#tri county landscape

[magisource]

Brick Pavers Front Yard Design ideas for a mid-sized tropical full sun front yard brick driveway.

[gavamont]

Step up to the dragon’s hoard

Cause I’m a hard wizard but I am bored

I’m like excuse me but this is mine

You stole it from the dwarves but I’ll rob you blind

He tries to counter his fire breath

But I raise up my shield til there’s nothing left

I’m pretty damn sure that I’m hot shit

But one swipe from he’s tail shows I’m not this

I’m flying over counties and landscapes

I don’t know where I’ll land but it’s not great

But I still made it through one of his defenses

Pretty soon I’ll own all of his wealth and wenches

[v1nsmoke]

𝑮𝑼𝑵𝑺 𝑵' 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑺 // 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹!𝑳𝑨𝑾 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

spooktober week 3 - cult leader law part 3

tw: blood, guns, explosives/explosion, depiction of violence, murder

summary: there's far more beyond the dimly lit interrogation room, and now it's up to you to escape the underground base filled with armed cultists, but unbeknownst to you, somebody is watching - meanwhile, a group enters the county

a/n: i didnt expect this story to go this far, it was supposed to be just a quick oneshot for his birthday, but here i am, ill make a part 4 soon

tags: @lawsmommymilkerwife

wc: 2.1k

you are now reading... chapter one chapter two CHAPTER THREE

"There's no escape for you." Law's deep voice rings from a loudspeaker that you tried to locate as soon as you heard it. "You thought I'd just let you murder and injure all my men? Even if you do manage to get out, I'll always find you. Didn't you notice what I did on your chest? You're marked. You are cult property now."

Your eyes widen at his statement. You quickly look down to see a pattern under your collarbone, etched into your skin by his blade. It was a circle, straight lines branch off from it in several directions. It was the same logo you saw sewn into the clothes of the cultists you came across. It was likely the logo of Law's cult, and now it was on you, and there was no way of getting rid of it.

But that didn't matter to you, because you will get out of this place and escape either way. You still didn't know anything about your sister's location, but it looked like she had to wait. You were this close to escaping, you won't turn back. You had to inform everybody about this cult, get the authorities involved instead of fighting it off all alone.

~●~

The van is bumping along the road, which no one seems to have taken care of renovating ever since it was built. The landscape is relatively empty, one or two trees on the lawn next to the road, the grass of which began to dry more and more as the team gradually approached their destination.

They had been traveling for several days, but luckily none of them were too fussy. The driver would have liked to give up, but he drove tirelessly for the pleasure and request of his captain. The navigator in the mother-in-law seat also held his will up.

There was chaos in the back seats, if there was noise, you could bet it was coming from there. This is exactly how the driver lost thirty thousand Berries to the navigator. Maybe they should have come up with a different seating arrangement before they set off on the multi-day trip, but the navigator is better off sitting in the front, and no one else in the group was qualified to drive except the tired man sitting in front of the wheel right now.

They have already wondered several times whether it was really a good idea to listen to their captain and come here. However, the boy was determined and stubborn, nothing could stop him from this adventure. Calling his grandfather to see what's going on in this small town because it's his job? Oh, no. He wanted to see it himself, with his own eyes, and if the news was true, he wanted to act himself.

And there was no turning back now as the van passes by the sign on the side of the road, the words "Welcome to Dressrosa" written on it.

~●~

You can feel your heart pounding faster, placing the remote explosives around the base as you head towards the exit. The plan? Once you're outside, you just push the button, activate the explosives, and hopefully destroy the base. Your sister was likely elsewhere, this was closer military base, you could bet the interrogation room was the only place that wasn't a control room or a weapon storage room.

When a cultist appears, you're quick to react, sending a bullet to their chest. You rush to the stairs, leading to an upper floor, but still not outside. By now all the alarms were ringing, the red light flashing like crazy.

Law can hear the sounds outside the security room, footsteps, sound of boots, gunshots, and piercing screams in anguish. He was spectating the situation from this room, able to see most hallways and access all loudspeakers around the base. He didn't expect you to actually escape, people usually just accept that they are now part of his cult. You didn't.

He was surprised at how you had built yourself up to this point from nothing, armed and all in less than an hour. However, it really bothered him that a nobody, a lady from another town who only came for her sister, was currently fleeing and murdering his people. You may not have realized this, but you can cause huge damage to his forces with this operation.

Through the security cameras, he saw you sprinkle the corridors of the base with explosives, but no matter how many people he sent to defuse them, none of them succeeded and no one returned. He believed that if he confronted you with the fact that you were now the property of his cult, you would abandon your plans, but as he saw, that was not enough.

Law sees you knock out another member, then your steps slow. It looks like you just realized that he was watching your every move with the cameras. You look up, straight into the camera, gun in hand pointed straight at it, then one of the screens goes black in front of Law. As you moved on, the signal left the monitors one by one.

Law knew he had to stop you before you caused even more chaos and madness. He just didn't know how. He would try to send more people after you, but it hasn't worked so far, so why would it work now? He personally had no plans to go out, no matter how good he was with a weapon. He couldn't know when the explosives you just scattered might explode to his face. Was it a proximity bomb or could it be activated from a distance? He didn't want to find out.

He knew that you came for your sister, and that you would not go back to the city where you came from - because he has been terrorizing the residents of the city for almost two months, and he had not seen you until yesterday - without her. You might not destroy everything and go looking for her, but you'll still be around, hiding somewhere, calling authorities.

Lucky for Law, nobody will come to your rescue. He had the authorities, either brainwashing them into joining the cult or paying tremendous amount of money to keep them away. You were alone, and he had hundreds of men under his command, so even if you escape this base now, he will have many chances at getting you back.

He knew that letting someone like you to just leave would be a great loss and a wrong choice. You now knew about the existence of this cult, if you get more people involved it might cause trouble. You knew too much, and Law didn't plan on just abandoning you.

You step into another control room, wired phones and some monitors placed next to the walls. None of the security cameras showed anything except a black screen, which meant your plan worked, and wherever Law was hiding he was not able to see you now. You had no idea if there was any signal outside, they likely blocked all means of communication.

This might be your last chance at getting help from outside, you had to act, right now. You turn a monitor's camera to your face, starting a live broadcast right there. Apparently it should reach all nearby cars with their adio active, maybe some TVs.

"The cult is taking over, if you hear or see this message, SEND HELP! I-" you desperately try, when somebody shoots your way, breaking the device. This was your only hope, and if nobody heard it, you're fucked. You raise your pistol towards the man who shot, aiming at his legs and firing. He lets out a scream in agony, falling to the ground as blood seeps trough his jeans.

~●~

"Damnit! The radio does not work well here... there are barely any stations!" The blonde in the driver's seat sighs. The music stopped the moment they passed by the welcome sign. The navigator next to him turns the knob, hoping that she will be able to find a station that isn't just static noise.

She was about to give up and forget about it, when she suddenly heard a feminine voice.

"The cult is taking over, if you hear or see this message, SEND HELP! I-" the line cuts off, static noise taking over yet again.

The group in the van is shocked, nobody saying a word for a few moments.

"Can you track where this came from?" The driver asks, the question directed at the guy sitting behind him, already coming up with a plan.

"Uh, not sure, but I can try I guess." He replies.

This one message confirmed their fear, the news turned out to be true. This only proved the fact that the town was now under the control of a cult. The driver steps on the gas pedal, thereby exceeding the speed limit. Who would punish him for it, the police, which is not even here? If there was, then this cult would not be here long ago.

The moods calm down in the rear periphery, the other part of the team also getting serious, now that everything has been proven.

"I know where the broadcast came from!" The man shouts, instantly gaining the attention of everyone in the van. He passes his device - likely homemade, knowing him - to the navigator, who extends her hand and takes it from him.

She reads the map, examining it, and immediately directing their driver to the desired location. It seemed to be in a tree-surrounded area, bit further from the road going trough the city of Dressrosa. It was like a smaller base, bit she was sure that there was more to it, hidden underground from prying eyes.

~●~

After losing the last means of communication, there was nothing left to do at the base, so you headed straight for the exit without stopping. Using the floor plan of the building prepared in case of fire, you found the only main entrance leading outside.

You didn't know where Law could be right now, but he was going to explode along with the whole building anyway in just a matter of minutes. You started to get tired, but let's be honest, it was still a big, even huge achievement. You may have used an air rifle a couple of times before, and here you are, now you've killed a base of cultists.

It took you a few shots to get into it, but eventually you got the hang of it. Aiming became easier, and you were firing better and faster.

You huffed as you ran up the stairs that theoretically lead to the exit. You were so close now. Law likely ran out of men, because there was barely anyone after you at the moment. Was he hiding? Likely. But he saw you trough security cameras, which means he knows you you loaded the base with remote explosives.

If he's smart, he gets out before you do, knowing that you won't blow the base up until you get outside. If he's not smart, he stays inside thinking it's nothing. But even though you didn't know him well, he seemed and acted like the smart type. The other tools back at the interrogation room even hinted that he was a surgeon, or at least knew a thing or two about it.

Here it is. You burst trough the door, literally throwing yourself at it. The bright moonlight illuminates the star-filled night sky, pine trees surrounding the base built on top of a hill, next to a mountainside. From here, you were able to overlook the whole county, the town, fields, roads, a perfect panorama view. Too bad this base is about to cease to exist in moments.

This was not the time for you to enjoy the mesmerizing view. You turn back once more, stealing one last glance at the building before running down the dirt path between the pine trees, and activating the explosives. Your ears ring after the loud noise coming from the explosion, the orangeish cloud-like formation behind you giving a slight tint to the grey mountainside and the surrounding area.

This was it. You did it. But who said it all ends here? Your sister is still missing, and Law might have escaped. Nobody's going to do anything about it anyways. Nobody, except you.

trafalgar law and one piece belongs to eiichiro oda

© v1nsmokes 2023. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[supremetheog]

The Road is a 2006 post-apocalyptic novel by American writer Cormac McCarthy. The book details the grueling journey of a father and his young son over several months across a landscape blasted by an unspecified cataclysm that has destroyed industrial civilization and nearly all life.

A father and his young son journey on foot across the post-apocalyptic ash-covered United States some years after an undefined extinction event resulting in societal collapse and the extinction of almost all life on Earth.[7] The boy's mother, who was pregnant with him at the time of the disaster, died by suicide at some point after his birth.

Realizing they cannot survive the winter in northern latitudes, the father takes the boy south along county roads towards the sea, carrying their meager possessions in their knapsacks and a supermarket cart. The father is suffering from a cough. He assures his son that they are "good guys" who are "carrying the fire". The pair has a revolver but only two rounds. The father has tried to teach the boy to use the gun on himself, if necessary, to avoid falling into the hands of cannibals.

They attempt to evade a group of marauders traveling along the road, but one marauder discovers them and seizes the boy. The father shoots the marauder dead, and they flee the marauder's companions, abandoning most of their possessions. Later, when searching a mansion for supplies, they discover a locked cellar containing people whom their captors have imprisoned to eat them limb by limb and flee into the woods.

As they near starvation, the pair discovers a concealed bunker filled with food, clothes, and other supplies. They stay there for several days, regaining their strength, and then carry on, taking supplies with them in a cart. They encounter an older man with whom the boy insists they share food. Farther along the road, they evade a group whose members include pregnant women, and soon after, they discover an abandoned campsite with a newborn infant roasted on a spit. They soon run out of supplies and begin to starve before finding a house containing more food to carry in their cart, but the man's condition worsens.

The pair reaches the sea, discovering a boat that has drifted from shore. The man swims to it and recovers supplies, including a flare gun. While the boy sleeps on the beach, their cart and possessions are stolen. They pursue and confront the thief, a wretched man traveling alone. The father forces him to strip naked at gunpoint and takes his clothes together with the cart. This distresses the boy, so the father returns and leaves the man's clothes and shoes on the road, but the man has disappeared.

While walking through a town inland, a man in a window shoots the father in the leg with an arrow. The father responds by shooting his assailant with the flare gun. The pair moves further south along the beach. The father's condition worsens, and after several days, he realizes he will soon die. The father tells the son he can talk to him after he is gone and that he must continue without him. After the father dies, the boy stays with his body for three days. The boy is approached by a man carrying a shotgun. The man tells the boy he and his wife have a son and daughter. He convinces the boy he is one of the "good guys" and takes the boy under his protection.

[thoughtportal]

Mulrooney’s success, as a woman and an Irish immigrant with little education, was as improbable as the Fair View’s remote glamour. Only 26 when she opened the hotel in July of 1898, in two short years she’d come to be known as the richest woman in the Klondike, overseeing an empire that extended from hotels, restaurants and real estate development to mining companies, banks, even utilities. It’s a swashbuckling story, one marked by constant self-reinvention that saw Mulrooney help build a city, make and lose several fortunes, and leave a lasting legacy as a Yukon pioneer.

Yet Mulrooney’s legacy remains little known outside the frozen north. “I think she’s certainly up there with significant women who had an impact on Alaska, and she hasn’t been given the prominence that she deserves,” says Jo Antonson, executive director of the Alaska Historical Society. A true reckoning of Mulrooney’s life reveals her as a hero of the frontier—and perhaps its canniest business owner. 

Born in 1872 in County Sligo, Ireland, Mulrooney stayed behind when her parents emigrated to America and spent her childhood on her maternal grandparents’ farm, surrounded by boys. That experience shaped her and inspired her legendary drive. “I never expected any favors,” Mulrooney told writer Helen Lyon Hawkins, who conducted a series of interviews in the late 1920s for a biography that was never published. “I knew a woman around men who couldn’t do her share is a nuisance and is left behind, so I tried to be in the front always, to lead.” 

Thirteen when she finally joined her parents in the U.S., Mulrooney was unimpressed by life in the coal town of Archbald, Pennsylvania, and soon took a position as a nanny for a wealthy Philadelphia family. After the economic crash of 1891, Mulrooney took her savings to Chicago, sensing opportunity in the city’s preparations for the 1893 World’s Fair. 

Mulrooney purchased a lot just outside the fair’s carnival strip and built on it, renting and then selling the property at considerable profit, which she used to buy a popular restaurant nearby. As the fair closed, Mulrooney learned that San Francisco was planning its own exposition and took her profits westward, where she repeated her real estate speculations. But when an 1895 fire in an uninsured building left her penniless, it was time to start over.

This time she found success in merchant ventures, bootlegging whiskey and other coveted supplies aboard the steamship City of Topeka between Seattle and southern Alaska—then reselling goods at frontier prices. She opened a store in Juneau and was scanning the landscape for opportunity when a prospector strolled into town, showing off some of the gold nuggets he’d found in what seemed like a promising strike in the Klondike. Instantly, Mulrooney began outfitting for an expedition that would change her life, and the frozen frontier, forever.  

Getting to the Klondike gold fields in 1897 required astonishing mettle. The majority of stampeders, as new arrivals were known, came via a brutal overland trek, each explorer hauling gear by sled over the icy, 3,550-foot Chilkoot Pass. Mulrooney’s supplies required 30 such trips. Then came the two-week journey down the turbulent Yukon River to Dawson, for which travelers had to build their own boats. 

Mulrooney landed in Dawson in April 1897, one of the first entrepreneurs on the scene. In an often-told anecdote, Mulrooney describes tossing her one remaining coin in the river for luck, announcing with breezy confidence: “I’ll start clean.”  

But it wasn’t luck that made Belinda Mulrooney rich; it was her unerring ability to anticipate what people would most need. Her goods, including hot water bottles for miners enduring the frigid winter in tents, netted a 600 percent profit from that first trip. She also saw the miners were desperate for a good meal and opened an all-hours restaurant serving hearty homestyle fare.

Mulrooney also had a canny instinct for location. During that first Yukon spring, she scouted ground on which to open her first hotel and chose the junction of the two busiest gold-mining creeks, 16 miles outside of Dawson. The Grand Forks quickly became the miners’ primary gathering place and soon doubled as an official collection office for royalties demanded by the Canadian government. At night Mulrooney put the floor sweepings through a sluice, gleaning an extra $100 or so in gold dust daily. Perfectly positioned for intelligence-gathering, she invested accordingly and by the end of 1897 owned five gold claims—plus almost 20 percent of one of the region’s wealthiest mining companies. 

Ever the expansionist, Mulrooney set out to build the finest hotel in Dawson City, one modeled on the elegant hotels she’d seen in Chicago and San Francisco. Calling it the Fair View, Mulrooney was meticulous in choosing the lace curtains, plush carpets, brass bedsteads and other finery that would make her new hotel the envy of the region’s other hoteliers, who housed most guests in rough dormitories. When explorer Mary E. Hitchcock arrived in Dawson in June 1898, she was deeply impressed and detailed her reaction in her 1899 memoir, Two Women in the Klondike: “The menu, beginning with ‘oyster cocktails,’ caused us to open our eyes wide with astonishment, after all that the papers have told us of the starvation about Dawson.”

The Fair View was the first property in town to have electricity. When miners bet Mulrooney $5,000 that she couldn’t keep the three-story building warm, she bought an old steamboat boiler, attaching a sawmill to provide the fuel. Mulrooney modernized the town in other ways, too, helping bring Dawson its first telephone and telegraph, housing the switchboard in the Fair View, and forming the Hygeia Water Supply Company to provide safe drinking water. It was less than two years since she arrived in Dawson, and already she was one of its foremost citizens.

“She really loomed large in the history of Dawson City,” says Angharad Wenz, director of the Dawson City Museum, adding that if we were to credit a single person with bringing the Klondike into the 20th century, Mulrooney would be the prime candidate. 

As sharp-eyed as she was in business, Mulrooney proved less so in matters of the heart. Disaster came courting in the form of a sham European nobleman, “Count” Charles Eugene Carbonneau—actually a French Canadian barber from Montreal—whom Mulrooney wed in Dawson City on October 1, 1900.

Newspapers around the country published rhapsodic descriptions of the lavish wedding and followed the Carbonneaus on their honeymoon tour of Europe, running photographs of Mulrooney wearing furs and jewels in a mansion the couple rented in Nice. The next few years found the Carbonneaus wintering in Paris, in an apartment near the Champs-Élysées with a bevy of servants. 

But Carbonneau’s profligate spending, dubious investments and mismanagement of Mulrooney’s mining companies emptied the couple’s bank accounts. Leaving the con man in France, where he was soon to be convicted of swindling and embezzlement, Mulrooney returned to Dawson alone in 1904.

Forced to start over yet again, she regathered her energies and in the spring of 1905 followed the next gold strike to Fairbanks, some 400 miles west of Dawson City, buying up claims in partnership with fellow investors. She also purchased several building lots and opened a bank in nearby Dome City. By the time Mulrooney filed for divorce from Carbonneau in July 1906, she was flush once again. 

“She just did not give up, that woman,” says Melanie Mayer, author of the 2000 Mulrooney biography Staking Her Claim. “If she was down, well, she knew how she had gotten up before, and she went at it again from a different angle.”

Perhaps foreseeing the inevitable bust of the Alaskan claims, Mulrooney decamped to Washington State’s fertile Yakima Valley, where she ran a 20-acre farm and orchard, built an imposing stone castle, and reigned there into the 1920s. Locals came to refer to her as the Countess Carbonneau. But this attempt at a bucolic life didn’t prove profitable: She sold the acreage at a loss, leased the castle and moved to a modest cottage in Seattle, where she ended her career in humble fashion, de-rusting minesweepers in the shipyards during and after World War II. Though no longer commanding an empire, Mulrooney continued to prize her self-reliance and practical skill; in a photo taken in her 60s, she stands proudly in front of the seafaring equipment she maintained. 

Still, it was her memories of the Klondike that Mulrooney most prized. Of her fondness for that wild country, she recalled poignantly: “I was young when I went there full of hope.” Later in life, Mulrooney took special pleasure in her membership in the male-only Yukon Order of Pioneers, which made an exception for her mining achievements and civic service. 

In 1957, her money mostly gone, Mulrooney moved to a senior care facility in Seattle, where she died in 1967 at the age of 95. The obituary of the most daring self-made woman of the period read simply: “Born in Ireland, she came to Seattle in 1925. Mrs. Carbonneau was in the Klondike in 1898.” Her small footstone in the city’s Holyrood Cemetery bears only dates, and a name: B.A. Carbonneau. 

Editors' note, November 4, 2024: A previous version of this article misstated the location of Fairbanks, Alaska; it is west of Dawson City. The article has been updated to correct this error.

Editors’ note, November 8, 2024: This article was updated with additional information from Melanie Mayer, co-author of the Mulrooney biography Staking Her Claim.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Runaway - Chapter Twenty.

Good morning, my beautiful audience! A fresh chapter has landed, and I’m looking forward to your thoughts, as ever! You’re all always so kind in your replies, it thrills me to see you enjoying reading this as much as I did writing it, even if this pair are being so annoyingly frustrating right now!

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 2,256 

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed softly at the view upon the horizon, Manny smiling at her reaction.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” It certainly was, the vast, unspoiled, arid landscape that was La Paz County, Arizona. “I sometimes think I was insane to trade it all for a girl, and then eventually the outlaw life. Then I remember the 4am starts, sometimes earlier. It’s a hard life, being a rancher.”

Hannah often wondered if he missed it, living and working in such a peaceful and serene environment. What she’d been told by him about his former vocation, though, well, the life of a rancher wasn’t quite as idyllic as the surroundings they executed such back breaking work within. The vast nothingness they drove through proved to be the perfect soother to her problem, even though all six feet of him was sitting right next to her, the talk she knew she needed to have with him still not materialising.  

She tried not to feel bad about that, reasoning with herself that he hadn’t been forthcoming either, which in all frankness likely meant from his perspective, it was what it was, clandestine sex, with nothing further behind it. If it had been more, surely, he would have said something by that point?

‘It’s more for you, and you haven’t said anything!’ she fumed internally, chewing the inside of her cheek. She felt herself pulled into wondering over the inner workings of his mind, crossing and uncrossing her legs, her eyes screwing shut tightly. ‘Oh, just enjoy the scenery, Hannah!’ Having those words with herself pushed it back down again, Manny indicating left, turning onto a road with a large property right at the end coming into view. Blackstone Ranch, she guessed, as it was the only place for miles around, Manny once revealing that the closest neighbours were two miles south of that location.

She could just about make out the vast herd of cattle upon the horizon, black dots littering the orange of the Arizonan landscape, sturdily built fences coming into view, horses grazing contently on piles of doled out hay as they swung into the long driveway, Manny suddenly breaking out into a happy smile, swinging the SUV over to park up.  

“Hold on, I spy my girl.” Jumping out, he vaulted the paddock fence, putting his fingers to his lips and letting out a loud whistle. In the distance, a head shot up, a piercing neigh sounding the air before the horse began to charge, Manny continuing walking as the steed galloped for him, stopping just in time to have his arms flung around her neck. “How you been, beauty? How’s my girl, huh?” he spoke softly, stroking the beautiful, dark bay mare’s face, turning back to Hannah.

“I take it that’s Midnight?”  

He nodded, the mare sniffing his head. “Yep, ain’t she gorgeous?” She truly was, almost black in colour, her mane streaked with lighter, copper-coloured strands, not a speck of white on her, hence why he’d named her Midnight. Grabbing a handful of her mane, he vaulted up onto her back cleanly, turning back to Hannah. “Drive the rest of the way up and I’ll meet you there.”

“Manny, she doesn’t even have a bridle on!” she cried, watching him grab two handfuls of her mane.

“You underestimate my skills if you think I need that. C’mon girl.” He dug his heels into her sides, Midnight surging forward, Hannah shaking her head as she watched them gallop off, sliding into the driver’s seat.  

“Your daddy? He’s crazy,” she spoke, turning to Lola, who grinned widely at her. “Lovely, but definitely crazy.” Shifting the car into drive, she continued up to the open gates, parking up next to a large, red pickup, a man with black hair that touched his waist approaching.  

“Well, you’re very pretty, and have a baby in the back of the car, so I take it you’re Hannah, and not the girl from the feed company?” Ed spoke on approach, offering his hand forth. Hannah shook it, receiving a kiss on the cheek too.  

“I am, yes. And you must be Ed. It’s so nice to meet you.” He nodded, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. Hannah saw it clearly then, where her daughter had gotten her grey eyes from. Right from her grandfather.

“I take it my hairbrained grandson got up here on four legs?”  

“Yeah,” she chuckled, looking over at the paddock rail and pointing, Manny and Midnight coming to a stop. “He’s such a show off.”

“Hmph!” Ed wheezed. “How well you know him.” He then looked to where Manny was climbing the fence, shaking his head. “Boy, you always have to make an entrance, don’t you?”  

“Maybe.” Ed laughed, opening his arms and hugging his grandson warmly, giving him a few hard slaps on the back.  

“It’s good to see you, now get that damned car open so I can meet my great grandbaby!” His request was obliged, Manny lifting Lola from her seat and passing her to her great grandpa. His face softened, holding her close to his chest, beaming. “Oh, I know I’ve said it before, but hell, she looks just like your mama did when she was her age, probably just as loud as my little Valeria was, too. She got any teeth coming in yet?”

“Yes, so apologies if she keeps you and your wife awake,” Hannah explained, Ed waving his hand dismissively.

“Ain’t no bother to me. Besides, I put you and Manny in the furthest bedrooms from ours, just in case. Now, shall we go meet great-grammy? Shall we? Let’s go, small person.” It warmed her heart, just how much of a natural Ed was with her, Lola fascinated with the turquoise beads around his neck, grasping and pulling them to her mouth to chew. The face she pulled had her parents in absolute hysterics.

“Cool Water don’t taste too good, does it?” Ed laughed, Lola’s face crumpling before she went back for another mouthful of the cologne-flavoured beads. “No, no, no more now.” Another pained face sent Hannah and Manny over the edge.  

“She stole a piece of lemon from Hannah’s drink a few days ago and shoved it in her mouth, and that’s the exact face she did. I couldn’t breathe!” Manny revealed, laughing hard, Lola beginning to giggle as she pointed at him. Whenever her parents laughed, the baby instantly joined in.  

“Like you when I gave you a piece of lime when you were about eight months old. Hated it, but damn, you wouldn’t let it go again, kept on munchin’, trying to beat it,” Ed remembered, laughing at the memory of a very small Manny insisting upon eating the sour fruit regardless. “And then there was the time you got into my cold coffee and hated it so much, you squealed for ten minutes straight.”

As Hannah entered the homestead, she just knew she’d likely be regaled with stories of Manny as a child, and after meeting Rosita and seeing the heart-warming sight of her bonding her great-granddaughter, she and Ed didn’t disappoint.  

“You gotta watch ‘em when they get to about two, that’s when they get their baby turbo and are suddenly capable of running at about thirty miles an hour. This one right here used to streak across the stable block and go throw himself straight into the water trough. We got pictures of it somewhere,” Ed revealed, Manny pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

“No, grandma, don’t start with the baby pictures.” Rosita was already on her feet and moving to the bookshelf before he’d even finished his sentence.  

“Look at this!” she cried, placing the album on Hannah’s lap and opening it up, revealing a picture of a giggling baby Manny, his mouth covered in banana puree. “Apart from Lola, obviously, did you ever see a baby so beautiful?”

“Awwww, look at you!” Hannah gushed, turning to Manny, who had shrunk way down in the armchair, hiding his face behind Lola. “You were so tiny and cute!”

“Yeah, what the hell happened?” Ed chuckled, Manny poking his head out to frown. After all mortifying picture viewing was done, Hannah fed Lola her bottle and put her down to sleep, Rosita telling her she’d keep an eye on her while she was taken for a tour of the ranch. The property was massive, Ed explaining that it had been ramshackle and in a state of disrepair for many years, the house not always as beautiful as it was, nor the outbuildings quite so pristine.  

She learned it had taken him decades to make a decent earning, through the disasters that had been illness wiping the herd out, mortgages up to his eyeballs, bank debt and credit card debt just to be able to feed the animals, while he and Rosie had lived meagrely on rice and beans, and plenty of pasta just to keep themselves fed inexpensively, the animals always put first.  

“Since I started the horse breeding too, it’s brought a damned good injection of cash, and meant that I’ve produced some real beauties,” he explained as they walked towards the long, indoor stable block. “Like this guy here that Ned’s leading out. This is Ace, I had to keep him, he was too beautiful to sell, so he’s one of my best breeding stallions. Absolute joy to ride, too, so well-mannered.”

“He’s lame,” Manny observed as Ned neared them with the beautiful palomino horse. “See? He’s sloping on his offside hind.”

“Turn him back, Ned. Let me see him walk away again,” Ed instructed, making a circling motion with his finger, the tall, greying man walking Ace in a circle before leading him away. “Well, whaddya know? Your eye is as sharp as ever. Ned, hitch him up outside his stall, I’ll deal with it.”  

“Ed? Woman from the feed company is here to see you,” a young guy called from the top of the block, poking his head around the sliding doors.  

“I’ll do it, you go,” Manny offered. Ed thanked him and walked away, Manny having a brief chat with Ned before checking Ace’s legs. “Oh, you got some nastiness in your hoof, boy?” he then spoke, holding his hand to the horse’s foot, comparing with the other.

“How do you know that?” Hannah asked, moving to stroke Ace’s soft muzzle.  

“His hoof is hot, that’s how you tell where the infection is.” He then checked his legs again. “Don’t feel like it’s spread. Hold on there a sec, I need some stuff.” He headed off, leaving Hannah to stand and pet the beautiful horse, tickling under his eyes, Ace beginning to lean into her. She’d almost forgotten, how lovely horses were.  

“So, what’s all that you have there?” she asked when Manny returned, taking the items he had wedged under his arm as he set a large bowl of water down.  

“Warm salt water to clean his hoof, kaolin to make a poultice and draw all the nasty shit out, a pad to absorb said nasty shit, bandage to keep it in place, and a boot to keep it all on so he doesn’t kick it off.” She found it all fascinating, watching how swiftly Manny had reverted back to his former self, undertaking the care he’d never forgotten a horse needed when sick.  

Picking his hoof out, he brushed it clean, moving the bowl of water and placing his hoof in it, swiftly moving to his front legs and lifting one up. “So he can’t move his foot out of the water. Can’t dance around when you’re only on three legs.” He explained to her, patting Ace’s shoulder, telling him he was a good boy. He let it soak for a few minutes before moving back, removing it and wrapping his hoof in a large towel, drying it off before applying a thick smear of the kaolin clay, Hannah assisting by holding the tub and then passing him the pad and bandage.

She marvelled at how efficient and gentle he was with the horse, talking to him softly when he tried to pull his hoof away, his manner effortless. It just showed how much of a nurturing person he was, yet another thing that drew her to him, his kindness. He was tough, he was hard, but there was a gentleness on the inside of Manuel Santiago that never failed to touch her heart.  

“There, all done. That’s gonna stink like death in the morning when it’s drawn it all out. It’s vile, smells even worse than when Lola does a massive shit,” he spoke, leading Ace back into his stall, stroking his neck as Hannah watched the horse give him a friendly shove, Manny coming back out again. “Come on, let’s take you round to see the babies.”

It was like seeing him illuminated, watching him there in the place he’d once called home, so comfortable in the surroundings, taking her hand and leading her back to the paddocks, mares and foals all ambling around contentedly. While they stood and watched, he let go, wrapping his arm around her shoulders casually instead, Hannah leaning against him on impulse as he pointed out who was who, his fingers trailing a circle at the top of her arm.  

She probably should have been taking in what he was telling her, but as they stood there under the bright Arizonan sun, she could only think four words, over and over. ‘God, I love him.’

[henrypreppy]

Barrington Estates: Prologue

Barrington Estates is the gem of the tri-county area for gated living communities. It has everything a member of the upper echelons could want: large, beautiful houses; meticulously manicured landscapes; fantastic schools; and the exclusive Barrington Country Club to rub shoulders with the elite that all but govern the southeast from its private rooms and putting greens. Not many make it here without significant contributions to the HOA. Grant and Jennifer Dean, however, were one of the few exceptions.

The Dean family was one of the founding families of the club and community. They had the house on the hill that was envied by everyone. The late Donald Dean, grandfather of Grant Dean, made sure to keep it immaculate. It was a sort of slap in the face to Truman McMaster, the general manager of Barrington Country Club; the house on the hill—the one all the pictures and magazine spreads loved to showcase—was owned by the board member who opposed McMaster at every turn. Rumors abound regarding their feud. Some speculated it was a result of a business deal gone awry, others posited that they needed some form of drama to keep themselves entertained. Only Donald and Truman knew the truth of the matter, and now one half of that truth was buried with Donald.

Grant was not particularly familiar with Barrington Estates, his father, Don Junior, being the prodigal of the family. Junior let his father’s house at eighteen with a large sum to his name and spoke to his father only two years later when it was nearly gone and Grant was on the way. Junior refused to move back in to the estate, but was funneled money from Donald so that Grant may not have to bear the sins of his father. Junior, ever-bent on regaining what he had, drove his wife Therese away when he began selling drugs.

“I don’t care if Grant is at college!” Therese would scream again and again, “I don’t want to have that dangerous business near me or my son!” After many of such arguments, she filed for divorce and cut Junior off.

A year later, Junior’s hand was cut off for stealing five kilos from the wrong cartel. He didn’t die immediately, though he couldn’t clap as his son walked across the stage to graduate. Only a few short months later, his stump turned septic and the infection withered the rest of him away. Had he less pride, perhaps Junior could have lived. Nevertheless, Grant turned to his grandfather for assistance with the funeral costs—which was all-too-high for the all-too-low head count—and moved in with his grandfather, who died all-too-soon from the grief of having failed to save his only son.

Now, upon returning from their hasty honeymoon and keeping with his grandfather’s request to not cohabitate with his college sweetheart, Grant was helping Jennifer move in with him.

Jennifer was a curvy woman, the areas under which she calculated from the nudes she sent Grant in their senior year. She graduated with a degree in physics and landed a job as a teacher in a high school one district away. She was smart, witty, and had green eyes that seemed dull unless they were in the right light; her hair was a wavy dark brown butterfly cut that flowed just past her shoulder blades.

Grant, by contrast, was plain but not unattractive. He kept his black hair in a shaggy mop and had nice cheekbones covered by a short scraggly beard. His gangly appearance frequently made others think of him as a stoner, which seemed fitting for a political science graduate. Though, a stoner could have never kept up with the stress of his internship as an aide to the governor. So far, that was his only achievement of note, outside of getting to marry the nerdy firecracker, Jennifer.

Jennifer didn’t have much of her own to move in; she was barely out of college. Still, a beat pickup truck packed with boxes is bound to look out of place in Barrington. Jennifer barreled up the large circular driveway to the McMansion, the rusted sides of the old Ford a stark contrast to the immaculate ivory-colored pillars she pulled toward.

Grant had already emerged from the house, having heard the beater booming a mile away. The houses were spaced out well enough, but the sights and sounds certainly brought some attention. He glared at the rustled curtains that indicated they were being watched from neighbors’ windows. As Jennifer approached, he waved and jogged toward the truck to open the door for her.

“M’lady,” he snickered with equal parts irony and sincerity as he opened the driver side door.

“M’sir,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. She stepped out of the truck and slammed the door behind her. Stepping forward, her mild exasperation faded to a wide smile and then to a kiss for Grant.

Grant embraced her, and his hand drifted from her back to her ass as he attempted to go for more than a gentle peck.

Still smiling, she pushed him away playfully. “Babe, didn’t you say your neighbors are super nosy?”

“Yeah, but what are they going to say? We just got married.” Grant planted a kiss on her cheek before breaking the hug.

Jennifer chuckled lightly. “I’d at least like to wait before hearing them ask about kids, though. I can already hear some old heiress down the street: ‘I saw that hussy from the other side o’ town pull up in a rusted out truck and start trying to make love right on the concrete!’” She said mimicking an elderly raspy voice.

“The neighborhood is not like that. They’re older and they’re traditional, but we’re married. So, it’s fine. Either way, you live here now, and they can’t change that.” He pecked her again on the cheek and began leading her inside by the hand, a middle finger raised to the neighbor’s window with the other hand.

Jennifer gave another signature eye roll and followed Grant. “You’re ridiculous,” she chortled crossed the threshold. The large foyer opened before her, decorated with a combination of farmhouse and mid-century modern decor. “This…” she announced, hearing her own echo, “This is also ridiculous.”

“Yeah, my grandfather was a pretty wealthy dude, but not out of touch. He wasn’t stodgy or anything. Still feels weird with him gone,” Grant trailed off and sighed.

“You okay?” Jennifer asked.

“Things have just been moving too fast. Graduation, a funeral, a wedding, another funeral, and a honeymoon all in like four months.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she assured him. “We’ll get settled in and settle down for a moment.”

“I know. I just want to slow down for a bit. You just mentioned it, but can we hold off on baby talk. I know I’ll hear enough of it from the neighbors.” Grant suppressed a grin.

“There’s a smile. I knew you still had some wit in you,” Jennifer prodded. “Now, where’s the bathroom?”

“First hallway on the left, first door on the left. I’ll start unloading your truck in a moment.”

“Thanks,” she cooed before pecking him on the cheek and rushing briskly around the corner. “This place is huge,” she bellowed back.

“Yeah, just like my—“

Ding dong! The doorbell chimed.

“You’re a child.” Grant heard before a door closed.

“Were get already walking up the fucking driveway?” Grant grumbled to himself. He gathered himself before yanking the door ajar. “Hey!” He said, shifting to a bright chatter. “How can I help you?”

Grant was greeted by a man and woman appearing to be in their late thirties or early forties. The man stood tall and was slightly overweight. His chestnut brown hair was in a generic left-parted business cut. A thick chevron mustache rested above his light smile. He wore a white golf shirt with the country club’s logo—a “B” with two smaller “C”s stacked directly to the right—on the chest, and pleated khaki pants that did little to hide the two huge lumps at the top of either leg. The woman had red hair pulled back into a sporty ponytail. Her cheekbones were high on her slender face, and her makeup was subtle outside the fiery red lipstick. She was dressed more casually in a bright athletic top, black leggings, and neon running shoes.

The man spoke in a low tenor: “Hey! Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Franklin and this is Jess. We live just next door to you.” He gestured to his right, even though the next house was a good hundred yards away. “We’re the Mullinses.” Franklin continued, extending his hand, and growing his light smile to a bleached Hollywood grin.

“Thanks for the introduction,” Grant offered cautiously but genuinely. “I’m Grant. My wife Jennifer has just started to move in. She stepped off to explore.” He turned around and called back into the house, “Honey! Come meet our neighbors, the Mullinses!” Turning back to the new neighbors, he gestured, “Come in! Come in!” The couple crossed the threshold and was guided toward the kitchen.

“Why, thank you!” Jess said brightly with a slight southern twang. The Mullinses took an extensive look around the house as they walked, noting the decor and size of the house. “Y’all have a lovely home,” Jess continued as they began to settle into the kitchen.

The small talk continued in the kitchen over some coffee and tea. A toilet flush and sink running announced Jennifer’s impending arrival. As her footsteps approached, Grant approached the doorway, made a grand gesture and announced his wife’s less-than-grand entrance: “Introducing, the reason for hastily closed curtains and prying eyes, my lovely wife, Jennifer!”

Jennifer silently walked through the display to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. She leaned against the counter, took a small sip, and acknowledged the guests in stark contrast to her husband’s introduction: “Hey. I’m Jennifer.” Her face contorted, suppressing a smile that turned into a chortle.

The stark facade broke after the Mullinses introduced themselves and realized the humorous intention behind her introduction. They actually got along quite well, despite worries of stuffiness from both parties. As it turned out, Franklin was an investor and Jess was close to launching her fashion line of women’s clothing with actual pockets. Grant had to fill in the history of his last four months and his relationship with his late grandfather. Grant himself had only dropped off his things two weeks ago and was still settling in. Jennifer, of course, had just arrived that day; so, her few items from the bachelorette pad were still in the truck.

Mr. and Mrs. Mullins helped them bring in the boxes—only around twelve in total. It was light work, but stomachs grumbled by the end of it. Reading the room, Franklin spoke up, “How would you like to join Jess and I for dinner?”

“Someone finally suggested food!” Jennifer immediately replied. “I’m down. Are you, babe?” She turned to Grant.

“Let’s do it. You a good cook, Jess?” Grant challenged.

“I’m awful, but Franklin is worse,” Jess laughed. “We were going to the club tonight.”

“Ohh! The country club! Excuse me!” Jennifer mocked.

Jess shrugged and smirked. “We make due.”

“My grandfather said just a little about the club before he passed. I’m sure you do,” Grant intuited. “We’ll have to change before we go, though.”

“Of course!” Franklin said. “Jess will have to as well. Just come over to our place in a few and we’ll head down together.”

“Hell yeah! I’m down for some bougie food,” Jennifer announced before hoisting a wardrobe box and hiking upstairs.

Grant walked with the Mullinses to the door. “We’ll be over there in just a few. Next house down the road, right?”

“Yep! 127,” Franklin confirmed. “See you soon!” He called, walking out the door with his wife.

Grant waved after them, watching them walk down the driveway before shutting the door.

Grant changed from his regular streetwear to a pale blue dress shirt and khakis. Jennifer stripped her sweats and was in a day dress within three minutes. It was not long before the Deans were knocking on their neighbors’ door, eager for food. Inside, the sound of hard-soled shoes echoed through the hall like a metronome. The rhythm concluded as the door opened and the tall Mr. Mullins stood before them, having only changed into a pair of black penny loafers.

“Come on in,” he said, ushering the Deans over to a couch. He himself sat in a chair opposite them, legs spread, and abnormally large bulge all the more defined. “Jess should be down in a moment.”

Grant and Jennifer had a hard time not sneaking glances at the pronounced moose knuckle in front of them. Grant blushed as Franklin noticed and locked eye contact with him. Eventually, Grant broke the silence: “So how long have you and Jess lived here?”

“I’ve lived here since I was a kid,” Franklin replied without breaking eye contact.

Heels clacked down the stairs as Grant finally looked away, peaking at the bulge again. His eyes immediately darted back up to see a smile and wink from Franklin.

“Sounds like she’s ready,” Franklin said, rising from his seat. Grant attempted to sneak another glance as the bulge settled into place before rising himself.

Jess reached the bottom of the stairs and announced herself, “Ready to go.” She wore a pale green blouse, black skirt, and black heels. She shook her head, showing off her wavy red hair released from its workout ponytail. She impatiently waved the lot to the door as she proceeded.

Franklin took the opportunity to put his arm around Grant and began walking him out, declaring with a grin: “You’re going to love steakhouse Fridays. They’ve got every cut of meat you could want.”

[noodlecupcakes]

Knock Knock it's me 👀 Prepare yourself for the imminent bombardment 🥲 I have reduced my list of questions a lot, I swear ! For Tabitha of course 💛

12. What’s the region they feel most connected to?

18. How do they feel about John?

20. How do they feel about Jacob? (You know where I'm going with this question 👀)

22. From Fall’s End which person they DON’T get along with?

29. How do they feel at the end of all the game events?

Oh you could have asked as many questions as you liked, I would have happily answered them all. Thank you so much for asking <3

I'm gonna answer for cultist Tabby instead of Deputy Murphy as cultist Tabby is my main 'canon' version of her whereas Deputy Murphy is for AU's.

12. What's the region they feel most connected to?

I would say Henbane River is the one Tabitha feels most connected too. Its the region that Joseph took her too for their first date, a simple picnic by the river. Tabitha finds the landscape relaxing and the river calming. She also visits Faith at Jessop's Conservatory once a week for lunch.

18. How do they feel about John?

During the events before and during FC5, Tabitha feels a little sorry for John as well as a little weary. She doesn't like that Joseph thinks he needs tough love to keep him in line and behave. But she wouldn't ever tell Joseph that what John really needs is a very good therapist. She loves her brother in law despite knowing about the baptisms and the confessions. Tabitha always tries to be positive around him and is always bringing him baskets of baked goods to Seed Ranch.

During the events of New Dawn (in my timeline all the Seeds survive) Tabitha still has a lot of love for her brother in law (and her other in laws). Tabitha really appreciates how good of a relationship John has with Hope (her and Josephs third child born in the bunker). John loves all his nieces and nephews but seems to be most close with Hope, teaching her how to skin animals and other handy skills with a knife.

20. How do they feel about Jacob? (You know where I'm going with this question 👀)

During the events before and during FC5, Tabitha is unsure how she feels about Jacob, mainly because she doesn't know if he likes her or not. He isn't exactly a warm friendly person as it is, keeping to himself up in the mountains. And Joseph does not let Tabitha venture to the Whitetail Mountains often if at all. However, they do eventually become closer when Tabitha has to stay with Jacob for a week for her safety. That week together helps the two understand each other better, Tabitha then makes it a tradition to invite the Seed siblings over for Sunday lunch, wanting the family to be closer. Joseph, of course loves this idea.

During the events of New Dawn, Tabitha initially tries to fight and deny her growing feelings for Jacob after Joseph goes into self exile. Tabitha's left with four children, one stepchild who hates her, and the entirety of New Eden to look after and run (thankfully with the help of her in laws but that's still a lot of work for one woman). Jacob steps up, helping her with the kids when he can and being a wonderful uncle, teaching Gabriel and Daniel how to hunt, helping Hope with her bow skills and accepting daisy chains from Angelica.

But eventually she cannot fight her feelings for Jacob anymore and whilst she feels some guilt initially starting an affair with her brother in law, she does come to love him for a time. Even if they do their best to keep their affair a secret. However their relationship does not last, things come to a more tragic end between the two.

22. From Fall’s End which person they DON’T get along with?

Tabitha is known as 'The Mother' after she marries Joseph so really she wouldn't get along with anyone from Falls End let alone any resistance members across Hope County. But I feel if I had to pick one in particular she would not get along with, it would be Jerome Jeffries. Mainly because of all the lies Joseph would have told her about the pastor.

29. How do they feel at the end of all the game events?

Call it cheating but in my 'canon', things do differ slightly to the games ending. Yes the nukes still go off and everyone's bunker bound, but the 'Deputy' does not make it. Tabitha, Joseph, Gabriel and Daniel are all holed up in a bunker together. Tabitha is understandably scared, her whole words just been shaken up and now she has to raise two young boys in a bunker for god knows how long. Tabitha is also worried about her in laws, hoping that they too made it into their bunkers in time and are safe.

[anniekoh]

The Hurricane Book: A Lyric History

By Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones (2023)

In this powerful debut, Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones pieces together the story of her family and Puerto Rico using a captivating combination of historical facts, poems, maps, overheard conversations, and flash essays. Organized around six hurricanes that passed through the island with varying degrees of intensity between 1928 and 2017, The Hurricane Book documents the myriad ways in which colonialism—particularly the relationship between the United States and the island—has seeped into the lives of Puerto Ricans, affecting how they and their land recover from catastrophe, as well as how families and citizens are bound to one another. Through accounts of relatives, folklore, and necessary escape, Acevedo-Quiñones illuminates both the tenderness and heartbreak of bonds with family and homeland. Moving seamlessly from the personal to the political to the environmental, she takes the reader through her own experience of family dynamics, mental illness, and substance abuse—and their long-reaching echoes—all against the backdrop of Puerto Rico’s struggles and beauty. An attempt at a colony’s etymology in a time when it is perpetually embattled by natural disasters, crippling debt, and the mass exodus of its people, The Hurricane Book is also an invitation to see the realities that many don’t want to see—a refusal to stay in the dark about ourselves or our collective history.

The Last Fire Season: A Personal and Pyronatural History

By Manjula Martin (2024)

Told in luminous, perceptive prose, The Last Fire Season is a deeply incisive inquiry into what it really means—now—to live in relationship to the elements of the natural world. When Manjula Martin moved from the city to the woods of Northern California, she wanted to be closer to the wilderness that she had loved as a child. She was also seeking refuge from a health crisis that left her with chronic pain, and found a sense of healing through tending her garden beneath the redwoods of Sonoma County. But the landscape that Martin treasured was an ecosystem already in crisis. Wildfires fueled by climate change were growing bigger and more frequent: each autumn, her garden filled with smoke and ash, and the local firehouse siren wailed deep into the night. In 2020, when a dry lightning storm ignited hundreds of simultaneous wildfires across the West and kicked off the worst fire season on record, Martin, along with thousands of other Californians, evacuated her home in the midst of a pandemic. Both a love letter to the forests of the West and an interrogation of the colonialist practices that led to their current dilemma, The Last Fire Season, follows her from the oaky hills of Sonoma County to the redwood forests of coastal Santa Cruz, to the pines and peaks of the Sierra Nevada, as she seeks shelter, bears witness to the devastation, and tries to better understand fire’s role in the ecology of the West. As Martin seeks a way to navigate the daily experience of living in a damaged body on a damaged planet, she comes to question her own assumptions about nature and the complicated connections between people and the land on which we live.

Other recommendations from Heatmap News.

[countyflagchampionship]

Mercer County, OH: The best US county flag

FAQ

Are these National Parks?

Technically yes, but they're divided into sections, based on county lines.

How do I pick my vote?

This is based solely on personal preference. Either whichever images look best, whichever looks the most fun to visit, or even if it just has animal images and you love that. Of course I support anyone who wants to vote for just the places they've been and loved.

Why are American Samoa and Virgin Islands not here?

Oh crap well I guess they don't have counties...? I'm not remaking the bracket.

This image doesn't look right?

I tried really hard to get accurate photos. Some park sections were very very difficult and I sourced images from juuuust outside the park borders (and tried to get wider shots, pointed toward the park), just so people can get the general idea of what the landscape looks like. Cut me some slack. If you see anything that's blatantly incorrect though, please let me know.

Are the park borders accurate?

Yes, I got my maps from nps.gov and translated them for my own graphics.

Aren't National Parks federal land? Why are there counties?

The county lines still exist through the park. And this is just for a little fun ok?

[mubal4]

Race Wrap Up – Copper Corridor 50k

This may be a short race report and will get into that in a minute. It was a really good day out @ the Copper Corridor 50k this past Saturday. As always, thanks to the folks at Aravaipa Running for hosting another great event. Much gratitude to the staff, volunteers, aid station crews, other participants and the spectators that cheered us on (especially that last half mile 😊). Had a great experience running the trails out in Superior, ones that I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do so without this race being hosted there. Another big thank you to the town of Superior, AZ. The police force, sheriff’s, families, and the folks that came out to share in the festivities made for an even better experience.

This was a solo adventure but always appreciate the sacrifice Robin, Alaina & Isabella put in to help support me in chasing down these endeavors. They provided me with several words of encouragement leading up to the race and during the day so thank you family!! The pictures included were from my cell phone as things were getting ready to start and throughout the first third of the race. Aravaipa started this race back in 2020, with their inaugural one coming just before the world shut down. I had it on my radar to do at some point however life……. mainly Isabella’s gymnastics and Alaina’s soccer weekend’s typically took priority (wouldn’t change that either 😊). Plus, the Copper Corridor has been traditionally the weekend after Black Canyon 100k, which is one, if not the favorite race for me. Considering some events that unfolded with the soccer schedule and the 2024 race calendar, we were able to put our name in for this year’s edition and it certainly didn’t disappoint.

Up until this past Saturday, I had only driven through Superior, and it doesn’t take long at tall to do so. It is about an hour from our house in NE Phoenix, east of the city as you begin heading into the mountain ranges of Pinal County. It is a small, former, mining town with some very interesting, and cool history you can read in the link above. These were all new trails to me, but I was excited to adventure into the canyons here and around Picketpost Mountain after doing some race research. My thoughts going into the race were to get a sense of my endurance and fitness after working on building my foundation for what we have outlined for the spring and summer. The course had a lot of single tracks, some technical terrain, and a few good climbs but after a hard training weekend just last week, and not having any taper, it was leading up to be an interesting event 😊. The days prior life really took over with a heavy dose of work commitments and responsibilities as well as some other personal and family obligations and obstacles we were navigating through. Needless to say my mind wasn’t on racing so I tried to take the mindset of having gratitude to be able to get away from everything and spend some hours in some new mountains and trails. Fortunately, the aftermath of the prior weekends runs left my quads and I was feeling very good leading up to the start line.

Speaking of the start line, and seriously, the tininess of Superior, my parking spot, which was along Main Street where literally 100 yards from each other. That was a very nice perk 😊. The morning was very mild with a touch of a chill but perfect temps for running. As we all gathered in the coral, after listening to a few minutes of course instructions, we were off down the main drag heading towards Picketpost Mountain in the distance and a morning full of exploring. After the ½ mile on Main Street we dipped into a single-track trail that basically skirted a creek bed and were on this for a few miles until we crossed under Highway 60 and into more of a desert landscape. The first 1/3 of the race went by smoothly with a few short climbs and descents as we meandered through a riparian area, in and out of canyons. At this point, I was with about 7-8 other runners as we ran single file enjoying the scenery, some conversation, and the ideal AZ, February weather.

The second half of the race is positioned as the toughest with the most climbing, we get up to the highest part of the course, as well as the most descent. The majority of this middle 1/3 is also exposed but as you can see from some of the shots, it is very beautiful. Additionally, these 11 to 12 miles are the most remote on the course and there is no aid, so we had to stock up before heading out into this section. Considering these elements, my plan was to take it easy on the climbs and run the downhills and flats to be able to have something left in the tank for that final 10-11 miles back to the finish. Of course, my mind was also thinking about what type of problem solving would need to be done over the next couple of hours. This was my first race since September and though the training was going well, I didn’t know how my body was going to respond considering the prior weekend’s adventure and I showed up to the race with 30 miles on my legs from the week leading up.

Around mile 12, as we were descending into a canyon, I began feeling some hotspots on my feet, but thought I was too early to get blisters and my left knee started feeling a bit wonky as well. Neither of these were corrupting my pace, or my spirit so I made myself aware and moved on. About a mile after that I came upon my new friend Roy, from San Diego as we were working our way up a climb. He and I then proceeded to run the next 5 miles together, talking about running, racing, San Diego, his potential move to Arizona, family, and life all together. It made those five miles, and what were supposedly the most challenging miles of the course, click by seamlessly. As we crested the high point of the course, we were met with this long, steep, technical descent and for some reason I felt like bombing down. I was feeling really good, thanks to Roy’s company, I let the momentum carry me. For the next 3-4 miles I was moving well as the final big-ish, climb approached, leading up to the aid station before heading back into town. It was a bit weird since I was the only one at this aid station at this time but did have a great quick conversation with the volunteers, grabbed a quick snack, filled my bottles and dowsed myself with some ice water for the final third.

This last 11ish miles had some technical downhills, that were pretty steep, but followed by smooth single-track, pretty much until we got back into town. This was where I experienced something that was a first for me in these races. It was something I’ve always wanted to feel, but it had always escaped me to this point. As mentioned before, I had thought about that moment, that comes every race, when you pretty much get punched in the gut. Something, or possibly everything hurts; stomach goes south, blisters surface on your feet, your quads get trashed, and your knees feel like they are being smacked with a hammer. It happened in each race, and I’d be lying if I didn’t wonder when it would be coming during this one. Well, it never really came, other than maybe the last ½ mile before hitting Main Street again. This final third, running through these canyons, with some nice cloud cover in the sky, moving over water crossing, and clicking off the miles, I did feel like a little kid in a sense. It felt pretty fulfilling to be hitting the same mile pace at this point in the race as I was at the beginning. As a few of us moved from the trail to the suspension bridge and onto Main Street for the final half mile, we were moving at a great clip, with the view of the finish line ahead of us and the outside patio bars and restaurants lined with patrons cheering us along the way. We heard one guy hell, “it’s all uphill from here.” Well, he wasn’t kidding because that same section we started on, all downhill, led right back up that hill to the finish line. Fortunately, it was gradual and short, and it didn’t matter at all because we were crossing the finish line.

All my other races, typically the last third, if not more, is a grind. It consists of managing through pain, figuring out problems that you don’t think of happening, and just focusing on moving forward. Many times, it is piecing myself back together to take that next step. Those experiences are when 1. we find out about ourselves a lot; what we are made of when the proverbial shit hits the fan, and 2. we learn and grow in ways to help us better navigate the next adventure. I do believe we grow more through adversity and through suffering a bit in that pain cave. However, after last Saturday’s experience, I believe there are some things that I should be learning. At least, some other strategies to incorporate leading up to race day. That whole feeling of “not being punched in the face,” was very nice I must say 😊. However, I know it won’t be something that I likely replicate anytime soon!!

[warningsine]

Kenyan preacher Paul Nthenge Mackenzie has appeared in court following the discovery of scores of bodies in a remote forest. He is accused of encouraging followers to starve themselves to death - hundreds of relatives are now wondering what happened to their loved ones.

When the leader of the Good News International Church, Pastor Mackenzie, said the world would end in June 2023, Stephen Mwiti's wife believed him.

Now, he is certain that she starved to death along with their six children.

The 45-year-old, who makes his living selling mandazi, or fried bread, holds up a crumpled photograph of his wife and four of his children asking if anyone has seen them.

He has been doing this over and over again in the town of Malindi, south-east Kenya, since she disappeared from there last August.

Mr Mwiti has also been to look for them in the Shakahola forest, where members of Pastor Mackenzie's church had isolated themselves.

His wife, Bahati Joan, was pregnant when she left last year with their children: Hellen Karimi, nine years old, Samuel Kirimil, seven, Jacob Kimathi, three, Lillian Gatumbi, 18 months, and Angelina Gatumbi, seven months.

Mr Mwiti later found out that his wife had given birth to a son, who also died.

She had been an ardent follower of Pastor Mackenzie since 2015 and had first gone to Shakahola in 2021, and then kept coming and going.

After alerting the police numerous times and failed personal attempts to rescue them, he learned recently from other children who had escaped and were being held by Kenyan police, that his own children had died.

"They could identify them from the pictures. They knew their names and where Jacob and Lillian had been buried," he recounts, fighting back tears.

"I was told not to try to look for my children again. They were all dead. I was too late."

He believes they were buried in the forest but their bodies have not yet been identified.

Shakahola is a Swahili word that loosely translates as "a place where worries are lifted".

It is nestled in the expansive 50,000-acre (20,000-hectare) Chakama Ranch in the coastal county of Kilifi.

Pastor Mackenzie is reported to have owned 800 acres of the forest area.

The entrance to the forest, down a rough track off the main road, is a two-hour drive from Malindi, the nearest main town.

Thorn bushes and thickets dot the landscape and make the journey into Shakahola difficult. The heat swelters almost all year round and elephants occasionally roam the area.

The deeper inside, the more cut off it becomes. There is no mobile network, no internet connection.

But it was here that a new Holy Land was established.

The area had been partitioned into villages, each given biblical place names.

Some of Pastor Mackenzie's followers lived a life of deprivation in Judea. Others holed themselves up in Bethlehem. There was also Nazareth.

"I learned that my wife and children lived and died in Jerusalem," Mr Mwiti says. But he has not been there since officials began to exhume bodies from marked gravesites.

In the forest, detectives had initially mapped out 65 sites where people were buried. Each had several shallow graves with bodies huddled close to each other.

'Children were first to die'

Those who exhumed the corpses say the sight of people buried without dignity haunts them. So far 110 people have been confirmed dead, but there are fears the death toll could rise as more of the forest is searched.

Post-mortems still have to be carried out but police and state prosecutors say as well as dying from starvation, some members may have been strangled, suffocated or beaten to death with blunt objects.

Former members of the Good News International Church have said they were forced to starve as part of their adherence to its teachings.

Titus Katana, who managed to escape, says those who tried to leave the cult were branded as traitors and faced violent attacks.

He also suggested there was an order in which people were supposed to die ahead of the end of the world.

"The children were the first to die. Then after the children, they went for the unmarried. Then after, the mothers and the elderly were next in line."

The church leaders were supposed to be the last to die.

Explaining what drew him to the church, Mr Katana said he thought that Pastor Mackenzie was "charismatic and preached God's word well".

An additional attraction was that "Mackenzie was also selling land to his followers. That appealed to me. I bought 15 acres. But when I saw his preaching was odd, I chose to leave."

Mr Mwiti says he had heard accounts of how his infant son was breast-fed only once. Then he was suffocated to death.

"I heard that when my son was killed, instead of the cult members grieving, they clapped and rejoiced that he had ascended and met Jesus," he says.

A BBC analysis of Pastor Mackenzie's sermons on video do not show him directly ordering people to fast, but there are many references to followers sacrificing what they hold dear, including their lives.

At the end of last week, the Kenya Red Cross reported that 410 people, including 227 children, who were thought to have some connection to Pastor Mackenzie's church, were missing.

Their relatives are now milling around Malindi's hospital and police station, waiting for news of their loved ones.

Couldn't persuade mum to leave

Among them is Patrick Ngumbau.

His mother went missing two years ago and he went looking for her in Shakahola, but despite finding her he could not persuade her to leave.

"I asked her if she would accept to come home. She told me she was there for one mission, to find Jesus," Mr Ngumbau says as he lines up among hundreds waiting for information about their kin.

"I left Shakahola in 2021 very sad because I felt we had already lost our mum."

He had come from Makueni county - 270km (170 miles) away - to find out more. Relatives of the missing have gathered in Malindi from across the country and even further afield - neighbouring Tanzania and Uganda, as well as Nigeria on the other side of the continent.

Christine Nyanchama came to Malindi from Nyamira, almost 800km away, to look for her sister, her brother-in-law and six other relatives. Her sister's children - a nephew and niece have already been found dead, but Ms Nyanchama thinks others could still be alive.

"Wherever my sister is, she needs to be helped as fast as possible, before she dies. I understand that she has already fasted for 22 days," she says referring to the last text message she has received.

Pastor Mackenzie's teachings online and on TV appeared to touch a chord with some. Among other things, he preached against formal education and modern medicine.

He had said that he had closed down the Good News International Church four years ago after nearly two decades of operation, but his sermons, some still available online, appear to have been recorded after that date.

Some of his ardent followers tore up their education certificates, quit their jobs and refused to vaccinate their children.

Dr Susan Gitau, a counselling psychologist believes that most people who followed Pastor Mackenzie - including university graduates and an elite police officer - were seeking solace, hope, strength and support.

Pastor Mackenzie was arrested in March when two children were found dead in Shakahola. He and their parents were accused of starving and suffocating them before burying them in the forest.

However, he was released for lack of evidence.

He is now back in custody but has not commented on the charges of murder, radicalisation and threatening public safety that he faces.

President William Ruto has promised to set up a commission of inquiry into what happened but the authorities themselves face tough questions. Not least about what took them so long to figure out something was going on.

"There is no excuse for the authorities not to have noticed this," says Hussein Khalid, the executive director of Haki Africa, the group which raised the alarm about the deaths.

"We are determined and we want to make sure each and every victim gets justice."

Mr Mwiti blames the government, the police and the local authorities in Malindi for failing to act.

"I am already 45 years old. The minute I heard that they had died, I felt that I had died too."

He has now given the authorities a sample of his DNA in the hope that his children can be identified. Only then will he be able to mourn.

[nxmeolvides]

[ LEVER ]: the sender, wanting to sit next to the receiver, places a hand on their shoulder to ease themselves to the space beside them.

Another sunset paints the sky with streaks of pink and blue, the horizon line blooming with orange where it kisses the landscape. It’s that time of day where the light is just starting to fade, and Ana can picture it captured in a photo sent home by Maria, lovingly annotated with a biro as her sister pens another letter. Isn’t the view out here lovely? 

In different circumstances, she would be happy to agree.

But right now, every new sunset is another day that Maria is gone. Another day of finding no clues, no real help, no anything - her chest feels so tight, she has to wonder if it can last much longer before her bones start to crack. Following her sister’s footsteps throughout Muerto County just doesn’t seem to be getting them anywhere. Or at least, not anywhere fast. Sure, a handful of people have recognised Maria’s face in their missing posters, but what does that matter when they can’t lead them to where she is? What does it matter when all the information they find is something that’s already written down in a letter, or reported to the police?

Nails curling into her palms, Ana tries to push her worries, her frustrations aside, but it’s been getting harder every day. She wants to believe that her sister is out there, that soon they’ll just stumble across her, relatively safe and somewhat sound - but it’s beginning to feel more like a bedtime prayer and less like something she earnestly believes. 

The rest of the group had disappeared into the nearby store earlier, stocking up on cheap supplies for another night of camping, and Ana had declined going in with them. At the time, it had seemed like a good decision - that she needed the time to herself, to clear her head, to focus. But instead, all it seems to be doing is letting her worries eat her alive. 

She just can’t shake this feeling. A constant, gnawing dread that finds her in the dark, settles on her like moths, and nibbles away at her walls and whispers that they’re too late to do anything at all.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the press of a hand against her shoulder, and Ana blinks: jumping at the contact and then near-immediately regretful that she did. A brush of skin shouldn’t be enough to spook her, not even close. But, lately she’s been so on edge that just about anything can do it. An embarrassed warmth floods her cheeks, and glancing sideways, she catches a glimpse of freckles on pale legs and short-cut denim as her companion sits down. It takes a moment, but the tension across her shoulders eases at the realisation of who it is.

“Connie.”

The older girl’s name leaves her lips in a murmur, softened by relief. Ana shuffles herself to the side, instinctively offering up a little more space to the redhead in the opened side of the van. It’s the least she can do, after leaving them all to take care of getting supplies on their own. Now she isn’t so lost in her head, it’s beginning to dawn on her how rudely that might have come across. What did they all think of her, anyway, isolating herself like this? She’d promised the group and herself that they were going to find her sister, had practically appointed herself leader of the entire search - but if she just shut herself away, then how were they going to believe she was any help at all?

She has to be better than this. Stronger than this.

“Sorry,” she apologises, conjuring up a smile even if it takes a little forcing. “I – I just got lost in my head. Did I miss anything in there?”

[thepoetoaster]

All aboard besties! All the cool kids are good people who go to HEAVEN. Acrylic on paper #art #artist #landscape #scenic #scenery #artwork #colors #colorful (at Tri-County Arts Council) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cq5_ORPOn-b/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[insipid-drivel]

This also applies to local geographic names within the States, as well. It's easy to see silly-looking towns, county, and street names and want to make fun of them, but please be conscious that this is a heavily overcolonized country where some of the ONLY household words USAmericans ever hear from the original Indigenous peoples that lived here before they were forced out are in the form of place names.

I live in Washington (top left), and while the state itself is named after George Washington, many of our names for cities, roads, parks, and landmarks are either directly taken, or mistranslated, from Indigenous names and words. We have place names like, "Olalla", "Puyallup", "Sequim", "Yakima", "Spokane", among many, many more. Seattle, Washington, is one of the very few USAmerican cities that's actually named after an Indigenous chieftain: Si'ahl, who was a leader to both the Suquamish and Duwamish peoples. Today, Seattle geographically sits largely in what was mostly Duwamish territory.

Here's an actual Wikipedia page that lists how many geographic locations in WA alone are entirely derived from Indigenous words and names, and there are similar pages for other USAmerican states, too!

My favorite name is Olalla, which is a bastardization of "Olallie/Ollalie", which roughly translates to the shared jargon for "berry/berries" from the Salish and Chinook languages. Olalla's very first non-indigenous settlers were mostly Scandinavian that saw the landscape as being the most similar to their homeland they'd ever seen since leaving it.

Olalla once boasted forests of such enormous and ancient evergreen trees that some regions were said to be so densely forested that, even at noon in full sunlight, the Salish people still had to maintain a system of oil lamps along their pathways and roads, because no sunlight EVER reached the forest floor in those places where the trees were the oldest and densest.

It's said that the first Scandinavian travelers to reach Olalla encountered a small group of Salish people, who, upon being asked (in a language they did not speak), "What's the name of this place?", replied in the their given language, "I don't know what you're saying, but have you tried the berries out here?"

With how unique the biome around pre-colonial Olalla was, one of the local food staples for the Salish people were reportedly strawberries, which were said to grow to truly amazing sizes in the ideal setting around Olalla before logging and deforestation destroyed the last of the old-growth forest around it. It's not very clear if the legendary strawberries around Olalla were the same strawberries as the ones we know from Europe (which may have been brought to North America by even earlier visits from Scandinavian explorers and Vikings), or were actually a separate, but related, subspecies of strawberry endemic to the region.

i do desperately need everyone on this website especially people who arent american but want to rag on america to familiarize themselves with the basic romanized spelling conventions of native american languages because every day i come on here and i see people making fun of massachusetts or connecticut or mississippi or passamaquoddy or mashpee or nipissing and its like PLEASE. PLEASE THEY ARENT ENGLISH WORDS. PLEAAAAASEEEEEUUUHHH. USE YOUR MINDS TO IDENTIFY WHEN A WORD LOOKS LIKE IT MAY NOT BE ENGLISH. I DONT CARE IF YOU MAKE FUN OF AMERICA JUST PLEASE STOP BEING RACIST WHILE YOU DO IT

[whitepolaris]

House for Sale-Exorcism Tools Included

It's not unusual to move into a place and find leftovers from former tenants: a rusty appliance, a forgotten headless doll, a yellowed letter wedged under a cabinet. But what David and Mary Pagliaroni discovered after they moved into their dream home near Honey Lake, Wisconsin, belongs in a completely different realm.

"This house had a of closets," declared Mary. And in every one, she found a crucifix, a bottle of holy water, and a rosary. These items had all been placed on the top shelf, where they would not be noticed on casual inspection. Mary didn't find them until after she and her family had moved in and she got up on a stepstool to clean the shelves. Awed, the Pagliaronis were also a little troubled. They knew that the former owners were deceased and that the house had been occupied by their children for a short time. But why would this lovely home require articles of spiritual sanctification?

David and Mary found out as soon as they started redecorating. It began as an eerie feeling out always being watched by some nearby presence. Once, for example, Mary glimpsed a white, foggy form out of the corner of her eye. And then the hellish noises began.

The house was in the country, and one day, when Mary was there alone, she heard the bam-bam-bam of a hammer pounding in the basement. She ran down to check, but no one was there. Another day, David was sitting at the kitchen table when he heard the bam-bam-bam of the vigorous carpenter. He went looking for Mary and found her painting quietly in another room. Again, there was no one in the basement. David and Mary's son would often hear the steady clanging beneath his bedroom when he tried to sleep at night. Spookily, he found that when he yelled for it to stop, the sound ceased. The noise source, then, had to be something capable of understanding human language. And obeying. No misbehaving furnace does that. On top of everything, a dark mood of oppression began to hang over the household, leaving the family in a mystifying state of despair. They began to seek answers.

Upon investigating, the Pagliaronis discovered that the workaholic former owner had died on the property while landscaping the parklike yard. The man's wife, said by neighbors to be on the cranky side, died not long afterward. At least, David and Mary understood: The former owners had decided to stay on in their house.

The noises and oppressiveness continued for eight years, until the Pagliarnois reached their limit. They sold the house and moved to another county. They don't know if the ghosts still haunt their former house, but they did hear that the people who bought it from them lasted only a few years. Probably wisely, the Pagliaronis have not asked why.