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yansurnummu · 1 year

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Sleeping Sun

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Asha-ammu was a shy creature. Beyond the campfire's light, they lingered, giving Donobhan only the occasional glimpse of shadow in the snow and blood-red eyes.

Winter came, and as the solstice grew closer, so too did the two of them. Asha-ammu’s company was like a breath of clear mountain air, the sound of their voice like warm cider on a chilly day. They didn’t say very much, but Donobhan didn’t mind; he enjoyed telling stories and playing songs, something he’d sorely missed with no one to listen, and Asha-ammu seemed very content to do just that; listen.

Donobhan wondered, but did not press. They were no spirit, he now knew, their form far too lucid and corporeal to be of any other plane. It was a bit of a puzzle; he only ever saw them by the light of the moon. Sometimes they left tracks in the snow, but they would quickly end, as if at some point they ceased to exist at all.

So, what, then? What manner of creature were they?

"You can come sit by the fire, if you'd like. Surely, you must be cold," he said one night, as he sensed Asha-ammu's presence. There was a pause before they spoke.

"That's kind of you, but the cold doesn't bother me much."

"Oh," he tried his best to contain his disappointment, before realizing his mistake. "Well… even if you just… want to. The offer's always open," he rephrased, more directly than before.

"Oh," they said after a moment. "Do you want me to?"

Donobhan hesitated. If he’d learned anything from Asha-ammu, it was that he needed to be clear about what he meant.

“I do,” he said softly. “Cal will be nice, won’t you, boy?” He looked down at the guardian wolf at his side, his head resting on his big paws. Calahan’s eyes were on him, but he didn’t move, and Donobhan gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulders.

He then caught slow movement beyond the frozen brush at the edge of the camp, and heard the crunching of snow beneath tentative footsteps.

Asha-ammu came into view, and he was unable to hide his smile. They were tall, long-limbed and spindly, and their clothing was strange to him, patterns he’d never seen before in their long, layered skirts, in shades of earth and dawn and dusk. They carried a staff of gnarled wood, and where it curved into a hook, there was a spider’s web spun in the space between.

Calahan’s fur stood on end, but he stayed silent and watchful as they approached the campfire.

Donobhan patted the space next to him on the fallen log. Asha-ammu’s eyes darted towards him as they nervously sat beside him, and Donobhan was captivated by the way the red caught the light. He hadn’t seen very many elves in the Reach, but he’d heard tales of the Dark Elves far to the east, with skin like ash and eyes like embers.

“Hello,” their posture was rigid, but Donobhan could hear that tinge of excitement in their voice.

“Hello,” Donobhan replied, grinning as he studied them. “You’re… very beautiful. I’ve… never met an Elf before,” he admitted, picking non-existent dirt from his fingernails, hoping it wasn’t an odd thing to say. Asha-ammu looked at him owlishly, wide red eyes blinking and a grin forming at their lips, and Donobhan caught a glimpse of long, sharp canines before their mouth quickly closed again.

“Thank you,” they said as they idly pulled at one of the braids in their hair. “You’re very beautiful, too.” They then leaned over a bit, their gaze falling to Calahan on Donobhan’s opposite side. “Hello, Cal. You’re a beautiful boy, too.” Calahan only huffed, and Donobhan chuckled.

“He’ll grow to like you, I’m sure. He’s just a little dramatic.”

“It’s alright,” they straightened themselves, looking into the campfire. “Animals don’t usually like me very much. Except spiders. I like spiders.”

“Oh, spiders are great. It’s a shame people don’t really like them,” Donobhan smiled as he watched them.

“People don’t really like me either.” Their eyes wandered. “They say I’m odd. Frightening. It’s better if I stay out here.”

Donobhan studied them, as red eyes looked anywhere but at him. As they spoke, he felt it; the loneliness, the longing, like a hunger never satisfied.

“Me too,” he smiled, reassuring. “Though, I suppose it’s fair. Reachmen and Nords have a bloody history. Coming east wasn’t perhaps my brightest idea.”

Asha-ammu’s eyes returned to him, a cock of their head that suggested they didn’t quite understand what he meant. “You don’t know?”

“No,” they shook their head, long braids swaying gently with the movement. “Not the history. I hear the whispers. A witch in the wastes, they say,” they blinked, corners of their lips turning in a playful smile. “I thought they were talking about me, but they described you… so, I wanted to meet this other witch. But, I’m terrible with people. Better at listening.” They averted their gaze, and the smile faded.

“It’s good to have someone to listen,” Donobhan admitted, his voice soft. Asha-ammu grinned, hands fidgeting with the skirts over their lap.

“You have a lovely voice. I like when you sing, even if I don’t understand the words.”

Donobhan laughed, suddenly a little sheepish.

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Asha-ammu looked back at him with wide eyes, and nodded excitedly.

#yans writes #tes #reachfolk #ashlander #asha ammu kaushad #donobhan ravenfriend #i've been sitting on this mostly finished for a while #also the title is a song by nightwish that always makes me want to start biting when thinking about these two :)

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flashfuckingflesh · 10 months

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What Russian EVILS Lie Beneath in "The Lair" reviewed! (Acorn Media International / Blu-ray)

“The Lair” Has a Deadly Secret! Blu-ray Now Available! Royal air force Captain Kate Sinclair is shot down over the arid planes of Afghanistan. Swarming with Taliban insurgents and her command officer killed, Sinclair takes shelter in an old, abandoned Russian bunker from the Russian Afghanistan invasion of the 1980s. What she stumbles into is an experiment lair housing numerous stasis…

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tastesoftamriel · 1 year

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Ashlander-style scuttle cake

When you first set eyes on a traditional scuttle cake, your instinct may be to scream or laugh in shock. It's BURNT! How could you possibly serve that? Just trust the Ashlanders on this one, because it's worth every bite (the burned bits are delicious too, and very much edible). A delightful dessert with a cup of coffee or a glass of sweet wine. Best served after refrigerating overnight, if you can bear the temptation.

You will need:

280g Philadelphia cream cheese

250g ricotta

150ml double cream

1 tsp vanilla bean paste (or 2 tsp vanilla extract)

4 eggs

125g sugar

1 tbsp flour

Method:

Preheat oven to 210C/410F.

In a large mixing bowl, combine all your ingredients and beat together well until smooth.

Line a loaf pan or springform tin (about 20cm) with a generous amount of baking parchment, making sure it lines the top of the tin too. Be sure to have extra paper poking out over the top as the cake will rise in the oven and this will prevent spillage.

Scoop your cake mixture into the tin and bake on the middle shelf for 40-45 minutes, until the top begins to look burnt (but not black!) and crackled. Don't worry, it's supposed to look that way!

Remove the cake from the oven and leave it to cool in the tin for at least and hour before moving it to the fridge. Leave it there for a few hours to set (though overnight is best), and serve cold.

Be sure to keep the paper on any unserved cake at all times, as it will start to sag if removed!

#the elder scrolls #tes #food #cooking #Cake #Recipe #Recipes #cake recipes #Dessert #dessert recipes #Cheesecake #basque burnt cheesecake #Morrowind #Ashlanders #World building #worldbuilding

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trickstarbrave · 2 months

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this is what i was thinking were the territories of house dagoth based on sixth house locations and geography roughly for vvardenfell. house dagoth has a large territory but i dont think a lot of it is usable and the other houses have territories off the island. vivec city wasnt really a thing in the first era but i didnt wanna redraw a whole new map for the sake of getting ideas on paper.

there are also settlements that exist outside of these borders like there might be a couple of other redoran or hlaalu towns and there were also many more city-states like ebonheart

hlaalu is a relatively new edition to vvardenfell in the first era but they have quickly bought up a good chunk of farmland, though most of the towns are still very heavily redoran controlled. im actually debating removing hlaalu entirely from the map honestly and just putting redoran there but i like a few farming settlements being controlled by hlaalu. redoran likely thought they would be less of a danger to have on the island than house dres, who could quickly take over large swaths of their territory with how much labor power and agricultural land they already control (lol that comes to bite them in the ass millennia from now but it was a safe bet at the time)

telvanni also has a large stretch of land but they dont use much of it. a lot of their land is left relatively unpatrolled so there are still plenty of wildlife and daedra roaming it. towers come and go with the politics of house telvanni and depending on who gets killed and who lives

house dagoth is the one with large amounts of strongholds, which back then were useful for keeping the ash out and were a sort of feature of their architecture, complete with sewer systems, teleportation chambers, personal and public baths, and more with settlements outside the strongholds proper. house dagoth were considered the big seat of power of vvardenfell (much to redoran and telvanni's chagrin) but were also limited to vvardenfell. however their alliance with the dwemer and the fact they were on relatively good terms with the ashlanders AND were the ones primarily selling dwemer inventions and metal along with being spies made more than a few people nervous. house dagoth encroaching on the west gash region has pissed house redoran off though, but they dont want to kick up a fuss unless they take gnisis

#morrowind #first era TES #tesblr #tes lore #i am making wild speculations about the first era again #house dagoth #house redora #house telvanni #house hlaalu #I FELT THIS WAS GOOD TO HAVE FOR MY FIC #tbh i imagined dagoth with a smaller territory initially but #well looking at the lore and planning it out i think this makes more sense

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starset21 · 3 months

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A Heavy Weight

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may currently be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under the name @.itswildflower

Looking for more? Chicago Fire Collection Masterlist

Word count: 2235

Warnings: cannon typical depictions of fires/accidents, mentions of suicide

“We work a dangerous job. We all knew that when we signed up. A firefighter dies in the line of duty, we are shocked. Our hearts are broken. But in some dark corner of our mind, we are bracing ourselves for that possibility. But a firefighter takes her own life? That is not a contingency that we can prepare for. We can't change what happened. But we can learn from it. We all missed the signs here. And we can never let it happen again. So you reach out to each other. You be there for each other. Not just for today, or this week... always. I never want to see another member of this family slip through the cracks. Let's go to work.” With those words Boden finished the morning brief and everyone disbursed out into the common room. “Hey, roomie. Cable bill's due. Make with the cheddar,” Cruz told Otis, dropping an envelope into his lap. “$140?” he questioned after looking at it. “Yeah. That includes the setup fee,” Cruz shrugged. “Yeah. And your NFL package,” Otis protested. “Your half is $70,” Cruz tells him. “I haven't seen Clarke this morning. He still subbing over at 25?” Mouch asks from his usual spot on the couch. “Clarke's not subbing out. He transferred,” Casey told them. “What, just like that? No explanation? No good-bye? What a jerk,” Herrmann grumbled.

Dani walks out from behind the kitchen counter with half a toasted bagel and takes a seat on the other side of Matt. “Gabriela Dawson?” An officer walks into the common room. “Oh, God, what'd you do this time?” Shay teases and nudges Dawson. “Yeah?” Dawson asks, standing up. “This note was left behind for you in Rebecca Jones' apartment,” the officer tells her. “Why?” Gabby asks, a lump forming in her throat. “I wouldn't know,” the officer told her before handing it to her and leaving. “Why would she leave me a note?” Gabby asked quietly as Matt moved to stand behind her. “Only one way to find out,” he tells her. Just then the alarm bell rings. “Engine 51, Truck 81, Squad 3, Ambulance 61. Fire. Grand and Ashland.” Dani stuffs the last bite of her bagel in her mouth before heading for the truck. It’s somber as they get on the road, lights and sirens going. They pull up on scene and climb out. “Otis, make sure the pumps are shut down! Everyone, get in there with extinguishers! Don't wait for 51!” Casey yells. “You gotta get my wife! She's in the car!” A man begs. “We'll take care of her. Get out of here!” Casey tells the man. “Shay!” Herrmann calls out, after helping to put out a man’s jacket that was on fire. “Got him, Herrmann,” she moved from the ambo quickly. “Okay, okay. Let's get you out of there!” Herrmann tells the woman still in the car. “I can't! I can't!” she cries hysterically. “All right, all right. Just stay put! Stay put! All right, listen! She can't get out of here! She's in a full leg brace! Let's get this fire out!” Herrmann called out. Herrmann moved to grab an extinguisher when the husband who had been with the medics shook his head and sprinted towards the vehicle. “I got you, Janice! I got you!” he yelled. “Sir, wait! Casey!” Dawson shouted. “Hey!” Casey shouted as the man got in the vehicle, started it and backed into another car and pulled away from the pump, still connected to it. “What are you doing!” Casey yelled at the man. He had pulled forward and ripped the hose from the pump, spraying gas all over the back of the car, causing it to catch fire as it went close to the inflamed truck in front of it. “Stop! Hey, get under the pickup!” Casey yells and Dani and Herrmann are able to put it out quickly. “It's okay. We got you. You're okay. We've got you,” Casey reassured the woman as he helped her out. Herrmann went to the driver's side and opened the door. “Get out of there, numbnuts!” Casey shot Herrmann a look through the car, after Cruz had taken the woman over to the ambo. “Sir, please step out of the vehicle, if you'd be so kind,” Herrmann grumbled.

“That was the dumbest move I've seen in a long time,” Herrmann grumbles on the ride back to the station. “Yeah, Darwin-award thinkin' right there. Ha! What a call,” Cruz scoffed from the driver's seat. “Hey, what do you guys suppose Jones said in that note to Dawson? I'm just curious,” Mouch says after a moment of silence. “The other night… Jones stopped by Molly's. She was looking for Dawson,” Herrmann told them. “Really? What for?” Casey asked. “No idea. But she apparently went straight home and… You know the rest,” Herrmann sighed. Tension in the firehouse when they got back was high, the heavy cloud of Jones' death hanging over them and Dani spent most of the time between calls sitting on her bunk and drawing, it was her way of trying to find some semblance of peace in the chaotic place they call Life. “Truck 81. Squad 3. Ambulance 61. Accident,” the alarm rang out.

“We got a driver pinned in the car, hurt but conscious,” the officer told Boden. “What about the bus?” he asked. “Ah, kids on their way to the prom, banged up, but nothing too serious.” The Chief nodded before grabbing for his radio. “Casey, Severide... we have a pin-in in the gray car. Get 'em out, Dawson, check on the victim. Shay, assess these kids.” he ordered. “Copy that,” everyone split off to do as told. “Hang in there, sir, we're going to get you out, okay?” Dawson had climbed onto the car through the passenger side and placed a C-collar on the man. “Casey? We're good,” Dawson told him. “All right, let's move this car. Ready? Lift! Ready? Lift! Ready? Lift!”

“Mouch, Otis, check the bus,” Shay calls out after talking to one of the girls. “You got it,” Mouch tells her and the two climb into the bus. “Sweetie, have a seat here. Where was she sitting?” Shay asked. “I don't know. We were all goofing around, and... we hit something, and the bus started swerving, and that's when I hit my head,” the girl told her. “There's nobody else in here,” Otis tells Mouch. “Why is this window open?” Mouch asks. “Oh, no. Chief! I think somebody was ejected!” Otis called out. “Oh, my God,” Mouch murmurs. “The girl could have fallen out wherever the bus first lost control. We are gonna shut down the road, run a search,” Boden tells the officer. “My guys have been up and down this road. They didn't see anything,” the officer continues directing traffic. “We should have some firefighters take a look,” Chief tells him. “Look, be my guest, but I can't close this road,” the officer huffs. “You do realize you have a girl that is unaccounted for,” Boden counters. “Yes, I do. But my guess is that she got out with the others, and she wandered off,” the officer tells him. “You have an open emergency exit! Somebody was ejected!” Boden nearly sneers. “Chief, let me talk to him,” Casey tried to cut in. “I'm shutting down this road!” Boden exclaims. “I can't let you do that,” the officer tells him. “Truck 81, block off this road,” Chief calls into the walkie. “Last warning, Chief,” the officer tries. Boden gives Casey a look. “Go ahead, Cruz,” Casey calls into the walkie.

“Halstead, Mouch, Herrmann, Otis, fan out, search back along the road.” The four of them nod, and begin heading down the road. “This is my scene, Chief. Are you really gonna make me arrest you?” the officer asks. “You know what? You're just gonna have to do what the hell you need to do,” Chief offers the officer his hands. The officer takes his cuffs out. “Really?” Chief asks. Just then Severide looks over to see the officer placing the cuffs on the chief behind his back. “You gotta be kidding me,” he mutters in disbelief. “You picked the wrong cop to piss off,” the officer mutters. “Oh, I haven't even started on you. You seeing this?” Boden asks Casey. “Yes, I am, Chief.” The officer took his helmet off and pushed him down into the squad car. “I got her! I got her! We need a backboard, and a black bag,” Dani calls into the radio as Herrmann and the others come over. “Officer Woodall? Is this really the hill you want to die on?” Casey asks the officer, who takes a minute, thinking on his words. The 81 crew comes over carrying the girl and places her on the stretcher. The officer lets Boden out and takes his cuffs off. They finish clearing the scene and load up to return to the station.

“After you. I insist,” Herrmann starts when he almost bumped into Mills after he had closed the truck door behind Dani. “Hey, whatever's going on between you two, can you drop it?” Severide asks. “I'll drop it when he apologizes,” Herrmann scoffs, causing Mills to turn back towards him. “Apologize for what? For speaking the truth?” he asks. “Knock it off, both of you,” Casey cuts in. “Yeah? He's saying that we made Jones suicidal, and I'm supposed to swallow that?” Herrmann asks. “No! No! Just own up to your behavior and admit that you could have handled things better!” Mills exclaims and Casey puts up a hand to stop him when he takes a step towards Herrmann. “How dare you!” Herrmann yells and storms towards Mills. “Herrmann! Hey!” Severide and Casey grab the older man, stopping him from continuing towards Mills. “I was the last one to see her alive! You think I didn't wonder over and over again what I might have done different, what else I might have said that would have changed her mind?” Herrmann yells. There was a tense moment of silence in the garage. “Is this what you all took from what I said this morning? Is this really how we're gonna get through this thing?” Boden asks. Herrmann wipes a hand down his face and Dani places a hand on his shoulder. “Look, blaming each other or ourselves doesn’t bring her back. All we can do is be better and be there for each other, that is what chief was telling us this morning,” Dani speaks up. Boden tipped his head to her in silent thanks. “Severide? Bloom is inside,” Capp comes in from the common room. “Sorry, Chief. Got one more save to make tonight,” Severide apologizes before heading inside. “Well, I guess I'm gonna get a lecture about skipping out on rehab, let's get it over with,” Bloom huffed. “No, Bloom. I got no more lectures for you,” Severide tells him. “Yeah? Then give me my wallet,” Bloom crossed his arms. “Just relax. Capp's getting it from my locker.”

“What are you all lookin' at?” Bloom sneered as the company gathered at the edge of the common room. “What, you need an audience? You ruined my white board. That was permanent ink,” he huffed. “I'll get you another one,” Kelly laughs. “What is this?” Chief asks as the chaplain comes in with two men. “I know, I'm not staying. Severide asked me to pick up these two up at O'Hare,” the chaplain told him. “Chaplain,” Severide greets. “Lieutenant. This is Damien, and this is Aaron,” the chaplain introduces. “Screw this,” Bloom huffs. “Bloom, just give me one second,” Severide tries. “You are a son of a bitch,” Bloom tells him, getting in his face. “Hey, it's not like that, Captain,” one of the guys, Aaron, tries to say. “Oh, Captain! Captain. Aren't you cute? You can mail me my wallet,” Bloom hisses at Severide. “We didn't know what happened to you, Bloom,” Damien says. “Now you do,” Bloom gestured to himself. “We're sorry. That's what we came to tell you. The way we treated you back in Denver… Well, you gotta understand, we were upset,” Aaron tells him. “Oh, you were upset? You were upset? I was the captain. Those were my men in there! They were my men!” Bloom exclaims, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “We said a lot of awful things in the heat of the moment. But we had a lot of time to think about it. We were wrong,” Damien tells him. “You made the right call.” Bloom looks between the two men. “If you would have let us inside, we would've still been in there when the roof came down. There's no question, you saved our lives. Your boy could only afford two plane tickets. Otherwise there would have been a dozen of us here. We all feel the same way,” Aaron tells him before pulling out his phone. “This is my daughter, Lily. She wouldn't exist if you hadn't tackled me that day. 'Cause I was going in, Captain. I was going in.” Those words hit all of the firefighters in the room right in heart. The former captain had tears streaming down his face.

The crew finished out the shift and left, still a little somber, but a fair few of them met up at the local bowling alley. “To Jones,” Mills said and everyone raised their beer before taking a sip and getting set up for a few games.

#starset writes #chicago fire #matt casey #kelly severide #dani halstead

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horsegamesins-old · 10 months

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unnamed oc story part 2 previous

Even though the rains from last night had left the undergrowth damp, it had not washed away the traveler's hoofprints. The path away from Firgrove only got more wooded and twisted the further we got away, but the tracks remained clear. I could hear Quicksilver sniff the air every now and then just to make sure, as we trotted along with haste. The woods around us slowly got more sparse the higher up we got. I could sense we were getting closer.

"Whoa!" Suddenly I was jolted forward when Quicksilver slipped over some rocks. He got up right away but barely avoided a bigger tumble. "You ok there?" I asked him. He took a couple steps back. "Yeah, just remembering why I don't like this place", he said, visibly nervous. For the first time in a while I took a proper look around. We were just about a horse's length away from the cliff, and far below us the rapids of the river roared their haunting song. Over in the distance, the volcano of Ashland loomed ominously. This place always made me feel uneasy, no matter how beautiful it was. "Look!" Quicksilver called out. I turned my head and saw a lone saddlebag by the bushline. I steered Quicksilver further from the edge and got off. "Wait here", I whispered. I got closer and picked it up. The side had a huge gash and there was barely anything left inside, it had probably been ripped off violently.

A howling in the distance broke the silence, and I felt shivers in my spine. Quicksilver hopped over to me. "You ready and fight some wolves or are we going to skidaddle?" he said, shaking. "What if they're there," I asked rhetorically. In the corner of my eye I could see Quicksilver stomping the ground. "Calm down you drama queen", I yipped at him in frustration, "You have a thousand pounds' worth of muscle and spite in you, it's the wolves that should be afraid!" I turned to face him and he put in his best effort to look as defeated as possible. "… I'm sorry", I sighed. I put my hand over his cheeck and pressed my forehead onto his. "I just, I don't want any more people to die out here." Quicksilver took a deep breath, then stepped away. "We better go then, I suppose", he said, worried.

The ground up here was barely safe for cantering, let alone a gallop, but we were booking it past the shrubs. He knew it as well as I did, if it really was wolves every minute was precious. There was faint growling in the distance, and I thought I could hear a distressed horse whinnying from the same direction. Quicksilver hopped over a bushes in one foul swoop, and I saw them. A mealy bay mare surrounded by three wolves, and behind her an injured girl. She was backed against some rocks with her horse trying her best to keep the wolves at bay. There was no time to think. I braced myself as Quicksilver charged the wolves, all of his prior hesitation was gone. The wolves skittered out of the way, growling and barking at us. One of them tried to nip at Quicksilver's front legs only to immediately regret it as it almost got it's skull kicked in. Realizing they were now against more than they bargained for, they backed off, and fled downhill into the woods.

After catching my breath again, we walked over to the stranger, who was clutching her right arm. Her horse had returned to her side. I tucked my ears away before approaching her "Are you hurt?" I asked the girl. She looked at me silently, shivering and tears in her eyes. The poor thing was covered in mud and blood. She slowly nodded and pulled up her sleeve, uncovering a gnarly bite wound. It hurt to even look at it. I rushed to grab a first aid kit from my saddlebag, and did my best to flush the wounds, then put a temporary bandage to keep it from bleeding. "What's your name?" I asked her. She seemed to have recovered from the shock enough to speak. "T-tonie", she answered with a a shaky voice, "my name is Tonie Axemoor, and this is Jello", she pat her horse, who had come to nuzzle her. "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet, we need to get you back to Firgrove", I said firmly.

I was glad she was conscious. Jello didn't look as scratched up as she was, but I doubted her arm was good enough to ride. "Can you walk?" I asked, more concerned. Tonie took a moment to gather herself, and while she managed to get up while leaning on the boulder, I could see her wince from the pain in her arm. I was surprised to see she was less than a couple inches shorter than me. "Will she follow us if you ride with me?" I asked Tonie and pointed at Jello, who was cautiously sniffing out Quicksilver. "She should, she doesn't wanna go anywhere without me", Tonie replied with a surprisingly chipper tone. "Okay, good", I sighed in relief, and hopped onto Quicksilver's back. "Come on now", I said and offered my hand. She grabbed it, and climbed on behind me. Jello was already a couple steps ahead of us, looking behind impatiently. "Hold on tight, we'll be in town before you know it", I tried to reassure Tonie, while she wrapped her arms around my waist for extra security. A little snort, and Quicksilver took off once again.

#sso #sso writing #star stable online #ssoblr #star stable #sso oc #wildwoods

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samethyst01 · 11 months

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A Mother's Love: Chapter One

“—and I really do think that is, uh, the measure of a real actor, you know, someone who can… not only understand the director’s vision but understand their character as well and imbue it with a sense of— of purpose and realism, right?”

Coraline had long since stopped listening to the radio. It was on in the background, and playing at a subtle volume, but she hadn’t actually paid attention to what it was saying for a few hours. She was far too lost in the piece, her brush-strokes far more deliberate and reflective of the whole idea, rather than moving of their own accord in time with her wandering mind. That’s usually how she’d do it when she was bored – keep the radio on and listen to whatever nonsense she found tolerable, letting her body move the brush wherever it would.

But this time was different, this time she had fallen into a far more focused motion, her entire being centred around getting this image, this idea, perfect. Her tongue gently parted her lips as she worked, an idiosyncrasy she had apparently picked up from watching Wybie at work. With one hand she adjusted the easel slightly and with the other she added some subtle discolouration to the clouds, unsatisfied with their greyness. They weren’t perfect enough. She needed them to be perfect.

In the years since she had moved back home, Coraline had become something of an artisan. She had always known art would be her career of choice, or at the very least, known it for a while. Gardening was her parents’ thing, and while she assumed she might one day just fall into the routine of it, as so many did with their parents’ line of work, she found herself growing more averse to the idea as she matured. The days spent back in Ashland were filled with exploration and a sense of wondering, about life and about death and about how much she wanted to express it all in her own way.

With a gentle flick of the brush, the last distant bird was added to the sky and it – the entire idea – was finished. She adjusted the easel once again before stepping back and admiring it, the sound of the radio providing a nearly imperceptible soundtrack.

“Well, look at that…”

She murmured to herself, gently biting the tip of her thumb.

Before she could fully process the reality of what she had drawn in her focused yet entirely unfocused state, her phone buzzed with a message. She reached down and grabbed it, working on autopilot, reading an alert for an appointment in thirty minutes. She inhaled deeply, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling and grabbing her coat, sliding it on and grabbing her keys from the desk. Without turning back, she headed out the door.

It was a slightly gloomy, overcast day, so Coraline didn’t feel too uncomfortable wearing her coat. In fact, it was just the right temperature for it, not so warm that it was unnecessary and not so cold that it wasn’t enough. It was… perfect. She trotted to the edge of the sidewalk and held out her hand for an oncoming bus. It screeched to a halt in front of her, and as she was getting on she looked across the street and watched a stray cat disappear around the corner of a building. Its fur was jet black.

With her headphones in, music dancing into her ears, Coraline sat back on the bus and gently played with her phone, rolling it around between her fingers. It was just another ordinary day, of course it was, in every sense of the word ‘ordinary’, and yet something felt strange. It was a different motion, an off-centre kind of thing, a vague alteration to the very specific routine she had become accustomed to over the years. But try as she might, Coraline couldn’t figure out why, or what it was that had begun bothering her so much.

Before she could formulate an idea, a proper one, she had arrived at her stop and without thinking much else, she promptly got off the bus. As she was crossing the street she could swear she saw the cat again, staring at her from the window of a high-rise or watching her from a coffee shop. There it was again, a stray black tail here, a pointed ear there, the shine of a dark blue eye in the reflection of her phone screen. At the very least, this eye was more like a marble than a button.

Coraline reached the familiar door rather quickly, gently pressing the buzzer next to it. She held herself close, wrapping her coat around her chest and stealing glances around the street. Maybe she was just tired. That had to have been it, there was no way that—

—that he was back.

The thought secretly terrified Coraline. Because if he was back then so was everything, so was all the horror she has become convinced no longer scared her, so were the ghosts and the buttons and the eyes and—

“Hello?”

A husky voice escaped from the door’s intercom. Coraline was jolted out of her sudden daze, taking one last look around the street before turning back to the door. She cleared her throat before speaking, pressing a different buzzer in order to do so.

“It’s Coraline… is that you, Ingrid?”

She tried not to look, but she couldn’t help it. She could see him now, clear as day, sat in the middle of the road as cars just drove on past him like he didn’t exist, like they couldn’t see him. There was a reply from the intercom but Coraline couldn’t hear it. All she could think about was the black cat sitting in the middle of the road, staring at her…

…and how it had no reflection.

******

“So. Coraline.”

Ingrid folded her hands in her lap as she sat across from her younger patient, her long black hair tied into a messy bun. Glasses were perched on her face and she had a prominent scar running across her left cheek. Coraline tried not to focus on it when the two of them first met, three years ago, but she was always so fascinated by the mystery of it. She had never been so rude as to ask where it came from, the idea of embarrassing her therapist smothering her desire for knowledge.

“Tell me about the past couple of weeks. How it’s been going?”

There was a pause before Coraline spoke. She had taken some time to muster the words, wondering about how she’d phrase them. Would it come off as convincing as she’d hoped?

“…good. Yeah, it’s been good.”

The sentence came out slightly unconfident, but the hesitancy was balanced out by an earnest undertone. Ingrid nodded, already prepared to grapple with her patient for some honesty.

“And your art? Are you still painting?”

Coraline laughed.

“Well of course I am, it’s my passion. I actually finished a piece this morning before I got here.”

This was the moment.

“Oh, that’s great. May I ask what it is?”

The young woman’s smile faltered and she looked down, biting her lip. She hadn’t fully processed it herself, and it felt like a bullet was slowly being driven into her chest. Not a knife – the pain was small and localised. It was just a gunshot wound that took minutes to arrive.

“The… Pink Palace.”

It was hard to get the words out, but she managed it, a heavy breath escaping her lips as she did, one she had no idea she was even holding in. Ingrid sat forward with intrigue. She knew Coraline had been hiding something but she wasn’t aware that it was this. The young woman had spoken about her trauma only once before, during their first meeting, and only in the vaguest of terms, as if it were something so terrible that even the mere thought of it was too painful.

But the truth was that Coraline knew nobody would believe her.

“I remember you mentioning it the first time we met, actually. Our first session. You said something about it being hard for you to talk about.”

With a slight glimmer in her eyes, Ingrid slowly sat forward and pressed her two index fingers together. Coraline tried not to meet her gaze, her eyes flitting from the bookshelf on her right to the ragged plant on her left, and then to the window, but like a magnet it began to attract her eyes back towards Ingrid’s. She stared at her therapist for a good few seconds before letting out another withheld breath.

“Nothing I say would make you believe what really happened.”

She sat back and folded her arms, deep in thought. Pursing her lips, Ingrid considered her words for a moment before deciding to pluck on this particular thread some more.

“And… what did really happen, Coraline?”

The young woman thought about how she’d tell it. She had fantasised about it many times before, in fact. She pictured herself on late night television talk shows, or podcasts, telling her story to the world. She imagined herself relaying every detail, from the moment she and her parents arrived in Ashland, unpacking their things and exploring the Pink Palace. The mist seemed constant, the air always thick and heavy, the sky dark, rain constantly either dripping or pouring.

They’d met the neighbours next, the strange gymnast Bobinsky and his imaginary mouse circus above, and the two retired actresses Spink and Forcible below. Coraline spent the first few days just missing her friends back home, and when she wasn’t moping over that she was exploring the grounds and the garden. She remembered that day clear as crystal, the day when all her dull and regular moments washed away in the wake of something far more terrible.

But she couldn’t have known it, couldn’t have known that cat would drag her into such evil! She had also met Wybie that day, the boy who would quickly become her best friend. So it wasn’t all bad, right? No, it wasn’t. But the full context almost swallowed the shining light that Wybie was. If she took just a second to consider the rest of the story, she’d remember everything that came after that. The mice at the foot of her bed, the door in the living room, the tunnel, the other place – all its secrets and horrors with it – and worst of all—

“Coraline?”

Ingrid’s voice jolted the young woman back to full focus and she coughed awkwardly. She’d been spacing out. Her therapist sighed softly and leant back, coming to accept the fact that this particular memory was going to stay hidden for the foreseeable.

“We don’t have to talk about that. Not if you’re not ready.”

At her words, Coraline gave her therapist an intense look, one filled with a kind of desperation she hadn’t felt in years. It was as if she was trying to muster the courage to let it all out, only now coming to terms with the monstrous nature of it all. The nightmares spoke volumes. She was still scared of that place, and its occupant. Oh, and that occupant. How she wished she could forget it all. But it was time for her to remember.

“I dreamt of her again.” She whispered.

#coraline #fanfic #horror

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omiramotakiart · 2 years

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Long story but I've messed shit up just so my Nerevarine could grow up in Morrowind and joim the Morag Tong when young like the edgy little shit she is (among other ocs, will explain Vaz someday) and playing that questline again hits the nostalgia and creativity button so... enjoy my cringe (and YES a friend refered to Mez as a mini Eno)

The name was Eno Hlaalu and that was a problem on it's own, upon arriving to Balmora the first thing she did was to break into the guild, get a couple of knives against her throat and being let go because no self respecting member of the Morag Tong would kill a twelve-year-old… No responsible member would let someone her age join… The lady still told her that she needed to go to Vivec and search somewhere underneath the arena for the Grandmaster.

She could steal some saltrice and cups from the local boxes and sell them later just for a silt strider trip, she could lie if caught by Ordinators and say to be a lost child looking for her mother, took some wandering among a city built like a labyrinth, several moments of running from even more Ordinators and stealing a lockpick next to a probe in order to open the only trapdoor she hadn't checked yet.

She could've died just by the feeling of a hand grabbing her shoulder. An Orc, one she saw ok Balmora, talking to another one who signaled towards the stairs, more Dunmer staring and whispering, she kept trying to free herself and reach for the knife in her pocket just to have it taken away immediately, she even used the old technique of biting to do something.

Still Merezdis was brought to the mer she was said to look for. Calmly sitting in a chair and reading a book, which he only put away until the Orc spoke.

“Did you sleep around and somebody dropped off your child boss?”

She, naturally, would take offense to that.

“Oi! Don't insult my mother like that.”

“Let go of her, Vaz'righ. Now, aren't you aware a guild of assassins is no place for children?”

“I got here on my own, didn't I? I've taken down things bigger than him on my own!” preceded by signaling at the Orc now known as Vaz'righ, “I know what an honorable writ is and survived on my own all the way from Molag Mar to Balmora.”

“And yet you were followed by a member on our Balmora guild, who not only arrived first but has caused you more trouble than… how did you put it? 'Things bigger than him'?”

“How many do you know who can get here at my age? Intentionally.”

“How old are you then… Miss..?”

“Merezdis Sahaourdanu from the Erabenimsun tribe, twelve years old and I can already gut you like a fish if I must.”

“Too young. Too violent. But there is potential… an Ashlander, I know members of this guild who would love to meet you, for the time being, however…”

“However, what?”

“You must be trained before we accept someone as young as you. And you must grow before you are sent to fulfill any real writ. Return to Balmora with her, Vaz, let us see if she is fit for the job.”

#morrowind #nerevarine #eno hlaalu #elder scrolls #the elder scrolls #dunmer #morag tong

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aladaylessecondblog · 2 months

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Faal Hah Wuld bs

Just imagining the dragonborn waking up back in Winterhold next to Voryn

someone's at the door going yo Dragonborn your mother's here

mother shows up

sees Voryn next to her daughter

starts yelling in Old Ashlander and beating him with a sandal

goes absolutely feral when she sees bite marks on her daughter's neck

#dagoth ur #fanfiction #morrowind #skyrim

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lunchtimebedamned1997 · 14 days

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A Guide To My Tags!

Figured I should make one of these since I've started using this blog again! (My list of fandoms can be found at the bottom of this post!)

Also my asks are open! I love chatting, nerding out, and talking to new & familiar folks!

"my art" - all the art I post

"OC art" - We're gettin' more specific now!

"fanart" / "[insert fandom] fanart" - what most of y'all are probs here for!

"my OCs" - any posts regarding my own personal OCs

"ashland bites" - my main OC universe (Also: "AB [insert character name]")

"fanfic" - what it says on the box, anything pertaining to it lol

"ltbd fanfic" - My writing! Coming at you all with a RadioSilence fic soon! (hopefully! XD)

"fanfic recs" - What it says on the tin

"[insert fandom]" - any posts in regards to the specified fandom.

"lunchtime rambles" / "lizzie rambles" / "ltbd rambles" - Tin, read it. I'm chatty XD (I'll pic one eventually... hopefully)

"ltbd answers" - me, answering/responding to your asks!

I'll update this post as I go, and put other info like relavent fandoms under the cut, love ya!

Fandoms I Have Posts For:

The Hellaverse (Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss) (Ship tags thus far include Charlastor/RadioBelle and Radio Static/Radio Silence)

More Specific Tags: In regards to my main OC project Ashland Bites: (Character Specific) "AB Tara", "AB Veronica", "AB Lucas", "AB Kathryn"

MEDIA that I am a fan of: (even if I haven't posted for them here yet) (I am probably forgetting a LOT of things)

TV: Arcane, Avatar (ATLA (the animated one)), Angel the Series / Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gilmore Girls, Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss (The Hellaverse), MLP (shhhhut uppp), Ouran High School Host Club, Roswell (1999), She-Ra (SPOP)

MOVIES: Alice in Wonderland (1951), Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), Corpse Bride, Empire Records, Labyrinth (1986), Nimona, Pirates of the Caribbean (the good ones), Practical Magic, Pride and Prejudice (2005), The Nightmare Before Christmas Studio Ghibli films (Kiki, Howl, Cat Returns, Totoro, and Naussica in particular)

GAMES: Animal Crossing, The Arcana (mobile game), Baulder's Gate 3, I'm still trying to get into Hades but I am playing it... sometimes haha

BOOKS: The Cruel Prince series (FotA), HP (but I try not to post/talk about it much bc of JKR, it was just a big part of my life for a long time :'/) Idk where to put this but I'm a huge Mythology and History nerd (especially fashion history!)

MUSIC: I listen to a little bit of everything tbh, and I'd love to talk more about music, maybe i can do recommendations based on vibes? or just chit-chat? I have YT playlists that have like, a bit of everything here, here, and here, if you wanna shuffle around and see some of my favs! Maybe I'll do music art someday too, who knows lmao

#tag guide

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restaurantify · 3 months

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The 20 Most Unique Restaurant Concepts in Chicago

As Chicago's restaurant week kicks off in 2024, we unveil the 20 most unique restaurant concepts in the city. With over 7,000 options, finding distinctive dining experiences is a challenge. For aspiring restaurant owners, this curated list offers inspiration and a pulse on the latest trends.

Chicago: The Culinary Capital

Renowned for deep-dish pizzas and world-class hot dogs, Chicago's food scene is a vibrant tapestry of flavors. Amidst its 7,000 eateries, we've spotlighted 20 that promise both uniqueness and tradition, shaping the city's gastronomic landscape.

20 Unique Restaurant Concepts in Chicago

The Albert: A fusion of art and science, featuring a functional copper and glass distillery. Classic Italian dishes get a contemporary twist, complemented by science-inspired drinks.

The Game Room: A retro-chic lounge on Michigan Avenue offering classic cocktails, finger foods, and games like bocce, pool, cards, and foosball.

Au Cheval: Upscale dining on Randolph Street with an open kitchen and a distinctive menu featuring ingredients from bologna to foie gras, especially known for its passion for eggs.

Temporis: A creative American tasting menu on Ashland Avenue with an ever-evolving ten-course experience, utilizing ingredients from its own hydroponic garden.

Harvest: A farm-to-table concept in Marriott Downtown with a 95% scratch kitchen, emphasizing fresh, seasonal ingredients.

Bistronomic: Modern cuisine influenced by French culture, offering a large patio seating area on Wabash Avenue.

Untitled Supper Club: An 18,000 square-feet restaurant-cum-lounge on Kinzie Street, inspired by the prohibition era, featuring shareable bites and creative desserts.

Spin Chicago: An energetic hangout across 8 locations, featuring Ping-Pong tables, global food, cocktails, and live DJ music.

Bites Asian Kitchen + Bar: Located on North Clark Street, offering Asian tapas, creative cocktails, and a rustic-chic ambiance celebrating cultures from around the world.

Aztec Dave’s Food Truck: A family-run food truck on North California Avenue, dishing out authentic Mexican favorites with a modern twist.

The Blind Cafe: An extraordinary pop-up event in complete darkness on a mission to widen comfort zones through music, discussion, and dinner.

Chicago Sweatlodge: A water bar and cafe on North Cicero Avenue, offering Russian banya experiences, Turkish massages, and a Mexican spread.

Tack Room: A rustic-chic piano lounge bar tucked behind Thalia Hall's staircase, serving premium cocktails and snacks with live performances.

Frontier: A unique restaurant on North Milwaukee Avenue offering whole animals from pig to alligator, with a lodge space, TVs, fireplace, and beer garden.

Alinea: A fine dining restaurant on North Halsted Street by Chef Grant Achatz, known for its evolving New American tasting menus and creative plates.

Kaiser Tiger: A bi-level gastropub on West Randolph Street with a beer garden and more than 20 rotating tap beers.

Carnivale: A lively eatery in West Fulton Market since 2005, renowned for its Pan-Latin cuisine and craft cocktails.

Swift & Sons: A premier steakhouse in West Fulton Market with a modern twist, offering premium steaks, seafood, and a bi-level bar.

Boka: An American restaurant on North Halsted Street offering creative American cuisine in a stylish, modern setting.

El Ideas: An upscale, intimate restaurant on West 14th Street, known for fixed-price American culinary fare by Chef Phillip Foss.

For more insights into the restaurant industry, website building, and digital marketing, stay tuned.

#restaurantify #restaurantwebsite #websitebuilder #restaurantsinchicago

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rhythm-catsandwine · 9 months

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Watermellon

Notes: This one came out uuhhh like this. Yes, more self-insert.

“Salt on watermelon?” Lars picked up the wedge of pink and green fruit.

“It’s a family thing. Like peanut butter and chocolate chips on pancakes and waffles.” Ashland explained.

"So how'd you guys meet?" The drummer took a bite of the summer treat.

"After a gig. I went dressed up as a dilophosaurus."

“Is that why you and Adam are so close?” Kirk quizzed.

“It’s what started it.”

“I’ll miss you guys.”

“You should come with us.” Adam put his arm around one of his best friends.

“I-”

“You’re ours now Ozark.” Danny led Ashland through the airport.

“He told you that too?” Justin asked after giving them a few bass lessons.

“Here.” Maynard handed their so-called assistant a bottle of wine.

#writersmonth2023 #metallica fanfiction #tool band fanfiction #rpf cw #tw rpf #ashland writes #watermelon

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timepool · 10 months

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Ash I: Duneroot

Azluun chewed thoughtfully on the bitter root. It was the only thing that managed to grow in this godforsaken ashland. Like her, it was a survivor. It was clever, it had to be. Duneroot, as it was aptly named, protected itself from the harsh rays of the errant sun by growing downwind of ash dunes. This way, when the wind blowed, the ash would cover the duneroot— keeping it cool, safe, and protected.

Azluun, having learned this from the roots, only rested in the shadows of the dunes and let the wind cover her in ash as she slept. It would make cleaning up afterwards a nightmare, she was sure she'd have ash in her boots for months. But that wasn't important right now. No one had crossed the ashlands alive— there was little reason to, after all, what was there worth finding in a wasteland? If one needed to travel to the other side of the continent, they would simply go around it, be it by rail or by boat. Both were faster than crossing something so dangerous.

She took another bite of the root, and swore under her breath as one of its dry outer fibers got stuck uncomfortably between her teeth. She kept chewing, however— she would need the energy for what she was about to do. The hardest part of her journey was just up ahead. Soon, she would have to cross right beneath the errant sun. She had to be fast, but careful.

#worldbuilding #writeblr #writers #timepool #the many dreams of ca'eam

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meanwhileinstasiville · 1 year

Conversation

Today’s theme is Phil Lee

Ashland entrance bridge: Red and white semi’s going both ways as I reach it

Ashland Overpass: Single car; white Dodge Neon going one way, Southern Oregon Comfort HVAC going the other way

Ashland Food Pantry: Seriously curated, and with three whole cans of green beans to show for it. Eric expy rolls up as I’m perusing to say “we try to keep it full, take as much as you want” to offset the past happenings I have observed there, and to assume *what was stocked there originally, and looted or redirected by latinos monitoring it for goodies, is what I’m seeing at present* when I check it out.

Such as: Woman singing the “ass bandit” song at the top of her lungs, marching her 90lb body on heels that once “I can only walk this far, to this food pantry and no farther!”, delivered several bags of cans to a nearby bathroom. She opened each one, took a bite or two, and left the mess of them in its entirety inside (She’s been observed all across town, so suspect her definition of “walking”)

The Chicago-esque guy and wife/girlfriend: Who once asked me, “What do you expect to see/find here; what do you look for?” and who is notable for putting rebottled olive oil (that isn’t olive, and in all probability is not safe) sealed with electrical tape (now with a "THIS IS NOT OLIVE OIL" crude note taped to it), inside. I told them that “it’s what I don’t hope to find, like trash, empty containers, and dirty clothes…” to which they both seemed surprised could happen. Seeing as that particular pantry has pride flags literally painted on the sign, that woman’s singing, and also the implicit disrespect makes sense in context.

The squatter heavy: Who weighs like 300lbs, unclean and unshaven and who periodically empties the food pantry because *he needs to eat a lot to stay so fat and keep everyone so thin* Cartel commentary about America via Mexico, I think.

Dear Bryan: Every mini cooper that rolls up where I go or meets me at an intersection pushes me away from your religion, toward the muslims, and some of the other Arab types. I’m sure that’s completely understandable and can be corrected, unless of course, it’s a Latin King thing, in which case its backed up by cartel murder (both seeing them, and the responsibility of the drivers for meeting me with them). And *that* pushes me even farther away from the Latinos.

And there are TWO red Hondas parked outside Love Revolution today: Not just the one, for additional cartel hilarity

Sitting at the bench above the pickleball courts to snack: Always seems to produce very heavy set to morbidly obese women, line of sight, within a minute or two of beginning to eat. “He likes to eat, he must like fat women” the cartels *suggest at sword point for their amusement*

Trying to figure out what the fuck a mommy-domme is: Has produced white haired old lady “looking for mister goodbar” stalkers in the very same cartel way. In the worst possible projected interpretation; I get the impression the cartels don’t like me very much, and the feeling is mutual.

I haven’t wanted anything to do with SNK dba Phil Lee antagonism for a bare minimum of 14 years: And I *still* occasionally get followed by the Ryan expy Pathways driver. Currently experiencing a sociopathic and *completely staged* outburst by the heavy set veteran who seems to like sleeping here. And usually while sitting at terminal 9. To go with Laurel and Hardy on terminal 10 and terminal 11, who sometimes picked him up when he fell out of his chair. They pretend to sleep at the computer sometimes for cartel gang hilarity courtesy of SNK. The guy who lives on the second street alley (the one that washes out every year) in a mobile home, itself a mystery of sorts, is kind of an unknown. He’s sitting on 5, but I think that’s probably also an SNK regular thing.

Edit: I used to be used as a dream interpreter, like a certain group of people in whose traditions I was literarily raised (after my mom had a breakdown). A house of cards formed from several race's prejudices will not exterminate Muslims, fyi. Chechen's are white; Chechen's are Muslims. Wherever you guys go, you go with you, and your generational violence by Africans forever ago comes along for the very long ride. Always got to be ready to court pharoah, right? (if anyone wonders why I *never ever* reblog cats, among other things from a specific part of North Africa)

*staged conversation about batteries from walking arsenal noisemaking guy, and his crew sitting in the corner* at: 12:46, you know. And mumbling about Japan while sitting *oh yeah suggestion and gangs* kitty corner. I'm curious, are the emphasized words including names supposed to...make someone money? Make someone respectable? Make someone win at gambling? Speaking of southern seeming street gang types. Definitely terminal 1 in weapons. Compared to the other guys who all outweigh him.

Addendum, Gang Activity: Safeway has a kid who stalks me through the parking lot, sometimes through the store, and even outside at the bottle return. Today, he walked parallel to me all the way across the front of the store, while *actively* watched by someone I later met back in the dairy aisle, and who refused to get out of his car (sunglasses and all) as though acting security. In gang style. Seems that kid was called into work for that express purpose. And you know, odd enough though it is, Safeway's bottle return *only took 7 bottles*. Someone should see how this story is going to end (those machines are all networked, and incidentally stamped Norwegian on the inside; though that's the fabrication plant while the design was in Italy). There's the alcoholc with *three whole hurry-k-knee giant cans of alcoholism* to go with his face. And his neglected kid. Ahead of me in line long enough to gang speech. There's the guy who spit at me on the plaza, saluting the hulking reference librarian who drives a Latin King colored luxury car, touting her as "a real rockstar" and "I'd expect nothing less*.

I think there's supposed to be some emotional hook to this that isn't there: Alcoholics I've known get (including my parents) get drunk and fight. Scary they're not. Sometimes they throw (or threw, I should say) up blood. A sober cousin close to seven feet tall once threw me into a wall, like he was tossing a barrel. Alcohol is not scary. Too much WWF watching. What are supposed (and I'm guessing here) ways to regulate or browbeat based on intimidation and all, as opposed to commiting the level of murder that installed BOTH Aryans and Latin gangs. They fall on deaf ears. Everyone else, and then me. Always outgunned and outnumbered; never been any different.

*An old guy wearing a "phillies" shirt walked by at the time of the writing above* (Kill everyone and then eat your lunch all by yourself)

All those things gangs can't do, and yet, why do old people identify with them?

Any of the people who are supposed to look like me who continue to gang-stalk, for lack of a better word, that pushes toward Islam too. And also potentially getting hurt for stalking me. And the woman who meets me at the entrance and exit on gang purpose, and who usually parks (and has literally rolled up on me) next to 460 down the street from the library (she's on track to getting assaulted). Thanks for understanding instead of misunderstanding on purpose.

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