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phoenixkaptain · 6 months

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Okay. I’ll write an actual analysis.

A Lonely Place of Dying does a few things, storytelling-wise, that are actually incredibly impressive. Like, I figured it out and I was so excited.

First, we don’t see Tim. Not in part 1. All we see is glimpses. His hands as he puts away his camera. His feet as he runs away from Starfire’s apartment. We only see small parts of him, leaving him shrouded in mystery, which leads into part 2, where he’s represented by a shadowy figure on the cover.

The Titans, but especially Starfire, are all worried about the small child looking for Nightwing. This kid knows Nightwing’s name, knows where he lives, nd has a very conspicuous camera. I’d be worried too! So of course, from the Titans perspective, he’s an intimidating opponent that they don’t understand. (Especially since I’m like ninety percent sure Tim isn’t actually the one they’re looking for. Like, I think it was just a happy coincidence that the most suspicious child on the face of the planet happened to show up at the same time as the actual problem.)

We don’t see Tim’s face until just under halfway through part 2. And the first thing they show us are his eyes. He’s searching for Dick, even among all the pandemonium, and it’s only upon him finding Dick that we see his whole face.

Tim’s eyes are important. They’re an important part of his character in this storyline. Because Tim sees things. He sees through Bruce, he sees through Dick, he sees through Alfred even. He’s always looking.

And this is compounded when he explains how he knows what he knows in part 3.

We see child Tim Drake at the circus. Tim says this to Dick “…I kept staring at you…” and this “I remember waiting for you to go on. And then, when you did, I just sat there and watched.”

On the next page, he says, about Dick’s parents’ deaths, “I turned away… I couldn’t watch. Then I heard you crying and I turned back and I saw you holding onto them, and I began crying, too.”

Page 11 has his monologue about seeing Batman for the first time, and how he thought Batman would hurt Dick, but what’s important isn’t the dialogue, it’s the panels. They focus on the realization of Batman being safe, entirely through Tim’s eyes. He’s panicked and scared, then slowly relaxes. We see it all, because Tim sees it all.

And it’s THIS. Tim started the story by finding Batman, but he starts his story by beginning to look for Dick. Us seeing Tim seeing Dick is a direct parallel to us seeing Tim seeing Batman with Dick. Tim’s story starts by him staring at Dick, unable to look away. And when we see him for the first time, he’s looking at him again, still unable to look away.

Throughout the story, Tim is constantly looking at Dick. Yes, this is mostly because he’s talking to Dick, but even at the end of part 2, when Dick is being congratulated by Haly’s Circus members and isn’t paying attention to Tim at all, Tim is still watching him.

Why is there so much emphasis on his eyes? I’m so glad you asked- IT’S VISUAL STORYTELLING BABEYYYY.

Tim’s most important role in A Lonely Place of Dying is as a third party. He cares about Bruce and Dick, and he knows them a lot better than they might think, but he’s still a third party to them. They don’t know him. He’s someone who’s been looking in on their lives for ten years.

He’s. A. Voyeur.

The emphasis being placed on his eyes cements this. Dick, Alfred, and Bruce are all put off by him at first. He knows too much, he doesn’t offer much information on himself until he’s forced to, it’s almost uncomfortable how much of a stalker this thirteen-year-old manages to be. He’s a voyeur, watching their lives, unnoticed by any of them, and that’s a bit unnerving! I don’t blame Dick for being unsettled by him, he’s weird!

And, his eyes as a child watching Dick to his eyes as a preteen finding Dick. They’re connected. A perfectly linear story, just told backwards. It’s really very satisfying.

Now, point two. The question we all have. Is Tim a stalker?

Short answer: yes.

Long answer: yes, but I’ll explain.

Tim begins the story by taking pictures of Batman fighting Ravager. The narration mentions someone calling in a tip to Gordon about Ravager’s location, which is what led Batman to this point, and I’m on the fence over whether or not Tim was the one who called in. On one hand, it would make a lot of sense. Ravager is part of a bigger ploy by Two-Face, and we find out in part 2 that Tim knows Two-Face is behind the trouble. It would also explain how Tim found a spot to set up his camera for a good portion of the fight. And, it isn’t like Tim wouldn’t know Gordon’s phone number. On the other hand, it’s never explicitly stated who called Gordon, so assume what you will.

Part 1 actually shows us a glimpse of Tim’s collection of photographs. It’s huge. Most of them are obviously newspaper clippings, but a few are just pictures (I assume on photo paper because the edges are cleaner than the newspaper photos). Tim says, in part 3 “You know, since I was able to read, I clipped every article on Batman and Robin.” We admittedly don’t know when Tim learned to read, but he’s thirteen and says he gets mostly A’s, so I’m assuming he probably learned in preschool or kindergarten, around the age of 3-5. That’s a lot of newpaper clippings. We only see his more recent and his most stalkery ones, so who knows how many more he has?

There are only a few points in the story where we see that Tim is genuinely emotional about anything. For the most part, he is calm. He smiles a lot. He doesn’t use a lot of exclamation marks. The only times he does use exclamation marks are when he’s monologuing (internally or externally) about how great Dick is or when he’s trying to make a point. The only time we see him get visibly distressed is when Dick ignores him about Batman needing a Robin.

I don’t know how to stress upon you that Tim only cries that one time. Tim almost dies three times in this comic. He went to his second circus and another person died. His idols both berate him and talk down to him (although Dick stops right after they meet with Bruce. I’m going to be honest, I think Dick wants Bruce to take Tim on as Robin because if Dick had to deal with Tim for a whole day, so does Bruce). He has to recount watching Dick’s parents die and the nightmares he got from it.

He went through so much. But, the only time he’s upset is when Dick won’t listen to him about what’s best for Batman.

Anyway, Tim flat out just says a lot of really stalker-y shit, so I’ll just list some more:

We already know about him clipping newspapers since he could read

When he’s asking Kory where Nightwing is, he lets slip to her that he was watching Titans Tower with this line “I know he wasn’t at your meeting today.”

There’s also a few lines from breaking and entering Dick’s apartment “Grayson kept his old apartment. If he left the Titans, he might be here.” “He’s a detective… he must keep notes. Even something scribbled on a shopping list.” “No! The Haly Circus is closing? It can’t be! It can’t! But at least I now know where he is!” (Why is the shopping list thing stalkery Kacie, I’m so glad you asked. Tim knows Dick well enough that he knows Dick writes things down. Bruce certainly doesn’t, and Bruce is also a detective, so it’s a logical leap unless Tim knows Dick is inclined to write things down.)

There’s one part that isn’t stalkery so much as really funny to me. While Tim is looking for Dick at the circus, he realizes that Dick is “a master of disguise” and that “I’ve been looking for Dick Grayson, but he could be anyone.” only to almost immediately after say “No, not the roustabouts. They’re too tall.” First, that means he can’t “be anyone.” Second, he knows Dick’s height just. So well.

Tim realizes who Dick is and I think I’ll just tell you what he said to explain how he figured it out “Th-that jump- - -that’s him! It’s got to be Dick!” What was so special about Dick’s jump? I don’t think there was anything special, I think Tim is just weird.

Dick asks Tim who he is no less than three separate times. Tim refuses to tell him, all three times. At the beginning of part 3, while Dick is introducing Tim to Alfred, Dick says “Alfred, this may be a bit awkward, but I’d like you to meet- - - -what did you say your name was again?” Implying that Tim did tell Dick, but only briefly.

Back in part 2, Tim says this to Dick “Look, I know you’re Nightwing. You used to be Robin. Then Jason Todd became Robin, and when he died, Bruce Wayne went to pieces.” Tim says this before telling Dick his name by the way.

Tim, upon being introduced to Alfred (a cont. of the earlier Dick line) “Tim. Mr. Pennyworth- - gosh I was really hoping we’d meet. I know you’re Batman’s confidant, and I’ve dreamed about the stories you could tell.”

Alfred’s response to this is “I am- - what did you say?” Which is very funny.

Some more stalker lines that come from Tim looking around the manor: “I’ve seen pictures of this place,” “There’s the renoir Mr. Wayne bought last year. I read about that in Art World Today.”, “He’s got an erte? Oh, I love his stuff.”, “Please, can I see the rest of the house?”

There’s this, which a part of was mentioned earlier “I don’t remember the clowns or the animals, or anything else. I just remember waiting for you to go on. And then, when you did, I just sat there and watched.”

Tim says, before explaining anything, “Okay, you won’t take me seriously until I tell you everything. Dick, I don’t want this to hurt you. And I’m really afraid it might.” He then says, “I’m sorry, Dick. I really am. I told you I didn’t want to hurt you by telling you all this.” Tim is right, Dick is hurt. Tim is a stalker, but he’s a conscientious stalker.

There’s this “That image of you doing your somersault- - - -it stayed with me for years. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.” “I knew that somersault. I knew it like I knew my own name.”

This is just the beginning of a sentence, but it still is very stalkery “When you moved to New York to become Nightwing…”

Or how about “…Batman and Robin have meant everything to me. I’ve followed them both… I know them so well. I knew when Dick left to become Nightwing. I knew when Jason came and became Robin… and I knew when Jason died.”

Tim mentions offhandedly that he managed at some point to slip a tracking device on Two-Face. An impressive feat, considering Two-Face was trying to hit him with a crowbar and Tim only came into contact with him twice, either to punch him in the face or push him away from attacking Alfred. I doubt he slipped it on him while punching him, but his ability to stay calm under pressure even while acting panicky, managing to smoothly slide a tracking device onto Two-Face that Two-Face never realizes is there, is very impressive. Or, it’s practiced-

Bruce says “I don’t want a partner. It’s as simple as that.”

Tim responds “After all you’ve been through, I understand.”

So you may be wondering, with all of this overwhelming evidence and the fact that he knows where both Kory and Dick live and the fact that he already knew Alfred Pennyworth was Batman’s confidant and all of the weird, supervillain-esque shit he says, why does anyone like him?

And I’ll tell you why. It’s because he’s so fucking awkward.

Tim says things like “oh thank goodness” or “gosh” or “it’s still been wonderful.” Tim stutters talking to Batman. Tim fanboys over Dick and Bruce constantly. He isn’t even upset to have gotten a mystery wrong, he’s just happy he got to see Dick solve a case.

But also, Tim is right. Batman is acting recklessly, and it’s directly as a result of Jason dying. Tim says he needs Robin, not Nightwing, but I think what he means is more the role that they fill. Robin is little and Bruce can tuck him under his wing and keep him safe. Nightwing is an adult who argues with him and is a good leader in his own right, leading to more arguments. Robin is someone Batman has to take notice of, has to account for when making plans. Nightwing can keep up, and he isn’t as worried about Nightwing because he trusts Nightwing’s ability to stay alive. They fill very different roles, and that’s what Tim means, even if he has trouble saying it.

And he’s completely right. Batman without Robin runs recklessly into a building without scoping it out, tries to save two boys tied with active grenades by himself, walks into a room full of mobsters with guns without having any protection himself. Tim implies that he’s worried Bruce might die, and he’s right to be worried.

But even with Nightwing there, Batman only worries when things go wrong. He doesn’t see Dick as his scrappy little sidekick anymore, he sees him as an adult. And it’s only when Dick’s in trouble that Bruce reverts to treating him like a child.

Robin makes Batman stop and think before they go in. Robin makes Batman patient. Because Bruce cares about Dick and Jason, and he comes to care about Tim too.

Tim wins him over by being clever, but later comics show that they have to build trust in each other. Tim trusts Bruce completely, right off the bat, and that’s overwhelming for Bruce. But Bruce stops being overwhelmed and starts feeling fond.

Because despite everything I said, Tim is a good person. He’s so worried about Bruce that he’s willing to search everywhere to find Dick to try and help him. He’s so worried about Bruce that he spends his vacation week slumming around on his bicycle trying to save Bruce’s life. He dives down a coal chute without a second thought, and he pushes with all his might to unbury Batman and Nightwing. He cares about them, and it’s painfully obvious that he does.

Tim doesn’t want to be Robin. Like, okay, he would love to be Robin, but that’s not why he’s here. He doesn’t want to tell Dick his first name, and it’s only after seeing that Dick isn’t taking him seriously that he spills the beans. He didn’t want to tell Dick, because that would hurt Dick. He says “B-Batman, it’s hard for me to say this to you” because he’s about to tell Bruce off for being reckless and he doesn’t want to. Tim wants to know that Bruce and Dick are safe, and that’s the only thing he wants.

Yes, Tim is definitely a stalker. He literally said himself that he followed them, and even if it was only through newspapers, it still counts as following. Now, maybe he doesn’t fit this dictionary definition of a stalker: “a person who harasses or persecutes someone with unwanted and obsessive attention,” but I think he does fit this dictionary definition: “a person who hunts prey stealthily.” Tim is stealthy and quick.

I read an article that said his weakness was unexpected situations, but I would argue that that’s bullshit. Tim is great in unexpected situations. Did he expect Two-Face to start trying to beat him with a crowbar? No, but he managed to avoid being hit and plant a tracker on him. Did he expect Two-Face to crush the Batmobile he’s sitting in with a wrecking ball? No, but he managed to jump out and hide and tried to warn Batman and Nightwing to watch out. Did he expect Bruce to agree to let him train to be Robin? No, but he’s going to do the best he can now that he has the chance.

From the very beginning, we can see that Tim is someone with an answer to just about everything. He knows things, he notices things, and he’s good at reacting. Later comics don’t dispute this, that I know of. Tim is the Robin with multiple contingencies for his contingencies, but he’s also the Robin who is most likely to say “oh shit I did not see that coming.” He’s a surprised sometimes, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s unprepared.

All in all, Tim Drake is a fascinating character study of a rich kid who talks like an elderly woman providing therapy for a man who is at least two, if not three, decades his senior. Tim doesn’t quite understand at any point that monitoring isn’t the same thing as showing affection, which is why he and Bruce get along swimmingly and why Tim is often slated to be the Robin most alike to Batman.

Congratulations, Tim.

Also, I really truly believe that Tim had his first crush on Dick, which is why he couldn’t stop staring at him. And I didn’t mention he said this, because it wasn’t important to the points I was making, but it’s important to this one. Tim says “…I kept staring at you, and your circus costume.” The circus costume being similar to Robin’s is never brought up, only the fact fact that Tim couldn’t stop staring at it. I’m telling you, his first crush was here, it’s so obvious, just look at my corkboar-

#the inane ramblings of a madman #dc #batman #robin #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #a lonely place of dying #long post #like so long #i’m so sorry but also not really #had to take my mom to the hospital at 5am and waited there for six hours #you guys can suffer through some ramblings #anyway #been thinkin bout timmer lately #so i reread his introduction #him being introduced as a shadowy figure with unclear motives #will never not be funny to me #kory shouting ‘wait how did you know where i live’ always makes me giggle #tim is a head shorter than dick #starfire is taller than dick #i have to imagine that tim goes up to her shoulders #like he does with batman #he’s just an intimidating little guy #no wonder he does so well as batman later on #also dick says ‘you can’t bring the dead back to life’#and i had to google when jason was brought back #just so i could make the joke ‘won’t he feel silly in 16 years’

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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shepherdenjoyer · 9 months

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Not gonna lie I would've had a nicer time if my brain wasn't obsessed with overthinking and being pessimistic etc

#mine #said i would rest in the tags of my last post but really we had to drive back home 2 hours and go to the store #and i dont sleel in cars #sleep*#so im still tired #so im still trying to put everything im feeling bad about aside until tomorrow at least #but ugh #sorry for these more inane posts I'll delete them sooner or later

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blackjackkent · 2 months

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Letter prompts - any or all!

Minsc to Hector

Lae'zel to Gale

Rion to Karlach

Shadowheart to Isobel and Aylin

Nine Fingers to Jaheira

(Letter fic prompts!)

TY as always for the prompts, friend! <3 Sorry it took a bit to get them done, but I did all of them bc I loved the ideas so much. XD

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(Minsc to Hector - a note scribbled on a crumpled piece of parchment with one corner slightly chewed off. Left on Hector's bedside table in the Elfsong, three hours before dawn on the cold, rainy morning before the battle with the Netherbrain.)

My friend!

Do not fear to find Minsc’s bunk empty when you wake; know that I have gone ahead to clear the path! The sewers that stand between us and our wrinkly foe are well known to Minsc and Boo, and we shall see to it that they are well-scrubbed of evil that might hinder us in our final journey. A fine tale it would make for us to travel towards a battle for the world's fate and be delayed by a passing bandit!

Should we have no further time to speak before all is chaos, Boo wishes you to know you have been a fine companion, a hero to rank high among all those he has traveled with. And Minsc would say the same, though Minsc does not juggle words with Boo’s skill.

Boo and I have traveled across many years in an instant, and much has changed. We did not think to find a company with which we could feel heroes again, not least after Minsc was made a puppet of the Absolute’s worm. With Jaheira, with you, Minsc has remembered what it is to be alive, to fight for goodness, and this city's every shadow trembles to know it.

Though evil brings the brain, Hector and his friends shall bring the brawn! And Minsc is proud to be among them!

(signed with the letter M and a very small pawprint in ink)

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(Lae'zel to Gale - a note carved in the spiraling gith script into a large flat rock, lacking the fine materials of true githyanki slate, written in camp deep in the Underdark.)

When you can read this, you may consider yourself a true scholar worthy of the secrets of githyanki magic. Until then, cease your inane questioning of matters far beyond your appreciation; my time is better spent in recuperation than in the education of overambitious istik.

A note is attached to the rock, written in Common in careful, precise handwriting: Ever so sorry to disappoint you, my dear sa’varsh, but my inane questioning shall continue unabated. I do, however, thank you for the opportunity to reacquaint myself with Comprehend Languages! I so rarely get a chance to turn that one out for a bit of exercise.

Below these words on the note is scribbled a considerably less meticulous tir’su spiral scrawled in ink: That is *not* what I meant, and you know it, kainyank.

-----

(Rion to Karlach - a note sent by standard post to the Elfsong, several days after the party's visit to Elerrathin's Home.)

Karlach,

You're kidding me - you're Pluck Cliffgate's kid? I carried messages for him now and again; he talked about you plenty, and I did see you once, maybe seven years old, darting all over the Wide like a little hurricane. Small world, I guess. Odd to think that I’m more or less the same and you’ve shot up to be taller than I am. Elf blood’s a funny thing.

I know you’re hoping for exciting stories about growing up with the High Harper but the truth is I don’t have much to offer. She wasn’t any kind of “heroic adventurer” to me - she was just Mother, and she never much liked to talk about the past, not even about my father. I heard more about her from bards in taverns than I ever heard from her own mouth - and some of it I wish I could scrub back out of my brain.

You ever hear a bawdy called “The Harper’s Head”? Yeah, now imagine that was your mum they were singing about. Awful.

She was good to us, though, in her own way. I know you saw me bite her head off and her bite mine right back; that’s just how we’ve always been. But she saw to it I grew up strong, that I knew how to fight, and how to keep my head down when the time called for it. Harper things, mostly, even though I don’t think she ever wanted me to be one.

She taught me how to take no shit, too. Her mistake, because now I don’t take hers either. But I think she’d rather that than otherwise.

After a while, the other kids just started drifting in - first for a meal here or there, then a bed, then before you knew it, this was their home. Another one in the pack. It’s strange, really. I always knew deep down - even when I was a kid who didn’t have words for it yet, just knew it was confusing and it hurt - that part of her really wanted to be back on the road, not tied down with us in this mess of a city. But somehow every time one of us moved out, she’d found another to bring in, almost like clockwork.

I think she’s been looking for something, all this time. But I don’t think she knows what it is, any more than I do, or what she’d do with it if she found it.

Not an exciting story, like all the tales you’ve heard. But it’s truth; I can tell you that much.

It probably won’t surprise you that I haven’t had a message from her since you left. But you can tell her I’m off to the refugee camp in the morning. We’ll hold our end of things, and see they’re taken care of. Take care of that bloody brain, and maybe I’ll find a better story to tell when you’re done.

Rion

-----

(Shadowheart to Aylin (and Isobel by proxy); several conjoined messages by a series of Sending spells, dispatched from somewhere on the edge of Waterdeep)

> Aylin… your mother's house is beautiful. I never imagined such a place. It's… foolish, perhaps, but I wanted to let you know I've seen it.

> I still carry the spear with me. Once dark, now light. Like me. Still surprised you didn't crack us both across your knee like Lorroakan.

> You gave me a second chance. I hadn't earned it; I wanted to kill you. The great difference between Shar and Selune. Cruelty versus mercy.

> A lot’s happened since then. I found my parents. Shar's last joke at my expense. You were right about everything. That I had to act.

> So I'm free now. Of all of it. One day I will think of a way to repay you both for your kindness. Your wisdom.

> I don't know what plans call you now, but should you travel near Waterdeep in the next fortnight-- OW! Yes, yes, I'll tell her, calm--

[a slight pause]

> Please also tell Isobel that Buddy says hello. The morsels she used to slip him in camp have purchased her a permanent owlbear friend.

-----

(Nine-Fingers to Jaheira - a note left in a dead drop at Danthelon’s in the middle of the night.)

Jaheira. You’ve GOT to call off the Rashemaar. He’s driving us all insane trying to teach us the good path; on all the gods, either I’m going to beat the hells out of him or someone else will. I don’t care what you do - take him on an adventure, lock him in the cellar, turn him into a statue again, hold the hamster for ransom. But something. Fuck’s sake.

He listens to you. Starting to think you’re the only one he does listen to. Like a pup with one master. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so infuriating.

We all want the same thing - this city safe and strong. But he’s got to learn that we don’t all go about it the same way, or sooner or later there’s going to be trouble.

Astele NF

#ask meme #astreamofstars #hector carlisle #minsc #lae'zel #gale dekarios #rion bg3 #jaheira #karlach #nine fingers keene #shadowheart #dame aylin #isobel thorm #these were fun to write c:#hope you enjoy <3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction

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jesuisici33 · 3 months

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🧃🍄 🪲

sorry it took so long!

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

i actually don't really like musical episodes for someone who loves musicals

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

once buck and eddie get together, the 118 have a board that says " x days since buck and eddie stopped being gross" and it's never made it passed zero

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

here's something from my Broadway actors au. it's rough and imo pretty shitty. but I haven't written anything in a while so I think that's expected lol. using this as my fuck it Friday and was tagged by @steadfastsaturnsrings @daffi-990 @wikiangela @paperstorm @spotsandsocks snippet under cut with more tags

Buck should really slow down. He’s only been at his parents’ party for less than an hour and he’s already drunk two glasses of champagne. If he keeps going at this rate he’ll be drunk before the first toast.

He sighs, taking a step back from the refreshment table. He looks over to where Maddie is with Chimney. He can’t help but feel envious over his sister. This time she has someone to flirt and laugh with at one of these parties. And at the same time he’s fighting the resentment towards Chimney for stealing his sister away from him tonight. Usually Maddie and Buck comfort each other at these inane parties. Now it seems Chimney has taken Buck’s spot.

From the bright smile on Maddie’s face, Buck can’t let that feeling become too paramount. An idea of finding a person to flirt with and head off somewhere else. He spots a pretty redhead who looks like she’s ready to get out of here. However he knows if he leaves the party his parents are throwing for Bobby and Athena – and him, technically – he would end up disappointing Bobby.

Instead, he decides to head off outside to the backyard to get some fresh air. Perhaps help set his mind at ease.

“Yeah, okay, buddy. I love you too.”

What he doesn’t expect is meeting Eddie Diaz there.

tagging @hippolotamus @911-on-abc @eddiebabygirldiaz @monsterrae1 @disasterbuckdiaz @loserdiaz @theotherbuckley @thewolvesof1998 @giddyupbuck @carlos-in-glasses @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @pirrusstuff @your-catfish-friend @wildlife4life @bonheur-cafe @fortheloveofbuddie @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon @liminalmemories21

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astronicht · 7 months

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whumptober day 5: “you better pray I don’t get up this time around” + pinned down | original historical fantasy with lesbians? sarai/ketil | 1.8k, rated T

i don’t love posting original stuff but by god i didn’t want to look like i skipped day 5. will be deleted in November??

“There are two things human beings tend to do in caves: sing or die pinned,” Sarai Al-Baramikah muttered, her hand brushing the soft limestone wall. Outside, a hot wind whipped off the nighttime ocean. In the long low mouth of the cave behind them, the wind did its own singing. They were not so deep that they could not distantly hear the breakers off the beach market of Bal'harm.

Ketil watched the passage of Sarai’s hand. “The kids said there are old carvings in here,” she said.

“Yep,” Sarai said. Her voice was rough, wrecked. What an awful night it had been. “Smart kids. I found them too.”

“The carvings?” Ketil asked. “They’re Roman after all?”

What an inane thing to say, when a little girl was dead not an hour ago.

“…No. I don’t think so,” Sarai said. “Come look.”

Ketil shifted her weight and planted her feet in her doeskin boots. She had blood under her fingernails and splattered brown on the sleeve of her tunic, up above her elbow in some awkward and inexplicable spot. She did not come look. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her lazy voice gone hard, which was what she should have been asking for days, for a week. “Why are you on this island playing at being a bookbinder, Sarai? Why are you planning to get on my ship.”

“I am a bookbinder. A little alchemy too. Everybody needs work.” Sarai did not even turn around.

“You have twelve rings on your fingers, Sarai,” Ketil yelled. Sarai looked almost startled. She looked at her hand on the wall in the torchlight. Her other hand went unconsciously to the sword on her belt, which must have been ancient when Sarai’s father had been born. She had come from a good merchant family when they were young, but not the sort of family that wore treasures like a parakeet wore green.

“It’s not an interesting story, Ketya,” Sarai gritted out, as if that were relevant. “I’m not just saying that. It’s short and common and sad.”

“Fuck off,” Ketil rasped.

“I’m sorry,” Sarai said. “Ketil.”

Sarai’s face was awful, just for a second, before it went smooth.

“Thanks for— you saved the rest of the kids,” Ketil said. She rubbed her face with the hand not holding the torch.

Sarai snorted, tired. “I kept them calm until you could show up,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ketil said. She meant: yes, exactly.

“You know, no one else I know thinks of me as reliable,” Sarai observed, wry. Ketil blinked; this did not seem relevant. Who else was with her on this side of this night? If Sarai was there, it would be Sarai. “Come see the carvings. I found more of them.”

Ketil watched as her little souls skittered forward before her body did. Sarai’s soul was burning low in her belly, inescapably part of the body even when Ketil’s were not. Ketil stepped forward. The torch in her hand lit up Sarai’s face a bit more, the slope of her nose, her wild hair beneath the headcloth.

“Do you want the torch?” Ketil said, a reflexive banality.

“No,” Sarai murmured, even though she could not see Ketil’s four little souls skittering down the tunnel like mice, or stolen bright moonlight, or wil o’ the wisps. In here it was dark, to her. “You keep the light, darling.”

Ketil’s stomach went hot, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled and rose.

The walk down into the mountain was not a walk but a scramble. Ketil hated small spaces. She fought to keep her breathing steady, steady, as if she was breathing through pain.

They came to a little opening, another little room of sorts. Ketil could not control where her glowing souls went, of course, so only one helpfully approached the wall that Sarai was looking at in the dark. Ketil had to bring the torch over to really see. At first she did not know what she was looking at. It was just scratches on the wall, person-shaped, flowing lines that made chest, buttocks, thigh, calf. The lines trailed off instead of forming hands or feet; what the hands clutched was lost to some memory.

They were certainly not Roman, old Rome or new, and not Carthiginian either. All across the Jórsalahaf, all across three continents, Ketil had lived and traveled and traded in the ruins and new heights of southern empires; she knew the great city where two seas met which was the new Rome. No one carved figures like this.

Ketil had no magic in her bones, but she was, every day, a witness for the dead. And here they were speaking, pinned in a cave above Bal'harm, with its thousands of books and scholars and artists, its ruined Greek statues and its strange coins from Carthage and its memories of Rome when it was a young and angry goatherders republic and when it had god-kings and called an entire sea its own.

This, the Emirate of Siqilliya where Bal’harm had sat under different names for millenia was after all the first overseas conquest of Rome, was it not? So it made sense, in a way, that layers of people would go back and back here in its dry stone.

Then she realized what the figures in the center of the crowd of people were doing.

Sarai smiled, quick and sharp. Ketil stepped back.

“Who’s the prude now?” Sarai said.

Ketil didn’t bother to reply. She tipped her head back and really looked. They were supposed to be two men, going by the sharp little etched lines of their erections. The lines of their bodies were more tense than the other wavering curves of the figures around them. One was tied neck to ankles like a hog for the autumn slaughter, when families sent sons and daughters into the wild woods to round up the sows and hogs which had been left to wild forage for the long summer. The slaughter season was a time of chestnuts. Ketil could almost smell them roasting.

The bound man was being fucked, because of course he was, his cock hard and proud beneath him.

Ketil knew this feeling too, better than she knew chestnuts. She knew it in her belly, in the sweating palms of her hands. Sarai was standing behind her, and so still it was as if she was holding her breath. As if she could not stand behind Ketil and breathe and look at this.

When Sarai stepped to the side and spoke she sounded even rougher than before. You could almost pretend she was a man. “You always said that a soul looks different depending on the god,” she rasped, and it sounded like the beginning of one of her long theories.

Ketil didn’t know how this fit into the rock carving of the bound man, who was a joy or a sacrifice or something else. There was no way to know. Just like if she and Sarai died here suddenly in a rockfall, died here with their bones turning slowly to stone, no one would know anything about who they were or who they had once been to each other or why Ketil had gone back for her in this shitty cave. No one would ever know from their bones, and certainly not from the scraps of memory they might leave behind: Sarai bound books and Ketil sold them like cattle and no poet sung any story about them among the skalds of Jorvik or the ghazal writers of Ishbiliya or even in the lands east of Constantinople, where maybe someone should remember what it had been like, once, when they were young on the banks of the Black Sea. There was no memory here. It would be a rupture, a forgetting.

It did not matter, probably, that Ketil didn’t get it yet. Sarai had likely figured something out already.

Sarai said, “So the giant, or the elf, or the man— whatever we think he is. He killed Gudrun because we didn’t understand what was happening. It was foreign. We spend our lives being foreign, so we should’ve guessed that it was going to be different. His soul was different. His magic was different. No one remembers what it was like, except.” The cave wall loomed larger, somehow. “Maybe someone wrote it down.”

Ketil swallowed.

“I want to go meet the man,” Sarai said, confident now. “Gudrun went to go kill him and got herself killed, fuck. She was just a kid. We’re older now. We’re bigger now.” She met Ketil’s eyes. “So I think I should go meet the man.”

Ketil had been trying not to think about it: that whatever it was that had killed Gudrun was not gone.

“Most things can’t follow us over salt water,” Ketil said. “The man probably can’t.”

“I thought you said you have a responsibility,” Sarai said. Her voice was not kind, but it was a kindness: what Ketil felt was relief.

Ketil was silent. Then she said, quickly, “Something was done to him, I think.”

“Yep,” Sarai said, looking at the carving. “I think he was killed.”

“Not like that,” Ketil said, about the carving, the two men embraced. “He was hunted by… by someone with a bow and arrow. And he didn’t know what a bow and arrow was. To him it was like… elfshot.”

Sarai turned to her slowly, eyes bright. “Elfshot. What are elves, Ketil?”

Ketil sensed that this was rhetorical. She shrugged anyway and said, “They’re just elves, the same way bears are just bears. You sacrifice to them and hope they won’t throw invisible elfshot at you or your horses.”

“Hm,” Sarai said. “I need you to tie me up like that.” She laughed, dry in the echoing dark. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to fuck me.”

Ketil’s hands felt numb. She wished she did not know that they would be steady anyway. Her hands never shook when she thought they should be allowed to shake.

“Give me your belt,” Ketil said thickly, and Sarai undid the silver eagle clasp and slid it off her hips like nothing. When she handed it to Ketil, the sharp and ancient sword was still strapped there in its scabbard. “And pin me down.”

When Ketil still hesitated, Sarai said, “I’m no fool, you know. I know I haven’t got any magic in my hands. I’m not trying to do what Gudrun could do, what any of the kids could do. I’m just going to— remember, really hard. That’s not magic. That’s just— mind. A thought experiment, like when Ibn Sina wrote about the well in the Khitab al-Shifa. But I need to know what it feels like in order to remember it.”

I know what it feels like, Ketil thought, but could not say. Her calm hands raised the belt around Sarai’s throat.

#my fic #sarai and ketil #delete later #whumptober ‘23

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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p-artsypants · 2 years

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Most girls would be excited on their wedding day, but for Ariya, it felt like every other ball. Three hours of hair and makeup, and her trying her best to smile and not hurl any blades at anyone.

She wandered in the cloisters of the church, her dress gathered in her hands as she looked out to the snowy courtyard.

“The ceremony will be starting any moment,” Holly commented dutifully.

“Why does this feel so wrong?” Ariya asked.

The servant shrugged, putting her hands behind her back. “I could think of several reasons, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear any of them.”

Ariya glanced over, “you’re probably right about them too.” She dropped her skirts, defeat all over her face. “I have absolutely lost my mind, haven’t I?”

“Do you want a truthful answer?” Asked Holly, “because I’m not going to give it to you if you’re going to hit me.”

“I won’t hit you, I swear.”

“You have, without a doubt, gone off the deep-end.”

Ariya’s uncertainty didn’t sting so badly when she was able to give Hollynut a resounding slap to the arm.

“You’re insane! And you’re a liar!”

Ariya shook her head. “Well, there’s nothing to do about it now. I made such a big deal about how ‘I wouldn’t regret it’ to Stalwart...and now what?”

“Would you rather be marrying anyone else right now?”

“No, never. I...I guess this is the best option.”

“It’ll be fine.” Holly assured. “And, he turns off. If you do regret it, just don’t wind him up again.”

Ariya rolled her eyes. “I could, but that’s exactly what Stalwart wants me to do. He wants to see me regretful and bored of Freckles, and then he’ll send for Darven. No, I have to keep up appearances.”

“Freckles seems to really enjoy you and do exactly as you ask. All you have to do is have him run inane errands.”

“Like I do to you?”

Holly pursed her lips. “I didn’t realize my job was so mundane to you.”

“Only because you and Djali will get into mischief if I don’t keep you busy.”

“A fair assessment.”

The two girls heard the organ beginning to play. The congregation would be expecting her soon.

“Well, this is it.” Ariya whispered, mostly to herself.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Holly.”

—

She met Freckles in front of the great doors before the sanctuary. He cleaned up exceptionally well. His hair was slicked back and he wore the ceremonial clothing of a Prince. A black Hussar jacket with gold cord embellishments. A similarly embellished cape hung over his shoulders to his lower back, effectively hiding his key.

Her sham would be hidden from those in attendance, as long as they didn’t notice how sickly pale he was.

“My Lady, your dress is so pretty.” He beamed.

“I believe, ‘you look beautiful’ would be a more appropriate response,” Scottly suggested from his post.

“Oh, my apologies. You look beautiful.”

Ariya smiled at him. “You look rather dashing yourself and…I think my dress is pretty, too.”

He held his arm out to her, just as he had been instructed during rehearsal. As long as he remembered everything they covered, they would be in the clear.

The organ started the march, and the doors opened.

Damn Stalwart’s list of attendees, damn the weather for not being cold enough, and damn Freckles for looking around and smiling at everyone.

“Look forward,” she said through her teeth.

“Sorry,” he replied.

They approached the altar, luckily without any trips or falls.

Father Reginald nodded to them in greeting. “Who is to be married today?”

Though usually the groom went first, Ariya started, reminding Freckles how to do it. “I, Crown Princess Apollinariya of Halov, daughter of Prince Axel Cinderghast, have come to be married.”

“And I, Prince Freckles, of the house of Askeniv Leo Vladislavovich, have come to be married.”

Ariya breathed a tiny sigh. For many years, she had tripped over Leo’s full name, but Freckles rattled it off perfectly, like he had known the man forever.

“Then as God has brought together, let no man put asunder,” he closed his eyes for just a moment, giving a personal prayer, and continued. “Please join hands and present them.”

Freckles held his hand up, and Ariya grasped it tightly, but not entwining their fingers as many couples do.

Father Reginald took the long spool of bullion cord and held it up between them. “This gold cord represents the covenant thou now enter into. Though strong and earnest, without care, it can break. Marriage, as agreed to, is a new way of life thou must learn. Thou must continue to do what is best for the other, as well as thy country. Thou hast promised to keep.”

Ariya was not oblivious enough to not notice that Father Reginald was mostly delivering his sermon to her.

“Dost thou, Freckles, take Apollinariya to be thy wife and queen?”

“I do,” he said easily.

“Dost thou, Apollinariya, take Freckles to be thy husband and servant to the crown?”

She shuddered out a breath, but answered, “I do.”

Father Reginald held the cord up again. “Bless, O Lord, this cord, and grant that those who shall wear it may remain faithful to each other, and abide in thy peace and favor, and live together in love until their lives’ end. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” With that, he began to wrap their wrists with the cord, weaving over and under as he spoke. “Let us pray. O almighty Lord, and everlasting God, vouchsafe, we beseech thee, to direct, sanctify, and govern both our hearts and bodies, in the ways of thy laws, and in the works of thy commandments; that through thy most mighty protection, both here and ever, we may be preserved in body and soul; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Once the cord was tied, Father Reginald raised the fount of oil. He poured the oil over the cord, soaking the fabric. Then he took up a candle.

“This fire that melds the cords is that of tribulation. Like a smith in the forge, the flames can strengthen thy bond, or yield it under its oppressive heat. It is up to the beloved to see it prosper.”

The oil ignited and engulfed the cord, burning away the fabric and melted the metal within.

Freckles squeezed Ariya’s hand tighter as the flames climbed the golden threads until it fully engulfed their wrists.

It was painful, as it was supposed to be. Only the most devoted and serious would go through such a practice.

Once the flames died away, all that remained were two gold bands that were joined together, keeping their hands together. They’d have to keep from breaking them until midnight.

#boy toy #wedding #partsing #digital painting #fantasy #original fiction

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dreams-of-valeria · 1 year

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CHAPTER TWO

For the next hour or so, I couldn’t get that out of my mind. I struggled to come to grips in the beginning but by the end of my spiral, I had decided that it was just a sick joke. A man of his stature, assumingly, was embarrassed, obviously and wanted to teach me a lesson. He probably thought I’d show up exactly at 7 all eager and curious and get stood up like a chump.

Well, not this chump, pal.

And to be honest, I had forgotten about the entire ordeal come high tea time.

It was the busiest hour for the bakery, what with all the yoga classes, Pilates, and whatever health savvy the millennials of LA did these days ending. And Ava just happened to be on leave today. But I couldn’t blame her, her IBS was flaring up.

Although it wasn’t what I pictured when I was 10 years old and wanted to open a bakery of my own, Cleo's was IBS central. Sugar free, gluten free, locally sourced, organic, vegan, yada yada yada. Sure, it was healthy but at what cost?

Unfortunately, I was a slave to capitalism. Envision doesn’t pay the bills. You catered to the majority’s needs. And the majority of downtown LA just happened to be inane and couldn’t wait 5 extra fucking minutes for his matcha tea.

And to think, only 10,000 years ago we were hunters in unprocessed leopard skins. Times have changed. Kind of.

I really underestimated Ava’s quiet but formidable presence. Did she creep patrons off with her cold and off putting persona sometimes? Sure. But that girl moved the walnut cookies like it was nobody’s business. They tasted vile and bitter no matter how many changes I made to the batter, but something about having nuts in confections especially in the off season really seemed to cream their pants. Ironically, we served nothing with cream. Not real cream, at least.

And she gathered tips upto half the jar too. I didn’t know how she did it.

The tip jar today, however, was fittingly scraping the bottom. The bottommost dollar wouldn’t be useful anyway because of the remnants of chewing gum some poser thought it would be funny to drop in.

It was a good day financially, but it was kicking my ass. Drops of sweat pooled down my chest and at the dam of my bra. I hated not being sweat free but there was just so much moving around. The muffins on display weren’t structurally pleasing enough for an Instagram post so could I please check in the back? Usually, I didn’t mind it but I was just nitpicky today. The good news was that I could just sleep it off and not feel this way the next day, hopefully.

It’s not like there was much for me to do after work anyway. I just like the change of place. My therapist once told me it was something about how I wanted to control time, and I agree. Everyday I’m frustrated that after all the leaps we’ve made in technology we’re yet to conquer time. What were the kids at CalTech doing anyway? It was long overdue.

“I’ve been waiting for 20 minutes.”

I dragged my eyes away from the bills on the counter and at the man in front.

“I’m sorry sir, we’re a little short staff—“

It was him. The weird man from the café. Did he say he was waiting?

“Why didn’t you show up?” For some reason, all the apprehension I’d felt that noon was gone, and it was promptly replaced by scorn. Who did he think he was?

“Well I’ve been busy, as you can see,” I shrugged and directed my attention back to the receipts. Then something hit me. “Wait, how did you find me?” I asked, pointing at him with a coffee stirrer I used to pierce receipts.

“You’re a regular at the cafe. George told me where you worked,” he shifted his weight, and the line of sweaty yoga wear silhouettes peered over his shoulder. Fucking George.

“I take it you haven’t finished the book?”

“Mm hm.” I didn’t even look up, because I could feel matcha guy’s eyes burning holes into me. He was the only regular I despised. The rest were borderline tolerable. Why would I get into the business of people if I didn’t necessarily like said people, you ask? I romanticised the idea of baking too much to deal with logistics. Do what you love, right? I didn’t know if it even mattered, we were all going to be forgotten anyway.

Speaking of forgetting, on one hand I felt bad for dismissing him so abruptly, especially now that I knew it was not a setup, but I was restless and wanted as little distractions as possible, because I kept reading the receipt over and over and wasn’t able to process it for the life of me.

The shadow across the counter disappeared and I sighed in relief. I didn’t even have time to unravel why he was so invested in my book review. Did he mistaken me for a minor celebrity? He didn’t seem the type to be starstruck, though.

For real, why is anyone starstruck? What is it about celebrities that make people think they shit gold and lose their minds over it and want to get their signature? On strange body parts? It’s wild if you really think about it.

Focus!

Finally processing the words dozen and GF, SF blueberry muffins, I headed for the display, when I bumped into a wall.

It felt like a wall.

Then the wall grabbed me before I could fall flat on my arse. It was him. His face wore less of a scowl and more of disappointment as he steadied me by my arm.

“You take the cash register, I'll fill the orders?”

He asked, shrugging off the same charcoal suit jacket from noon.

“Huh?”

“I’m a bit rusty with registers so you take that?” He repeated, pulling one of the Holly green aprons over his crisp white shirt. The movement made his cologne seep into the air around me and, well.

“Sure,” I answered, utilising the stray bowl of words at the bottom of my brain that I kept aside for non-innovative conversations that didn’t necessarily require the maximum capacity of my cognition. Which were almost all of them. But the reason now was because I was flabbergasted.

He took the receipts from my hand after a curious glance at me, and dove right into them. I watched him package the goods with expertise, like he’d been doing it for years.

Why? What was happening? Who was this man?

Was I being pranked? Was this Ava? Because I wouldn’t use her pizza cookie idea?

“3 gooseberry muffins, please,” chirped a toned woman in fuchsia yoga pants, who then proceeded to quite obviously check him out. And he wasn’t helping, posing like a model. Seriously, who was this man?

But I was in no position to question help when it was available to me. However inexplicably. So I went along with it.

“Your hair’s a really pretty colour,” he said flatly. It wasn’t. But of course she fell for it. What hold did attractive humans hold over the mediocre that we trusted everything out of their mouths?

He had her giggling like a schoolgirl through her thank yous.

“I’ll tell you what, if you buy half a dozen muffins, I’ll throw in a pack of walnut cookies for free.”

Um what?

“Really?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell my boss though, I can’t afford to get fired right now,” he vagrantly pointed his head in my direction, before cracking a gorgeous smile. We met eyes for a brief second and then it was all gone. Why was he doing this again?

It truly baffled me. What could he possibly hope to gain from this?

The woman promised to keep it a secret as he filled her order, leaving him a large tip. How was he better at my job after 5 minutes? It had only been a few minutes in, but we already had a smooth system going like we’d been doing it forever. The line became decadent and the air of constant mellow conversation settled in.

It was then that we finally caught a breather, and he sidled up to the counter, resting his elbow on the display case.

“I don’t remember mentioning that offer to you,” I said in hopes of starting a conversation. I didn’t care for it, but it seemed like it needed to be addressed.

“I got her to spend more while simultaneously getting rid of the stuff no one wants.”

“How did you know no one wants them?”

“Because it’s walnut cookies,” he shrugged.

I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Just when I framed a sentence to ask him what the heck he was doing, he beat me to it.

“I don’t mean this offensively, but do you have anything here that’s not . . .”

“Healthy?”

“Yeah,” there was that grin again, but the floor got it this time. It was like he was going to make me work for it. And he didn’t even seem like he was trying. I already felt like I had to impress him for some reason. Was this daddy issues again? I really thought I’d gotten over the whole shebang a year ago.

I retrieved the muffins I baked for the rare customers who weren’t afraid of sugar or gluten from underneath the oven and offered him one. He gave it a once over, inhaled deeply and then took a bite.

I stood up straight. Why was I looking for his approval? I didn’t even know his name.

“Did you make this?”

I could only nod.

“It’s good.”

Did I cream my pants or was it just really hot?

“All of these as well?”

“Yep, that’s what it says on the sign outside,” I chuckled, vaguely bringing up my name in hopes that he would tell me his, shifting my feet. I didn’t want to ask him for some reason. I wanted him to tell me.

“I’ve never met a Cleopatra before.”

“I’m a Cleodora, actually.”

“Greek,” he nodded, sounding impressed. Another bite and the muffin was gone. I noticed how he didn’t speak with his mouth full. A cultured, well educated man who didn't say dude even once. Was he the prodigal son the masses speak of? Who would finally free us from the bondage of surfer dudes and palm trees and tiki torches?

“Your parents fans?”

“I think they just wanted a break from all the Kayleys with two y’s and all the other pretentious names. I’m grateful.”

“You should be, it’s a very pretty name,” he breathed and leaned his back to the counter now, arms folded. I didn’t read too much into the compliment. Not after he found standard brunette shade pretty.

“Thank you, what’s yours?” I had to give in. He wouldn’t budge.

“Kaydyn. With two y’s.”

Fuck.

“Oh,” I leaned away from the register and shifted awkwardly. Just couldn’t keep my mouth shut, huh?

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, finally gracing me with it this time. There was just so much going on that I couldn’t catch much of it. “I’m Atticus,” he said and brought his hand out for me to shake. It nearly engulfed mine. Oh, but it was so warm. I hated it when people had cold hands.

“Greek.” I commented, nodding like I was impressed myself.

“Nah, my parents were really into To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“I take it you’re a lawyer then?” I asked, idly billing a woman’s request for a chia seed tea. Why did I even make those?

“No, just a boring businessman.”

“How’s that classified?” I asked, walking to the filter. He followed me, keeping a respectful distance.

“What’s that?”

“The woman from lunch. You told her your job was classified.”

“Do you usually eavesdrop on private conversations?” He deftly raised an eyebrow.

I froze, my hand on the filter.

“No.” I sounded so guilty, but to my relief, he smiled again.

“I’m glad you did. The conversation was brain dead so I just stuck to answers that required no follow up hoping she’d get bored and leave. I have you to thank for that.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “I’ll have you know, I don’t usually listen in, she was just so loud that I couldn’t get through a sentence.”

“So loud, right?” he enunciated, and that made me giggle.

“An indirect vegan. And I thought LA couldn’t surprise me anymore.” I said, handing the drink to the woman with a smile. She tipped!

“That’s a terrible motto to live by.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s yours? Confuse strangers by demanding their book reviews?”

He was taken aback. Too on the nose?

“I can see how that was odd,” he shifted. “But I was intrigued by your take and wanted to hear more.”

“Why? There’s so many others out there with better takes.”

“But I’ve only come across you.”

I paused and looked at him. Oh?

“The women on Hinge aren’t as . . . sophisticated. No offence,” he added quickly with a hand up to show surrender.

“And you think this is sophisticated?” I asked, gesturing around my silly little bakery.

“Yes,” he said, and stepped closer. “And this.”

He leaned down and I wobbled. I parted my lips slightly, out of reflex, but he moved past me to retrieve the novel I kept underneath the register. If there is a God, please don’t let him have seen that.

“You annotate,” he commented, rifling through the pages. “You have no idea how uncommon that is.”

“You’re just looking on the wrong dating apps.”

He smiled. “Oh, I’m not looking to date at all.”

?????

“Oh,” I breathed like I understood and looked away, mostly to hide my face. He didn’t want to date? Was he looking to make friends on an app famously used to hook up? Well, that was fucking adorable while also decimating to my ego.

I kept a close eye on him after that. He helped me fill a few more orders until it was time to close.

“Ah, the satisfaction of a full day’s job. Nothing beats that.” He sighed whimsically and shrugged his jacket back on.

I chuckled regardless, turning off the ovens and putting my own coat on. “Have you worked retail before?”

Why was he still here? I mean I knew why but how bad did he want this? Was I about to get murdered? Not that I’d mind getting strangled by those hands.

What?

“A lifetime ago,” he replied. Was I getting non-follow up answers now? Sensing the disdain in voice, I wordlessly counted the day’s spoils.

He seemed hesitant, but waited until I was done counting.

“Well?”

I looked at him expectantly like I didn’t know what he was referencing. But again, he wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll be ready with my priced opinion tomorrow at noon.”

“Tomorrow? Why, what are you doing now?”

I knew I should have been insulted that he assumed I had nothing better to do, but for some reason I didn’t want to disappoint him.

“I have . . . stuff to do.”

He breathed shakily and said nothing for a minute. “Of course.”

“Only because you’d have to watch me read for a couple hours, that’s all.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugged, a grin playing at his lips.

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haootia · 2 years

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serious personal post. mobile still doesnt let you do readmores so sorry if this takes up ur dash

my grandmother just died after having a steep decline over the past ~month, she had c*v*d and a stroke in addition to congestive heart failure and other stuff. even still this is sooner than me or my mom were really expecting. she wasn't in the hospital, she was at home at the assisted living place. despite being the grandparent i was by far the closest to as a kid i'm not that torn up about it. because of c*v*d and other stuff i hadn't seen her in years despite her living literally like three minutes from our house, and she hadn't been herself since probably before her husband (not my biological grandfather) died in... 2019? i dunno. i'm bad with dates. anyway, it's kind of just. a thing that happened. i have a lot of complicated emotions about this but i'm not terribly sad, in fact i don't think i'm even mostly sad, i'm mostly just relieved that it was over relatively quickly. this is the first time a family member i really knew a lot about has died since my dad (almost exactly 9 years ago, btw--) as even though i'd known him as my grandpa my whole life, i didn't really interact with my grandma's husband's side of the family... my extended family is kind of complicated and i've really just stuck to my mom and her two siblings and their kids even though i technically have a lot of other cousins or half-cousins or whatever. what i'm trying to say is that i didn't know very much about my grandpa (stepgrandfather?) compared to my grandma, and it's just weird. it's just weird when someone dies. i think experiencing my dad's death as a kid changed the way i'm going to deal with death for the rest of my life. it's a lot less.. overwhelming, maybe is the word, and i find myself feeling very flat about the whole thing. she was born september 9, 1941, and she died today. i don't know what else there is to say.

on a technicality, i actually don't know if she died today or yesterday. it's 12:33 midnight on june 3 right now. my mom told me at ~12:05 after her sister called to tell her, and i don't know when the assisted living place called my aunt, or how long that was after she actually died. so it was either the very end of june 2, or the very first few minutes of june 3. i'm sure this is going to cause problems later with getting certificates and stuff. nothing makes you appreciate the inanity of government paperwork quite like living through someone else's dying.

somewhat ironically, this means my stepgrandmother (my maternal biological grandfather's wife) has now outlived all of my other grandparents, despite not actually being related to me by blood.

this post is mostly just a diary entry, honestly. i kinda just wanted to capture my thoughts in the moment. apologies for Being A Bummer On Main but well the medium of Posting is very convenient for writing down thoughts & feelings without being incredibly melodramatic about stuff. i doubt i'll make any more posts about this because again it hasn't really... changed anything about my life, in a practical sense, or an emotional one either tbh. just some casual memento mori. might make a song or something tomorrow to try and capture these abstract emotions, i dunno, i'm going to bed now like i intended to half an hour ago. goodnight.

#dont rb . in case it wasnt obvious.

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oldsalempost-blog · 3 months

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The Old Salem Post

Our Local Tamassee-Salem SC Area News each Monday except holidays Contact: [email protected] Distributed to local businesses, town hall, library. Volume 7 Issue 10 Week of February 12, 2024 https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/oldsalempost-blog Lynne Martin Publishing

EDITOR: Newcomers voice their concerns to me about the free rein of development in our beautiful county. Ripping and scarring the earth to place multiple cookie-cutter houses in the name of progress is inane that many buy in as truth. Truth is when destruction of our resources and way of life is damaged and extinct, we as homesteaders, farmers, and families will be left breathing the dust that developers leave in their wake. People have been leaving polluted cities for years. The answer is not to build more homes nor industry. The answer starts with each one of us who cares. “The Lorax” by Dr. Seuss written in 1971 is not a fable nor a children’s tale. It is a book that tells truth. And no one is listening. LRMartin

TOWN of SALEM: * Visit the Downtown Market every Sat, Winter hours 9am-1pm. * The Town Hall will be closed Presidents’ Day, Feb. 19. We have been gifted seed funds to repave Barksdale subdivision. Town Council meeting Feb. 20 at 5pm. Republican primary election polls on Feb. 24, 7am-7pm at the community building.

SALEM LIBRARY: Hours Monday 10am-6pm. Tues-Friday 9am-5pm. Closed 12-1 each day for lunch. Struggling with your technical device? Each Tuesday between 2-3 PM, bring your Kindle, iPad, smartphone, laptop, or other device and we will assist you to the best of our abilities. Availability is on a first-come, first-served basis. (Information from the oconeelibrary.org website).

Jottings from Miz Jeannie by Jeannie Barnwell The title of this "Jottings" is also the thesis (main idea). Aging is Compulsory, Gaining Common Sense is Optional Last week I registered at a Greenville hospital, a candidate for throat surgery. The population of the waiting room were the most down-trodden, sorry looking humans that I had ever observed. They slumped over as they waited to be called to go under the surgeon's scalpel. "This is my opportunity to perk up this group of pajama clad losers," Says I to Me. I banged at the registration window. "I need service here! I have driven ALL THE WAY FROM TAMASSEE, and I am eager for my SEX CHANGE OPERATION to commence!" The patients all leaned in and were no longer a bunch of lethargic losers. The receptionist ushered me to the Gender Reassignment Ward. "Hey, Just a darn minute! I was only kidding. I was trying to get a rise out of the other patients. Actually, I am extremely delighted with the female body parts assigned by my Maker!" "Calm down WOSTER. We understand your anxiety." "Why are you calling me WOSTER? My name is Jeannie BARNWELL. I live in Tamassee. You may have heard of me. I am well known for stopping 18 wheelers on Highway ELEVEN to rescue box turtles." " WOSTER” is an unoffensive appellation for gender-complicated patients. The WO is for woman, and the STER is for mister. Suddenly, the staff from the Ear. Nose & Throat Dept came to escort me for my panendoscopy (removing a polyp.) I left my polyp in Greenville, BUT gained a new-found respect for not cutting up and acting the fool in a HOSPITAL. Miz Jeannie loves All of Y'All!!!

ASHTON RECALLS: * I came across a Salem Graded School honor roll in a 1914 Keowee Courier. I thought perhaps some of today's residents might recognize some names.* by Ashton Hester

1914 SALEM SCHOOL HONOR ROLL - (The following story was in the February 4, 1914 Keowee Courier). . .Following is the honor roll of the Salem Graded School for the month beginning December 11, 1913, and closing January 16, 1914. . .First Grade--Columbus Rochester 97, Loyd Meroney 93, Donald Moss 93, Mattie Allen 92, Oscar Grant 92, Homer Moss 91, Janie Allen 91, Clara Nicholson 91, James Sloan 91, Mary Littleton 90. . .Second Grade--Newton Smith 98, Kerby Hunter 97, Elbert Haggerty 96, Ernest Rochester 95, Edith Pike 94, Waddie Anderson 91, Lester Abercrombie 91, Ollie Nicholson 90. . .Third Grade--Maggie Smith 100, Dewey Hunter 98, Mattie Grant 98, Pearl Pike 98, Lillian Grant 98, Jessie Mae Ward 97, John Moss 94, Ila Nicholson 93, Ola Hunter 92, Willie Grant 92, Donald Meroney 90. . .Fourth Grade--None. . .Fifth Grade--Hettie Green 94, Leora Smith 93, Aline Whitmire 91. . .The teachers are Mary E. Cobb, first and second grades, and Jessie Mae Martin, third, fourth and fifth grades.

JOCASSEE VALLEY BREWING COMPANY,(JVBC) & COFFEE SHOP* 13412 N Hwy 11 Open Wed–Sat 9am-9pm and Sunday 2pm-7pm. Events this week: Wed: Bring your own Vinyl, Valentine, & food and join us for a Vinyl Night of Love Songs. Thurs: TRAIL TALK at 6:00pm Bring your own food. Fri: Food: MAC ATTACK Music: ERIC CONGDON at 6:30pm Sat–Food: LOBSTER DOGS Music: JUSTYN FOX at 6:30pm *Featuring Pisgah Coffee Roasters and fresh brewed delicious coffee made to order. More information call 864-873-0048

2024 UPCOMING EVENTS

House of Raeford Farms Chicken Sale: You are encouraged to order before items sell out. But you must preorder online before Feb 29th ( Items could sell out before the cut off date). Pick up your fresh chicken on Saturday, March 2nd between 9am and 12pm. Type in House of Raeford Farms, Greenville, SC and scroll down to the preorder section. Choose Salem Location. Place your order and pay online. Do not forget to pick up your order!!

March 2nd, 2pm-5pm Second Annual Alumni Gathering 2pm-5pm Call your classmates to meet up! *March 23rd, 7pm Oconee Mountain Opry $10 * Change from the original published date*.

The Eagles Nest Treasure Store is open every Saturday morning 9am-12pm. We are accepting donations during that time or call 864-557-2462. Information on sponsorships, events, volunteering, donations, or rentals call 864-280-1258.

CHURCH NEWS Bethel Presbyterian Church (PCUSA), 580 Bethel Church Rd Walhalla, 29691, worship at 10:30 a.m. Feb. 18 Message by George Harper, Feb. 25 Message by Mel Davis.

Like us and listen to the service on Facebook: Bethelpresbyterianchurchwalhalla

Boones Creek Baptist Church, 264 Boones Creek Road, Salem invites you to join us for regular worship service on Sunday morning with Sunday School at 10am and followed by worship at 11am. Salem Methodist Church: 520 Church Street, Salem. 9am for breakfast, 9:30am for Sunday School, and 10:30am for Worship. You may tune in to our live service on Facebook or view it later on our website.

FREE TREES : Tree Giveaway at Shaver Complex in Seneca 2/23 from 12-2. Two free trees per household. Reserve online at www.treesupstate.org/freetrees. There will be another tree giveaway at the World of Energy on 3/23 from 9-11.

11th Annual BELLFEST 2024: FRIENDS OF LAKE JOCASSEE will host BellFest 2024 at Devils Fork State Park on Saturday, March 16 from 10am-3pm. Celebrate our rare Oconee Bell, Shortia galacifolia!

SC VENUE CRISIS: This is a real issue that will affect every small and large business due to increased insurance premiums ( 24%) to all venues who sell alcohol. Musicians, food trucks, and people on vacation will have fewer venues and restaurants to choose when businesses will have to close. There will be a rally Feb 20th at the State Capitol in Columbia to support legislation to help the venue crisis and hold individuals accountable for their own personal behavior.

Quote this week by someone you know: If money would save the world I would worry more about money. But I think only prayer will save this world. Keep praying! God hears! LRM

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xeter-group · 11 months

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I really wanted to start off this blog with some interesting math posts but it looks like its a vent instead. Sorry lol

Really having a crisis lately...for context I recently graduated from maths and went into a cs industry job and I'm HATING it. Its so fucking boring. I cannot express just how boring it is. I've spent hours at a time having literally nothing to do because the people I'm meant to report to are leaving me on read when I ask for work.

Every time I bring the fact that I'm bored out of my mind to a senior I get asked if I'm asking for work. Why the fuck is it my job to beg on my knees for work? The managers in my department were all fighting each other in an introductory meeting to try and convince the new hires their teams were more fun to be on and when I get in the teams NOBODY WANTS TO FUCKING TALK TO ME about what to do. And the few people in another team who do talk to me about this don't seem to have anything interesting for me to do.

This is exactly like my parents fucking custody disputes. So much talk about wanting my time and when I actually take them up on the offer EVERYONES BUSY ALL OF A SUDDEN. Theres even the neutral third arbitration party who I go to to tell who I'd rather spend time with.

I'm not at this job so I can learn about the inane details of our organisational structure. I want to actually learn demonstrable industry relevant skills. Skills that aren't obsoloted by a choice of vendor or organisational shift. Skills that someone can verify I have by asking me to do them infront of them, not just trusting me when I say I'm an "excellent communicator who led task x". But every task I'm being asked to do is some boring database/search query/automation task at BEST and document reading/ticket answering at worst.

I tried to explain to my manager I felt I wasn't having to use my brain at all at work and he didn't seem to get it. It always seems to take multiple explanations to anyone at this place to convey what I consider as interesting. l told a higher manager about my complaints and his bright idea was to have me do a task that was 70% talking to people from different teams. I don't want to manage a project or consult stakeholders or determine project scopes or manage peoples unrealisitic expectations. I want to learn and solve problems. New problems. Technical problems. I want to be critically thinking. Is this hard to understand? Why am I having to resort to reading math textbooks in my spare time and at work to remain sane? My job should be doing that.

I've wasted so much of my life not learning because of bullshit reasons. In primary school I complained to my mother that maths class was boring because I already knew what we were learning. I wanted to skip grades. She told me to stop learning and eventually everyone else would catch up. I had to take it into my own hands to learn what I wanted to. Then high school rolled around, and I was still being bored to death. We have to learn parabolas a fourth time, I was told, because everyone else had forgotten them again. No, I couldn't not learn that again. I had to relearn all the chemistry I'd already taught myself because assessment. No, you can't skip these because it wi affect your tertiary entrance scores. I wasted so much of high school fretting about USELESS shit like criteria sheets and university entrancr scores. When I got to university I was finally free to push myself. I had a blast. And then I go into the workforce and its like primary school again.

I don't think industry has the right kind of work. I think I can only be fulfilled in academia, but academia will pull me away from my home country and idk if I can handle that. It feels stupid to say this but it all essentially boils down to one friend (I'll call her J) I met in highschool. We are in a small tight knit friendship group that has been fairly constant since highschool and honestly I can't imagine living without J. I was interested in her in highschool and sort of expected in university I'd find a load of cool new friends and sort of just...didn't? Don't get me wrong I have a load of cool acquaintances (and one friend but I'm not looking to get closer than I am already) but I never made the step to be proper friends with them. So I've just been weirdly emotionally dependent on this one person. We are just friends and its very stable, she knows how I feel. I don't need any hope of a further relationship to continue feeling how I do. I derive way too much happiness from her but literally nobody else makes me as comfortable as J does.

You'd usually say that you'll make new friends or find someone new but in the past 8 years I literally haven't found anyone else whose company I enjoy as much, and I can totally see myself going another decade without bothering to really try and look for any friends to be this close to. I don't care enough about sex or relationships to bother meeting a hundred people who I don't like just to find one person who can take up even more of my already precious time. I've long accepted that I'd rather indefinitely continue being emotionally attached to J with no chance of a relationship than bother with trying to shift to someone else. Other people suck. So I'm just going to end up being alone if I go overseas, especially since I'm going to be moving like 6+ hours timezone difference away.

I've loved learning and STEM my entire life and I've given up so much for it. I don't know if I can give up my friends for it though.

#rant #long post #venting

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