of demon, a demon that would latch itself onto whoever came into contact with the box. John had carried that box with both hands on multiple occasions. The lady in the video said that the bad events would come in threes, but with the millions of clickbait videos, he started to believe that this was all just a load of shit. Mostly considering that the legendary box was a small wine cabinet and not a dinky single bottle wine box.

 The boy clicked his phone off and set it down on the coffee table next to the box. “Did some Youtuber leave you in the forest, huh?” he asked the box. He smiled at the small prop, laughing about the story he could tell to Travis and Carol in class tomorrow. “I got a bookshelf with your name on it,” he spoke to the box again. 

He didn’t realize that he had slept until he woke up to the natural light leaving him behind. What was he doing when he got home? The light of the street lamps found their way through his windows. He didn’t want to get up just yet, staring out his window and watching the cars on the road outside. Class started back up tomorrow, ending spring break and starting the home stretch to summer break. As if he was even going to make it that long. His grades have been falling to pieces before his very eyes, having to get Travis and Carol to help him with everything. They were upperclassmen and he’s lucky that he even got them to look at his direction. Maybe he could squeeze in a bit of homework tonight. His eyes wandered towards the ceiling. 

Something blocked the light again. 

The same pitch black figure, head much too large for its own body, it was a blessing that the neck could even support it. Or perhaps that's just what the shadow made it look like. John had only got a glimpse of it before it duck down below the window. The blonde shot up, staring back at the window. Now he was starting to regret not having curtains. He didn’t live in a shady part of town or didn't trust his neighbors, but he was starting to. John rolled off the couch, keeping his eyes on the window only looking away to check if the door was locked. It wasn’t. 

The boy dreaded moving anywhere close to the window, it was an irrational fear, there was nothing there he could still be drunk and this all was just his eyes playing tricks on him. He was just tired. It was just one of his neighbors walking by. It was a car going by the streetlamp. 

The two locks shut with two simple clicks. The door knob lock jiggles slightly and the deadbolt sliding securely into place. A short lived wave of calm brushed over him, a breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped between his lips. A crash snapped him back into reality, his body whipped around to face the wine box that had now flashed itself onto the floor, standing up perfectly. John wasn’t a very religious person, while his family forced him into church he believed it was all just some story that people preached for morals like fairy tales. But at that moment, he could believe that there was something in the house with him.

“This is ridiculous,” 

Anger forced his anxiety out and made itself the leading factor of his actions. The blonde stormed over and snatched the box off of the ground, almost throwing it into the spare room. The box landed amongst the forgetting camping stuff on the floor. He slammed the door behind him and went to bed without a shower. 

-

“You threw the Dybbuk box?” 

The voice was harsh and stern. Erik was always a second father to him, so it was a bit difficult to hear that tone. John started to shake, regret and grief taking over him for disrespecting the box and disappointing Erik. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled holding his head in his hands. The center latched clicked open and the small door opened up, the older man slipping in a box of tissues. 

-

The most annoying alarm rang through the apartment, breaking through the blockage of both the walls and the pillows. John slapped the life out of his phone, sliding his and back and forth to desperately shut the sound off. His face still buried deep into his pillow and blankets still covering his face. His hand bumped into something that definitely wasn’t on his nightstand last night. The harsh wooden texture and the smooth oily feeling made his eyes shoot open faster than a speed dial. There stood the box, right on his nightstand. John sighed, slamming his face back into the pillow, this had to be a prank. His hand remained on the box, trying to think of who had a spare key to his apartment. 

Conner.

 Of course his brother would do some stupid shit like this. His pranks always had layers upon layers of planning. A small splinter of doubt hit him, believing that Conner was too piss drunk to place the box behind him in the woods, but then he remembered that Rick was sober and that trio of assholes lived together. So, of course he would be in on it. The blonde rolled out of bed, checking the time on his phone before picking the box back up. 

“If I throw you away then he won’t be able to move you around anymore,” he spoke to the box again. “But then again, if I hide you somewhere then I could catch him in the act,” he smiled, his plan sounding like a great one. There weren't a lot of places in his apartment that he could hide the box, but there were a few places he knew Conner would never look. So, into the back of the freezer it went. The box was covered up by frozen bags of fruits and vegetables. “Let’s see him find you now,” 

-

John got home from class like it was every other day, slamming the door open and closing it softly before throwing himself onto his couch and crashing his backpack onto the coffee table. Only this time when his backpack slammed itself into the coffee table, it shoved something else off of it. John lacked a TV so there was no way he could blame the crash on something as simple as a remote. The blonde lifted his head to see before him the stupid box. He was started to curse this box and the stupid game his brother was playing on him, did the boy really search through everywhere?! And in the freezer of all places?! He was sick of it. He was sick of the idea that Conner had even thought that doing this stupid little demon prank was a good idea. 

It all just bothered him so much more than it should, unable to understand these drastic moods lately. He was mad almost all the time now, mad at his apartment door, mad at his classmates, mad at his stupid car, mad at his friends for being so fucking nosy, and mad at himself for being mad. It was all so confusing.

But angering all the same. 

The blonde struggled to find out where the thorn in his demeanor was from, while the box in front of him knew exactly where it was from. The boy stared at the box, brows permanently frowed together in the most peeved face he had ever made. “What’s even inside you anyway you useless thing?” he asked in the box. Then it jostled. Causing him to become startled himself. “What the fuck?” he said aloud, quickly shifting to sit up and pick up the box. It jumped again in his hands. This scared him more than just seeing it move on the floor. He's held jumping beans before, but those were small, whatever this was, was bigger than some bug.

 John threw the box across the room, hearing it crash against the wall with a thud then crack open on the floor. The wax scattered itself and the wood splintered. The inside remained pitch black despite the many lights that flooded the apartment. John stood up, backing away but needing to get closer to be able to kill whatever rat or creature Conner had put in this stupid wine box.  It was only after a void black dripping hand slapped itself out of the small box did he realize that this wasn’t a prank. The hand desperately slapped and gripped at the carpet floor, whatever it was attached to wanting out. The fingers curled and flexed in all different directions, seeming to drag itself towards John. The boy was stuck in place, watching with wide eyes as a second hand forced itself out of the broken box. Both arms and finger flexing and flailing around, the sound of the newly wet carpet being slapped on by the mystery appendages. A watermelon sized head pulled itself out of the small opening, the jaw was sharp and pointed in several areas, just above opening in a large toothed mouth with a swirling tongue that seemed to go up and lick the rest of the face like a gecko would to its own eyeball. The head shook back and forth, sometimes even slapping itself on the carpet too, desperately wiggling to free itself from the prison it had once been trapped in. A skinny body followed the head, neck thinner than would ever be expected to lift the head and a chest that was no larger than a notebook. There were no legs on the creature, relying on the long arms it had to keep it mobile. It seemed to look around the small apartment before making a Beeline towards the blonde that only watched in shock and fear as it dragged itself forward and onto the coffee table with just its thin and dripping arms. It was as if the creature was made out of nothing but stale and out of date ink. The large mouth opened before those arms propelled the body towards John with a powerful launch. 

Last thing he knew, the creature was on his face. 

-

John woke up on his apartment floor hours upon hours later. It couldn’t have been that long because it was still light outside, but the buzzing of his phone told a different story. The simple caller ID told him that it was one of his classmates. Well technically an upperclassmen, but he was a classmate all the same. “Hello? Travis?” he spoke slurred into the phone. “John!?” the voice on the other end boomed. “Where have you been!? You’ve been out for two days!” 

There was no way his phone battery had lasted more than 3 hours the day he got home. The boy looked down at himself as the older man on the other line continued to speak, completely tuning him out as he examined himself. He was still wearing the same shirt and same shorts he had been wearing when he got home. The same backpack sat on the coffee table. The scene he endured came back to him, he whipped his head around to look for wither the creature that attacked him or the box he had shattered, but neither were present.

“Are you even listening to me?” Travis snapped him back to the phone conversation he hadn’t gotten a word of. “What?” he asked.

“Where are you? Me and Carol are going to come get you, we’ve been worried to death dude,” 

Well that was reasonable. “I’m just at my apartment,” 

“We’re on our way,” and with that the line went dead.

A feeling of dread started to attack the boy, although it was just a simple phone conversation, he was yet again alone in his apartment. He was afraid to move, even more terrified to even go into any of the rooms of the house. There was no telling where the thing had gone, even if it did make it back to the stupid box, he didn’t want to see it anymore. John looked down to his legs and noticed something he hadn’t earlier. From his ankle all the way up his legs, even so much as stretching under his shorts, was covered in patches of bruises. While some were a fading yellow, others were the deepest purple he had ever seen. How was he supposed to explain these to Travis and Carol? 

John would either have to face his fears of the other rooms, or try and explain that he was attacked by a Lovecraft creature. The boy stood up on aching legs, almost immediately falling back to his stop on the ground. It hurt. The boy's face twisted up in pain, temporarily distracting him from the fear of the loose creature. Each step sent shockwaves through his body, his feet feeling as if he was walking on scolding needles. The walk towards the bedroom door felt as if an hour had already passed, sweat starting to run down his face already. While he turned the doorknob to the room, the one attached to the front door started to shake as well. It was followed by all too forceful knocks and a deep voice that broke through every wall. Maybe it had taken him an hour to get to the bedroom. “Just a second!” he yelled back, the remaining fear that gripped onto him let go, leaving just his injuries to slow him down. The knocks continued as he threw the dresser drawer open, he was surprised that Travis was being this impatient but then again he did drop off the face of the earth for two days. Wait, if they were really worried then why didn’t they just get Conner to let them into the apartment. John stared at himself in the body length mirror as he struggled to hop his legs into the longer sweatpants. Something wasn’t adding up, but he blamed it on school and some other unknown excuse he knew was there but couldn’t think of. 

The blonde started to get used to the new pain that was walking as he rushed from the bedroom to the front door, the knocking continued up until he placed his hand on the doorknob. He paid no attention to it until he swung the door open to see no one there. Nothing but the day’s sun and the gentle breeze made its way through the entrance. A sound went off behind him, he could almost recognize it as the knives in the kitchen clattering to the floor and the coffee table bursting into pieces. 

-

This time John actually woke up. The boy was on his knees in the middle of the small kitchen, steak knife in his hand aimed towards his legs. He couldn’t move, only observing in horror at the various butter and steak knives that sat around him in a circle, each blade curled completely into a corkscrew. His heart is the only thing racing. His knuckles shone white as he squeezed on the handle of the knife in his hand, terrified of the object but refusing to let go of it. He wanted to get up, he wanted to run away, he wanted to find his phone he really did, but something had his legs bolted to the tile floor. Half-assed deep breaths calmed his pulse down somewhat, but how was one supposed to be calm in a situation like this. The blonde tried to look over the kitchen counter towards the rest of the house, unable to see a single thing other than the darkness of the window. What day was it? What time was it? Was he still alive? John was endlessly confused with his situation. The mild confusion and anger stopped dead when a familiar slap sounded just out of his view. His heart rate kicked up again, being just as loud as the several wet slaps that followed the first. The long inked hand appeared again, just around the counter. The flexing appendages pulled and scraped the head and rest of the body into view, the creature dragging and lifting itself to sit right in front of the boy. It was silent. The only sound echoing through the small space was John’ breathing and the sound of the tar from its body dropping to the tile. It was a staring match despite the monster’s lack of eyes. The mouth started to open, open wide. John was convinced that the mouth of teeth would be the last thing he would ever get to see before his body would shut down. The mouth kept going, opening and curling back much like the blades on the ground around him. It revealed a face. The face of a boy much like him but so much younger, bright almost glowing red eyes met his green as the real staring contest began. The muk continued to curl back, revealing hair that could rival the black tar in color and a surplus of skin that one would only find on the body of an albino. 

A simple dress shirt and sweater vest was revealed as it continued to drip away, splatters of blood covering the sleeves while whatever blood was on the vest had been swallowed by the darker colors. The rest of the tar dripped away revealing a sight much worse than the cover of the void. The creature lacked legs because the boy under lacked them as well. The dress shirt and vest were shredded at the ends, revealing in full view a pile of driped and wasted organs that spilled out of the open body. Flesh hung out in surplus, the meat seeming more of a petrified jerky with age. John had audibly gasped at the sight, almost expecting an attack from the boy in front of him for doing anything. But instead, he spoke. “I know,” 

The voice was broken and raspy, but remained deep and sarcastic. “You need to do something for me,” the voice spoke again. 

It took him more than a few seconds but the blonde managed to find his own voice. “Who are you?” he asked. 

“Var, You need to do something for me,” he repeated, his tone becoming more and more aggravated. There was no avoiding the question. “What, what do you need?” 

That was where he had started to cover up the grave he dug himself. John had invited the dybbuk onto himself. He had allowed the creature to attach itself to him. The spirit of the boy and the boy’s disgusting and murderous longing. The boy pulled himself closer, the curled knives moving on their own around him. “2116 Aervre Street,” the boy said, putting his hands on his, wrapping around them to help hold the knife in place. They were as cold as ice, burning his hands the longer they stayed there. The knife started to freeze in his hands, crystallizing and piercing his hands. This was real, this time it wasn’t a dream. The body of the boy melting in front of him, the knife staying attached to his hands. Whispered started from behind him, at first he couldn’t tell what they were saying, but as they grew louder and closer he could make out the word simply. “Kill, kill, kill, kill,” it chanted. 

He had a job to do and Var was going to make him do it. Legs shooting up and moving on their own. The curled knives clattered around the kitchen as his legs started to feel. Wet. The black sludge from the floor flowing up and attaching themselves to his body. He didn’t come back to the present until he found himself sitting in the car. 

The car started with a scream, the busted engine coming to life as the small key started the whole thing. The car lights turned on with a flash before shutting off, leaving the boy in the darkness of the night, only interrupted by the glow in the dark lights of the dashboard symbols. The sharp blade glimmered in the flashed lights, drawing his attention to it once again. He had everything he could’ve needed. Bolt cutters, the knife that had yet to leave his hands, gloves, simple toss away shoes he had left over from summer, he had everything. John could feel himself getting sick over the task at hand, half of his mind rejecting even thinking that the spirit had meant something else while the other half, the half that wasn’t him, was already committing the crime. The busted  box sat in the back, fully visible through the rear-view mirror. Var was watching him, watching him closely. The blonde could feel the pressure of the creature resting on his shoulders, almost forcing itself into his body, forcing him to have a lead foot. The car calmly left the parking lot and out onto the main roads. Snoogle maps screamed the directions to him through the discount sound system. The bluetooth speaker glued to the dashboard jostled as he sped up, completely ignoring the speed bumps as he passed through empty neighborhoods. He bounced up and down in the car, feeling Var shove him back down into the seat. The tools that once sat next to him in the passenger’s seat now found their home on the floor, the wine box in the back seat refused to move, as if it was glued down tight to the middle seat. The fresh wax on the box seemed to melt, never dripping but a constant flow like it was all pulsing. Like it was living. It was living. John ran through a red light, the sounds of the honking cars in the intersection snapping his attention back to the road, he was back on the main road again. The cops were going to be called on him soon. He knew this as a fact. 

The speaker roared his last few directions at him, the bass and water damage almost gargling the words. John was almost convinced that part of the sounds were the demon’s doing. The speaker said something about the destination being on the right before the dust dome completely exploded, shooting the guts of the small speaker forward and towards the metal mesh making that mesh the only thing keeping John from facing an electrical injury. The blonde slammed on the brakes, the tires shrieking behind him the trimming bound to be ruined by now but none of that mattered to him apparently. John yanked the key out of the ignition, checking over it to see if it was bent or not. It was fine though scolding hot to the touch, he learned that the hard way. Hissing as he shoved his twice burnt fingers into his mouth as if it was going to make a single difference. Once with ice and once with heat. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him, he could hear the raspy voice he had heard in the kitchen speaking to him. "Hurry up,” was all the voice was repeating. The words forced a noticeable amount of anxiety on the boy, draping himself over the center compartment to reach the tools he needed on the floor. John put on the medical mask with shaking hands, tucking his hair into a baseball cap he planned to burn after all of this, and scribbled all over his face with a body paint stick not even bothering to look in the visor mirrors. He needed to be unrecognizable. Snatching a satchel from the back seat he was ready to head out. The boy looked over at the house, the first thing he saw was the doorbell cam. There was no real easy way to take those out, so he couldn't use the front door or approach the front steps at all for that matter. The gate to the back was easy money, chain link and short enough not to make much noise climbing over. 

The backyard was large, large enough to fit a pool but remained empty. A sharp knock to the back of his head staggered him enough to drop to the ground. “You didn’t even check for a dog,” the cracking voice screamed at him. Var was right, but John could honestly care less. His vision blurred as he tried to get up, the dybbuk cursing in the back of his mind saying things about how he didn’t hit the other that hard. The blonde walked around, viewing the backside of the house, looking for cameras, open windows, or any lights on in the house. It was as if the place was completely abandoned. Every single curtain was open while none of the lights were on. There was no camera and no lights. “You’re welcome,” Var almost screamed in his right ear. He had gotten all too used to having to deal with the creatures lack of volume control. The sliding glass door made a click, John could only guess that the lock on it had sprung open. The boy took off his shoes, shoving them into the bag and throwing on some cheap flip flops over his socks. Fashion didn’t matter in the middle of attempted murder. The pure rubber shoes squeaked as they pressed against the wooden floors. He started to shut the door behind him when a small gash opened itself up on his arm. It took a lot in his power to yelp while it happened, quickly covering it to stop bleeding. If his DNA evidence was found on the scene, they’d catch him almost immediately. “Easy escape,”

John acted quickly, sliding one of the flip flops off, yanking his sock off, and attempting to wrap and tie the fabric around his arm right as he slipped his foot back into the shoe. The sock ripped to shreds in his hand, easier to wrap around his arm. He was already wasting so much time as it is, feeling the demon on his shoulders grow more and more impatient the more he struggled to tie the fabric off. 

John looked around the dining room and kitchen combo. It was pristine, as if the cleaning lady had just come by not two hours ago and deep cleaned every surface. If he left so much as a trace he’d be fucked. Var started to pull him towards a doorway, that doorway led to the living room. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling that seemed to stretch all the way to the roof, no divider between the up and down stairs areas. A small curving stairwell stretches itself from the bottom to top floor, proudly displaying an open hallway where several doors could be seen, every single one of them was closed. Stress was taken off of his back and neck, feeling Var lighten his attachment. The dybbuk was searching the house for the target, John stood patiently in the living room, looking around the doors to see if there was any kind of alarm system anywhere in the house. That was when he saw some items that started to raise a bit of suspicion. It was difficult to view in the plain darkness, so he pulled out his phone and flashed the light of the screen towards it.

 A wheelchair sat next to the door, with one of those stair climber chairs sitting right next to it. Something wasn’t right here. Some kind of monitor sat next to the tv, the wires stretching from there to the couch. Before he got the time to investigate further the pressure of barbells returned to his shoulders, the pressure forcibly pushing him towards the stairs. His foot touched the carpeted stairs with caution, the fabric below him squishing down and bouncing back as if it had never been walked on before. The knife in his bag began to feel heavy, this time not because of Var but because of the guilt of knowing what he was about to do. While this was a problem, something told John that he wouldn’t even have to take the knife out of the bag. Tears started to gather, glassing his eyes but refusing to fall just yet. His nose started to stuff up but he chose to ignore it, breathing through his mouth allowing his shaking breaths become louder and louder. Var had not made some kind of comment or punished him for the behavior yet, but he knew it was going to come.

 A quick slap to the face set him in the right direction once he got to the top of the staircase. To the left it was. The dead silence of the house was replaced with the light sounds of a breathing machine. Quite literally. John recognized the sounds from having to take his brother to the hospital for an asthma attack. The faint sound alone confirmed his suspicions, this old enemy is quite old indeed. The door was almost highlighted as it sat on the other side of the hallway, green lights shining from the crack at the bottom of the door. The blonde felt empty, as if the hands that were opening and door and the feet that were walking across the cushy carpet weren’t his. Before he could even come to, the once calmy beeping monitor was dead flat. The wire that once held the whole man together in his hands and out of the power socket, but Var still wasn’t satisfied and that was the last thing he had heard. The creature screaming in the back of his mind. “It’s not done till there's blood!” 

-

The morning light invaded the newly placed curtains in the apartment, the light cream color giving the whole living room a comfortable feeling. John needed it. He was free from the creature that had plagued him, but it was all from over. Every single news article and report only reminded him of the monstrosity he had gone through and every single time he had been abused by the spirit that possessed the simple wine box. The blonde could only assume that Var was gone completely, not finding a single trace of the box anywhere in his apartment or car. The knives in the kitchen remained bent though and the scars he earned from his battle with the creature would remain there forever. Perhaps he would be able to deal with all of that. 

-

John took a deep breath, completely calm by the end of his story although he knew there was nothing but trouble that could come from it now. Erik stared at the boy through the woven mesh, the natural sunlight now gone, leaving them with nothing but the artificial light of the church chandelier. The once calming kaleidoscope of stained glass colors is now gone and replaced with the buzzing of LED bulbs and eye straining bright white. The blonde looked up at the man who just stared at him in disbelief. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he begged. 

“Not a soul,” 

[televisedbirdwatching]

Getting a Handle on Portland Skateparks with GIS

BACKGROUND:

For the past few months, I’ve been taking courses in Geographic Information Systems (GIS) at Portland Community College. GIS work involves a lot of computer screen time, so I was thankful to have easy access to the Holly Farm skatepark on my way home. Class ended at 9pm, so if I hurried to the park I would have a half hour to skate before the sun fully set behind the hills. These short skate sessions were an important part of my day: after work and class I was thankful for some physical activity and unstructured time.

Holly Farm Skatepark in SW Portland. Photo Skaters for Portland Skateparks. 

I believe skateparks are a crucial recreational resource. Of course, I’m not an impartial judge. For me, close access to the Holly Farm park was something to look forward to after class. But for many others, it’s worth considering that skateparks represent something far more important.

In urban planning language, the term “third places” is used to describe the places in our lives that are not work nor home. Sociologist Ray Oldenburg coined the term in a 1989 book called “The Great Good Place.” He wrote that the neighborhood grocery store, the corner bar, and the coffee shop are the places where ‘weak’ social connections are made, introducing people to community members who would otherwise be strangers (A brief note that ‘weak’ refers to ‘casual’ more than ‘insignificant’). He called third places the “heart of a community’s social vitality,” and foundational to grassroots democracy. Without them, people live isolated lives and take on narrow perspectives.

Much of the dialog on third places focuses on places that are appropriate to the lives of adults. There’s no reason to suspect third places might be any less important to youth. In fact, youth are traditionally excluded from the most common third places (too young to enjoy caffeine, not old enough for bars) leaving them fewer total available third places. In addition, youth contending with urban sprawl may have difficulty accessing third places, even if they exist. Even in 1989, Oldenburg saw that third places were on the decline; in recent years, virtual spaces have filled these voids. This puts youth in a particularly vulnerable position: there were less third places to begin with, there are less now than before, and accessing the few that are left can be challenging.

I’m concerned about youth-appropriate third places in general, and I admit skateparks are only one such place. However, I believe that skateparks offer particular and unique benefits for youth. Skateboarding offers an experience in unstructured play, different from organized sports. Skaters are free to find their own lines in a skatepark, linking features and tricks in a way not enforced (but informed) by the design of the park itself. Skateboarding also teaches youth how to fall and get back up, and fosters obsessive persistence in the pursuit of self-structured goals: many tricks require hundreds of tries for one “make.” Skateboarding is an individual sport at its core, but skateparks are environments where supportive communities can be actualized. Friends give advice and assistance, and skaters learn how to learn from their peers. Not only is there personal satisfaction to be gained from landing a trick, there is also the enthusiasm and encouragement coming from your peers at the park.

A photo from Skate Like A Girl’s yearly competition, Wheels of Fortune. Photo Thrasher Magazine.

Skateboarding can also create support in communities that might face steeper slopes. Skate Like a Girl is a national nonprofit that pushes for a more inclusive skate community and shares the joy of skating with (primarily) womxn-identifying youth. From their website:  "Women and girls who learn how to skateboard learn more than just how to balance; girls who skateboard learn to push their own personal boundaries, test their capabilities and in the process, teach and encourage others. It is our firm belief that these attributes reap rewards outside of the skatepark and our immediate community. Girls and women who believe in themselves are more likely to raise their hand in the classroom, advocate for themselves in the workplace and attract the company of those who respect them.”

Skateparks are a particular type of third place for youth where they can make ‘weak ties’ that become friendships, participate in free, unstructured play, and develop skills and personal attributes that will serve them throughout the course of their lives. In addition, skateboarding has a comparatively low financial barrier to entry than other sports and activities.

Since skateparks are so important, it might be surprising to know that Portland has only eight officially-recognized, public skateparks: one for every 81,000 Portlanders. What might be more surprising is that the city of Portland was (most likely) the first in the world to have a comprehensive Skatepark System Plan. Local nonprofit Skaters for Portland Skateparks began the process in 2001, and legislation was passed in 2005. The plan called for 19 total skateparks of varying size from “neighborhood spots” to a central “destination” skatepark. In the 14 years since, only eight of the 19 have been built.

Skaters for Portland Skateparks’ System Map. Built skateparks in green, planned skateparks in red.

In my GIS class, we were asked to pose a research question, and answer that question with spatial analyses. I wanted to look at the current distribution of skateparks in Portland, and develop a characterization of who does and does not have access to this critical recreational resource. Here are a set of maps that help tell that story.

MAPS:

Borrowing a term from the food justice world, I wanted to create a map of “Skatepark Deserts” in Portland. The first step was creating the dataset- I mapped point features for each skatepark, and included some additional information (if built or planned, if built, what year). Next, I added information from the census bureau showing census tracts in the Portland area. This map was created to show each tract’s distance from a public skatepark. Dark shades of blue are tracts that contain or are within 1 mile of skateparks. Green scrubland represents a 2-mile, semi-accessible radius. Orange areas are “Skatepark Deserts,” more than 2 miles from a recognized skatepark.

Skatepark Deserts in Portland, OR. Map created by me.

If you’re interested in the GIS methodology, here you go. If not, you can skip to the next section. The first category, the darkest blue areas, were created by selecting all tracts that contained one of the skatepark points. The other analyses were performed using the centroids of each tract. For example, the light blue areas are census tracts whose centroid is within a 1 mile buffer of the skatepark point. The green areas, a 2 mile buffer. The desert scrublands are polygons that have at least some area within the 2 mile buffer. The desert sands are polygons that are completely outside the 2 mile buffer.

The first map showed the geographic distribution of skateparks in Portland, but it doesn’t tell a very complete story. I wanted to look at some of the demographic data and develop a fuller picture of who has access to skateparks. I created two maps using the same census tract blocks, but this time displayed them on the basis of poverty rate and median family income. The first map shows the percentage of families living at or below the poverty line: darker colors represent more families experiencing poverty. Census tracts containing skateparks are highlighted. For the most part, skateparks are sited in locations where they serve areas with high poverty rates. The smallest tract poverty rate is Glenhaven park at 11%, but neighbors two tracts with higher poverty rates. Ed Benedict, Luuwit, and Gateway are sited in areas with high poverty rates, between 28 and 30%.

Poverty Rate of skatepark-containing census tracts in Portland. Map created by me.

I also created a map showing median family income in each of these tracts. Darker colors represent greater amounts of income. The average of the median family income of all tracts containing skateparks is roughly $62,000. Southwest Portland is an interesting anomaly: the Holly Farm and Gabriel parks are in areas with close to six-figure median incomes, yet also have 14 and 19% poverty rates.

Median family income of skatepark-containing census tracts in Portland. Map created by me.

More GIS methodology: if you’re interested in the categories I used to classify this data, let me know and I can go into more depth!

So far, Portland has done a good job of siting skateparks in locations where they serve low and middle income communities. However, the Skatepark Desert effect is unresolved. Many areas in far-east Portland and in the downtown area have high poverty rates yet don’t have easy access to a skatepark.

Transit connectivity is an important consideration given the plain fact that school-aged youth are not able to drive. Some families experiencing poverty may be entirely transit dependent. Others may have personal vehicles but not the time to drive children across town. Transit connectivity gives youth the freedom to travel on their own and access third spaces like skateparks freely. I created a transit connectivity score by counting the number of bus lines that intersect a 1-mile radius circle around each skatepark. Assuming one mile is a reasonable distance to travel on a skateboard, the score represents how many buses someone could possibly board. This is another area where Portland does well- there are no values less than 10, and Gateway Park boasts access to 26 bus lines, not including the MAX Light Rail system.

Transit Connectivity of skateparks in Portland. Map created by me.

Finally, although transit connectivity is important, walkability offers an even higher level of access for youth. For this map, I used the same 1-mile buffers but counted the number of schools that lie within each circle. I’ll give Portland a passing score on this metric. Although some skateparks have low scores (Pier Park: 2), there are often other schools just outside the 1-mile radius.

Skateparks and Schools in Portland. Map created by me.

Here again, the skateparks that exist in Portland score well in terms of transit connectivity and proximity to schools, ensuring that youth have easy access to these resources. However, consider the number of schools that are not within the 1-mile circles: the majority of school aged youth are still in a skatepark desert.

Considering these maps together, it’s fair to say that Portland has done a good job, when constructing skateparks, to ensure that they serve low and middle income youth, are transit connected, and close to schools. However, there’s more work to be done. As I mentioned earlier, the city’s 2005 plan called for the construction of 19 skateparks. Skatepark construction hit the ground rolling with five parks in three years: Pier Park (2005), Glenhaven and Holly Farm (2007), Gabriel and Ed Benedict Parks (2008). Skaters for Portland Skateparks write “With the economic downturn in full swing, Portland Parks & Recreation offers that funding is no longer available for additional public skatepark projects within the Skatepark System Plan. Investment and momentum slows for the build up of the remaining 14 prospective skateparks.” The next skatepark wouldn’t be built until 2015 (Alberta), followed closely by Luuwit (2017) and Gateway (2018).

Gateway is Portland’s newest skatepark. Photo Skaters for Portland Skateparks.

Hopefully, we can capitalize on this second swing of skatepark momentum to fill in some of the gaps in the Skatepark Deserts map. One of the most promising proposals for an additional Skatepark is the Steel Bridge skatepark. This skatepark would serve a critical population in the downtown area, developing an urban brownfield currently created by the traffic ramp exit for the west side of the Steel Bridge. Here are some artistic renderings of what the skatepark might look like.

Photos Skaters for Portland Skateparks/Bryce Kanights, Renderings via DAO architecture.

I’m also inspired by the skate community in Boulder, Colorado, where their “Green Block Project” is proving that not every skate spot has to be a large-scale, “destination” park. At Valmont Park in Boulder, there was a large, unused pavilion. Skaters built a partnership with the city and with the University of Colorado Environmental Design program to design a DIY-style skatepark in this space. To quote from this article: "The initial idea of the green block project was to use 'dross-scapes' and otherwise unused land to develop pocket parks and allow the community to be involved in the process," said Raul Pinto with Satellite Boardshop in Boulder. "From students at CU environmental design program to young kids taking part in the construction being supervised by older skate community members, it really was a community effort."

Photos Boulder Daily Camera.

The skatepark features parking blocks, picnic tables, ledges, and other street-style features that allow skaters to practice street-style skills without criminal trespass. All of the features were donated by community members and the park was built and maintained by volunteers, meaning the effective cost to the city was only the cost of granting permission. The Parks Planning manager for the city of Boulder was quoted as saying “This is a perfect example of listening and supporting the community to build a great space for all ages and abilities to participate in a sport that is very popular in our community and especially with teens.”

The Steel Bridge skatepark would serve a critical area of Portland, improving the geographic distribution of skateparks in Portland as well as serving low-income populations. In addition to Steel Bridge, we should also push for the construction of smaller, neighborhood-scale skate spots. For example, even if the Steel Bridge park is completed, there would still remain a sizable skatepark desert for communities living along the I-5 Corridor in North Portland. Perhaps two smaller, Green-Block style spots could be constructed in this area to improve access.

Lately I’ve been spending more time at Ed Benedict park, closer to the Southeast PCC campus. I’ve never seen the park not busy, and I know that for myself and the others who are there, it’s helping meet a need in our lives. Portland Parks and Rec’s 2020 vision goals state: “Portland’s parks, public places, natural areas and recreational opportunities give life and beauty to our city. These essential assets connect people to place, self and others. Portland’s residents will treasure and care for this legacy, building on the past to provide for future generations.” Skateparks are mentioned only once in the 2020 goals: “Develop plans that are flexible and responsive to changing demographics and emerging trends (e. g., skateboards, BMX bikes and dogs).”

Creating these maps was critical to getting a handle on the state of skateparks in Portland. It’s clear we’ve done some things well in the past, and should continue to insist on access for low-income communities, transit connectivity, and school proximity. However, it’s time to take skateparks seriously as the critical recreational resource they are, and resolve some of our skatepark deserts.

[codezeta-liveblog-blog]

Damages 2.3- A Ghost of Ice and Fire

Lets see if anyone is secretly interested in Blakes offer, if his letter to the cops work and any and all plans of going further, finding a familiar and or an an implement.

2019 Addendum: I started reading this chapter on my bus trip back from the woods in Sao Paulo back to Rio. I remember quickly falling asleep due to nausea medications I take on bus trips around the Sea of ​​Mounds (current geographical term for the horizon to horizon cover of forests spanning multiple mounds and mountains) of the Southeastern Brazil region. So lots of going up and down and circling around in spinning spirally roads. So I actually remember 0 of this chapter! This is like being fully back in action. Diving in!

> "Two more books for our reading list," Rose said. >> I groaned a little, grabbing one of the fancy fountain pens from my grandmother's desk. It was still dark outside. "It's too early for this." > > "You wanted to go on the offensive while he was otherwise occupied." > > While Laird was sleeping. "Right. Titles? " > >" Title is Standards, subtitle is 'The history of dealings between practices for the gifted.' " > >" Which shelf? " > >" Ummm ... Bookshelf seven, five shelf. " > > I looked at the sheet. I'd drawn two octagons, with numbers at each side, excepting the sides that opened out into the second and third floor hallways. I identified bookshelf seven, looked, and was pretty sure I could see the book she'd mentioned. I wrote it down. "Standards. Sounds like a thrilling read. "

So like behavioral standards?

> "The second book, bookshelf six, bottom shelf, right at the bottom, we've got 'Deaths in the Eastern Realm of the White Tailed Deer.'"

> > "Not sure I follow," I said, even as I wrote the name and location of the second book down. I put the paper and pen down beside the folded letter Rose and I had written the previous night. >> "It's not about deer. It's about the general area. A straight list of practitioner deaths, times of death, and causes of death since we settled in the new world. It's only the twenty-eleven, but I think it covers the list of executions and reasons for execution. You can skim it for the executions and see if there are any trends. " > >" Me? "I asked. >> "What?" > > I glanced at Rose. "Me? You said 'you can skim'. You usually say "we" instead of "you" unless we're arguing. You're assuming I'm reading this list of deaths? " > >" I'm going to get started on Standards, since you're already looking through ... what was it? " > > I double checked the cover of the book that now lay across my lap "... Prominent Feuds." > > "Right. You're reading that. I'll start on Standards, you get started on the deer book When You're done reading what you're reading. " > >" I'm already pretty fed up with all this. How long is this death-ledger? " > >" Long. But I said, you can skim down the one column. Will you go over it? " > > I craned my neck, but I could not see the bottom shelf on the floor above us. "Can you show me?" > > There was a pause. "I could." > I turned to look at Rose in the mirror. "Please?" > > She sighed. "It's too heavy to lift." > > "You were trying to con me," I said. "Trying to get me to commit to reading over some ridiculously huge take." > > "I was. Just a little. " >> She managed to look suitably guilty, all things considered. >> "Damn it, Rose," I said, but I could not help smiling, but I was not exactly amused, either. She'd almost gotten me. >> "I really do not want to read all that stuff," she said. "And I thought it would be a little funny."

For a second I thought this would start an argument and Rose was playing dumb, but if it's just her pulling a prank I'm hugely satisfied.

> "There is not anything here I want to read," I said. I tossed Prominent Feuds to the floor. "This plan is not working." > > "We'll find something," Rose said. >> "We have not found anything that gives us an exact answer," I said. "We probably will not. Nothing modern. All research does not eliminate possibilities. We get through all of these books, read them backwards and forwards, and we'll be able to say that we're probably breaking the rules and getting ourselves executed if we mess with Laird's job and family. Not definitely. Just probably. " > " Local powers probably like leaving people a little uncertain, "Rose said. > "Well, it works." > > "We could ask someone. Which is probably how everyone else figures it out. They attend meetings and sit back and figure They October What They can do and what can They do not. " > >" Unless the entire town wants to murder you, "I said. "Kind of throws a wrench in the whole 'ask a friend' option." > > "Yeah." > > "Which raises the question. Who do we ask? " >> Rose dragged the chair on her side over the side of the mirror, so we could see each other. "Maggie?" > > "I do not trust Maggie. I'm not sure I wholly distrust either, but I get the feeling that she could profit from misleading us, she would. " > "If you're being selective about our allies, we're going to be very lonely," Rose said. > > I sighed. "Maybe." > "The lawyers?" > I nodded slowly, doing my utmost to avoid rejecting the idea out of hand. "Maybe. I do not like it. " > >" I do not either. But they're there, and we do not need to talk to them sooner than later. You need the allowance if you are going to pay for what we need, and we have questions they could answer. "

I was vey soon starting to question the money thing and I almost forgot an old lady died so there is some money to be earned Unless its more debts. I mean, did she even work?

"Yeah," I said. "Which brings me to my next set of questions. First off, how do we get in touch with them? How do we mail this letter without cluing anyone in to collegues we did it? " > >" The Legal documents give a phone number for the lawyers. The little black book says we just need to say the firm's name three times. Same idea, I think. " > >" Which is not ominous at all. "

So telephone magic is a thing

"Not in the slightest," Rose said, solemnly. >> "Should we get it over with, then?" >> "We need to do it," she said. "Downstairs? Feels strange, inviting anyone else here. Even if we know They were here to set things up after Molly died. " > >" No, "I said. "I get what you mean. It feels wrong. Downstairs? Living room? " > " Sure, "Rose said. Then she cut in, "Wait. One thing, first. Can you grab a book on your way down? " > >" Which? " > >" Bookshelf two, third shelf from the bottom. It's by the same author who wrote the book on Vestiges. Valkyries. " > > Meaning I had to climb the ladder up to the next floor, then walk around to the third floor hallway and make my way to the ground floor. The pain. >> I bit my tongue before I said as much. >> "Sure," I said. I gathered up the books I needed to have on hand, then made my way to the shelf in question. > > The book was easy enough to find. The image on the front was similar to that of the Vestiges book. A woman's face in profile, complete with a winged helmet, pressed into the leather cover. >> "I-" Rose started. She stopped when I jumped a little at hearing her voice. >> Right. I had a bicycle side-mirror hanging from a cord around my neck. > > "Keep going," I said, I made my way downstairs, arms full of books. >> "I read it because I thought maybe it was related to vestiges like me. And it is. But this one focuses on ghosts too, on historical elements, and some more practical applications. You've got practitioners who specialize in one hundred percent on ghosts and vestiges. A kind of necromancy. "

I imagined. If ghosts just count as different Others of course tgere are specialists. What do you mean by historical elements? Something like spirits of concepts as mentioned at the start of the Arc? And what does this have to do with valkyries? Maybe its the allusionof afterlife that Valkyries bring to the table.

> "Death magic." > > "Right. In this case, you've got practitioners convincing warriors, usually dying soldiers, that there's an amazing afterlife of parties and respect for their deeds waiting for them, so the warriors agree to give up their spirits after death. Use that agreement to help make up or create a ghost, the representation of their skills or their knowledge, their strength, whatever else, and imbue all of that into a vessel. "

Where the fuck would we find a dying soldier in Jacob's Bell , Canada.

> "Do you want to be imbued into a vessel?" >> No. That would be worse than being inside these mirrors. Not moving ever. " > >" Right, "I said. "But?" > "But I like the concept. I like the author. The book talks about working with ghosts being an option for a practitioner without many resources, in an area where practitioners have already taken hold of everything worth holding, or where the Lord forbids certain practices. You take a ghost, you imbue an object, and you've got ... " > >" A magical item? "I asked. > > "A tool, yes. I do not think every Other in Jacob's Bell is beholden to one practitioner or another, and we do not really have a Lord Dictating rules here, but in our situation, we do not have a lot of options. " > >" So we use ghosts? " > "We can. They can be violent, but that is only a small subsection of the categories they fail into. We know how to protect ourselves. " > >" And what makes ghosts easier to contact than any of the other Others? " > >" Those woods behind this house? The marshes? All grandmother's property. Ghosts, like any vestige, do not hold up that much to poking and prodding. They are remnants of horrible or inspiring events. Psychic impressions, right? " > > "So you said, last night," I told her. >> "They function best in enclosed spaces, especially any enclosed spaces they have connections to. Houses, houses with bodies still in them, lurking near their murder weapons, and so on. But that's not the key bit. They also function in places with very few humans to mess with them. The wilderness. "

Oh fuck are we going to have a talk with Molly? Otherwise I do not know what to do.

> "The woods and marshes," I said. >> Exactly. There are not many places where you find intact ghosts, and They are not really sought after, because they're unreliable to work with And They tend to burn out if you draw on Them for power. " > > Like a vestige does . >> "Too much expenditure for minimal gains." > "So we're supposed to go looking for them in the woods, a good distance from this sanctuary? Put life and limb at risk, for a minimal gain? " > >" We Could. Or maybe grandmother has a book where she wrote down notable ghosts and their locations. We call them to us, instead of going their way. " > I stopped midway down the staircase. I had to shift the books to one arm before I could pick up and move the makeshift mirror-pendant I wore. I could see Rose standing a short distance up the stairs. When I had her in my sights, and vice versa, I gave her a disapproving look. "You mean I've got to trek back to the library and go look for some hypothetical book of ghost names?" > > "Nope," Rose said. She lifted a book so it was visible to me. "See? I've already found it, and I've got it. Nothing needed here that I can not recite aloud for you. "

Rose is being a top tier laddie this chapter. What kind of ghosts can we call upon? Recent ones? Old ones?

"Alright," I said. I started making my way downstairs. I found Rose waiting for me in the living room. "Sounds like a plan. Sounds like we've got some disturbing, soulless freaks of nature to summon. When we're done that, we can take a break and summon some ghosts. " > >" What right do-able. Har har. "

Hey I liked that joke. I really like how Wildbow has good directions and cinematography in his written scenes. This part of Blake walking down through the house and stumbling on Rose continuing the conversation through the reflections is all very coreographic and dynamic.

"Seriously though, lawyers or ghosts first?" >> Lawyers. We can not keep putting it off. " > > I found grandmother's phone. When I picked up, however, there was no dial tone. >> "Fuck!" I swore. > "Nothing?" Rose asked. >> I shook my head. "Someone must have cut the line recently. Or the service was disconnected. " > >" Repeat the firm's name, Then? Everything seems to Indicate it gets the same result. " > >" I have trouble buying que, "I said. "I can not help but feel the ominous repetition has a little more weight than a phone call." > > "You said it yourself, we can not keep putting it off. > I nodded, looking for and finding the little black book in the pile of books I'd collected. >> "Mann, Levinn, and Lewis." >> My words seemed hollow and small in the crowded living room with its books and the lingering mess. >> "Mann, Levinn, and Lewis." >> My eyes roved around the room, looking for some sign that something was happening. > > "Mann, Levinn, and Lewis." > > The third utterance. >> We were there, quiet, waiting for a response. I could not shake the notion that the moment I relaxed and heaved to sigh of relief, there would be a knock on the door to startle me, a ring of the phone. > > But I did relax, after a few minutes, and there was no knock. > "Nothing?" Rose asked. >> I shook my head. "Maybe I have to be outside." > > "They came in from outside once already. The lawyers are the only ones this house does not protect against. Them and the witch hunters. " > > I frowned. >> "There's no rush, Blake. We find another way to contact them, or we keep researching, and we figure out if it's safe to send this letter. " > > "There is a rush," I answered. "If we do not do this soon, they're going to figure out a trick to throw us. A way to get us out of the house, like they got Molly, or the witch hunters, or something else. What if they come after us and there is no opportunity to do anything like this for days or weeks? The whole idea is that we are taking the offensive, to put them on the defensive and distract them to buy ourselves some breathing room. "

Counterpoint: trying to upscale yourself until your threatening in the face of people more prepared and with more resources than you are already costing you your breathing room.

> "Okay, no, I do not disagree. I'm fine with going on the offense, so long the we're smart about it. " > > I nodded. I placed my hand down on the Valkyrie tome. "Since lawyers are off the table, and I'm done with the research for now ... You're thinking ghosts, then? Equipping ourselves, experimenting. This is smart? " > >" I hope so. We're going to have to go outside if we're going to call her and trap her. Grab salt on the way? " > > I nodded. "Okay. Okay on the ghosts, and okay on the salt. I'm open to this. " > > She nodded. I saw a glimmer of that doubt and anger in her expression, but she said, "Thank you." > > I grabbed my winter stuff, the hatchet and bat, then picked up a box of salt from the kitchen. I passed under the stairs to the back of the house, pulling on the coat and gloves as I went, and stepped outside. >> It was still in the early hours of dawn. The sun had just started rising, and it was dark. I'd slept, then woken up early in the hopes of catching Laird off guard, while he was deep in sleep. If anyone was watching for connections while they were awake, then this was the hour to act. >> Hillsglade House was situated on a hill, naturally, but the hill was not a single hump round. There was a tail, and the tail disappeared into the sparse tree cover that gradually got thicker as it got further away from the house. > > It put me in mind of my fight to escape the bird-skull things. Disappearing into the trees, getting turned around, not being sure of where to go. > > The back porch was covered in snow, grit, and piles of leaves Been That had not quite cleared. Snow had piled up around a short wall that enclosed the area. Stairs led down the snow-covered 'tail' of hills that gently sloped down into the trees.

>> Not that gently, when I thought about it. With the snow and ice, the path would be treacherous. >> "Since we're outside ... Mann, Levinn, and Lewis," I said. "Mann, Levinn, and Lewis. Mann, Levinn, and Lewis. " >> There was only the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. Eerily quiet. > > We looked around, but there was no sign of anyone being nearby. >> "Worth a try," I said. "We need a phone, which is another catch-twenty-two. We need to get the phone to get hold of the lawyers to figure out when and where we might be safe enough to go get a phone. "

What if there is a time between a lawyer shows up and now he's just called two lawyers or something . That would be funny but what is probably not going on.

> "Well, having ghost help could make a difference, in terms of being able to defend ourselves if we're making a run for it. If you're ready? "Rose asked. >> "Unbroken circle, I'm assuming," I said. > > "In salt, yes. You'll want to clear the snow. " > > I looked around, I was half-convinced, I was poised. But it was approaching daylight, and the back of the house was in view of some of the town. If there were others near, they were of a sneaky sort. I grabbed a shovel from the back door and began clearing the yard, revealing frost-crusted brick tile beneath. I had to scrape the shovel against the brick to chip off the ice where it was more stubborn. Touching the metal handle, I could feel the chill seeping through my gloves. >> I caught a glimpse of something at the periphery of the property. >> Which would get me first? A clever Other or the cold? >> "I'm feeling less confident," I said. "Being outside." > "We're a few paces from safety," she said. > > I frowned. "Let's make it fast." > > "Give me a second. Trying to wrangle two different books. " > > I quiter her turning pages. I fidgeted, partially to keep warm. >> "Salt," she said. "It is a pure substance, and any ghosts that actively want to hurt us are going to be naturally impure. Tainted by anger and hatred. " > >" I'm following. "

Just remembered the first episode of Mob Psycho where an exorcism fails because the character used common salt from the brand super market instead of pure mineral one without iodine treatment.

"Easiest way is to bleed," Rose said. "If you're okay with cutting yourself again?" 

> > I looked at my hand. I still had not healed from the cut that I'd made in my finger so I could draw the sigil on the mug, after getting my power. Blood did not bother me, but I did not want my fingertips buried under calluses either. >> "We chant the spirit's name. This should establish a tenuous connection. You put power into que connection. " > >" How? "I asked. > > "Blood. Draw a symbol, like you see in the book, the median line running parallel to any line of connection you see between yourself and the ghost. Blood is power, basically the most distilled and direct form you can offer. The caveat being that when you deal with some others, you give an inch, they take a mile. And you do not want Them taking a mile of your blood or personal power. " > > I shook my head. "No danger of que with ghosts?" > > "There should not be." > > "Okay," I said. "Anything else?" > "We chant, you draw the line, feed just enough blood into things to bring the ghost into earshot. After que, we can try communicating with it. " > >" Communicating with the ghost.

> "They are not real beings, they are echoes of major events that happened. Typically painful, sad, or angry events. Sometimes moments of sheer brilliance. Sometimes other things. Chances are pretty good that the ghost is going to have a limited script to work with. They'll be single minded. But you should be able to negotiate something. Remember that every second you're using your blood to keep it here, you're making yourself just a bit weaker. There is no time to hit your head against a brick wall. Do not argue with them if they are not listening. But if you find leverage, then use it. Roll with whatever happens. "

> I nodded.

They are like the NPC. Embodiments or figments of yore. Of people or moments those people lived that left to mark of somekind. Why arent there happier ones? Is the Other-world so enamored with violence and bad stuff in general? If so why? Why is there no balance, or humanity when left alone play the part of the balance, and the rest was all fault of the occult.

> "Another thing? Misery likes company, and ghosts tend to try to bring others down to their level. Whatever grips them, they spread it. Anger, pain, sadness, madness ... " > >" Fuck, "I said. >> "It should not be so strong that it overwhelms you. Especially not with the salt circle. But just in case, I want you to keep listening to me, "Rose said. "Even if you're so angry you can not see straight, even if you want to hurt yourself." > > "Right." Listen to Rose. "Roll with it, except for the big part of this where I should not roll with it." > > Rose ignored my quip. "Let's start with a ghost that is not too new and not too old. The new ones are stronger, and the old ones have generally held on because they are connected to other spirits or power sources, which is complicated and dangerous. June Burlison. She died in the forties, somewhere in the glades back there. " > > June Burlison. > > I drew out the salt. Slowly, with care, I layered it in a circle around me. By the time I finished closing the circle, the ice beneath the first bit of salt was melting. >> I could see more shadows in the fringes of the area. I was fairly sure I could make a break for it if it came down to it. The door was only two paces away, I had the ax. > > "Watch my back?" I asked. I moved the bike around until it hung between my shoulders. > > "Will do." > > And the wind, though blocked by the short brick wall, had blown a few stray grains in my direction. > > We had to be quick. >> I set my bag, hatchet and bat aside. >> "Hi there, June," I said. "June Burlison." > > I switched to my other sight. "June Burlison." > > I Could see the connection. Frail, spirits reacting between me and the book, me and Rose, and between me and something out there in the woods. Too general, indirect and fleeting to point the way to anything. > "June Burlison," Rose said. I could see the same connections forming. The connection passed to me, then out to the woods, like the aftermath of lighting that darted between conductive targets. >> Would this strategy work for finding people? Objects? If I wanted to find Laird, could I call out his name until I could make out the connection?

My two cents is probably not easy if they are in their denials and have self protections against that. Pact with spirits or others that mess with spirits that facilitate such connections.

"June Burlison," I said. I was having an easier time making out the connection. Was she drawing closer, even without the blood being offered? > > Of course. The connection was not a one-way street. There was an exchange. If I tried to find Laird by establishing some kind of tenuous relationship, he'd know. He could probably use it against me. >> This was the same thing as the lawyers. Calling their names until they took notice. >> "June Burlison," I said. > > The line was clear enough, now. I used the hatchet's blade and sliced ​​the fingertip that did not have any cuts on it. I reached past the border of salt and drew out the symbol, copying what was on the open page in the book. > As I lured in by the blood, I could see the others drawing closer. Slipping in through my blind spot, popping their heads up around terrain features. Every time my back was turned, they closed the distance. Since they were surrounding me, there was some approaching with every second. >> "Might have to make a break for it," Rose said. >> "Might," I said, but I started on the diagram. >> "Blake," Rose said. A little more urgent. > > I glanced back. "Is it something que the salt circle will stop?" > > "Can not make promises," she said. > > I clenched my teeth, then set to drawing out the rest of the diagram. When I drew the line of blood against the edge of the salt line, I got salt on the cut. >> "Fuck, ow," I said, swearing under my breath. >> I could feel the connection momentarily flare, with that. >> June appeared, down at the tail end of the hill, near the treeline. > It was not a fluid appearance. She is stuttered, like a film with missing frames. Her movements were jerky, following the same repeated pattern, as she crawled toward me, clawing in the snow for purchase as she flung herself forward with one hand and pushed herself another foot or two with one foot. She was half dressed, her clothing old-fashioned. The one hand she was not wearing to crawl was clutching at her collar, the fingers black. >> The cold cut deep into me. She was moving slowly, and I was not dressed warmly. Much less standing still in the cold. >> Except there was more to it. The onset of cold seemed to match her approach to touch too evenly.

Someone died in the cold did not they Cpt. Obvious brain of mine. Salt in the wound usually does not bother me so much. I do not know why. It usually just flares up my nerves so much so fast that after a while it just fades and stops altogether with the pain that happened before it.

> Where June did not have the 'program' for how she was supposed to look or act while climbing the steeper portion of the hill, she simply disappeared. A second or two later, she was back, as if she had not left at all, and she'd managed to close the ten or so feet in the meantime. >> For all that the image was imperfect, it was remarkably clear. She was not translucent, the ghosts tended to be in film. >> And, mercifully, the shadows of Others were dropping away from this ghost drew nearer. >> "June Burlison," I said. >> She stuttered again, then closed half the distance in a single leap. The remaining Others disappeared in that same moment, ducking away. > The warmth I felt caught off guard. That warmth proved short-lived. It became a prickling heat, with a burning sensation in my extremities. She had covered half the distance, but the intensity of what I was experiencing had increased ten times over. >> "She's ... affecting me," I said. >> "On two levels," Rose said, her voice quiet. "She's drawing power from the blood you're using to forge the connection, and she's giving off a kind of radiation, related to whatever impression she made on the world." > > "Cumulative," I murmured. Louder, I said, "June Burlison, I want to talk." > > The burning was getting worse. It was getting to be too much, to the point that I could not stand still. > > June spoke in a voice that was barely above a wheeze, oddly childlike, given her apparent age. "I fell asleep too close to the fire. I've burned myself. " >> What was I even supposed to say to that? >> June spoke in an alarmed voice, her voice feeble considering the intensity of what she was saying. "I was cold, and I curled up near the fireplace. I'm burning. Oh god, it's so hot. I'm burning. " >> Fingers are frostbitten that they could barely be called fingers ineffectually clawed at her clothing. >> She stuttered, disappearing for a moment, then reappeared. A small whimper escaped her lips as she fumbled at the ruined, muddy, and damp clothes with fingers that were ruined they could not cooperate. > I could feel the heat. Worse with every passing second. >> "It-" I stopped myself. I'd almost said 'it's hot'. But that could have been a lie. I was not sure if it was really hot or if I was just feeling an illusion of heat. "It does feel hot, yes." > As if my words were a kind of fuel, the heat increased a fraction. >> "Make it stop. I'm done with this. Make it stop, "she said. >> Her words did the same, ratcheting up the heat. >> "Rose," I murmured. My voice was a touch hoarse. "I do not know if I'm up for this." > "If it gets to be too much," Rose said, "Break the line of blood. You can also dash salt on her. It ends the moment you do. > June Burlison screamed, sudden, disappearing in one moment and reappearing in the next. I could have called her movements thrashing, but they were too feeble. She was playing a different image for me, one of her in the throes of helpless agony. >> I realized I was screaming, too, at the wave of heat that rushed past me. The screaming seemed to make it worse.

Well fuck me Cpt. Obvious was wrong and she died for the reverse reason. For a moment I thought 'what could this ghost possibly be useful for' and then I thought that setting heat waves is one of my favorite power ideas. They are invisible, very controlled heat waves. It is also a bending type I wished was used in Avatar by some fire benders. Just a heat to catch someone to assassinate, or knock them out,

When she started flickering and disappearing again, I had a moment's relief. The pain did not linger in the slightest, though the pounding of my heart did. I was left cold, instead. > > "Blake?" > > I shook my head a little. It was Rose talking to me, I reminded myself. >> "Get answers. Open a dialogue, "Rose said. >> "June," I managed, panting for breath after the screaming. I tried to stay calm, even if speaking her name seemed to fan the fires. But June was not responding. > > Rose tried, instead. "June Burlison. Do you remember what happened before you went to sleep by the fire? " > > Abruptly, she was standing. Hugging her body with her arms. Her injuries had taken leap backwards in severity, and her clothes were more intact.

See? Cinematography in writing. This is an instantaneous beautiful transition scene in my mind.

> I experienced a wave of cold emanating from her instead. It did not make the memory of the fire any better. >> Rose spoke. "Do you remember? What happened before you went to sleep? " > >" I've been left outside in the woods. I fought with my husband, and I demanded to let him out by the side of the road. I could not be in the car with him any longer. Now I have to walk home. " > " It's cold, is not it? "Rose asked. >> "It's so very cold," June agreed. >> "Do you fight often?" > > "Yes. Nobody agreed with the idea, but I married him. They were right, I was wrong. Soon, I'm sure I'll pick up the courage and admit it to my mother and father. It is shameful, but I do not want to fight all the team. " > >" Did he hurt you? "Rose asked. >> No. But we fight so much. We're so different. It's so cold. " > >" It is, "Rose said. > > She wobbled, Then fell to her hands and knees. There was a stutter, and the injuries were worse. Fingers devoured by frostbite. "I'm almost home. I can not walk anymore, but I can crawl. " > > The cold was starting to get to me. Enough that I wondered if I risked frostbite myself. > > How much was she taking through this blood connection? Was Rose wrong? Was this a ghost capable of taking this much from me? >> Did you have something to do with getting salt in the wound? Was the circle compromised? >> Or, the idea dawned on me, am I already being drained by another source? >> When I thought of what other sources might be out there, the only thing that sprung to mind was Rose. >> "Stay focused, Blake," Rose said. >> Momentarily, I wondered if she was reading my mind, answering the thought. But it did not fit. >> "It's cold, you're almost home," I said. >> Nothing. > > "Are you?" Rose asked. "Almost home?" > > "I'm so cold. But my husband will be waiting. I'll apologize, and he'll have a fire going in the fireplace, our little electric heater running. The house will be warm, and I'll be able to rest easy. " > >" But That Is not the way it happens, is it? "Rose asked. > > I could see the look of sheer bewilderment on June's face. The dawning look of betrayal.

Is it because Blake was saying she was close to getting home? Or just out of the entire situation.

> Over long seconds, I watched her expression twist in slow motion, beyond the bounds that people are normally capable of, to show a monstrous kind of despair and betrayal, so deep it altered her very being. For many of those seconds, I thought the emotion was directed at me. >> I was seeing her as she had been in the moment she had opened the door and found her home empty and cold. An imperfect replay.

Oh. Her husband left first.

> The wind picked up around me. My fingers were throbbing now, almost numb. >> "June," Rose said, her voice gentle. "Was that it? Did you start a fire in the fireplace and went to sleep? " > A disconnect, a jerk, and June Burlison was writhing in pain again, crippled and bent low by it. I staggered, nearly stepping outside the circle. >> Heat and cold. But why the disconnect? Why was not the narrative more complete? >> Did it only include the moments she was awake? > > I flexed my numbed fingers. >> Or was it something else? >> "Was the fireplace on?" I asked. > > There was no response. I clenched my hands into numb fists. > > "The fireplace was on," Rose said, "You were asleep ..." > > "Rose," I said. "The fireplace was not on. I think maybe she does not want to talk to a guy, because of the issue with her husband. You will need to ask her. Did she get the fireplace going before she fell asleep? " > >" June, "Rose said. "Did you start the fire before you fell asleep?" > > "No," June said. "I dozed off. The house was cold, but I Could Not focus, and my heart was beating funny. " > >" And, "I said," All the blood que your body Withdrew from your extremities went rushing back, trying to rescue Them. A sudden, painful warmth. " > > But she did not hear me. Not really. >> "What are you talking about?" Rose asked. >> "I read about it, after hearing a joke once. About some idiot sitting naked in a snowbank. Dying by cold, you experience an intense rush of warmth in the end. June was never burned, exactly. She was in the last stages of freezing to death. " > >" It was not the heat, June, "Rose echoed me. "It was not your fault. What you were feeling, what you're feeling now ... it was only the cold. " > >" I'm burning. " > > I Could feel the heat again, but it was somehow diminished. > "You're freezing, not burning," Rose said. "You're listening to me, right? You're hearing me on some level, I think. Listen, it's only the cold. " > >" It's so very cold, "June said. But she was in a state of dress matching the scene where she'd been burning before. >> "It's not your fault," Rose said. "It's only the cold. Will you make a deal with us? " > >" It's so very cold, "June said. > > "If you agree, I guarantee you my partner in the circle right there will keep warm you the best of he can." > > June flickered, writhing in agony is mere heartbeats, limbs flailing, cold-blackened fingers clutching for relief from somewhere, anywhere. > > Then she was standing again. "I do not want to fight all the time." > "I have no reason to fight with you," I said, uselessly. >> "He's not a bad guy," Rose said. "His heart is in the right place." > "I do not want to fight all the time," June echoed herself. Not taking it in. >> Rose said other things, trying to convince June, but she got the same replies over and over again. While I listened, my mind ran through the conversation. The unhappy wife, walking home. The cold, her body failing her ... > > What would stick with her? With everything but this one scene stripped away? > > "Ask her if she daydreamed about other men, while she was walking home," I said. "Other husbands she might find, after she left the current one. Refer to it in the present tense. " > > Rose Considered, Then said. "Listen, June. Are you fantasizing about the men you might marry? " > >" Yes. I can imagine being held. Being warm. But then I feel the cold again. " > " When you're imagining being with those men, "Rose said. "Do you imagine you're fighting all the team?" > > "No. I can imagine being held. Being warm. " > " If you agree to help, my friend can hold you. Keep you warm. And you do not have to fight all the time. " > > There was no reply. June was only standing there, flickering.

I hope these ghost necessities are very open and do not need to be constantly met. By the practitioner's own capacities I hope the ghost of a commoner to be quite easy to manipulate in a legal manner. A thought rushed me as to why other practitioners dont do this to gather more ghosts. At first my own response was that they probably did not have a book of names of the dead sitting right in their house (thanks grandma). Then another thing hit me: most practitioners probably dont own a vestige that has awakened to talk it put with the ghost as you squirm on the floor like Blake has been. I'm imagining if Blake will be up for this after or right after this one here, because I dont imagine he will be up to cut up some more fingers each time after that internal monologue earlier.

> I was not feeling any cold except the ordinary cold of winter. >> My heart was pounding, my hands throbbing. >> I stepped beyond the bounds of the circle. >> Still, I did not feel the cold. > > I Reached Out, arms extended. >> "Blake," Rose said. "No." > > I stopped. >> "If you do that, you might solve the dilemma, cancel out the impression. She is not aware enough to fight against que and keep her end of the bargain by helping us. " > >" What's the alternative? "I asked. > > "The alternative is giving her a vessel to reside in. You can fulfill the bargain. Keep que vessel warm, and she helps us. " > >" So ... she keeps suffering? "I asked. >> "She is suffering," Rose said. "As in, that thing you're looking at is an embodiment of a moment of suffering. What you see there is all there is. The real June went on to the afterlife. This is an emotional event that hit the world hard enough to make a dent shaped like 'dying of hypothermia'. If you take away the suffering, there's going to be nothing there. And maybe the balance of the world is a little better off, things are a little nicer without this memory of one bad moment wandering around the woods, but wearen't any better off. " > > I looked at June. Despondent, shivering. >> "It feels wrong," I said. >> "Yeah," Rose said. "But it's necessary, and whatever else it might look like, you're not hurting it. It's not even a person. Just ... an impression. " > >" I'm having trouble buying that. " > >" Why? Because it looks like a damsel in distress? " > " Because it's a ghost, only one step removed from being a vestige, remember? " My tone of voice might have been a little too harsh. >> In the silence that followed, I shivered violently, my teeth chattering together briefly. > > When Rose replied, her tone of voice had changed. "I think it's nicer, accepting this deal, instead of just canceling her out. You can hold her and her warm keep, and except for the moments we need her to be the specter of hypothermia, she can exist the que one fragment of a memory where she daydreamed about the man holding her. " > >" Okay, " I said "I can buy that."

I didnt take Blake 'Gotta kill two families asap' Thonburn (or I dont remember exactly) to be a romantic.

> I searched my person, but there was not anything I could really use. I did not want to imbue the keys I'd chosen before, rescued from the bowl I'd used for awakening ritual. I did not have much else, besides spare chain and the mirror around my neck. >> Looking down, I saw the hatchet beside the bag. I picked it up. >> "I hope he's chopped enough wood for the fire," June murmured behind me, barely audible. >> I turned around, she disappeared, and something hit the hatchet. >> My already numb fingers froze the cold creeped up the handle. In the span of one or two seconds, they became so stiff I could not open them to drop the hatchet. >> "Done," I said. "Inside, now. "It's a little more complex," Rose said. "If we-" > "I'm going to be a ghost soon if we do not get inside," I said. I grabbed the bat, stuffed book and salt into the bag, and looped it over one shoulder. > > "If she gets loose inside the house, sanctuary will not help us." > > "We wrangled her once," I said, heading for the door. "We only need to keep her content, right?" > > "We need to bind the ax with something." > > "Hatchet, and we will. Inside, "I said. I unzipped my jacket and slid the hatchet underneath, so it sat between my coat and my sweatshirt. I held it there, stiff fingers still gripping the wooden handle. "Better, June?" > > The cold did not feel as intense as it had. >> "Good," I said. To Rose, I said, "Inside." > > I made my way indoors. >> The cold in the hatchet was noticeable, but growing less intense by the second. >> "We'll need to write the handle, or she can leave any time she feels like it, and she's liable to go out in one big cold shot of the moment you hit something," Rose said, as I made my way into the hallway.

Oh did we just fucking get a Fire Hypothermia Axe? I think we did. I hope it is not one use only. (Btw I'm referencing how you can put any element type the game has on most Dark Souls weapons, so in DS2 there is a VERY tryhard OP weapon called the Ice Rapier, and you can make it even more powerful, depending on your build , by imbuing it with fire, getting yourself the Fire Ice Rapier. Note how on this same page of the wiki they mention how you can get INFINITE STUNLOCKS with it, meaning a lot of enemies or even PvPers)

> "That could be useful," I said. >> "It would almost certainly kill you," Rose said. > "Less useful," I replied. >> "You could have chosen a better tool. That handle looks like some kind of textured rubber, and I do not know how we're going to engrave anything into the steel, either. " > >" She chose it, not me, "I said. I pried my hand away from the hatchet's handle. >> "Well, this works as a kind of stopgap measure as a half-implement and half-familiar," Rose said. "Not sure how you're going to conceal that hatchet all the time, but it works."

A backpack with blanket works. Also rubber is not harder to work with than wood. You can almost exclusively work with straight lines in wood unless you have the right carving tools, which I genuinely do not see working on rubber just as well.

> "It does. A step forward, "I said. My hand was throbbing now. I could feel the cold in the core of my bones. "We need to do it a few more times, in a few different ways, and we'll have a passable power base." > > "There are not that many good options," Rose said. >> "We can try the less-good options," I said. "And hopefully I do not lose any hands doing it. Ow. " > " Hopefully, "Rose said. "Let me go over the inscriptions, and I'll walk you through it." > "I'm going to keep our new friend nice and warm like we promised, and see if I can not warm myself up too," I said "Anything that involves the stove and kettle." > I stepped into the kitchen to dig through the cabinets. I'd overlooked the hot chocolate before, dismissing the unpalatable mix of chocolate powder and water, but it suddenly seemed like the best idea I'd had in a long time. > > In terms of hot food ... > > I grimaced and put the oatmeal aside as well. The only thing I could do in a reasonable span of time. >> "Damned oatmeal," I muttered. Louder, I said, "Remember that bit I said last night? About how you got to get on my case and remind me that I could have gone shopping but did not? Now's the time. I feel like I'm going to cry. " > >" Blake? "Rose called out. >> Something in her voice caught my attention. > > I turned around and came face to face with a scene. > > Gray haired man, the twenty-something man, and a thirty-something woman sat on the couches and chairs in the living room. All wearing suits, all with nice, utilitarian hair styles. > > Rose, for her part, was visible in the mirror. I could not even process her expression. Even for this sudden appearance, the level of dawning horror on her face that I saw seemed like it was too much. >> Was she seeing something I could not? Or had she glimpsed something before I turned around? >> "The lawyers of Mann, Levinn, and Lewis, I presume?" I asked. > "More specifically, we are Mann, Levinn and Lewis," the young woman said. Blonde, with a tidy ponytail and a lock of hair strategically draped over the corner of one eyebrow. One of her pantyhose-covered legs was crossed over the other, her hands folded over her knee. "Please, do not cry while we're here. I can not speak for my partners, but I should be embarrassed on your behalf. "

Looks like I was partially right about multiple lawyers coming. I was just one short. Curious if Rose is seing demons or others of sorts or just the one lawyers that received her as she started existing. How can I break these rules? Special permission by Rose? I doubt it. But it would be useful for Blake's interests.

Going to add my addendum to this chapter end of how absolutely mind numbly retarded it is toedit texts on Tumblr for posting. I feel like only Boldening the text isn’t very good for visualization. But I can only do the thing where it quotes the text on a paragraph like it is on Tumblr, as different edits don’t work from Word to here. It doesnt translate. So I have to go over this asinine U.I. selecting entire sections of the text than scrolling back and forward up and down as I tryand find the damn button to bolden and highlight the paragraph only to CONSTANTLY add paragraphs above and below the text I selected and even HIGHLIGHTING OR EMBOLDENING MORE STUFF THAN I SELECTED, putting my liveblog notes together with the actual text. And it ain’t easy to remove, its seemingly random when I can just select the ONE paragraph of notes and de-highlight it without tumblr deciding that “no what you REALLY WANT is de-highlight the ENTIRE wallof text you selected previously. WHY DOES IT WORK THAT WAY. You have to purposedfuly program something to work so wrong. I selected ONE paragraph, why do you go over, select dozensof paragraphs of text above and ON TOP OF THAT add two paragraphs above and under what I selected. AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! 

Anyways, sometimes I get lazy of posting just because of that and because it is fucking stressing just because its such a measure of distate and addition of WORK to put stuff out it makes me a bit angry.

[dakotahiggins-blog1]

We were supposed to go sailing with a family friend, and right beforehand, the friend broke his leg! Needless to say, the entire trip was off. For them, not us. We continued on with…

No plans. No reservations. No…really

I knew there’d be pros and cons to seeing a country this way. On one hand, it allows for more freedom. On the other hand, I probably spent entirely too much time scrolling Booking.com or Airbnb on my iphone for places to sleep that night. Must-haves: good reviews, A/C, Wi-Fi, preferred Superhost, location, location, location.

If you’re going from Hungary to Croatia, you have a few transportation options:

Rent a car with a v high one-way drop free (unless you plan on going back to Budapest)

Hire a car & driver for a high fee

Take a train (that wasn’t running the day we left because of a public holiday)

Take a bus

Day 1

We left Budapest at 10:30am on a FlixBus (booked day-of!) for about €20/passenger. Now I’m not a traveler that typically gravitates towards the public bus systems of central Europe, but this one didn’t disappoint mostly because it was half full, clean, and came with a view…and because the bus driver let me off to get a banana because HUNGER PAINS. With a border crossing consisting of 25 minutes, the total drive was ~5 hours. That’s 5 episodes of GoT. All good in my book.

Once at the Zagreb bus station, t’was time to hail a cab to the airport so we could rent a car and be on our way. (So let’s rewind and count: that’s 1 cab to the Budapest bus station, 1 bus ride to Croatia, 1 cab to Zagrab airport just to get to the rental car. PHEW). I wasn’t in the Volkswagen for 5 minutes before I went the wrong way down a one-way while stopping traffic everywhere. Then Google Maps took us the scenic route which was the definition of backroads if I’ve ever seen ’em – tractors, horseback, cyclists, greenery, and loooots of wide open land. Honestly, it looked a lot like Arkansas. I immediately felt right at home

After another 2 1/2 hour drive with a pitstop at Cowboy Western Ranch for lunch (if you’re doing this route, you must stop here and get the Texas Burger. Just do it. Not because it’s good, but because it’s a monstrosity and funny when you’re sleep deprived. Plus, it’s like you’re in Texas but you’re in Croatia. It’s weird).

Stay

Around 8pm we finally rolled into Ethno Houses Plitvica Selo. It’s not perfect (rude creaky floors), but I’d stay here again for its location in the heart of Plitvice Lakes National Park and extremely close proximity to Entrance 3. While you can’t purchase entrance tickets to the national park at Entrance 3 (big question mark here), the hotel offers to do it for you – alleviating you of getting back in the car and driving to Entrance 1 or 2. *Raises hand*

Day 2

Explore the gems of Plitvice Lakes National Park

Breakfast at the hotel

All day exploration of Plitvice Lakes National Park. Note: You walk here, there’s no driving, and you also can’t swim. I’m sure it’s for safety/sustainability reasons, but the waters are crazy inviting. Near the entrances, there’s food/water/ice cream stations. Stock up on water! Beware of the circus during the hours from 10am – 6pm. I honestly can’t come up with too many other nature-derived experiences that have been *this* crowded. Once 6pm hit, it was insanely calm and beautiful.

Dinner at Ethno Houses Plitvica Selo

Shop my favorite pair of high-waisted pocket leggings (pictured below)

Stay

Ethno Houses Plitvica Selo

Day 3

More Plitvice Lakes National Park + Travel Day

Breakfast at the hotel

Morning exploration of Plitvice National Park. Here’s a favorite spot of mine:

In front of the Big Waterfall is a staircase. Go up the stairs and at the top, walk right. You’ll find a road. Walk for about 2-3 minutes until you see a wooden bridge. Turn right after the bridge onto a path and walk for 1-2 minutes until coming to a lookout point. STUNNING!

Around noon, head towards Split (or Krka National Park on the way to Split)!

Dinner in the Old Town Harbor while the best people-watching unfolds before your eyes for some gold nighttime entertainment.

Stay

Marasovica Apartments – highly recommend based on location (5 minute walk to Old Town), communication, price and terrace views!

Day 4

Explore Split!

Wander the many historic alleyways and dig deep. Get lost. Eat at any gelato stand. Twice. Maybe three times. Take too many photos of 4th century Diocletian’s Palace. Head towards Marjan for a 550-ft high hill forested with cypress and Mediterranean pine trees – a perfect spot to hike off the questionable decisions from the day before.

Fig Split for dinner (or all meals because it’s *that* good)

Stay

Marasovica Apartments

Day 5

Island Day!

We went back and forth between hiring a private sailboat for the day or taking a small passenger speed boat to neighboring islands. Ultimately, we chose the speed boat because it allowed us to go further, see more AND get dropped off at Hvar that evening. We booked the tour the afternoon before down at the Old Town Harbor where many tours are on offer.

Komiža on Vis island

Stiniva Cove

Budikovac Island for snorkeling (lunch here)

Blue Cave

Hvar (we got off the boat and stayed on Hvar, although everyone else went back to Split)

Shop my easy breezy black sarong (pictured below)

Stay

DeVecchi Rooms in Hvar – This was one of my favorite hotels from Croatia due to the location, furnishings and outdoor space/view! We booked a Deluxe Double with balcony

Day 6

Langonini Beach Club

But first, coffee. Head right outside the hotel to Kava 37

Catch a small boat docked at the harbor (you can’t miss them) for the 15 minute journey

Just typing the name of this beach club makes me exhaleeeee. Laganini means “slowly” in Croatian, and it’s the exact vibe we encountered while there. A relaxing, no worries atmosphere, where water splashes and Balearic music make up the soundtrack. Note that there’s a spending minimum for bungalow use. We enjoyed a few cocktails and sushi mMmMm.

Leave on the last boat back to Hvar (6pm I believe, the same boat that took you over will pick you up) and wander into somewhere yummy for dinner. I’m not going to lie – we chose a very bad pizza spot so I can’t recommend!

Shop my Red Carter bikini top and bikini bottoms

Stay

DeVecchi Rooms

Day 7

Travel day

But first, wake up and hike to the Spanjola Fortress for insanely beautiful views.

Breakfast at Fig Hvar

More options: St. Stephen’s Cathedral and Square, Hvar lavender fields, Sveta Nedjelja aka wine region! Red Plavac Mali grapes thrive here.

11am ferry back to Split (ferries are every hour and tickets can be bought at a booth near the docking point)

Find the rental car where you left it at the last hotel Drive to Dubrovnik. Realize that the drive from Split to Dubrovnik is insanely pretty. Cancel all plans to swim next to pirate ships and explore Bosnia.

Shop my Aritzia yellow one-piece

Stay

In order to get to the southern portion of Croatia, one must pass into Bosnia and Herzegovina occupying just 12 miles of Adriatic coastline in the city of Neum, the 2nd shortest coastline in the world after Monaco…essentially cutting Croatia in two. There are a few other examples of geographically discontinuous countries, but this is definitely a rarity, and I hope you’ve enjoyed this geography lesson. Due to extremely late booking (around 4pm day-of!), options were minimal, especially good ones. We ended up booking at the Grand Hotel Neum, an extremely large hotel that I’d never recommend. Between feeling like cattle and the horrid buffet, I’ll sleep in my rental car next time… (kidding, sort of).

Day 8

Wake up very early to explore Bosnia & Herzegovina. This little country is super underrated. Having only spent 24 hours here, I’m sure there’s SO much we missed. Next Up: What to do for 24 Hours in Bosnia

Drive 2ish hours to Dubrovnik

Eat dinner at Horizont (recommended by host, yummy Mediterranean!)

Stay

Airbnb Stella Mia with a Sea View 2 – I highly recommend this Airbnb due to its size, location, price, and host. Fair warning: If you don’t like stairs, don’t stay here. Scratch that. If you don’t like stairs, don’t go to Croatia at all.

Day 9

Walk the Old Town, get lost in the alleyways and get your steps in on the steep staircases

Let the Game of Thrones tour commence (sorry not sorry)! It was fun, it wasn’t cheesy (not to me, at least!), and our tour was mixed in with lots of Dubrovnik history. 2-in-1, how good is that?! You can find times inside the Visitor’s Center near the Onofrio Fountain.

For everyone who said take the cable car: It was closed due to tax evasion. *EmBarRasSing*

Dinner at Pizzeria Tabasco (recommended by host b/c I had a pizza craving!)

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Stay

Airbnb Stella Mia with a Sea View 2

Day 10

Walk the City Walls as soon as they open (8am). Note: It’s HOT, even early.

Hydrate, eat somewhere yummy in Old Town, try to stop sweating

Take a ferry from the Old Harbor near the east gate (10 minutes) and relax on Lokrum Island for the day

Find the window cave (near station 5 and 6)

Take the 6pm ferry back

Walk to Buza Bar for sunset drinks (and cliff jumping if you dare). This hole-in-the-wall bar on the side of a cliff was so nice, we went twice!

Stay

Airbnb Stella Mia with a Sea View 2

The next morning, we flew to Slovenia. On my wish list for the following Croatia visit: Pula, Rovinj, Brac, Korcula and the Peljesac Peninsula!

The post Road Trip Itinerary: A Guide to Croatia appeared first on The Road Les Traveled.

[keptin-indy]

Dresden Files: Salem

I’ll try to post these on Mondays or Tuesday, since that’s when I do the previous weekend’s writeups.  Feel free to ask questions if anything not clear or you just want to know something!

Background info

If you know the Dresden Files books, this game starts during the events of Changes, but with some small changes.  If you don’t know the books, the relevant info is that wizards and “Red Court” vampires have been at war for some years now and the main character, Harry Dresden, just managed to set off a really powerful curse that killed all of them.  For some reason, during the fight leading up to that, the Wardens - wizard cops - were unable to help him because “they were sick”.  The big change in this campaign is that the illness was a deadly plague set off by the vampire ambassador who had just been by and it killed a swath of the powerful people who had gathered to meet her.

I’ll try to link Dresden-specific terms to wiki pages for people unfamiliar with the universe.  There may also be some easter eggs in the links sometimes...

Setting (in the GM’s words)

If anyone in America were asked to compile a list of the locations important to the occult history of the country, it would surely include Salem.  The town is nearly universally associated with the witch trials of the 1690s.  Everyone, clued-in or not, associates Salem with witches, and, in this world of the occult, associations can have power.  In this case it has lead to Salem having probably the largest supernatural community on the east coast of North America.  That area includes (for the supernatural community at least) Boston as well.  

And community it is, much more so than many other cities around the globe.  Salem is a geographically small town, yet rich in history, emotions, and magic all attracting a different crowd from the spooky side, if they didn’t have some structure and order there would be constant conflict (well, more-constant conflict).  The city has evolved a particular brand of stability, with regular gatherings of all the major power-players in the city.  This isn’t a court or anything so formal as that, but usually neutral parties will side with the aggrieved party in conflicts, preserving the status quo.  Until recently these gatherings were informally lead by [Warden regional commander] Michael Rowland, one of the more powerful denizens of Salem, how they will shake out going forward remains to be seen…

Characters, or at least what was known about them at the start of game.  The Dreseden Files RPG is set up so that most of the PCs had met each other by the start of game, but we weren’t a coherent party yet.

Murchah O’Dougal has lived in Salem for a long time.  He switches jobs every few decades, but it’s Salem, so people have caught on that the tall, thin, taciturn, middle aged man isn’t your vanilla mortal.  Additionally, he likes taking long walks on the beach...the parts under the water, without the benefit of breathing gear.  He’s not a very social man, but he helps out where he can, especially if it involves ghosts, which he can see and interact with.  He’s the one who convinced Eunice to leave her nursing home.

Eunice Featherham’s son married a witch.  Now, Eunice was an intelligent woman and knew there was no such thing as magic, so it was pretty insulting that her daughter-in-law could use it.  It was even more insulting that she taught it to their daughter Evelyn, but then both her son and the witch had to die in a house fire, leaving Eunice to raise Evelyn the Right Way, eg without magic.  Over the years as Evelyn grew up, Eunice could feel her age catching up with her, and when it was time for her granddaughter to go to college, they sold Eunice’s house for tuition and put her into a nursing home, where she eventually died.  Damned if that was going to stop her, though, not when there were so many people who needed her sage advice, starting with the nurses at the home.  In desperation, the home called the Salem Witches’ Circle (kind of a magical chamber of commerce), who asked Murchah to talk the irate ghost out of terrorizing the staff.  

They also called Dr. Evelyn Featherham, who was now living in Boston as the city’s only therapist dealing with the supernatural.  After a long struggle with Eunice’s parenting, Evelyn had finally reclaimed her magical heritage and was using her experiences to help others through situations they couldn’t explain to anyone else.  One of those people, 10 years ago during her clinicals, was a teenage mage grieving over the loss of his father.  Now, though, she had to deal with being permanently haunted by her grandmother and trying to convince her receptionist not to quit because of the new office ghost telling her how to answer the phone correctly.

Once upon a time, a witch found a tiny black kitten in a dumpster.  She had been looking for a familiar, so it seemed like serendipity and she took him in and named him Sir Adler Toebeans.  She was absolutely not expecting her cat to start talking a couple years later and even less to change his shape into anything he felt like.  It seemed her kitty was in fact some kind of fae or at least a changeling, though he didn’t have any more idea what he was than she did.  Regardless, she switched awkwardly from pet mom to real mom and Adler eventually moved out and got a job at Count Orlok’s Nightmare Gallery, where he worked in the museum itself and made short films as both advertising and subtle education. [A note on pronouns: I’m using “he” because Adler has presented as slightly more masculine than anything else during the game.  He doesn’t seem to have an innate sex or gender, so I may switch back and forth with “they” depending on how game goes/the situation.]

A wizard with a mysterious past came from Syria to America and fell in love with a woman whose high-society family had profited off of the supernatural while disdaining them as people.  The pair ran away together and she was disowned, so they settled in Boston where he took magical odd jobs and she tried to figure out how to be working class.  Eventually Sebastian “Baz” Bassam was born and later his sister Olivia, and their father began to teach them how to control their magical talents.  When Baz was 14, his father was killed in a multi-car pileup, but not before his uncontrolled magical energies shorted out an entire hospital wing, unintentionally taking a lot of people with him.  This large-scale violation of the First Law of Magic brought the attention of the local Warden-Commander, Michael Rowland, and when Baz subsequently brought down a possession victim with his therapist during his grief counselling, Rowland decided to train the boy alongside his daughter Sylvia.  These days he’s a full-fledged Warden who likes to think of his duties as magical community outreach rather than beheading first ans asking questions later.  He also looks like a cheerful Syrian lumberjack.  [Note: Dat’s me!  It’s going to seem like I spent a narcissistic amount of time on my own character in the writeups, but a) the first arc just has a lot of Baz-plot and b) when the GM asks if anyone is doing anything, the others haven’t really answered much and I hate to leave the GM hanging.]

As part of his education in control, Rowland sent Baz to a Tibetan monastery when he was 19 to learn meditation and healing with the monks there, traditional allies of the White Council of Wizards.  While there, Baz befriended a litter of Temple Dogs, newly returned from having been dognapped and taken to Chicago of all places.  One of the puppies was notably rambunctious and ended up outside the monastery walls trying to eat a yeti several orders of magnitude bigger than it.  The puppy ran back to the temple, yeti in hot pursuit, and hid behind the Warden-in training, who fought off the yeti and saved the puppy and monks from the puppy’s own bad decisions.  As a “reward”, he was given the perpetrator so the monks wouldn’t have to deal with it.  Baz named him Samuel Gompers Bassam and took him back to Boston, where he grew into a very large Tibetan Mastiff who can see spirits and whose teeth technically count as a holy weapon, which he mostly uses against Baz’s shoes.  At one point while attempting to eat a ghoul, Sam met Adler as a dog and brought him back home, where he stayed for a few days before abruptly turning into a bird, thanking Baz for his hospitality, and leaving before any questions could be asked. [Note: Yes, Sam is a PC.  One of my friends decided it was an awesome idea to play an actual, only slightly magical, non-talking dog.]

Session 1

The town of Salem had been enjoying an uneventful Fall, supernaturally-speaking.  Even Halloween, always an anxious time for those in the know, had gone by without any major mishaps.  That all changed one night in November, when every practitioner or supernatural being in the world awoke from vivid dreams of the world ending in fire and blood.  Many people recognized the dreams as the psychic backlash from some kind of spell, and those with more magical experience further narrowed it down to some kind of worldwide curse effect even though such things were thought to be impossible.  Around Salem, the Community woke in terror and reached out to one another.  The shapeshifter Adler called his mother in the Witches Circle, who told him that calls had begun to come in from several of their members, including some of the older ones, who were so shocked by the experience that they had been taken to the hospital.  Dr Evelyn Featherham likewise checked in with the Circle and headed to the hospital herself to volunteer for on-call psych services.  Her late grandmother, Eunice Featherham, checked the news on the constantly-on TVs in her nursing home and saw confused reports rolling in of simultaneous coups and assassinations in several South American countries, which she assumed was the work of either the CIA or Communists.  Finding that news less than interesting, she floated out to track down her granddaughter.  Murchah O’Dougal, always watchful of the ocean for reasons known only to himself, walked into the Bay, but saw nothing amiss; whatever he was looking for had not been disturbed by the hideous dreams.  Baz Bassam, Warden of the White Council, immediately checked on his mother but found that her sleep hadn’t been disturbed at all; presumably meaning that regular mortals were unaffected by the spell’s backlash.  He called his sister at college, who most definitely had woken up, but had nothing to offer her besides assurances that they were all okay for the moment.  Knowing Warden-Commander Rowland was in Edinburgh at the moment, he called head witch Mary Harrison, who was coordinating a makeshift command center to coordinate help to those who needed it and a response, should it become necessary.  Before heading over to lend his help there, he checked in with Warden Command at Edinburgh, but found chaos there, too.  The wizard who answered the phone said that they only thing they knew right now was that the Red Court appeared to be no more.  From what they could tell, every single member had been wiped out at once by a spell.  Once they had more information, they’d be sure to get back to Warden Bassam, but in the meantime they had to figure out who was in charge of the Wardens.  This was almost as alarming than the giant curse as far as Baz was concerned, but with no more info coming from Edinburgh, all he could do was head to the witches’ command center and try to keep people calm and safe until more news came out.

After a long, sleepless night, morning came with no more information.  Invitations went out to the members of the Greater Boston supernatural community from Ian Fitzpatrick, the caretaker of the largest neutral territory in the area, Hamilton Hall.  Before the meeting in the evening, one of Edinburgh’s army of clerks called Baz to read off the last wills and testaments of Michael and Sylvia Rowland, naming him as heir to their magical holdings.  Baz was gutted, as Michael Rowland had been his mentor and surrogate father-figure since his father’s death, and he’d grown up and trained alongside Sylvia for nearly ten years.  The clerk couldn’t tell him how they had died or any details about what was happening within the Wardens; only that he would likely get “official” notification of the Rowlands’ deaths at some future date.  That the lawyers were working faster than the Wardens was significant cause for alarm all on its own.

That evening, Fitzpatrick welcomed representatives from all the major power blocs and notable individuals into Hamilton Hall, formally allowing everyone through the threshold.  Baz sought out Mary Harrison before the meeting proper began and warned her about the deaths of the Rowlands and magical killing of the Red Court.  Fitzpatrick brought the meeting to order and announced the Rowlands’ deaths himself, calling for a moment of silence that was observed by most people present, with the notable exception of the representatives of the Winter Court (and Eunice, though due more to her difficulty hearing than any disrespect).  Adler asked how they had died and Fitzpatrick said there had been an attack on the Wardens in Edinburgh, which was the first Baz had heard of it.  Ignoring that for now and trying to give the impression of a calm and level-headed authority figure who wasn’t grieving, Baz announced that he knew where the nightmares had come from and explained the curse that had taken out the entire Red Court.  The gathering was shocked that something that large could have happened and that the threat of the Red Court was suddenly gone (though the Summer Court and Daniyah, a powerful local sorceress, seemed less surprised), and Fitzpatrick adjourned the meeting , saying that he knew full well some people were going to use the situation to jockey for power.  He gave them a week to get it all out of their systems and then he would call another meeting to see where Boston should go from there.  The jockeying and networking began before anyone even made it out the doors.  Baz asked Daniyah what she or her spirits knew about the attacks, but she would only tell him that “things” were awakening that had lain dormant for many years.  Knowing it would do no good, Baz continued to press for details and was informed that the city faced two threats...from within and from without.  Eunice floated from group to group eavesdropping and overheard the Winter Court proposing to murder someone for the sole reason that the scarier warden was dead now, which she dutifully reported to Baz with a stern admonition to stop them.  Without more details, Baz simply went over and stood meaningfully by the faeries.  Meanwhile, Adler took on his dog form and sought out Sam, warning him that his wizard was in danger and offering his help guarding him for the next few days.  Sam, in turn, told him to be aware of Daniyah, who no longer smelled purely human anymore, but instead like some kind of spirit, and also her owl familiar, who was definitely a spirit, though he hadn’t been able to figure out what kind without licking it.  Baz turned around to see a familiar black dog incongruously petting his own dog, and asked if he would stick around and answer some questions this time.  Adler agreed, but answered everything as literally as possible without offering any information was wasn’t specifically spelled out and some that was.  He told Baz that he had enjoyed the name he’d given him last time and to keep using that, and that he would follow and protect Baz along with Sam while the immediate danger hopefully passed.  Seeing that Baz was distracted from his rightful duties, Eunice got into an argument with the Winter Court, but her attempt to spook them into following the straight-and-narrow backfired when they scared her right back, startling her back into a dementia episode.  Baz and his two large dogs circulated amongst the other faction heads, assuring them that he was as dedicated to keeping the peace as his predecessor and generally attempting to politic.  Murchah drew him aside and offered to train him to use the sword he carried and Baz tried to find a polite way to tell him that he had specialized in swordplay for years.  Unconvinced, Murchah asked to see his fighting stance and was pleasantly surprised to find that Baz was not merely boasting.  

Finally, the meeting broke up and Murchah headed back out to his ocean patrol, only this time he noticed strange behavior in the fish.  Not being a spellcaster himself and having no way to track magical energy, he called the Circle, who told him to call the Warden.  Baz had not yet made it home, so Murchah left a cryptic message with Baz’s mother to call him back.  Eventually Baz returned home with one dog more than he left with and reintroduced “Fenrir” to his mother, warning her this time that he was definitely sentient and could talk (though Adler refused to do so on principle now).  He returned Murchah’s call, but with nothing more to go off of than “the fish are weird”, decided to let it wait until morning.  Adler insisted on sleeping in Baz’s room, which required some setting of ground rules, starting with a promise never to harm his mother.  Adler agreed, but was less forthcoming in answering Baz’ questions about his nature or allegiance, saying only that he wanted to protect both Sam’s human and the city balance he represented as a Warden.  He otherwise revealed only that he could take on many forms, though he wouldn’t say if he had a natural or default one, and that he usually worked at Count Orlok’s Nightmare Gallery, where he could use his skills to great effect.  Baz was both fascinated and slightly frustrated at the mysterious creature playing bodyguard for him, but when he found that Adler could use computers, he immediately handed over the password for the email account Olivia had maintained for him and begged his help keeping in contact.

“Fenrir” woke up early the next morning and got the household coffee, which he served to them with creepy mostly-human hands on a dog body.  Betsy (Baz’s mother) was relieved when Baz gathered the dogs and put on some swimwear to meet Murchah at the beach.  After some discussion about everyone’s underwater capabilities, Baz conjured air bubbles around his and Sam’s heads while Adler turned into a Lovecraftian fishman, and the group followed Murchah into the Bay, but Baz was at a loss figuring out what was causing the irregularities Murchah claimed to see.  Sam happily ate one of the affected fish.  Returning to the surface, Baz asked Murchah to call Dr Evelyn Featherham, who was more sensitive to tracing ongoing magical effects than he was, but shortly after her receptionist answered the phone, the poor woman was shoved aside so that Eunice could do her job “better”.  Talking around the old ghost, Baz asked the receptionist to pass the message along when Evelyn had a free moment.  Evelyn eventually had a chance to call back from her ghost-proofed office and promised to come out during her lunch break.  Murchah hired a boat so that Evelyn (followed, of course, by Eunice, who was determined to chaperone her daughter meeting a young man on a beach) wouldn’t have to get her work clothes wet, but she couldn’t see the magical eddies from above the water and ended up having to do into the drink anyway.  Unfortunately for her, only Adler seemed to be adapted enough for underwater hunting of this kind, and he realized that the fish were all swimming in a huge circle tens of miles across.  The group returned to the boat to track down the center of this circle, which was occupied by a “fishing trawler” that didn’t seem to be doing any fishing.  Adler turned into a bird to scope it out and noticed that some of the “fishermen” milling around on deck not fishing were concealing decidedly non-standard tentacle-arms.  When he reported this back to the group, Eunice immediately floated over to the trawler and began haranguing the people on deck about their terrible work ethic.  The “fishermen” were not expecting a sudden ghostly tirade and very sensibly tried to escape her senile wrath.  Taking advantage of this distraction, Adler changed from a bird into a rat, dropping onto the deck and scurrying below.  One of the doors inside was both locked and well-sealed, so he disconcertingly grew hands in order to pick it.  The door swung open, revealing the rat with hands on the one side, and a number of tentacled cultists chanting around a circle on the other side.  Adler scurried out of sight, but the cultists merely locked the door rather than give chase.  Adler tried to direct Eunice’s wrath downstairs, but she found that the room was warded against spirits.  Adler again reported back to the other boat and Murchah drew up alongside the trawler so the mages could board and follow the shapeshifter below.  Adler once again picked the lock and Baz opened the door and demanded to know what was going on with as much gravitas as a man wearing a tank and swim trunks could manage.  The cultists rushed to attack the newcomers while Murchah ran straight for the summoning circle and began disrupting it, hearing unsettlingly familiar and ancient voices whispering in his head while he did so.  As Baz and Sam fought the cultists, Adler transformed into a hideous claw monster and jumped into the fray, startling everyone on both sides.  Eventually the cultists were knocked unconscious and Evelyn could examine the remains of the circle Murchah was still determinedly wrecking, declaring that it had been meant to awaken something deep in the ocean.

[muslimsmoak]

tagged by @blackcanarydinah thanks, annie

APPEARANCE:

I am 5′7″ or taller

I wear glasses (i walked to the first floor lobby to fill up my water bottle earlier today and realized how blind i am without them, they’re mainly for distance and i imagine that all the time i spend on my phone and laptop isn’t helping) 

I have at least one tattoo 

I have at least one piercing (ears, am considering more but still deciding and money’s an issue)

I have blonde hair

I have brown eyes

I have short hair  (and LOVING it, i recently braided it one night and let the curls out in the morning, put lipstick on and felt like a brown Peggy Carter. it was empowering and i need to do that more often.)

My abs are at least somewhat defined (abs, what abs? food babies are where it’s at?)

I have or have had braces (we do NOT talk about this, from 7th grade to summer before 11th, before the braces, you could never find a pic of me smiling, or showing teeth, and i was called vampire in the 7th grade)

There is something I would change about the way I look

PERSONALITY:

My Hogwarts house is: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin

I am an introvert

I like meeting new people sometimes (sometimes, very rarely, only if they’re good people too)

People tell me that I’m funny (during my 6th grade camping trip, my friends told me i could be a comedian)

Helping close friends with their problems is a big priority for me

I enjoy physical challenges (in the short time i kept up with my ny’s resolution to get fit, i learned that I am secretly a gym junkie. ami at steve or emily’s level? HELL NO)

I enjoy mental challenges

I’m playfully rude with people I know well

I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it (me with youth slang, like i sometimes feel weird saying “it’s lit”) 

There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well

I can play an instrument

I can do over 30 pushups without stopping

I’m a fast runner

I can draw well (i did a self-portrait fro a class last summer, it turned out okay, and a couple years ago, i tried to draw a portrait of this one fashion blogger and it turned out well) 

I have a good memory

I’m good at doing math in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute

I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling

I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch

I know how to throw a proper punch (thank you older brother who boxes and 6 months of taekwon do) 

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports

I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else

I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

I have learned a new song in the past week

I work out at least once a week

I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months

I have drawn something in the past month

I enjoy writing

Fandoms are my #1 passion

I do or have done martial arts (tae kwon do for 6 months in 8th grade, never finished cos my family moved away, i do remember some punches and blocks, i miss practicing kicks) 

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss

I have had alcohol (don’t tell my mother) 

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting

I have been at an overnight event

I have been in a taxi (maybe, probably when i was a baby and my parents decided to travel the country with an infant is the best idea, also do ubers count? if so, then yes) 

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year (i wasn’t hospitalized, but a loved one was, oddly enough, exactly one year ago, it happened)

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country (bangladesh because of parents’ ethnicity, jamaica and cayman islands because of a cruise) 

I have been to one of my favourite band’s concerts (this was during my boy band phase and i shall not reveal the name of the artist to retain whatever piece of dignity i have left) 

RELATIONSHIP:

I’m in a relationship

I have a celebrity crush  

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least 3 relationships

I have never been in a relationship  

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush on someone for over a year

I have been in a relationship for at least a year

I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”

I live close to my school/job (does living on campus count?)

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the United States (save us) 

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with a friend outside of school in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 15 CDs

I share my room with someone (please no more, i can’t handle them anymore, have had bad luck with the the past year, message me for stories if interested)

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced

I know a person named Jamie

I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair (do highlights count?)

I’m listening to one song on repeat right now (evermore off the live action beauty and the beast movie) 

I have punched someone in the past week 

I know someone who has gone to jail

I have broken a bone

I have eaten a waffle today

I know what I want to do with my life

I speak at least 2 languages fluently ( somewhere between 4-5, grew up with bengali and english, i can understand 20% of hindi and urdu cos they’re very similar because of geographic location, and spanish because the gifted program i was in at high school required me to graduate basically fluent in spanish, and my mother was trying to teach me arabic when i was young but i barely remeber the aplhabet and have a limited understanding of the arabic phrases i use in daily life) 

I have made a new friend in the past year. (tumblr friends count, right? buti have made some new irl friends) 

Tagging: @dmichellewrites @latinasmoak @queensoverwatch @mogirl97 @dollyrose09 

[trinamcmichaels01]

Perpetual Vouchers and Just How to Pick the Right Discount Coupon Site for Your Service

Many entrepreneur are constantly looking for some method to enhance profits and interest in their organisation offerings. Perpetual vouchers are always a win with both existing as well as possible customers, so utilizing it as component of your marketing strategy might truly operate in your support in time.

 What is a perpetual promo code?

 A continuous coupon is different to the conventional cut-out or paper voucher. These promo codes are usually digital or on the internet vouchers, and also these promo codes run out the day of redemption however can be updated each day. Usually, a discount coupon would only be valid for a particular period, yet continuous discount coupons provide discounts at any time business intends to Central Vapors Voucher Code.

 These vouchers would normally include clicking a details link to qualify, and you won't also need an unique code to place in the acquisition or payment web page. These promo codes can be used over and also over, so if you intend to draw customers back over and over again, a perpetual voucher may be the means to go.

 Things to take into consideration before selecting a perpetual promo code site

 Subscription fees

 Most coupon sites require a charge or some form of income share from businesses that utilize their services. The method to discovering the best voucher website is to look for one that provides lower or marked down costs for the very first couple of months. You need to likewise try to stay clear of sites that request for a cut of the purchase cost, and as opposed to go with websites that supply their services at a flat charge each month. This makes it much easier to work out your expenses and also you'll come back more from your advertising efforts.

 Discount coupon kinds

 You should take a look at the kinds of vouchers offered by the website prior to you sign up. There are a number of different coupon kinds including print coupons, everyday deals, digital promo codes, as well as perpetual coupons.

 Promo codes that can be printed out are generally saved for purchases at some time in future, so results might not be instant. Daily bargains typically come at an expense to the customer, because they need to pay a cost to receive the deal. It's likewise a more costly choice for you as a business owner because you need to pay a percentage of your sales to the voucher site. Digital promo codes are a far more easy to use choice since these do not need to be published out as well as can be redeemed immediately online or via making use of smart phones. Perpetual discount coupons are, naturally, the most desired of all these different discount coupon types and also will certainly enable both brand-new as well as existing clients to maximize the financial savings on offer.

 Check-in programs

 A website that utilizes check-in programs awards consumers for checking in using a number of different social sites. Google Places, Facebook Places, and Foursquare are just a few of the sites a consumer can use to check in with when they see your business. The browse through itself might not result in a sale, but if consumers are offered an incentive to do this you'll get additional exposure and brand-new customers can be enticed right into seeing Central Vapors Discount coupon Code.

 Geographical targeting

 This is an essential feature to try to find in a coupon website. Websites that target the offers they show to their consumers' geographical place not just make it less complicated for customers to pinpoint great deals at a glimpse, however additionally generate service quicker as a result of the targeted leads they produce.

 The pointers above must assist you select the excellent continuous discount coupons website for your advertising and marketing initiatives. You'll see far better outcomes as well as end up with more money in your pocket while pleasing existing consumers and also achieving brand-new ones.

 Identified Ad as well as Discount Coupon Sites - 20,600,000 as well as Counting - Does the World Requirement An Additional?

 My most current Google search showed up 20,600,000 classified advertisement as well as coupon sites. Does the Internet demand another one? My initial solution would certainly have been "No." However, my 2 close friends stated "Yes." So, include one more to the search results: 20,600,001.

 Just how could they have potentially picked this field as a company model recognizing the competition is so strong and crowded? Defeats me. Yet, it absolutely requires you to think outside package. And also they have. The only method to take a crack at is to supply something above and also beyond what the others do.

 So, they've chosen to pay 70% from each sale of their 3 cost-effective advertisement plans back to everyone that brings someone else to their site that becomes a paying client. Currently, they do compute this after the small repayment cpu's charge. Nonetheless, it's still offering the lion's share of their profits right back to the referring participant. As well as, they do not charge anything to join or become entailed. They do not play any type of games, either: no certifying, quotas or other gimmicks. These people likewise want clients to try their ingenious solutions for 2 week before they spend a dime. After the totally free trial, the customer can continue with the thrifty regular monthly registration price, or cancel Central Vapors Promo code Code.

 They even give away a cost-free ad with the same feature-rich alternatives that their paying clients get. They allow the totally free ad to continue to be on-site indefinitely, also. After the thing is marketed, a person can swap it out for another, whether it be a wrench set, a collectible, an auto, a house, a boat, a bike, art, precious jewelry, realty, or craft things ... They don't also bill extra for house, task, business or help wanted listings. The only difference in between obtaining the one totally free ad for life, as well as buying an economical marketing bundle is that clients reach detail limitless things in any of my pals' 384 classifications. As well as, there is no middleman. All purchases are purely between buyers as well as vendors.

 They're into the "best value" ideology as a means to attract attention from the group. They also supply an easy-to-create company voucher contractor wherein companies can develop their own vouchers for possible clients to publish immediately. These promo codes can after that be used at the proprietor's shop, either the brick-and-mortar kind, or online. As well as, my pals will certainly even help you get started.

 These guys have simply 3 marketing packages: one for unlimited classified ads just, one for printable service discount coupons only, or both. The month-to-month subscription charges are fantastic. As well as, commissions are paid for each and every month that a customer remains an active paying member.

 While my buddies' business is brand-new, they are skilled experts in the Web business sector. We have worked together for 11 years. So, if they claim it's workable, then I need to think them since they not only recognize what they're doing, however they have actually been successful also.

 Most of us understand and also most likely use the greatest businesses in the area for categorized and also promo code advertising and marketing. My close friends' goal is to turn into one of them. From the very first day they exposed their brand-new service venture to me, the objective has constantly been to come to be a family name in the local neighborhood as well as around the world. I wouldn't bet against it. So, when they asked me to find aboard as their writer, editor as well as fellow brainstormer, I thought about it for a couple of mins and also readily accepted the deal.

 It's extremely interesting for my friends and me to enjoy something they have actually worked so hard for grow gradually, waiting for the day that the online area discovers them and sees what they have actually started on. Literally, anything is feasible if you want to take a chance and hold your horses, persistent. honest as well as ethical. That's all these men understand.

 On The Internet Discount/Coupon Sites - Are They Good For Your Company?

 If you listen to the nationwide media, we remain in serious economic crisis. This is the story they spread today as well as on a daily basis, time after time. So this instills anxiety, issue, and traditional spending habits after it is defeated into our heads day after day throughout all tools. Many individuals now utilize discount coupons that never ever have before and also not out of need but as a result of the concern and issue that the economy can become worse.

 In response to this online voucher websites are springing up and also many consumers are obtaining awesome offers at restaurants, hotels, oral offices, horseback riding lessons, and also lots of various other categories that they otherwise would not have capitalized on. Yet due to the attraction of a DEEP, WONDERFUL, DISCOUNT consumers are signing up for a daily e-mail with info on the "Offer of the Day" as well as are sharing the deals with their pals and the viral surge expands daily.

 There are great deals of chances for business to get their message out to the masses with this type of program absolutely free - or so they would have you think. These programs can be a shot in the arm for a company or it could be the start of needing to constantly discount their product or service. The regular program is that you (your company) provide your product or service at 50% or more off your normal cost. Then they offer "coupons" for $50 dish for only $25 as well as the $25 that the program gathers then divides it 50/50 with your company effectively offering you 25% of what you would have usually received from a client who located you on their own.

 Feels like a good deal and also it can be - for some firms. I have actually always felt that not all programs benefit all services in every market. A careful examination of the program, their assumptions and your expectations, is important before doing ANY program - discount or typical advertising and marketing or on the internet advertising.

Remember these companies are offering what consumers regard as a present Card. They are not thinking about marketing or attempting to offer a "coupon for $500 off your purchase of $1500 or more". They are not marketing discount coupons they are offering present cards. Offering the customer a Voucher with guidelines as well as terms that they must spend even more cash to reap the benefit of what they have already purchased defeats the purpose of these programs.

 Success is measured in several ways for different programs. It is necessary to recognize how to track results for programs like Groupon, Living Social, Deal , Take the Offer, I-Deals, etc. If you want brand-new consumers to find in for a special offer there are several essential factors you require to take into consideration:

 1. Will this be an one-time point or are you preparing to do this over as well as over?

2. Do you have the ability to "up-sell" once they come in to retrieve the marked down deal? Is your team educated to effectively make this happen?

3. Do you have a goal or restriction on the amount of price cuts you want to issue?

4. Is the deal eye-catching but still useful?

5. Will your section of the money accumulated from the program cover your hard expenses connected with the deal?

6. How much do you require to "up-sell" per redemption to make this a profitable program?

7. Will your team effectively track the program so you can see the actual outcome of your participation?

 There are many variables to any type of marketing or advertising program. Business must plan out their method for the year and also see where this might suit their general strategy. If they don't have a plan, their company is down as well as this is a knee jerk response, they might obtain short-term outcomes but endure in the long-term due to not having a strategy.

 Voucher Sites Offer Dining Establishment Deals

 Getting coupons is one way to conserve money when the budget plan is tight. Discovering a website with cheap regional deals allows customers to spend less on things they would generally buy. They likewise give individuals the possibility to get things they typically could not afford. Dining establishment promo codes are a good example of exactly how discount rate internet sites work.

 The customer mosts likely to the website for coupon deals. The search box will ask for a zip code. Once it is gone into, every one of the discount coupons offered for that location will turn up. There will in some cases be extra coupons for surrounding postal code to make sure that potential customers can save at nearby sellers as well. A listing of classifications, including dining establishments, will certainly display. Classifications range from tanning beauty salons to vehicle detailers to professional roofer and also more. The variety of participating merchants will show in parenthesis next to the group. This informs the consumer the number of there are where to pick.

 The consumer clicks on the category of choice. If restaurants are picked, all of the dining establishment vouchers will appear on the screen. Each coupon offer can be viewed to see just how much it is and also what it entails. Regional offers might consist of a buy one, get one free; buy one, get one fifty percent off; a discount rate portion, or a totally free product with the acquisition of something else. Some vendors offer greater than one bargain.

 The customer selects, after that signs up with the website. If they want to purchase discount coupon deals, they add them to their buying cart. They pay for it currently. After payment has actually been approved, the voucher can then be printed out.

 If the customer desires to save even more cash as well as acquire even more vouchers the various other classifications can be accessed, one right after the other. The things can be contributed to the sopping cart at the end and paid for at one time. The discount coupons can be published out one after the other, too.

 When the client has actually finished shopping and also has published out all of their coupons, they can leave the internet site. It is recommended to conserve the website on the checklist of faves or as a book marking for quick as well as easy referral in the future. Voucher bargains alter, with new ones being included on a regular basis, so the consumer will likely want to examine back soon.

 Saving Money Is Easy With Daily Deal Sites

 If you're not aware of the term "social couponing" after that you are most likely investing more cash than essential on whatever from dining establishment dishes and also health spa services to entertainment places and also sporting devices.

 Promo code usage tends to climb in popularity throughout recession durations, but the current pattern has actually truly taken vouchers to the following degree. Deal-a-day voucher sites, targeted by geographic area, allow consumers to enroll in totally free as well as receive an email each day including a significant discount on one or more neighborhood merchants or provider.

 Wondering how much you can save utilizing social promo code websites? Many offers using social discount coupon sites provide half-off deals or far better, with savings approximately ninety percent. Bargains might be structured as a dollar-off amount (for instance pay $25 as well as get $50 well worth of food or merchandise), or a package supplied at a deep price cut (two-night stay with morning meal at a high end hotel for simply $150).

 Not all offers are for deluxe costs like dining out as well as health spa services. Numerous social couponing sites include price cuts on oral job, chiropractic care solutions and various other different healing techniques, and even home solutions such as landscape design or paint.

 Most importantly, the majority of sites have generous terms, enabling you up to one full year to utilize any kind of discount you acquire.

 Additionally, voucher subscribers have the possibility to earn debts or totally free promo codes simply for referring friends and family to the latest deals, making it even simpler to conserve cash.

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 Store Smart Online With Coupon Codes

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 The proper procedure to go shopping online would be to refrain from going directly to a favored vendor, yet to examine if there is a coupon code available for this particular vendor or a concurrent store with much better offers. One might find much better discount rates just after a few clicks of the computer mouse.

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 For those not accustomed with the use of vouchers, the technique is straightforward. After the desired item picture with description, price and coupon code is shown on the discount coupon site, all the buyer has to do is click on the web link supplied to be redirected to the matching item on the seller's website. Now the cost is revealed without the discount rate on the item's web page.

 After the item has been contributed to the cart, a web page is shown with a description of the item, quantity as well as rate. The consumer after that type the coupon code in the tiny box that indicates something like this: "Coupon code? Enter it below:", and also click apply. The web page freshens and also shows the last rate consisting of the discount rate.

 The Benefits of Online Discount Coupons

 As the globe has been facing a real downward trend in its economic problems, it is not really easy to get everything you want within your budget plan. The costs are skyrocketing skies high as well as it has reached a circumstance where you simply can not live comfortably like olden days. Because of this, consumers are on the look out for various kinds of on the internet discount vouchers which will give them a big discount rate while purchasing goods.

 Purchasing through the net has become so preferred now-a-days that on the internet buying has actually gotten to peak degrees. People are greatly drawn in by the truth that they do not need to wait in lines, and also can buy any type of point imaginable within the conveniences of your house. As well as the fantastic information is that there are a variety of on the internet discount coupons that are supplied by different companies that make all of it the a lot more tempting as well as economically smart to buy goods this way.

 The circulation of web traffic to these discount coupon sites have observed an extraordinary increase of around 38% within the span of March 2007 to March 2008. Apart from the monetary gains that you take advantage of, customers delight in a bargain deal and also really feel rather thrilled with the entire event.

 These on the internet discount voucher websites have actually come to be a challenge to the news media who were once the kings of marketing discount rate vouchers. You no longer need to very carefully read the newspaper to get details about the different offers that various firms use on all kinds of goods.

 The extraordinary walking in the price of any type of consumer good has ended up being a boon for discount coupon websites online. The voucher online websites grant vendors discount coupon advertising and marketing as well as offering system. With the abrupt surge of traffic to these discount coupon websites umpteen consumers are publishing and utilizing these discount coupons, the varieties of vendors that are interested in visiting to this site get on the boost. The internet result is that thousands of individuals are doing all their acquiring via discount coupon online websites.

 If by any chance your shopping cart does not indulge the promo code facility, you simply need to get the assistance of a software application merchant to get the function took into solution to change into shopping cart software which sustain it. You can also attempt Promotion software program which associates well with all carts, sites and blog sites. Hence you will discover that online discount coupon websites have actually started ruling the internet and also are currently the top ranked return web traffic sites online.

For More Information Visit Here

[sailorrrvenus]

In Search of Beauty: Discovering My Place in Art as a Photographer

I’ve been taking pictures since I was 10 or 11 years old. A friend of the family noticed the bored expression on my face at the wedding of an extended family member. He was the photographer and he walked over to me, placed a large camera in my hands with a full roll of film, and asked me to help him out. I didn’t know the first thing about cameras, let alone this one. About as much as I could say for it was that it was “nice.”

After the wedding, he gingerly opened up the back of the camera, carefully pulled out the roll of film, placed it in its container and handed it to me. He told me to give it to my mother and that she would be able to print the pictures out. I remember distinctly the excitement at picking up the envelope from the Smith’s 1-hour photo and flipping through the 24 4×6’s the roll had produced.

Most were blurry, none were well-composed, most were either under or over-exposed — but I couldn’t have been happier. It was a new and fascinating experience for me, and I wanted to feel the rush that came with capturing and reproducing the vision I’d had of the event over and over again.

More than 10 years later, you can find me almost every weekend with a camera in-hand. On a usual trip, I have my camera bag loaded up with lenses, camera frames, and various other pieces of equipment — thousands of dollars worth — on some adventure. It doesn’t matter where I am going — up mountains, across oceans, or through deep canyons — the equipment goes with me. It has become almost a part of me. When I’m out, it becomes as vital as proper clothing, food, and water.

My work has come to focus primarily on landscape photography. I’ll shoot a wedding occasionally, or snap portraits of friends when asked, but I feel at my best when I’m outside, experiencing what the world has to offer through the lens of my camera. About two years ago, I began indulging in a narrower genre known as landscape astrophotography, which sets dramatic landscapes against the similarly dramatic night sky.

This particular brand of photography requires me to visit some of the most remote locales in the world. Places where the sting of artificial light won’t affect your vision or pollute the skies. In these places, the human eye will see more than a couple dozen stars, scattered across the jet-black blanket of space. Stars beyond number speckle that dark canvas — a pointillistic panorama of cosmic proportions.

I could sit staring beneath those skies for hours. Honestly, it can be difficult to convince my often-exhausted self — exhaustion aside — to go to bed. “How many people get to see skies like this?” I wonder. Emerson said it best:

If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown!

At a time when, for most, late-night lighting means dimly-lit apartments and brightly backlit smartphones, we’re so removed from the night sky that, even for someone like myself, it might as well be “one night in a thousand years” that I get to gaze into that breathtaking firmament — thankful to whatever gods may be for the wondrous spectacle—freely available — above my head. Awestruck, I begin to lose myself amongst those stars only to begrudgingly snap back to reality. I’ve got work to do.

I click-click-click away — gathering the photographic data that I need to compose an image. Staying up late is one thing, but often it takes 5-10 minutes per exposure to gather the deep-sky photographic data I need. To make it somewhat more stressful, moonlight has to be absent so as not to drown out the fainter light of surrounding stars. This allows for only a few days each month of good photographing. Add to that the scarcity of the night sky’s most commonly photographed subject, the Milky Way (which only appears 6-8 months out of the year and only during certain times of night), and I’ve got my work cut out for me.

I take that data home and, somewhere between my full-time job, school, social life, and other photographic projects, I spend hours post-processing the material (color corrections, clarity, white balance, exposure adjustments, composite blending, etc.) This is the work few people understand and most never witness firsthand, but in many cases, this is where I have the greatest opportunity to exercise a personal creative flair.

If the editing is done poorly, it doesn’t matter how good the location was or how clear the sky was, I’ll fail to do justice to these places and experiences I so deeply care about. It’s important for me to get it right — not only for me but for those who might look and be moved by the beauty or inspired to get out and explore the wonderful world around them.

From my digital darkroom, I take images and attempt to market them. A well-worded Instagram post with some personal thoughts, a post on Facebook, a link to my website. Logically speaking, the more people that see it, the more likely it is to be successful. If it does really well, I might sell some prints or get featured somewhere online — driving more traffic to my work. Often, however, high hopes lead to disappointment, and I try to remind myself that, ultimately, how I feel about my work is more important even than the lasting legacy of my photographs.

Still, it’s hard to ignore that voice in the back of my head that wants to be known. I already count myself as part of a rich tradition of artists and writers whose aim has always been to inspire by shedding a light on the beauty of the natural world, but I’m not sure yet that they’d count me as one of them.

When I was 17, my AP Art History teacher introduced my class to the “Hudson River School,” a group of artists whose focus was romantic landscape painting. They too were inspired by the likes of Emerson and Thoreau and using paint and canvas, they illustrated the drama of the Catskills and the Adirondacks beneath stirring skies. They wanted to show the wild-ness of wilderness, the mystery, and majesty of unconquerable Mother Earth.

As the movement spread, so did the geographic area it covered. Artists moved beyond the Hudson River and into the American West, painting as they went. Albert Bierstadt was one such artist. Born in Germany but raised in America, Bierstadt sought to bring life to the West through his painting — and he was uniquely qualified to do so. He spent years painting alpine landscapes across Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, and he reflected their drama in his sublime paintings of the Rockies, the Yosemite Valley, and other areas throughout the western territories. His process bore striking similarities to my own.

He visited a location and gathered raw data (in his case, preliminary sketches), he then returned home and exercised his artistic prowess while painting them on larger canvases. He often tweaked the preliminary sketches to match his vision. He drew on what had inspired him, to manifest the grandeur of a place, in addition to simply replicating its physical appearance. Afterward, he marketed heavily, seeking to spread the word about himself, his work, and the beauty that the West proffered.

Bierstadt was especially successful in his prime. So much so that, in 1863, his painting The Rocky Mountains, Lander’s Peak, sold for $25,000 — a record-breaking price.

“The Rocky Mountains, Lander’s Peak”. Albert Bierstadt, 1863.

He experienced widespread success through the 1860s and 70s, inspiring an entire generation of Americans to make their way West in search of the beauty Bierstadt’s paintings inspired them to seek. The land they found was beautiful, but some met only disappointment — failing to see in the landscape itself what Bierstadt had seen and later attempted to portray. He was lambasted by some critics for the inaccuracy of his portrayals — they were too dramatically lit, too idyllic, too beautiful.

That critical reception later in life led to a decline in his popularity. As he grew older, he experienced little success. This misfortune was exacerbated by the untimely loss of his home, studio, and many paintings to a fire. A decade later, he lost his wife. For the last decade of his life, Bierstadt was alone, his work generated little public interest, and he had little to his name. He died in 1902, a broken man.

While his paintings hang in major museums all over the world and he remains an important figure in the history of American art, his contributions as an artist are still sometimes called into question. Sure, his paintings are beautiful, but they’re not real. They’re excessive. Not only that, some argue that Bierstadt built his career upon lies told to the American public. Perhaps, they say, he was successful not because he was an exemplary artist, but because he was a conman. He sold America a vision of the West that didn’t exist.

If those critics are right — if Bierstadt’s paintings don’t offer viewers more than false representation of a seemingly objective visual — why do the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Museum of Fine Art in Boston (the two largest art museums in the U.S.) still place Bierstadt’s paintings in places of prominence in their American collections? Is it enough for great art to be simply beautiful — as Bierstadt’s most certainly is?

I haven’t been out to photograph for a couple months — plagued by this question. Am I an artist — or simply a salesman out to earn a quick buck or some social acclaim? Does my work have value beyond being simply “nice to look at?”

For years, I’ve felt a particular kinship to Bierstadt. We share German heritage, we have a shared appreciation for nature, and we love a lot of the same places. I’ve visited the mountains he studied in Switzerland, and I recently stumbled upon paintings he’d done of the mountains right behind my childhood home. I’ve felt even more closely drawn to him as I’ve attempted to answer my own artistic dilemma by defining my love for his work.

Alps near Konigsee National Park, Austria

Location: Lone Peak, Wasatch Mountains, UT, Albert Bierstadt (Date and Title Unknown)

Somehow able to sense my artistic crisis, a friend asked me recently how I felt about photographing around the “ugly busy-ness” of over-crowded national parks or congested urban metropoles. Another criticized my astrophotography. “Human eyes”, he said, “cannot see what your camera has captured. That scene does not exist.”

Self-portrait beneath Delicate Arch, Moab, UT

It’s true that the sensor of a digital camera is capable of more (in some respects) than the human eye. Why is it then, that even when a picture whose clarity and color exceeds the potential of human senses, I find myself continually urging others to visit the places I photograph for an even greater experience?

It took me aback when I realized the experiences I had with those two friends reflected the criticisms lobbed at Bierstadt all those years ago. I replied simply to the first that the people to whom she referred usually don’t factor into the mental image I have of a particularly beautiful place. My pictures show people exclusively what I want them to see.

Jonathan Swift once said that “vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.” In my situation, perhaps vision is the art of not seeing what may be impossible for others to ignore. I create a new reality from the reality that exists. Our romantic friend Emerson said “love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.”

Maybe it’s not real. Maybe it’s fiction. But artistic value has always been found in the unique perspective of artists. Just ask Van Gogh or Picasso — who certainly saw things differently. I choose to see Bierstadt in this sense — as an optimist who looked and saw idealized beauty in the wild west. In the meantime, I’ll keep working to solidify my own place in that tradition.

About the author: Matthew Pockrus is a landscape photographer based in Utah and focusing on the American West. The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author. You can find more of Pockrus’ work on his website and Instagram.

source https://petapixel.com/2018/10/22/in-search-of-beauty-discovering-my-place-in-art-as-a-photographer/

[lb-art-and-photo]

Spring Break 2018: Restarting the Insane Abandoned Place Checklist.

When you can't go to the beach, you go to Savanna, IL.  It is on the banks of the Mississippi River. Or you go to Harvey. There was standing water in a basement of an old power plant.  Or is that just me?

I'm pretty sure it isn't just me. I might just be the only person you know who does it though.

After a great week with the kids, I had a little bit of time to go exploring. A long time ago, I wrote about eventually making my way to Thrillist's Most 28 Insane Abandoned Places in the Midwest. Here's the link if you need a refresher. 

https://www.thrillist.com/lifestyle/chicago/the-28-most-insane-abandoned-places-in-the-midwest

I've been slowly checking these puppies off of my list. I have more to visit, but I am happy with my  recent efforts. Ha.

These places can be checked off: 1. City Methodist Church in Gary, IN; 2. Damen Silos in Chicago, IL; 7. Joliet Correctional Center in Joliet, IL; 17. Searsboro Consolidated School in Searsboro, IA; 27. Alexian Brothers Novitiate in Gresham, WI; and 28. Solvay Coke & Gas Company in Milwaukee, WI (now demolished). 

And after this last week, you can also add two other great spots: 5. Wyman-Gordon Power Plant in Dixmoor, IL and 13. Savanna Army Depot outside of Savanna, IL.

Exciting, I KNOW! 

Both spots were definitely worth the research, planning, and in the Depot's case, a somewhat extreme effort, but both also came with a little risk-taking, so I guess what I am saying is that if you decide to go to either of these locations, make sure you research and think ahead. 

So actually, I want to show a little of what I found at the Savanna Army Depot location, which I found to be surreal. Let me say that I have actually been a little … scared �� to go to this site, mostly because of what it was used for and because of what I read about it from beginning my research of it over two years ago. I decided to go actually go for it and to try to experience it for a couple of reasons.

First:

It was Easter. I don't have the kids every year. I hate sitting around all day, so instead moping, I have decided these are perfect days to go to places I usually don't have time to hit up.  I go early and take a long-ish trip to a place where I hope (and was correct this time) that I will be the only person around. This method of operation has it's advantages and disadvantages. The obvious advantage is that on holidays, most people are eating big meals with their families and friends, so it's a good time to explore a place that might usually be monitored carefully. The overriding negative is that if anything goes wrong and you're alone, you could be toast, especially without wireless service, WHICH I DID NOT HAVE FOR HOURS, and I have had service just about everywhere the last year or so. My provider is AT&T. Maybe it's different for other carriers. But this is doubtful. I was literally in the middle of nowhere. The good news is that I lived. So count that as a win for me.

Second:

I have a reason to go to some of these places now. I recently signed with a publishing company known for its photograph/history heavy titles. They are publishing a new series of books, "Abandoned America." I picked up Illinois and one other state. So, I have to get my a$$ going. The first draft is due July 31st for Illinois, and I know nobody thinks I have enough to do, so I added this little project onto my "to do" list. It's actually been a goal of mine to write a book - like my entire life - so this unsolicited opportunity came out of nowhere and actually fits with my love for exploring, history, writing, and photography. It also motivates me to get out and do something I love, and it's something I haven't made enough time for recently. It's also a valid reason to be exploring when explaining WHY I am at a location if questioned. It's exciting for me. And I want to thank my friends Dave, Chehalis, and Michael for helping me make some decisions regarding it. I'm so grateful. No idea how it will turn out, but I knew I needed to get to at least four more significant sites in Illinois in order for me to feel good about content, and this is one of them. 

A Tiny Bit of History and Context:

This place is so interesting to me. I often don't understand how there are some places out there that still exist, especially massive places with hundreds of buildings that are left to disintegrate. This is one of them.  I guess I do understand that cleaning this site up isn't necessarily a priority for the DNR, seeing as I read there is currently ONE full time employee overseeing the entire area. It makes sense because it is obvious that this is a place where not much money is flowing in effortlessly, and The Savanna Business Park is a little different than any other business park I have ever seen - no offense to anyone there. It's just the way it is. That's kind of unfortunate because the actual land sits overlooking the Mississippi River, and the land contains the largest natural dune system in the state of Illinois. It is 7.5 miles long and sits 70 feet above the river. The land is also known as the Lost Mound Unit of the Upper Mississippi River National Wildlife and Fish Refuge. So far only around 3000 acres has been transferred, as the remaining acreage needs to be freed from environmental contamination and will be turned over when deemed safe. This could take forever though, because it is a long-term clean up plan, and the plan will supposedly be updated every 5-10 years through information gained by monitoring habitat, wildlife, and recreational use (www.fws.gov).

The Lost Mound is pretty intriguing too. It is this geographic oddity and is part of local folklore concerning a post-glacial hill set as the backdrop for the sand prairie found around it. Funny enough, "the mound did not appear on early maps of the region, however the lost 'mound' has since been found as is {now} featured on recent topographical maps" (www.fws.gov). This mound is super easy to find. It sticks up high above the rest of the land, although the area in general is hilly, and it is kind of oddly shaped and placed, but the land is aptly named, for sure.

Really quickly, the Savanna Army Depot had about 3 different titles from the time it opened in 1918 until the time it completely closed in 2000. It also had many different uses. This depot is often called the "Area 51" of the Army because of it's secret operations and missions, and because of it not being well known. It was also easy to confuse with other bases having "Savanna" or "Savannah" in their names. Savanna, OK; Savannah, SC; Savannah, GA … Savanna, IL? You get the picture. In basic terms, this place was used mainly as an ordnance, or a branch of the Armed Forces that deals with the supply and storage of weapons, ammunition, and other items related to that. This specific place was used to test and store different types of highly explosive and powerful ammunition such as 75 and 155mm howitzers, or short cannons that shoot on high trajectories in order to reach targets behind cover or within trenches. It was also used to produce, test, and ship out explosives during and after WWII. Later, it was also used as a U.S. Army Defense Ammunition Center and School that provided technical, logistical, consulting, engineering, training, and other types of specialized services to the U.S. Department of Defense. HAD NO IDEA, right? There are lots of interesting little facts about this little known of place, but one that sticks out to me is that this Depot contained a plant that loaded bombs and explosives during WWII, including the that were used in General James Doolittle's raid on Tokyo in 1942. Also, this area contains over 400 steel-enforced, earth-covered igloos with up to 2000 square feet of storage underneath  that were used to store such things as highly explosive ammunition, "mustard" gas, Ammonium Nitrate (actually over 260,000 tons of it for war reserves), and actually later and still today, data and computers. Crazy right? These are highly visible, all over the place, and are covered in grass so that they were undetectable by air. 

Needless to say, this land is highly contaminated. Scary too, is that there are said to be unexploded devices in some areas. That's what scared me most. I wore a respirator because I knew of the contamination, yes. I have heard many of the unexploded devices are taken care of, but you know, after being there, I'm not so sure. There are still signs explaining what to do when you happen to come upon one. Backwater areas are also still closed to the public due to "unexploded ordnance" being present, so I stayed far away from that space. I know 1948 was a long time ago, but there was actually and explosion that left a 150 foot wide by 50 foot deep hole you can still find. The 4 ton door from that steel-enforced igloo was never found. That says a lot.

It really is a beautiful location on the edge of the River, and it only took me 2 hours and 10 minutes to get there. Easy drive.

I've seen many shots of this Depot from the outside, and maybe a few shots from the inside of a barrack or a mess hall, but I have never seen what I got into Sunday. I'm not saying to do it yourself. I was actually relieved to get home, as I felt like I was constantly pumping adrenaline. It started as a pretty boring expedition actually, since I couldn't figure out where to go to find what I was looking for, and then it got frustrating because I wasn't seeing what I wanted to photograph. But, after I kept searching just "one more time" or for "one more thing," I finally figured some things out, and without getting into the details of how I accessed these things, I can only say wow. I am glad I went, but I am just as happy to have finished exploring it. I wanted to do more, and I could have done more because I basically had access to all that I wanted in the end, but I felt like I needed to get out of there. One thing I have learned through all of this abandoned hunting is to not push my luck. A lot of it is based on instinct, and my instincts were telling me to get out and to go home. So although there is a lot more to see, and I have a feeling it is a lot more of the same of what I will show, there is still a little curiosity there. It is such a huge area; it's hard not to be curious about what else there is out there. But I am done. I saw enough, and it was worth it.

If you look at the link to this map below, I was all over the place, but many of the most interesting shots came from within the CL and CF Loop Roads. The entire area  is over 14 miles long and over 2.5 miles wide, so I'm sure you can imagine how overwhelming the size is. The question for me was where to start.

https://www.bing.com/maps?osid=da2d1d2d-8124-46c5-9155-351f6031ba0c&cp=42.19038~-90.280748&lvl=16&style=h&v=2&sV=2&form=S00027

There is so much more history I have learned about this place, and it is really fascinating, but I'll save that for another time. 

Here's the easier-to-get-to stuff:

A little more challenging and interesting ...

So far, it was ok. Interesting, but if I didn't know why it was interesting, a pretty far drive for some crumbling buildings. Until I searched the grounds for about an hour. 

And then it got much better - on the outside and inside of the buildings.

This was an amazing place, but like I said, everything in me was telling me to leave. So I left the way I came. It was enough for me. I actually hope that someday this place is cleaned up properly. It is a beautiful area of Illinois, largely undisturbed, full of wildlife, and on a gorgeous riverbank. Maybe in the not-so-far future clean up will become more of a priority for the remaining 5000+ acres of land that can be transferred over once safe for public use.

[georgettal66-blog]

Cold Weather Tea A Personal Viewpoint.

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[topmixtrends]

NELSON GEORGE IS a creator — and chronicler — of art in many forms. Over the course of a career spanning almost four decades, George has moved easily between journalism, history, novels, and filmmaking, producing over 20 books and 15 films. In addition to long stints with Billboard magazine and the Village Voice, he has published books about the music industry and African-American culture — including The Michael Jackson Story (1983), The Death of Rhythm and Blues (1988), Elevating the Game (1992), Buppies, B-Boys, Baps, & Bohos (1993), and Hip Hop America (1998).

George has also worked extensively in television and film. In 2007, he co-wrote and directed the HBO film Life Support, which earned Queen Latifah a Golden Globe. He has directed a number of documentaries, including A Ballerina’s Tale (2015), about the ballerina Misty Copeland, and Brooklyn Boheme (2011), a celebration of the vibrant black arts scene of the 1980s and 1990s in Fort Greene and Clinton Hill. He was also a writer/producer on the Netflix series The Get Down.

George has published three crime-fiction novels featuring D Hunter, a bodyguard turned investigator. To Funk and Die in LA is the fourth installment, and the first set in Los Angeles — specifically the vibrant, shifting areas of Koreatown and Crenshaw. D travels to Southern California to solve the murder of his grandfather, who was affectionately known as Big Danny. But as D digs into Big Danny’s past, he untangles a web of associations and secrets, some of which date back to Los Angeles’s civil unrest of 1992. D must decide which leads to pursue and which to leave alone, what to share with his family and what to keep to himself, all while pursuing a missing music icon and coping with his feelings for a Korean-American realtor who has closer ties to him than he knows.

¤

NINA REVOYR: Many of your books have been set in Brooklyn, where you live. What drew you to the idea of writing about Los Angeles? 

NELSON GEORGE: I have been traveling to Los Angeles for business since 1981 and have come to accept that it is actually my second home. I’ve lived in the city for several stints — most of 1981 and ’82, most of 2006 and 2014 — and have been back and forth between Los Angeles and New York in the years in between. I have friendships here that have endured 30 or more years. So I have seen L.A. transform, just as I have Brooklyn, and have memories of restaurants, scenes, and relationships that have ended. I’ve always found Los Angeles a complex place full of hidden mysteries and closed societies. It’s why it’s always been such a good film noir location — its length and variety challenge you as a visitor, and certainly as a writer, to look underneath the glamour to find its humanity. There is a lot of desperation in this city. People who come here seeking success or just access to the dream factory. When they don’t get what they sought or just get a taste of it, this can breed an anxiousness that can turn to internal or external anger. And, of course, navigating L.A. traffic is good way to rattle a person’s nerves. All in all a good town to find interesting characters in.

You’ve been a music writer, you’ve written novels and nonfiction, and you’ve also worked in television and movies. What are the joys or frustrations of working in these different forms? Are there things you can do in one form that you can’t do in others?

The core of any good story is someone seeking something and the things that help or prevent them from achieving it. I think that’s true in writing a profile of a singer, as well as a character in a TV show or movie and certainly a novel. Now each form requires internally a bunch of information, be it in music history or a three-act structure. I am one who believes a good storyteller can move work in any of these areas, but it will take time to make these transitions from form to form. I learned tons working with the writers on The Get Down. Not everything I learned was actually good! But the point isn’t perfection since that’s an impossible goal. The point is to explore process and to be able to see different ways to approach storytelling. If you are a writer, it’s fun to test your limits. As a human being, it’s absolutely essential. When you write you have to be like a child anyway. You have to be open to being playful and going outside your comfort zone. I’ve done that a lot in my career. I have definitely stumbled. But, end of the day, accepting the challenge is what enriches your life.

In a previous D Hunter novel, you tackled gentrification in Brooklyn. Now you’re taking on gentrification in Los Angeles — particularly areas like Crenshaw and Koreatown. How is gentrification similar or different between the two cities? 

Because of the population density of NYC and the spread out geography of Los Angeles, it’s hard to compare the two cities. What they do share is a sinking black community, rising Latino and Asian populations, and investment by banks and the city government in areas that were once red lined and ignored. Cities are living things with long histories of evolution and change. I think the changes to Los Angeles are more surprising since the racial segregation here was enforced by freeways that allowed whites to live full L.A. lives and never see where blacks, Mexicans, et cetera, lived. As the city has become more “urban” with the Metro’s growth, Uber, high-rise development, and rising housing prices a lot of those geographical barriers are disappearing. Koreatown, for example, was once a outlier in Los Angeles. Now it is one of the city’s most vibrant communities. It’s these changes in the city that I really tried to capture in To Funk and Die in LA.

To Funk and Die in LA — like the city itself — is a mix of people and cultures. It’s filled with characters of various races who sometimes clash, and other times cross racial lines for friendship and love. Do you see the racial mix of Los Angeles as emblematic of urban America? Or is there something particular and specific about L.A.? 

I think the black, Mexican, and Korean relations here are unique to Los Angeles. The traditional black communities abut Koreatown with Pico-Union on the other side. On Western Boulevard you see strip mall signage that’s in English, Korean, and Spanish. There are funk and soul parties in this town where there will be Mexicans spinning old R&B 45 singles for other Mexicans and hip-hop parties where Asian kids are old-school break dancing. So there’s a cultural mix here, especially east of Western, that strikes me as unique and that I find very stimulating.

Los Angeles’s last civil unrest — which serves as the historical underpinning of your book — happened 25 years ago. What do you see as the legacy of that period? And how does it compare to more recent events in Ferguson and Baltimore?

I was out here during the trial and then flew out here the morning after the [Rodney King] verdict. I remember sitting by the Mondrian Hotel pool and counting the fires visible from up there. I traveled down Western a few days after the curfew was lifted to see the destruction and debris. Between the O. J. trial and the uprising, Los Angeles was home base to events that laid bare the racial divisions in the country. Add to that the fierce gangsta rap records that came out during that period and the often brutal policies of that era’s LAPD and you have a historical epoch we, as a national culture, keep revisiting in documentaries and fiction. I think the scars are still here. I think the uprising is one of the reasons that the numbers of black Americans in this city have shrunk. I know that there used to be a very vibrant black nightlife scene in Hollywood, West Hollywood, and even Century City that is just gone. I think the fallout from the uprising has something to do with it. I do think Ferguson and Baltimore’s impact was magnified by the internet. There were literally hundreds of Rodney King videos made in those cities. The downside is that we’ve grown sadly used to police brutality on our smart phones.

The beat of music — past, present, and yet to be made — is everywhere in this book, and in your writing. You’ve also written about — among many other things — basketball players and dancers. Do you see commonalities between these various forms of expression?

I did a documentary on the great ballerina Misty Copeland and I did a 30 for 30 [ESPN] on Magic Johnson and I see both as athletes. In Misty’s case, she is an athlete artist. But the training and the physical sacrifice that comes with the glory is immense. Whether you are wearing ballet slippers or Nike sneakers these people push their bodies to incredible extremes and they don’t care — the joy of movement compels them.

I know it’s clichéd to talk about an investigator being a loner, but D does seem to have an existential loneliness, which is complicated by his HIV-positive status. The more we learn about his grandfather, Big Danny, the more we learn about Big Danny’s private losses. To what extent is these characters’ isolation a function of the broader human condition? How much of it is also related to things like health status, age, and race?

When I was younger, I felt my status as a writer made me an outsider even when it looked like I was in, whether it was hip-hop or Hollywood or a friend’s house. I spent so much of my time being an observer I isolated myself in many social situations. I think D is really product of me looking at what it’s like to be at the party but not of it. That’s actually the role of a bodyguard. To be in that social space but to be removed enough to spot danger and protect clients. I don’t quite feel that isolated anymore but D allows me to access that part of myself.

The book features several great female characters — including D’s Aunt Sheryl; Michelle Pak, the street-smart realtor who’s also D’s potential love interest; and the wonderfully named Serene Power. Where does D come by his appreciation for such strong, complex women?

I came up in a house full of forceful women and I love writing them. I don’t think of them as “women” characters so much as dynamic people. These women all have objectives in the story, goals that conflict with D’s. So it’s fun to have women who are not in the story to service D or just mirrors to reflect his manliness. They are there to get what they want and their scenes with D reflect their goals and not his. I think that’s why they are fun — because he doesn’t set their agenda and they will get what they want, whether he agrees to help or not. I don’t like women characters written without an inner drive.

Dr. Funk — the legendary musician who everyone is looking for — is a complicated character to say the least. Do you see his dissolution as a symptom of mental illness? As guilt or self-punishment for his past? Or something else? 

Dr. Funk is all the wild geniuses I’ve been lucky enough to meet over the course of my life. They come up with crazy ideas, marry them with skill, and, for a period of time, can move the culture or, at least, influence others who move the culture. But genius is not its own reward. It can burn itself out, it can be abused and it can be broken apart. Dr. Funk knows who he was. He knows that spark is still inside him. But he’s lost the will to be the person. He’s guilty about the chaos that his genius caused and doesn’t know how to make amends. He wanders the City of Angels alone, hiding his heart in plain sight.

¤

Nina Revoyr is the author, most recently, of Lost Canyon.

The post Hidden Mysteries and Closed Societies appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://ift.tt/2BwTtEB

[sociologyontherock]

An Anthropologist Builds a Tree House in Maddox Cove

Jean Briggs interviewed by Stephen Harold Riggins

 EDITOR’S NOTE: From the time the first sociologist began teaching at Memorial, in 1956, anthropology and sociology have been closely associated. Personally, I hope we once again form a joint department. Our first sociologist created Memorial’s earliest anthropology course; our first anthropologist was appointed to teach primarily sociology. Some anthropologists and sociologists have been close friends. Anthropologist Jean Briggs (1929-2016) counted sociologists among her friends. She specialized in psychological anthropology and linguistics. Her best-known publication, Never in Anger: Portrait of an Eskimo Family was based on her Harvard PhD thesis. By academic standards, it was a best-seller.

From 1963 to 1965, Briggs spent 17 months living in one of the most isolated communities in Nunavut in a tent in the summer and an igloo in the winter. Even by the standards of anthropologists, who as a rule seek out isolated communities, this was a bleak location. There was no privacy in a community of – at most – three dozen people. The nearest settlement was one and a half weeks to two weeks away – by dog sled. Food included raw fish. Insects swarmed in the summer. Between the end of April and mid-July during one year of her ethnographic studies the camp moved 13 times due to the shifting abundance of fish and thawing ground. The sound of a typewriter could disturb people in an igloo. In extreme cold the keys did not always work.

In October 2014, I interviewed Briggs about the construction of her home outside St. John’s in order to learn about her personality and the community she formed with other MUN professors. Briggs was a very unique person but constructing her home was a group project. Not every volunteer worker is mentioned in this interview. Bob Hill, for example, also helped out. “I built the home I call ‘The Tree House’ in the early 1970s,” Jean said, “and I lived there by myself until my late 70s.”

 I wanted to live in a beautiful place. St. John’s is a very nice place to live, but I loathe cities. A beautiful place meant in the woods, by the coast, any place where houses were not visible. I loathe the sight of other people’s houses. I am only undepressed when I am in a beautiful place. So I found, with some help from sympathetic colleagues, this spot on a hill in Maddox Cove. Larry Smith was a MUN linguist who lived nearby at the end of what is now Shore Lane. Larry showed me the location for The Tree House. It has a spectacular view of the Maddox Cove Harbour. The site is surrounded by trees on three sides. There were also trees in front but they were not thick. A stream runs behind the house at some little distance. It comes from springs up in the hills, via a beaver dam, also up in the hills.

 You had to park the car on Shore Lane and walk some distance on a path to reach the house which was located on a cliff. Only idiots would slip off the cliff into the ocean or someone who was demonstrating that it could be done. One man showed a Basque priest that is was possible to slide off the cliff and he almost did. I suddenly realize there are exceptions to what I just said. One was made by me. Before I built a fence along the worst gulch that sloped down from the path I slipped off the path one icy night and onto the edge of the gulch. My attention and energy were all devoted to getting off the ice sheet. I was sort of creeping backwards holding on to tall grasses. Seamus, dear dog, did not understand at the beginning. He would paw at me when I was sliding off. His obedience was extremely useful. I said “no” and he stopped immediately. I crawled back on the path. I then built a fence along all the other gulch edges.

 Once I almost walked into a moose on the path because I was walking in the night without my flashlight. I was holding it but not using it. My feet knew the path. I heard a rustling in front to me. I thought it was a rapist. It was the most enormous hind quarters I had ever seen. If the moose had not gotten frightened, I would have been a dead chicken. He would have kicked if I had wandered into him by mistake. It was a male in rutting season. Several times I saw moose tracks on that path and on one occasion even saw a moose underneath my Tree House windows. I was on the second floor and saw the antlers.

 The Tree House was designed by a friend of mine in Boston, who had never visited Newfoundland. I described what I wanted and Carl drew it on a table napkin. He was not trained as an architect. He was trained as a city planner at MIT. I showed the napkin to a very good local carpenter named Frank Donovan. He built what was on the napkin with hand tools since there was no electricity until the house was nearly finished. He could have used electricity but he did not want to carry a generator to the site on his back. He built all his other houses with electric tools. It took three years to finish The Tree House. While he worked on three or four normal houses, he worked on my house in the intervals.

 Maddox Cove consisted then of only about four houses. It was hardly built up at all. I think four houses is not far off the mark. I wasn’t going to have electricity, but I went away on research to the Arctic while the house was under construction and the two people I left in charge of the building, geographer Mike Staveley and anthropologist Jeff Stiles, decided that I must have electricity. Without electricity I could not have a telephone, could not cook comfortably with a wood stove. It would have taken all of my time to cut the wood for cooking and so forth. I’m glad they put electricity in. It allowed me to have a telephone and then later a computer. Larry Smith was a creature of my own heart and he did not like ugly electric lines. So when he showed me the electric lines to The Tree House he was horrified because he had to look at the poles.

 But of course Staveley and Stiles couldn’t put in a road or plumbing or any of those things which I didn’t want anyway. The Tree House never had running water. I did not want running water. From the car, I carried water to the house in my knapsack. I used to carry everything I wanted or needed out to The Tree House in my enormous knapsack from the era of World War I. I found it in the attic of the old Halliday farmhouse where I lived on Elizabeth Avenue. The knapsack is just right for me. It has been rebuilt half a dozen times, but it has the same shape. I parked down the road opposite what is now “The Shoe,” my present little house on Shore Lane. The name “shoe” comes from the nursery rhyme “there was an old woman who lived in a shoe.” I didn’t have so many children I didn’t know what to do. I had too many papers instead.

 I wanted a house that incorporated all the spaces I had lived in and loved. My bed was a sleeping platform, seven feet by seven feet, in plywood. You probably thought it was a place for children to play. They did play there during my parties. They had a ball making a thorough mess of my bed. It was covered by a red Bedouin rug – beautiful – which was nearly destroyed by someone who broke in and smashed the second floor window and left glass splinters in the rug. There were adventures living in The Tree House.

 It was an open plan with a chimney in the middle. I carried the cement for the chimney. I did not want rooms. I wanted spaces with different qualities but no rooms. The living room was on one side and the kitchen on the other. They were connected, but not closed off, by two corridors. The first corridor had a wood box as a piece of furniture. I put all the liquor bottles on that for my parties. The other corridor was a book stack. I had bookshelves from floor to ceiling. I had intended to use that corridor as a winter living room in the Norwegian manner, what in Norwegian is called “teisestua” (a fireplace room). There were little alcoves or niches off the living room for a fireplace. There was a fireplace in that corridor. In fact there were five fireplaces in The Tree House.

 I knew I would not sit in any place that did not have a fireplace. Unfortunately because of the air flow, if I closed off the teisestua with a Bedouin hanging, the cold air blew straight in from the rest of the house and froze my feet.  One fireplace was in the kitchen, one in the living room, one in the teisestua. Two upstairs – one in front of the sleeping platform and one, which was used the most, in the reading area opposite the sleeping platform. The upstairs was built in a dumbbell shape. The widening out areas were the sleeping platform at one end and the sitting area at the other end where I actually lived most of the time. Between those two widenings was a long narrow corridor which was occupied by the stairs.

 On Craigmillar Avenue I found a bathtub (nice, old-fashioned claw-footed sort with elegant 19th century writing underneath its belly) during city clean-up week and stood guard over it till anthropologist Adrian Tanner could come with his truck and pick it up. I never used it as a bathtub but it held water very nicely. I bought the woodstove second-hand in St. John’s. I guess a caterpillar carried it near The Tree House and dumped it in a field, from which Newfoundland historian David Alexander carried it to the semi-finished house when he and other friends helped me move. He did not need to do that but he was afraid it would get wet in the rain. Later he blamed me for nearly wrecking his back.

 The lumber arrived on a caterpillar tractor. But because the carpenter had ordered less than he needed, Adrian Tanner and I had to carry some lumber on our shoulders with makeshift crampons made of scrap lumber with nails driven through it and fastened on our feet with rags. The path to the house was icy in places, snowy in places, muddy in places, and just generally a mess – as is usually a Newfoundland trail if you have been on one in any season except July.

 I also carried cement mix on my head which was a mistake because it ruined my neck. Cement was for the supports for The Tree House. It was supported on the front side because the ground was sloping. The first floor in front was five feet from the ground; on the back side it sat on the ground. I also dug the sand for the concrete foundation posts in a gravel pit on the Petty Harbour Road at three o’clock in the morning (hiding whenever a car drove by) in order to have it ready for the caterpillar to carry out to the site for the house at six a.m.

 I made a deal with Frank Donovan that I would lay the floors if he laid the ceiling. I laid the floors with the assistance of anthropologist George Park who helped me lay the subfloor with plywood and plastic. The boards were grooved. You just lay one next to the other and push one groove into the other. I can saw, and hammer, and nail, you know. I grew up doing that kind of thing. I have two brothers just slightly younger than me. We grew up making log cabins in the New Hampshire woods. My father had nothing to do with child rearing, but my mother was very adventurous and free-wheeling. She let us do pretty much what we wanted, knowing that if she said “stop,” we would stop. Training in obedience has its plus side.

 For years, the second floor of The Tree House was held up by jack posts until the chimney was finally built. It shook in every wind, and friends used to joke that I should sell tickets to people who wanted to sail to Europe. And when the chimney was finally built, the sand – not dug by me – lay on the living room floor for months while the Italian mason, the only mason I could find who would work out there, worked on four other accessible houses in the meantime. Finally, when I told the mason that I had to hold a reception for a member of the Norwegian Parliament that weekend, he said: “You can’t do that with the sand on the living room floor!” And he finally built the chimney and my five fireplaces. It was true that anthropologist Ottar Brox was a Member of Parliament, but he was also an old friend and hiking buddy of mine, a rugged Norwegian who grew up on a remote north Norwegian island where his father was a school teacher. He was a former member of the MUN Department of Sociology and Anthropology. Very useful it is to have friends who wear multiple hats! But my own multiple hats have caused no end of trouble.

 I had a big Collie dog named Seamus. I thought its name was Irish, but I discovered the name spelled slightly differently was Hebrew for temple guardian. Seamus was a lovely dog, like Lassie, gentle and so intelligent and obedient. He had his peculiarities. He was afraid of small dogs and he wouldn’t go for walks with anybody except his caretaker. Seamus did not like being left alone. Although he rarely went for walks with people other than me, he made an exception for Pat Doyle who lived at the end of Shore Lane. Seamus would spend the day in Pat’s front yard because Judy or Elsie who lived in the house fed him. From the Doyles’ yard Seamus recognized the sound of my car coming around the bay and ran to meet it. Then we would walk home together to The Tree House with his white tail waving in front of me and flashing in the light of the flashlight.