#bodie state historic park | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xtruss · 7 months

Text

Native Tribe To Get Back Land 160 Years After Largest Mass Hanging In US History

Upper Sioux Agency state park in Minnesota, where bodies of those killed after US-Dakota war are buried, to be transferred

— Associated Press | Sunday 3 September, 2023

The Upper Sioux Agency State Park near Granite Falls, Minnesota. Photograph: Trisha Ahmed/AP

Golden prairies and winding rivers of a Minnesota state park also hold the secret burial sites of Dakota people who died as the United States failed to fulfill treaties with Native Americans more than a century ago. Now their descendants are getting the land back.

The state is taking the rare step of transferring the park with a fraught history back to a Dakota tribe, trying to make amends for events that led to a war and the largest mass hanging in US history.

“It’s a place of holocaust. Our people starved to death there,” said Kevin Jensvold, chairman of the Upper Sioux Community, a small tribe with about 550 members just outside the park.

The Upper Sioux Agency state park in south-western Minnesota spans a little more than 2 sq miles (about 5 sq km) and includes the ruins of a federal complex where officers withheld supplies from Dakota people, leading to starvation and deaths.

Decades of tension exploded into the US-Dakota war of 1862 between settler-colonists and a faction of Dakota people, according to the Minnesota Historical Society. After the US won the war, the government hanged more people than in any other execution in the nation. A memorial honors the 38 Dakota men killed in Mankato, 110 miles (177km) from the park.

Jensvold said he has spent 18 years asking the state to return the park to his tribe. He began when a tribal elder told him it was unjust Dakota people at the time needed to pay a state fee for each visit to the graves of their ancestors there.

Native American tribe in Maine buys back Island taken 160 years ago! The Passamaquoddy’s purchase of Pine Island for $355,000 is the latest in a series of successful ‘land back’ campaigns for indigenous people in the US. Pine Island. Photograph: Courtesy the writer, Alice Hutton. Friday 4 June, 2021

Lawmakers finally authorized the transfer this year when Democrats took control of the house, senate and governor’s office for the first time in nearly a decade, said State Senator Mary Kunesh, a Democrat and descendant of the Standing Rock Nation.

Tribes speaking out about injustices have helped more people understand how lands were taken and treaties were often not upheld, Kunesh said, adding that people seem more interested now in “doing the right thing and getting lands back to tribes”.

But the transfer also would mean fewer tourists and less money for the nearby town of Granite Falls, said Mayor Dave Smiglewski. He and other opponents say recreational land and historic sites should be publicly owned, not given to a few people, though lawmakers set aside funding for the state to buy land to replace losses in the transfer.

The park is dotted with hiking trails, campsites, picnic tables, fishing access, snowmobiling and horseback riding routes and tall grasses with wildflowers that dance in hot summer winds.

“People that want to make things right with history’s injustices are compelled often to support action like this without thinking about other ramifications,” Smiglewski said. “A number, if not a majority, of state parks have similar sacred meaning to Indigenous tribes. So where would it stop?”

In recent years, some tribes in the US, Canada and Australia have gotten their rights to ancestral lands restored with the growth of the Land Back movement, which seeks to return lands to Indigenous people.

‘It’s a powerful feeling’: the Indigenous American tribe helping to bring back buffalo 🦬! Matt Krupnick in Wolakota Buffalo Range, South Dakota. Sunday 20 February, 2022. The Wolakota Buffalo Range in South Dakota has swelled to 750 bison with a goal of reaching 1,200. Photograph: Matt Krupnick

A National Park has never been transferred from the US government to a tribal nation, but a handful are Co-managed with Tribes, including Grand Portage National Nonument in northern Minnesota, Canyon de Chelly National Monument in Arizona and Glacier Bay National Park in Alaska, Jenny Anzelmo-Sarles of the National Park Service said.

This will be the first time Minnesota transfers a state park to a Native American community, said Ann Pierce, director of Minnesota State Parks and trails at the natural resources department.

Minnesota’s transfer, expected to take years to finish, is tucked into several large bills covering several issues. The bills allocate more than $6m to facilitate the transfer by 2033. The money can be used to buy land with recreational opportunities and pay for appraisals, road and bridge demolition and other engineering.

Chris Swedzinski and Gary Dahms, the Republican lawmakers representing the portion of the state encompassing the park, declined through their aides to comment about their stances on the transfer.

— The Guardian USA

258 notes · View notes

doggone-devil · 2 months

Text

How (Not) to Summon a Demon: Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is here! After this, we're gonna start getting into some actual plot! I'm excited hehe Pairing: Alastor x fem!Reader No warnings today~ :3

As you step into your car, you shouldn’t be surprised when Alastor voices his recognition of the neighborhood. He notes how the streets have surely changed along with new houses, but some of the buildings were around when he was alive. He continues to make comments, telling you about how things use to be as you drive him around. It’s fascinating to hear, learning something new about your hometown. You feel like you’re getting to connect to the city better than most, having your very own historic tour guide.

Now that was a funny thought. Alastor becoming a tour guide. He would make a killing with how much he actually knew about New Orleans and its rich background.

“It’s such a shame,” Alastor states. You glance at him quickly before returning your eyes to the road.

“What is?”

“The thrill of the night, my dear. Such a wonderful experience of which you nor anyone born after my time will have.”

“What do you mean?”

Alastor shifts in the seat, facing you a bit more instead of looking out the window. “In the 1920s, alcohol was highly illegal. We had to sneak about into speakeasies just to get a taste of the night life.” You can tell he’s reminiscing and you start to feel bad for him. Dying so young, not able to live a full life, made room for regrets. No doubt he missed his era, the people he once new. Here you were, practically dangling his old life right in front of him and forcing him to see it’s no longer the same. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. Alastor looks at you with wide eyes, his smile almost gone if not for the very corners of his lips still slightly upturned.

“For what, my dear?”

“For,” you pause, taking a breath. How were you already about to cry? “For bringing up old memories. Reminding you of what you lost. I can’t image what that must feel like.” You manage another quick glance at him and he seems almost shocked.

He faces forward, quiet for a minute. “You’re quite the strange mortal, indeed,” he says, the smile back to stretching across his features. You frown.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Smile,” you answer. “You’re always smiling, even when I know you don’t want to.”

“What makes you think I don’t want to smile?” Alastor asks, slight offense in his tone. “My dear, you’re never fully dressed without one, as I always say!”

“Ok,” you shake your head, “but it’s not healthy to hold in other expressions. You should let them out. Frown, pout.” You make a face at him, exaggerating your bottom lip into a deep crease. Alastor coughs on a laugh, trying to bite it down.

“And be naked? Certainly not,” he states. You give up on the topic, changing it back to the city.

“So how does it feel, anyways? Being back?”

“New and yet somehow, still the same,” he says, looking out the window. “I’m not alive, like you, just taking on a physical enough form that’s tethered purely by our contract. I can’t feel the world like you are doing now.”

“I would love to say I understand, but I don’t.”

“Suppose you wouldn’t,” Alastor chuckles. “Being dead is very different than being alive, after all.”

“Did it hurt?” You didn’t mean to ask the question but it had been tugging at you in the back of your mind ever since the reality of demons and Hell became a thing for you. You put the car in neutral, parked in a random car lot. You don’t know when you two arrived there, but it was convenient as you could now fully face Alastor without having to pay attention to driving.

“It’s been so long, it’s hard to remember,” he speaks slowly. “From what I do know, no, it didn’t hurt. The fall did, though.” He shakes his head, body perking up as he looks around the car now. “Where are we, my dear?”

“Uh. Good question.” You look around to get your bearings. “Oh! Jackson Ave. There’s a nice place around the corner I like to eat at, actually.”

“Good thing I can eat cause I’m starved!” Alastor is already stepping out of the car. You go to open your door to get out, but Alastor tuts at you. “That won’t be allowed with me around, darling! Why, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t do this much?” Now, you blushed and couldn’t stop it.

“You’d be the only one.” You let him help you out of the car. “Shame to say it, but chivalry is dead.” You don’t miss the sound of a record scratch, the sudden noise piercing your ears and making you wince.

“Darling, as long as I exist, whether in life or afterlife, chivalry will never die. Now, come along! Take me to this highly praised establishment you seem fond of!”

“I wouldn’t call it highly praised,” you giggle, taking his offered arm as the two of you begin walking down the street. “But it is nice. I go here sometimes with Veronica.”

“Veronica,” Alastor repeats the name. “She’s the one we spoke to earlier, correct? Your roommate.”

“Yours now, too, but yes, that’s her.” You take the lead and move towards a short, rectangular building. It looks like it’s made of glass, a neon open sign hanging in one of the doors. You excitedly begin to drag Alastor inside, not noticing the way your hand grasps his when you let go of his arm. Once inside, you eagerly turn to see his expression and it nearly makes you giggle.

Alastor takes in the space around him and his eyes widen, smile strained.

“So? Whatcha think, old timer?” you ask and cover your mouth to hide your laugh when his eyes get even bigger, looking down at you.

“Firstly, never call me that again,” he says, lips tight. “Secondly, what is this place?”

“Welcome to Subway, what can I get started for you?” A worker speaks up before you do, smiling friendly as they wait for your order. You move closer to the counter, Alastor in tow.

“Hi! This is actually my friend’s first time so we might be a minute, I’m sorry,” you apologize. The worker seems thrilled, nodding their head.

“Of course! We’re excited to have you!” They must see Alastor’s clear confusion as they point to the menu above them. “As you can see, we have all sorts of subs such as the classic Philly cheesesteak but of course, we have loads of ingredients for you to make your own personalized sub if preferred.” Alastor glances down at you, still lost. You shake your head with a smile and start your order first.

“I’ll have a pizza sub, toasted and on Italian Herb please,” you say with ease. It’s a favorite of yours to get most of the time you come, able to enjoy both the convenience of a sub but the pleasure of a pizza. The worker starts your first, allowing you a chance to ask Alastor what he likes. “So, you a meat or veggie person?”

“Meat,” he answers quickly, his smile almost sinister. You slowly nod, eying the choices.

“Chicken or beef?”

“Beef.” He seems excited for a second, asking, “Do they have venison?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” you say, never hearing of someone eating venison with a sub, but then again, Alastor was from a different time. Maybe that was normal.

“A shame,” he hums, looking with you at the ingredients. The worker has yours done when they come back to get Alastor’s order. He still doesn’t know what to get so you decide to order for him, getting him a simple steak and cheese from the menu. You move down to checkout, pulling your phone out to pay, but Alastor is already placing the appropriate cash amount into the worker’s hand.

“Hey,” you protest but he stops you.

“Chivalry is alive and well,” he says and you roll your eyes. You two take your subs and walk over to an empty table. Alastor pulls out your chair before you can touch it and waits till you’ve seated before pushing it forward. You feel weird, being treated kindly like this. It makes your head spin as you remind yourself Alastor is a demon. Demons were suppose to be blood-thirsty, evil creatures hellbent on corruption and torture. Alastor was the furthest thing from those monsters you watched in horror movies. He was courteous, polite, and well mannered. It was enough to make your heart flutter which you did not like. Stupid heart.

Ignoring any more of those thoughts that tried to crawl through, you instead focused on eating, watching the way Alastor's expressions changed with every bite. The two of you finish up and leave. The warm air outside feels nice and you find yourself stretching, a yawn forcing itself out.

"Tired, my dear?" Alastor asks next to you. You check your phone. Since when did time start flying by so much?

"Yeah, getting there," you admit, "but I can still show you around?"

"Another time. For now, let's get you back home. Without adequate rest, how are you to come up with a wish?" he asks, offering his arm. Ah. The wish. Right. You take his arm and begin walking back to your car.

You hadn't thought of the wish, yet. Not because you didn't want to, really. You just couldn't seem to come up with anything and so far, you were enjoying Alastor's company. Sure Veronica was your friend and you loved spending time with her, but that time was becoming rare and few between as her work increased. She also seemed to be going to Josie's a bit more and that left you alone in the apartment, no one but yourself to be entertained by. Since Alastor appeared, you've not had a quiet moment and for that, you were surprisingly thankful. Did you really want to hurry and make that wish?

"Darling? You alright?" Your heart fluttered again, hearing Alastor call your name. It shouldn't flutter, it shouldn't be feeling anything regardless of how sweet his voice seemed to be when talking to you. He was a demon. You were just another soul for him to collect and nothing more. You shake your head, clearing any more stupid thoughts.

"Yeah, guess I'm just more tired than I realized," you answer, realizing you're already parked in your driveway. You must have autopilot here, as scary as that was. Turning the ignition off, you manage to exit the car before Alastor had a chance to get the door for you. You don't wait for him to join you as you unlock the front door and step in. He closes it behind you and you set your keys down, kicking off your shoes.

"I'm going to go ahead and go to bed. I'll, um, see you in the morning." You pause at your bedroom door, lingering for just a bit. You're tempted to say something more but swallow it down, closing your bedroom door.

You fall onto your bed with a sigh. It was frustrating, your heart. You'd just met the man - the demon, you remind yourself. You had summoned him, entered into a contract where your soul was the price. You couldn't allow yourself to do this all over again, to become attached to something you can't have. Surely you learned your lesson the last time your heart went through this.

Great.

Now you were thinking of him.

You roll over onto your side, not bothering with the blanket as you tuck your hands under your head. It had been a few years since you thought of him, the sight of his face unwelcomed as memories dragged forward. Pink skies, the smell of vanilla, and soft touches flood your mind, making your skin grow hot. You hate it. You don't want to remember, to be reminded of the pain that came after the charm. That's all he had been. Artificial charm laced with deceit and you had fallen for it. Stupid, stupid girl.

Fed up with your own head, you close your eyes and let the tired ache in your body consume you.

taglist: @i-like-potatoes12533, @girl-nahh-two, @mcntsee, @projectdreamwalker, @sassmasterxx, @alsemain, @yunimimii, @noraunor, @justneo11, @dragonlover123a, @falsemain, @ephemeralxv

comment to get added to the taglist and as always, feedback is welcomed! Thank you <3

Masterlist ... Ao3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #the radio demon #alastor hazbin #Alastor x You #Alastor x Reader #Alastor Fanfic #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fandom

71 notes · View notes

magicaguajiro · 5 months

Text

Swamp Witch Travels: Finding Sacred Space

Myakka River and Paynes Creek State Parks

As I dive deeper into my practice of bioregional animism, I look to parks for sacred space and places to connect with spirits of all kinds. In Florida we live in cities divided by nature preserves and swamps, and we are also incredibly blessed to have an amazing State Parks system. These parks offer us peaks into ecology and history of the Land that reveal to us some of Its Mysteries. Here are a few things I’ve learned as a Folk Witch.

Make an offering when entering. For ancestral reasons, I use tobacco. Use what you're guided to. Introduce yourself, your intentions, etc. Also, pick up trash and be respectful. Don't wander in places you don't know, or take things you don't have knowledge on. It’s usually best to practice Leave No Trace but when have Witches been known to follow rules… Do as ye will. But always ask and give something in return.

There are different spirits!

Trees, plants, rivers, hills and even entire forests and parks can have their own spirits. At parks like Myakka and Payne’s Creek, there are platforms you can climb for an aerial view of the park. This is a great place to connect with the Genus Loci of a place! (For more on Genus Loci, I recommend Folk Witchcraft by Roger J Horne) Some spirits will want to talk to you, some won’t. Respect their choices and don’t expect anyone to talk for free.

Protection is Key!

Protection is important for witches and animists. Many spirits and natural places are dangerous, for example some Rivers are known for drowning and can be seen as having a harsh and dangerous spirit. When protecting myself day to day I wear spiritual jewelry from my Cuban traditions. Shark and gator teeth serve as great protection from water spirits and in general. My spiral shell ring is protective and I often use it in ritual. Bodies of water are also great places to bless things and hold rituals of cleansing and power! Not only spiritual protection, but physical protection is needed as well. In these swamps, we have gators, sharks, panthers, bobcats, bears, snakes, PEOPLE and even more things that would gladly expedite your role in the food chain. I’m not saying be afraid of animals, rather have respect and recognize you are in their domain. Carry bear spray, don’t wander too far off known trails, and be careful of other people.

I once heard a saying, the Swamp knows everything about death, and doesn’t consider it a tragedy.

Enjoy the Scenery, and Learn!

Take it all in and take your time! If you need to escape heat and mosquitos check out the visitor centers and gift shops! I justify spending a bit too much here on considering it an offering to the Land. Try talking to the people who work here or making friends! This is a great way to learn Folklore and secret places to explore.

On Remembering Ancestors of the Land

In working with the Land, you must honor the Ancestors of the Land. These are the spirits of all the people who lived on the Land before you. For me, this begins with my Ancestors and the other Indigenous groups of the area. In Florida, the tribes who remain today are the Seminole and Mikasuki. We should look to Indigenous tribes for wisdom on how to approach and respect the Land, but that doesn’t mean read online about it and go appropriate it. It means go and actually talk to real life people. You can and certainly should also honor other people, including any folk saints or historical figures who may serve as tutelary spirits or otherwise.

And always remember to say Fuck the Colonizers!

Happy Witching Friends, May the Dry Season bring us all Renewal!

#witchcraft #florida #bruja #brujeria #witch #bioregional animism #florida witch #santeria #swamp witch #traditional witchcraft #espiritismo #taino #taino spirituality #atabey #folk magic #folkloric witch #folk witchcraft #folk witch

101 notes · View notes

afeelgoodblog · 1 year

Text

These are The Best News of Last Week

1. Brazil’s new president Lula vows to halt Deforestation.

For many Brazilians, Bolsonaro’s defeat represents a rejection of the explicit anti-Indigenous, anti-environmental agenda he enacted while in office.

Lula has promised to update Brazil’s climate goals to steer the country back in line with the Paris Agreement. He has also committed to a list of climate proposals put forth by Marina Silva, the most prominent environmental activist in Brazil who served as his former environment minister. In his first speech as president-elect late Sunday night, he reiterated his strong support for zero deforestation in the Amazon. “Brazil is ready to resume its leading role in the fight against the climate crisis”

2. All-terrain wheelchairs arrive at U.S. parks: ‘This is life-changing’

For anyone who has to use a wheelchair, the state says it will soon be easier to be able to enjoy several parks, historic sites and wildlife centers because these locations will provide free all-terrain wheelchairs.

The Georgia Department of Natural Resources said it has partnered with the Aimee Copeland Foundation to provide high-mobility, all-terrain track wheelchairs at 10 different locations across the state. DNR said the initiative “encourages those with mobility impairments to reconnect with nature, explore nature trails, go fishing and attend adaptive hunts.”

3. Electricity-generating windows? Swiss scientists design more efficient transparent solar panels

All that natural light flowing through your windows may one day do much more than brighten your mood. Scientists in Switzerland have reached a new efficiency record for transparent solar cells, paving the way for electricity-generating windows that could help power our homes and devices.

Also known as Grätzel cells, dye-sensitised solar cells (DSCs) are a type of low-cost solar cell that use photosensitised dye attached to the surface of a semiconductor to convert visible light into energy.

4. In France all new large parking lots must now be covered in solar panels starting in july 2023

The new provisions are part of French president Emmanuel Macron’s large-scale plan to heavily invest in renewables, which aims to multiply by 10 the amount of solar energy produced in the country, and to double the power from land-based wind farms.

Starting July 1, 2023, smaller carparks that have between 80 and 400 spaces will have five years to be in compliance with the new measures. Carparks with more than 400 spaces have a shorter timeline: They will need to comply with the new measures within three years of this date, and at least half of the surface area of the parking lot will need to be covered in solar panels.

5. Car horns replace gunfire as Ukraine’s troops return to jubilant Kherson

Ukrainian soldiers swept into the southern city of Kherson on Friday, seizing a major symbolic and strategic prize from the retreating Russian army and dealing a bitter blow to President Vladimir V. Putin.

Just weeks after Mr. Putin declared the Kherson region a part of Russia forever, his troops were forced to abandon its capital city, their third major retreat in the war. The setback further dented the once-formidable reputation of an army that has mismanaged logistics and sent unprepared and unmotivated soldiers into battle.

Jubilant crowds poured into the streets, greeting Ukrainian soldiers and waving flags

6. Lab-grown blood given to people in world-first clinical trial

Tiny amounts — equivalent to a couple of spoonfuls — are being tested to see how it performs inside the body. The bulk of blood transfusions will always rely on people regularly rolling up their sleeve to donate.

But the ultimate goal is to manufacture vital, but ultra-rare, blood groups that are hard to get hold of. These are necessary for people who depend on regular blood transfusions for conditions such as sickle cell anaemia.

7. A pod of dolphins got stuck in the mud at low tide — here’s how a N.S. community saved them

According to the Digby Fire Department, there were 16 Atlantic white-sided dolphins, of various sizes, stranded. People of all ages rushed to the scene in Digby on the afternoon of Nov. 4 after it was discovered that 16 dolphins were stranded in the mudflats of an area known as The Joggins.

“We are happy to report that all 16 dolphins eventually were ushered into the water,” the department posted on its Facebook page late in the afternoon. “We are hopeful once the tide keeps rising, they will safely make their way back out to sea.”

- - -

That’s it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Have a great week ahead :)

#best news of last week

523 notes · View notes

telemi · 2 years

Text

εїз ﹢🥂 𓂂 genshin men as story genres ! ( 100% )

𓂅 ！“juliet to your romeo, how i heard you say”

꒰ featuring ! ꒱ diluc, zhongli, childe, thoma, kaeya, heizou, dottore ?!

꒰ cw ! ꒱ vampire au (diluc’s part), mentions of blood, rex incognito official lore (only slight mentions), reader was harassed (zhongli’s part), historical au (zhongli’s part), mcd (zhongli’s part), heavy angst (zhongli’s part), very introverted reader (heizou’s part) ?!

꒰ a/n ! ꒱ TYSM FOR 400!! >< special thanks to my moots mwah mwah ily /p <33

vampire au // DILUC

he’s a vampire who has lived for hundreds of years. only recently have their clan ordained that they should stop drinking blood forcefully, one must receive the permission of a human possibly through a contract — verbal or written, or in common cases, through gaining their trust. he is not adept in loving someone, he tried contracts upon contracts but all the humans scramble away from him in fear. he needs a human, a blood supply or whatever, to drink blood from otherwise he’ll die. now on the brink of death, he stumbles across a college student which is you.

stressed and burdened from university, you find yourself sitting in an empty park with a strange man by your side. truth is, you left your apartment because of a shitty roommate who kept complaining because you didn’t clean her room. yeah that’s right, she treats you like a servant. you and her were at odds since before but this was the last straw. the last thing you would do is go back to that hellish apartment and stay with her.

“you,” he starts, voice husky and dry. “yes?” you reply, heart beating violently against your chest because of the steady silence of the place. “do you want to sign a contract with me?” he asks in such a serious tone that you refuse to believe that he was joking. “oh, ah, i’m afraid i have pressing matters to attend to rather than taking a job. thank you for the offer though.” you chuckle nervously, shifting your eyes to a much clearer view of the man beside you. he wears clothes that are all black, his hair is messy, and his peculiar eye color. his crimson-stained eyes makes eye contact with you and you involuntarily shudder with a sense of fear.

“i don’t mean a job,” he sighs, his gaze turning away. “i can help you, i can pay for your needs or find you a place to stay, just — please, help me.” he begs you with a trembling voice and you think about it for a second. “okay, i’ll help.” his ears perk up at your answer and you continue. “but only for a year. next year, on new year’s eve, this—” referring to you and him, “should end.”

“deal.”

right person, wrong time // ZHONGLI

you met the said man when you were nineteen. he was dressed simply in a brown attire, it wasn’t exactly made with the finest material and it looked old and tattered. in the eyes of everyone, he seemed like a poor commoner struggling to make ends meet. though you two were merely strangers, he came by your side when your superior harassed you uncontrollably without a stop. ever since then, you’ve started being friends and you will not lie, but being with him gives you a big sense of relief and comfort. as time flies by, you get to know that he has a lot of secrets to hide and even though you do have a lot to share, there’s one thing that you will never reveal to him — the fact that you’re terminally ill.

only then when he stopped by your house and saw you coughing up blood does he realize what the true state of your health is.

he would offer to help you again — give you his jewelries to sell, give you mora, pray to celestia—! but in all honesty, he knows it was all to no avail. this is the unfortunate truth of the world, you were a mortal and he was a god. saving you was far from possible but... why is it that his heart aches so much as he clasps your hands in his, kissing your forehead and begging anyone— everyone! not to take you away from him. you were nearing death and all he could do was kneel against your frail body and take whatever there is left of your presence.

your lifeless eyes look at him one last time as you smile weakly against his trembling fingers.

“i love you.”

and he vows that in your next life, he’ll tell you everything — morax, liyue, everything. for he is the sole survivor of the love that you shared with him.

childhood friends to lovers + slight enemies to lovers // CHILDE, THOMA

you and him were the best of friends, like two peas in a pod. as a child, you two were inseparable. that is until he suddenly moves out of town and leaves nothing for you to find — a letter, a text, nothing. he left you without a word and deep hatred stemmed from within your heart, and you were sure to remember that feeling for years to come. years passed ever since then and now you were in college, you moved into the capital city of your country since that was where your university resides.

only when you enter the building of the said university, do you see a guy who’s VERY familiar. you squint, trying to figure out who that is and there it is — that cheeky smile you’ve known ever since your childhood. you weren’t sure how to approach him, but one thing you’re sure about is the fact that you need to confront him about something — the reason why he left you without a word.

forbidden love w/ a criminal // DOTTORE

you were from a noble family in teyvat, while he works as a researcher for the fatui. your family doesn’t approve of him, i mean have you seen him???? 1.) he lacks basic manners (apparently :sighs:) and 2.) they say that he doesn’t deserve you at all! but you think otherwise.

no matter how much you beg your parents to accept him, they just wouldn’t budge. so he proposes the idea to elope, and you complied very easily. that night you left your home, your status, and your family. wearing a black cloak you see him atop of a horse, he notices your presence and picks you up as you both run away from your manor. finally, you’re out of that constrained life of yours.

a love accident..?? // HEIZOU, KAEYA

he was deeply in love with your sister. she was a natural cheery girl, whilst you were a quiet person who doesn’t like interacting with people that much. but the thing is, your sister doesn’t like him back, so he comes up with a strange plan that is sure to work. he goes into a witch’s shop, purchasing a small but effective love potion that needed to be dropped on your sister’s tea.

surely enough, the three of you had tea together and he drops the mixture as expected. what he and you didn’t know, was that you were the one who took a sip of the spiked tea. he was in disbelief when you suddenly cling to him and say a lavish amount of ‘i love you’s’ and ‘marry me’s’ that your sister squealed in excitement. that evening, she says that you and heizou are very in love and that you two are ‘planning for a marriage’ to happen — and your parents are more than delighted to arrange your engagement with him.

there, within a single night, you get betrothed to him. and now he’s freaking out because everyone believes that you two are passionate lovers when in reality, this is all because of his stupid mistake! just how is he going to live like this, how is he going to live with you?

🏷️ — ( taglist ) : @kujuo, @yonaraee, @modmochi, @thirtyn1ne, @elizabethrosedarling, @nxwxie, @deathkat657, @kazu-topia, @starfellforyou (refer to this post if you want to be tagged in my future works)

935 notes · View notes

familyabolisher · 11 months

Text

In 1937, urban planners debated turning Tel Aviv into a ‘Riviera city’ in a proposal called the Grunblatt scheme, which is reminiscent of Le Corbusier’s unrealised 1933 Plan Obus to demolish the Cape of Algiers and construct an elevated highway along its coastline. Today, many of the Palestinian beaches belong to private developers and hotels. This is part of a longstanding policy of effacement, whereby Palestinian scenes of dispossession become sites of Zionist leisure. After the massacre of residents in al-Tantura (occupied May 22–23, 1948; population of 1,500) in 1948, the Palestinian population was driven out. A mass grave of several dozen bodies remains, and today it lies under the parking lot of Dor beach, near Haifa. These processes are not unique to Palestine, architecture and redevelopment play essential roles in the construction of a revisionist urban coloniality. Both Tel Aviv and Algiers were given the moniker ‘White City’.

But Tel Aviv is not particularly white. Off-white maybe, mostly grey. Sharon Rotbard’s WHITE CITY, BLACK CITY (2015) examines the Bauhaus style that is the city’s pride. The Ashkenazi elite of Tel Aviv sought refuge in the ‘values of order and rationality’, she explains, against ‘the amorphous black chaos’ of the present. ‘It enabled many Tel Avivians to conduct wealthy bourgeois lifestyles, and at the same time to expose a socialist and progressive façade, to take solace in the assurance that while their city was clearly grey and faded, it was actually white and clean; that although it was no more than a provincial Western outpost, it was as international as the International Style; and that although it was modern, it was historic.’

The early essays about the local International Style in HA’IR and HA’ARETZ newspapers praised it as neither historic nor revolutionary, but as a sensible innovation, emphasising ‘usability, economy, modesty, cleanliness’. Tel Aviv’s Bauhaus represents the aestheticisation of sterility, which was the style’s original function, in a clear through line from the sanatorium that helped to popularise it. The export of this architecture to the colonies held the promise of ridding the cities of their distinct character, of curing the tropics of their diseases.

These architectures, then, reinforce a psychogeography of ‘cleanliness’. In light of the increasing visibility and political power of the messianic-Zionist bloc in the Israeli governing coalition (Benjamin Netanyahu’s Likud alongside the Hasidic political parties United Torah Judaism and Shas), the re-emphasis of Tel Aviv’s White City’s heritage serves as a coping strategy of sorts for Tel Aviv’s settlers in particular. It allows them to self-narrate as ‘liberal’ and to separate themselves from an unwashed ‘Other Israel’, supporting the story that Tel Aviv’s relationship to the rest of the state is of a cosmopolitan vestigial organ. This is romantic, but untrue. While the fanatical settler foot soldiers that roam the frontier are perhaps the most visible parts of the Israeli project, a quieter enemy remains at work – the state’s bureaucratic violences, dressed as system planners and administrators. Tel Aviv’s ghouls in their windowless offices stare at population registries of Palestinians, a blinking red button in front of them, adding to their press releases a Biblical or archaeological citation to camouflage the ethnic cleansing.

#currently reading #palestine

152 notes · View notes

allwaswell16 · 5 months

Text

A fic rec of One Direction fics with a murder mystery that has similar vibes to the tv series Only Murders in the Building as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

🩸 Drops of Jupiter by @itsmotivatingcara

(M, 121k, occult) But what happens when a string of break-ins leads to a brutal attack, and the towns' darling is murdered right under their Sunday hats? A murder that just so happens to bear the same modus operandi as similar homicides in neighbouring states. Has the killer been circling Virginia, or is he a local of Lavender Hills?

🩸 Victorian Boy by audreyhheart

(E, 101k, historical) When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

🩸 If these walls could talk by louislittlesuns

(M, 94k, Canada) Harry and inspector Tomlinson get caught in a frantic race against time to solve the murder and stop rumours from spreading.

🩸 Baby, I think we might be too cold to float by @forreveries

(M, 81k, exes to lovers) Harry is a journalist that goes to Lake Tekapo, New Zealand, to look into a girl’s disappearance after a year of no movement from police. What he finds instead is his ex boyfriend Louis, who, six years earlier, ghosted him after five months of dating in university. A story of trauma, secrets, and the power of finally letting people in.

🩸 saw some things on the other side by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 61k, soulmates) Unfortunately, Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

🩸 Sinister by ModestlyHomo

(E, 54k, dark) Louis Tomlinson, head psychiatrist of Violet Quarters Mental Rehabilitation Center is faced with the most difficult case of mental instability his career has ever given him.

🩸 A Study in Love (series) by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(M, 52k, Sherlock au) He is rarely perplexed, mistaken, or wrong, and obviously, Louis is never ever surprised. And yet, his new flatmate after a very long string of failed ones has Louis questioning how he ever did any of it without him.

🩸 knives don't have your back by @turnyourankle

(M, 51k, uni) The lone survivor of an on campus massacre that claimed the lives of his four housemates, Harry is urged to take a sabbatical or transfer. Instead, he chooses to stay in school, move into the dorms, and overcome his fears.

🩸 Whispers in the Trees by hazzayoudoing

(M, 51k, boarding school) an AU in which Louis and Harry witness a murder on the pristine campus of Wellington Academy, their posh boarding school. They band up with their friends and family members to attempt to solve the whole thing—since the murderer has decided to target them next.

🩸 Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, the Hamptons) Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

🩸 What Happened to 'Never Say Die'? by kiddle / @bluejeanlouis

(T, 28k, thriller) a coming of age American AU inspired by classic ‘80s movies like The Goonies and Stand By Me where everyone has a secret and no one wants to get caught.

🩸 There's No Antidote For This Curse by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(T, 26k, historical) They haven't seen each other for years, but when bodies start showing up in Central Park, Louis travels to New York to cover the story. The two work together to uncover the killer, and uncover a few other secrets along the way.

🩸 Catching a Partner by @berzerkshires

(M, 24k, documentary) Harry is the latest victim who survived an attempted murder and is sent to live at a safe house with Detective Tomlinson as the killer is still at large.

🩸 And then there was love by @sweariwouldnt

(NR, 23k, Murder She Wrote au) A crime story in which Louis makes ridiculous jokes about Harry's bum and loves Ben Winston's dog; where Harry blushes and may or may not be dark!Harry under the dimples and curls; where the world-famous author sleuth Jessica Fletcher joins One Direction to their music video set.

🩸 Windsor Peaks by aace1234

(NR, 23k, age difference) Louis life was going well, he was happy, until two detectives from London turn up. Harry Styles and Scott Wolf are investigating a string of murders and a car accident that lead them to straight to Louis and his past.

🩸 Wait For Me To Come Home by twoshipstiedup

(M, 15k, NYC) Some people meet in line at the grocery store on a Sunday afternoon, others use social media and technology to find their match. Sometimes, it's the old fashioned way through mutual friends at a dinner party. For Harry and Louis, it was a hot summer's day on a crime scene.

—Rare Pairs—

🩸 Be Still by thisonegoes

(E, 150k, Zayn/Harry) Zayn hears the telltale sound of stretcher wheels bouncing up over a weather strip. A tech backs out of the door first, as both Zayn and Harry turn to watch.

🩸 your crimes are quiet, my love by lightswoodmagic / @lightwoodsmagic

(E, 97k, Zayn/Liam) A darker Miss Congeniality AU that follows Zayn and Liam, MI5 agents, partners since training and best friends, as they race to stop a serial killer.

#ficrec #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #1dsource #hltracks #ficsfor4am #categoryrecs

60 notes · View notes

waywardrose · 8 months

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 18

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

4.7k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Trigger warning for Jason Carver.

“Do you know a Chrissy Cunningham?” your father asked, filling his mug at the kitchen counter.

You paused in the doorway with a frown. The kitchen TV was off. Mom buttered toast instead of making pancakes or waffles for breakfast.

“Yeah…?” You glanced at the calendar to confirm it was Sunday. “We have Western Lit together.”

Mom set a plate of crispy bacon at the center of the table before fetching a section of the newspaper. She brought it to you, a furrow of worry between her brows. You took the section to read:

CHEERLEADER MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD A Hawkins High cheerleader was heinously murdered on Friday night by parties unknown. Christina “Chrissy” Elizabeth Cunningham, 17, class of 1986, suffered from fatal internal bleeding and multiple bone fractures in a trailer in the Forest Hills neighborhood of Hawkins, according to reports. There were no witnesses to the crime. However, the trailer owner has been cleared of any wrongdoing. “There is an evil here,” said Laura Cunningham, the victim’s mother. “It’s been growing and infiltrating this good Christian town.” The cheerleader had been beloved by teacher and student alike. Her father, Phillip Cunningham, said, “There was no reason for anyone to hurt our little girl. Chrissy was a sweet girl with a bright future.” Neighbors in Forest Hills are horrified. A resident who wished to remain anonymous said, “It’s that heavy metal garbage. It opens the gates for Satan. [It’s] real scary [stuff]. Kids these days blast it all hours of the day and night. That’s got to have consequences.” Responding officers have yet to locate the perpetrators. “Deputies are working with state law enforcement to collect evidence and statements concerning this case,” the Roane County Sheriff’s Department said. Cunningham was well known in her community and had a kind word for everyone. She volunteered at First Church of Hawkins and the Roane County Animal CARE Humane Society. As head of the Hawkins High Cheer Squad, she always participated in school fundraisers. Hawkins High principal, Paul Higgins, called Cunningham an “exemplary student and person,” and said her murder was a tragedy. “I think I speak for my staff and our pupils when I say Chrissy will be deeply mourned. Our hearts are with her family.” Hawkins High will hold a memorial assembly when classes resume March 31st. Forest Hills’ sign has been piled with flowers and other mementos since the murder. A Hawkins High student said Cunningham was “a tender-hearted girl and the most supportive friend anyone could ask for.” If you have any information which can help the case, please contact the Roane County Sheriff’s Department.

Your mouth went gummy as you finished reading. Now that Chrissy’s murder was in the paper and on the news, everyone would be scrutinizing the residents of the trailer park. The mention of heavy metal wouldn’t work in Eddie’s favor, either.

You’d called the Munson’s trailer earlier, but the call wouldn’t go through.

Mom stepped aside as you shuffled to the kitchen table. You flopped into the first chair you came to and skimmed the article. Chrissy Cunningham, a shoo-in for prom queen, died at Eddie’s place while Wayne was at work. It had been just the two of them.

What had she been doing there? Buying drugs? The cheerleader who volunteered at church buying drugs?

You looked at the grainy version of Chrissy’s senior-year portrait and questioned if anyone had known her at all.

Still, her buying drugs sounded wrong in your head.

Had Jason put her up to that? Was she the go-between? Jason barely tolerated Eddie, but the basketball team was sure to have partied hard after the game. Maybe he’d sent her to buy some pot or whatever.

That made no sense, though. You saw the same footage again on the news before Saturday Night Live. There’d only been Wayne’s truck in front of the Munson’s. Also, Chrissy didn’t have a car. She might have a license, though. If she’d borrowed a car, it would’ve still been there. Unless there had been a third party…

Then Eddie could’ve come home from Hellfire, found Chrissy’s body, and ran.

But why would someone want to kill Chrissy? And frame Eddie for it?

“—okay?”

“What?” you asked, shaking your head and looking from the newspaper. “Sorry.”

“You okay, sweetie?” asked Mom.

“Um… Yeah, just…”

You didn’t know how to end that sentence.

“We don’t have to do anything today.” She sat next to you and placed a gentle hand on your forearm. “Take the day, if you want.”

“No, it’s… I’m okay. It’s a shock, is all.”

Your father sat, mug in hand, and remained quiet. For once, he looked sympathetic.

Mom studied your face for a second before nodding.

“Okay, but there’s no pressure.”

You attempted a grin, but failed.

“Thanks.”

She gave your arm an affectionate squeeze before returning to the toaster. Your father remained quiet and snuck a piece of bacon. You stared at the article, still wondering why Chrissy had been at Eddie’s.

A terrible thought arose that had you heading for the powder room.

What if she’d been there because she and Eddie were involved? What if you were the side piece?

You shut the door, flipped the light-switch, and sat on the closed toilet lid. Your breath wouldn’t deepen. It stayed right under your throat. You stared at the blurring ceiling and willed your chest to loosen.

They could make sense as a couple in The Breakfast Club kind of way. Maybe that was why Eddie antagonized the jocks: because one of them had claimed his girl. Maybe during his drug runs he stopped by Chrissy’s…

Then you remembered New Year’s when he said he’d give you everything, that he was trying to give you everything. He’d said he wanted to be good enough for you. His expression had been sincere — too sincere for a lie. He might be a good DM and storyteller, but he wasn’t a liar. Not like that.

You breathed deep and exhaled. There was no place for doubt at a time like this. Eddie was innocent — and he’d never given you a reason to distrust him.

A soft knock at the door interrupted your meltdown.

“Breakfast is ready,” said Mom through the door.

After breakfast, you changed clothes and hauled the galvanized planters Mom had purchased yesterday to flank the front door. You felt a little smug about how good they looked despite the overcast sky. Once you filled the planter with gravel and soil and the bushy lavender, they would look even better.

As you carted the supplies you needed, you thought of The Veil of Undeath spell from last night. It called for dead pieces of a living thing. You couldn’t make sense of what had dead pieces yet remained alive. Not even the incantation clarified.

Dead from the living Dust from the dead I consume like the worm I keep the grave by my heart As I exhale this last breath, I accept the embrace from Death

Naturally, the instructions weren’t much help, either.

The practitioner is to gather graveyard dirt and two dead portions of a living thing. One part to accompany graveyard dirt, the other to ingest. Place graveyard dirt and one dead portion in receptacle to keep on person. Keep living thing alive to maintain charm. Daily consumption is unnecessary.

You understood the spell was centuries old. Also, the book had been written almost a hundred years ago. Some spells you’d read were so heavily coded, you needed a reference book to understand them.

It was times like these you wanted to translate everything in modern language. That was what your personal journal was for. Of course, the danger of translating and making it public was: 1. getting it wrong, 2. harm coming to those who used your spells, and 3. exposing yourself as a witch.

None of that solved your current predicament. You needed to figure out the spell before tonight.

Just then, a shiny black Jeep pulled onto the driveway. You straightened and dusted your work gloves on your legs. The Jeep looked familiar. Your suspicions were confirmed when none other than Jason Carver climbed out of the vehicle.

You stepped onto the front path as he crossed the grass. He was picture perfect in crisp khakis, a spotless polo shirt, and a letterman jacket.

“Good morning,” he said, amicable yet serious.

“Morning.”

You glanced at the Jeep to see multiple silhouettes. Something about him and his buddies waiting in the car had you on high-alert.

Trying kindness first, you said, “I’m sorry about Chrissy. I just read about it in the paper.”

He nodded with a reserved ‘thank you.’

“Is there—”

“You’re Eddie’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I occasionally talk to him in class.”

His eyes narrowed as his head tilted. Condescension suffused his appearance, raising your hackles.

“Yeah,” he said. “I heard it’s more than that.”

You snorted. “Or you’ve imagined it is?”

He moved closer as if to intimidate the answer he wanted from you.

“Like I fantasize about that freak and you.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped to the side, wanting to head for the back of the house where Mom worked. He caught your arm whip-fast, grip bruising, and yanked you near. A sneer marred his all-American face.

“I bet you two have done some nasty shit.” He gave you an oily look. “Yeah, you’re a little freak too, aren’t you?”

You closed the distance, because you weren’t terrified prey. Especially not for Jason Carver. Maybe he had intimidated Chrissy like this, but you weren’t Chrissy.

You glared into his eyes, finding his pupils wide.

“Tell me all about this nasty shit you’ve imagined, Captain of the Tigers. I’d like to hear you say it.”

“I’m not here to play into your crazy bullshit.”

“Then why are you here?”

His face darkened.

“Where’s Eddie?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you said.

He shook your arm to jostle and throw you off balance.

“I mean it, where’s Eddie?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Is he in there? Huh!?” Jason nodded at the house. “Did you kill her with him?!”

“No, and he didn’t kill Chrissy!” You twisted your arm in his hold. “He was at school playing D&D!”

He shoved you away. Your heel knocked into the lowest porch step, and you almost fell. You steadied yourself with a hand on the railing.

He leaned in to hiss, “Not all night, you goddamn freak.”

He marched away, hands balled into fists and shoulders hunched.

“Better a freak than an asshole!”

When he reached the Jeep, he yanked open the driver’s side door. He scowled at you, which you returned. You kept scowling until he reversed onto the road and drove away.

Once his vehicle was out of sight, you sagged onto the porch and threw your gloves to the stairs. Your neck and shoulders were stiff from how tense you’d been. You stretched out the tightness and massaged with shaking hands. You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. It rushed from deep in your gut and spread to your fingertips. Your heart was the hammer and the anvil, an engine in overdrive.

With a curse, you tried to think of where Eddie would hide. You had to warn him Jason and his cronies were after him. However, you didn’t know this town well enough. There were people and areas you’d never heard of. He might not even be in town anymore, which gave you a speck of hope.

Mom called your name from the open garage. You perked and replied. She came around the side of the house, then paused.

“You okay?” she asked. “I thought I heard a car pull up.”

“Oh, uh…” You thought quick. “Someone used the driveway to turn around.”

She hummed. “Perks of suburbia, I suppose.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, anyway, do you know where the garden shears are? I need to trim a few dead branches from the rosemaries.”

You frowned at her wording.

“What was that?”

“Garden shears?”

More to yourself than her, you said, “To trim the dead branches from the rosemaries.”

“Yes…?”

That was what the spell meant. You wanted to bonk yourself on the head. Plants can have dead pieces and still live. You could also consume those dead pieces without making yourself sick — as long as the plant was edible, of course.

You smiled at her, and said, “No, I haven’t seen them.”

She gave you a funny look, but accepted your response. As she disappeared into the garage, you wrangled your gloves on, stood, and returned to planting the lavender. You could eat lavender and roses and rosemary. It felt like fate to have bought them.

Before you planted both lavenders, you inspected them to find nothing wilted nor branches broken. Taking a cutting didn’t fulfill the spell’s requirement of ‘dead portion.’ Yes, it would die after you cut it, but it would be alive when you took it. That was very Grim Reaper, yet it wasn’t what the spell was about.

You neatened the porch, gathered your remaining supplies, and went to the pots of roses. There you found multiple dead leaves. You plucked a few and pocketed them before planting the roses in the ground.

Now all you needed was graveyard dirt. Unless there was a convenient cemetery down the block — which there wasn’t — you’d have to drive all the way to Roane Hill Cemetery. However, you had no excuse to be out. If you said your car needed gas, that would mean actually stopping for gas, which never took long. You could say you wanted to buy snacks at the grocery store, but again, that would mean actually shopping.

On top of that, it was Sunday. Everything closed early on Sundays around here.

You had to think of some excuse to leave the house that wouldn’t interest your parents nor rouse suspicions. And you had only a few hours to do it.

With hose in hand, Mom offered to water the new plants if you’d finish the last of the clean-up. You agreed, throwing out the empty nursery pots and washing the gardening tools. The clouds broke as you loaded the cleaned tools in the caddy.

You stood at the top of the driveway and breathed deep the scent of wet earth. Water droplets glinted like prisms on leaves and hung like crystal baubles. Sunlight danced between leaves. At one time, you would’ve sensed the flourishing life of each thing around you. Now all you had were ordinary perceptions—

“Strange day, huh?” Mom said, dragging the hose into the garage.

“Yeah.”

You trotted over to help her coil the hose and stow it with the other gardening supplies.

She said, “Doesn’t feel like a Sunday.”

“More like a Saturday.”

She hummed in agreement before perking.

“How about I make a cozy soup for dinner? That’s a good Sunday meal. There’s still some cheese bread from the bakery we could have with it…”

“Sounds good,” you said as you hit the garage-door control by the stairs.

You turned to go inside, but Mom stopped you with a hand on your upper arm.

“Sweetie, you know if anything’s bothering you, you can talk to me.”

You nodded.

“I know, but I’m okay.”

“Alright.” She patted your arm. “Good work today.”

“You too.”

She gave you a genuine and kind smile. You had the sudden urge to explain everything from the beginning, but she wouldn’t understand. You also had a deep dread she would see you differently if she knew it all. It was better for her not to know, maybe safer. In many ways, your perceived mundanity protected you both.

Up in your room, you pulled the dead rose leaves from your pocket and placed them on your desk. By a school library book. You barked a laugh. The public library was a perfect excuse to leave. You didn’t know if they were open, but there was a book return slot in the vestibule. It wasn’t as though your parents would recall if you had a library book due. There’d be no evidence, either, and the drive to the library was equidistant to the cemetery.

You went to the closet to search the storage box that held your spell supplies. There you found an unused sandwich bag that would work for the small amount of dirt you’d need. You folded that into your purse, grabbed the library book, and headed downstairs.

Mom was in the kitchen, browning chicken thighs in a dutch oven. You popped your head in the doorway to tell her you’d forgotten to return a library book. She glanced at you before asking if you needed money for the fee.

Of course, you didn’t. You told her it was due tomorrow, so it was no big deal.

She waved you off with a mellow grin and said dinner was chicken and wild rice soup.

You paused in the garage to consider taking a garden trowel. It would help if the ground was hard packed. With a shrug, you grabbed one you’d cleaned earlier and tossed everything on the passenger seat.

The drive to the cemetery was quicker than you expected, with hardly anyone on the road. You couldn’t tell if it was because it was a Sunday or because everyone was freaked out over Chrissy’s death. Or possibly both.

It turned out to be a backhanded blessing when you pulled into the deserted cemetery. You cruised to the back, seeing no one and passing no cars. In this section, the graves were abandoned, yet the grass remained tidy. Something told you the dead wouldn’t mind you removing a tablespoon or two of dirt.

Trowel and sandwich bag in hand, you headed for an old oak that shaded a few rows of headstones. Roots undulated through the earth like waves; the headstones were ships riding the swells. You knelt in front of a headstone and placed a hand on the ground. In hushed tones, you introduced yourself and explained your situation. You told them what you needed. Finally, you asked for their permission.

Then you waited.

A soft breeze rustled the oak’s leaves. Goosebumps trailed along your arms until they met at your nape, making you shiver. That was as good a sign as any, you supposed.

You thanked the dead and scooped dirt into the bag. After sealing the bag and smoothing the earth, you returned to your car.

Back home, you stowed the trowel, greeted Mom from the hallway, and hurried to your room. At your desk, you read The Veil of Undeath spell again. The spell’s annotation said it was for concealing oneself from an enemy. You assumed it hid you from curses — or what some referred to as the evil eye. While you didn’t know if you were being cursed on a nightly basis, you didn’t want to experience that level of pain until it killed you.

You laid out the dead rose leaves and the sandwich bag of graveyard dirt in front of the book. The only thing missing was a receptacle to keep on your body. You hummed in thought. A locket could work if you had one big enough, or a vial if you had one small enough.

You brought out the jewelry box you’d stowed next to your underwear. It held small trinkets along with old jewelry. Inside you found a silver locket from your late grandmother, but its openwork front wouldn’t secure the dirt. Beside it lay a plastic baby-bottle charm from a necklace you’d worn in middle school. It had a tarnished bell that now clacked instead of tinkled.

Placing the charm to the side, since it was useable, you continued searching. At the bottom of the jewelry box lay a small medicine bag an old friend had given you after a trip to North Carolina. She swore it was native made. The necklace part was long enough to hide under a shirt. Its leather was soft enough to tuck inside a bra cup, too.

Even though the medicine bag’s stitching was tight, you didn’t want dirt leaking out. You decided to cut a corner off the sandwich bag, putting the dirt and rose leaf inside, and burning the plastic closed. You could use a smaller portion and use the silver locket, but you would have to fold or tear the leaf.

No, you decided, better to use the medicine bag.

You fetched a candle and incense stick of frankincense. Once you set your desk as an altar, you inhaled the incense smoke and exhaled your fears in the candle flame’s heat. Your inherent magic might’ve been drained, but the energy remained in the tools of ritual. You had to trust them.

You held the medicine bag open over the incense smoke to cleanse it. Then the leaves. To finish, you swept smoke into the sandwich bag.

“Dead from the living,” you murmured, touching the leaves. “Dust from the dead.” You placed your hand on the mound of dirt in the sandwich bag.

“I consume like the worm.”

You brought a leaf to your mouth and put the brittle thing on your tongue. It tasted old and brown and dry. It fragmented against the roof of your mouth. The midrib crackled between your teeth. You gathered saliva and forced it down, swallowing with a shake of your head.

You said, “I keep the grave by my heart,” and held the medicine bag to your chest.

With a deep breath, you shook the dirt into one corner of the sandwich bag and snipped the corner off. You slipped the second leaf into the dirt before pleating the plastic closed. You kissed the pleat to candle flame and pinched it secure. The plastic cooled within seconds.

You then eased the packet into the medicine bag and looped the bag around your neck.

“As I exhale this last breath, I accept the embrace from death.”

You inhaled a stuttering breath, then blew out the candle.

The taste of the dry leaf vanished — as did the temperature of the room. Not that it went cold, but the temperature no longer affected you. When you went downstairs for dinner, the scent of the food didn’t induce hunger. And while the soup had a pleasing texture, it tasted lifeless on your tongue.

You’d forced yourself into bed during the small hours of the night and closed your eyes. When you opened them, it was morning. You weren’t rested, yet you weren’t groggy. Regardless, you lazed in bed to stare at the dim ceiling.

It had been a peaceful night with no pain. That didn’t mean you were safe without the spell. As they said, the absence of evidence wasn’t the evidence of absence. Something could still be coming after you.

As you sat up, you wondered if Eddie was safe and if he’d gotten any sleep. Perhaps you should try Wayne again. Eddie could be home. Or maybe Wayne knew where he was.

You went to the phone and dialed the Munson’s number. The line clicked a few times instead of ringing, which sounded as though it was being monitored. You hung up, letting your hand linger on the phone. If the Munson trailer was being monitored, the people doing it didn’t mean you or Eddie any good.

Pressing your other hand over the medicine bag, you prayed for the spell to keep them — whoever they were — from tracking you. Because it was obvious now Eddie was the prime suspect, and if you were going to find him, you needed anonymity. You didn’t want a visit from the police or the FBI or some shady government organization.

After going through your morning routine, you went downstairs. It was quiet with your parents at work. They’d left the morning newspaper folded on the kitchen island. On any other day, you’d throw it out, but the yellow sticky note attached to the front page caught your attention.

The newspaper headline read, ANOTHER FOREST HILLS MURDER. Mom wrote on the sticky note, Don’t leave the house.

You peeled the note from the newspaper to scan the article. It wasn’t just the location of this murder that copied Chrissy’s. This victim was a Hawkins High student who died from fatal internal bleeding and multiple bone fractures. You hoped it wasn’t Eddie. With the numbing effect of The Veil of Undeath, you weren’t sure you’d be able to feel if he died.

The article only identified the victim as an eighteen-year-old male. That detail had you relaxing, because Eddie wasn’t eighteen. That also meant the victim was in your class.

You frowned as you thought someone was targeting high-school seniors. That connection made no sense, though, unless Chrissy and this victim knew their murderer. Which didn’t narrow the pool of suspects, honestly. Everyone knew everyone else.

The article didn’t mention if the victim was a resident of Forest Hills, either. You had to assume he’d snuck into the neighborhood. To do what, though? Was he some dipshit looking to catch Chrissy’s killer? Did he want a souvenir?

With midday television news hours away, you returned to your room. Before leaving the kitchen, you threw away the newspaper, poured yourself a glass of juice, and grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. You weren’t hungry or thirsty, but you needed fuel.

In your room, you turned on lights and brought out all your spell books. There had to be at least one tracking spell. You spread the books across your bed, then drew one onto your lap. It didn’t have an index, and its chapter titles weren’t overly descriptive, but that was typical.

You tore open the granola bar’s wrapper, took a flavorless bite, and began skimming the book.

An hour later, your phone rang. You dropped the book you’d been reading as the phone rang again. Maybe it was Eddie. You scrambled off the bed, heart in your throat. Paper and pens and books clattered to the floor in your wake.

You picked up the phone in the middle of the third ring.

“Hello?”

“He didn’t do it,” said a young male in lieu of a greeting.

It only took a second to understand he referred to Eddie.

“I know he didn’t,” you said. Eddie was alive. “He’s not like that.”

“He told me to tell you she was a customer — and she was attacked.”

You nodded and steadied yourself with a hand on the desk. You’d known deep down he wouldn’t have hurt Chrissy, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

“I believe you.” The tight coil in your chest loosened. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as you can get while being on the lam.”

A small laugh bubbled out unbidden, and you closed your eyes.

“Where is he?”

“He swore me to secrecy.”

You snorted, because, yeah, that sounded like Eddie. “Oh, like he’s the brains of the operation over there.” Eddie was smart, but he wasn’t using every resource at his disposal, i.e. you. Instead, he relied on his little sheepies. “You’re one of the freshmen, right?”

The other end of the line went silent, which was answer enough. Your gut said this particular sheepy was Dustin Henderson, the clever smart-ass.

“Is he the leader there, Freshman?”

“No, but—”

“Look, I have access to things! Resources. I can protect him.” You waved a hand in the air. “I have a car! I can get him out of town!”

“Do you happen to have a gun?”

In the background, multiple voices shouted, “No!”

Dustin cleared his throat. “Never mind. You can’t get involved. He’d kill me.”

You didn’t want to threaten a freshman with a horrible, slow death if he didn’t tell you where Eddie was hiding. That would be wrong on so many levels. Dustin might be a pain in the ass, according to Eddie, but he was a good kid.

You took a deep breath you knew Dustin heard.

“Tell me, or I’ll track him down myself.”

“He’s on the move.”

Whether that was true or not remained to be seen.

“Makes no difference to me,” you said, hiding your uncertainty about your abilities. “I’ll find him.”

“Please, don’t. He doesn’t want you hurt or in trouble.”

Your eyes flooded as you shook your head. If Eddie thought you’d sacrifice him for your own comfort, he had another thing coming.

“I’ll see you around, Freshman. Be careful, okay?”

You hung up before Dustin could say more.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #waywardrose writes #em tagd

47 notes · View notes

blueiskewl · 1 year

Photo

A Roman Statue Unearthed on the Site of St Polyeuctus’ Church in Constantinople

At Saraçhane Archaeology Park, where the Church of St. Polyeuctus is situated, excavation work by Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality (IBB) teams found a statue that is thought to date back to the Roman era.

There are modest ruins of a structure that was once the largest church in Constantinople and was constructed to resemble the Solomon Temple in Jerusalem in a small park right in the middle of Istanbul’s Fatih neighborhood, close to the location of the Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality.

Before the erection of the new Hagia Sophia by Emperor Justinian in 537, the Church of Saint Polyeuctus was the largest temple in .

Although only ruins remain from the church, it is very important in terms of shedding light on an important period in Byzantine history. The church was built by Anicia Juliana, daughter of Olybrius, a former Western Roman emperor. The church, which was the most magnificent structure of Constantinople in the years it was built, was dedicated to a Christian martyr named Saint Polyeuctus.

The Church of St. Polyeuctus, built in A.D. 524 was destroyed after being used for various purposes. However, after some historical artifacts belonging to the church were discovered during the construction of an underpass in the 1960s, excavation works were carried out in the church.

Following a six-year hiatus, excavation work was resumed by IBB Heritage teams affiliated with the Cultural Affairs Directorate. A statue was discovered approximately 1 meter (3 feet) deep in the fill on the north side of the main structure where excavation work was being done. The marble statue’s head, legs, and right arm were found to be broken at shoulder height. The figure, dressed in a himation that exposes the upper right side of its body, is thought to date from the Roman period. The exact age and period of the statue will be determined after further examination.

At the excavation site, Mahir Polat, the deputy secretary general of the IBB, said: “The Polyeuktos Church’s ruins will be exactly 1,500 years old soon. Yet, there were also buildings in the Roman period before the Polyeuktos Church was built on this site. After it was destroyed, there were also different buildings in the Ottoman period. This is a truly unique point for Istanbul’s urban archaeology.”

“We are in a collection of buildings that are almost a summary of Istanbul, which was the capital of three empires. Since June 2022, we have started intensive excavation work and re-planning of the site. This building complex represents a unique momentum in Byzantine history and subsequent periods of the world’s architectural history. It was built just before the Hagia Sophia as the most magnificent example of the ‘domed basilica’ architectural style. We think that Hagia Sophia was built to be pit against the church,” he said.

Adding that the artifact may have been dedicated to Asclepieion, the god of medicine in ancient Greece, he said: “Along with a Byzantine archaeological excavation in the field, there is actually data from pre-Byzantine Roman archaeology. Part of it had been excavated for many years, but we, as the IBB, included the northern part that was not excavated at the time,” he said.

About the statue, Polat emphasized: “With our studies, we think that this finding, a Roman-period statue, dates back to the A.D. second century. With these studies, we hope to find the lost head or other parts of the body.”

Polat also stated that the artifacts found during the excavation would be exhibited soon.

By Leman Altuntaş.

#A Roman Statue Unearthed on the Site of St Polyeuctus’ Church in Constantinople #statue #marble statue #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman art

73 notes · View notes

wikiweird · 6 months

Text

Bodie, California

Bodi is a ghost town in the Bodie Hills east of the Sierra Nevada mountain range in Mono County, California, United States. It is about 75 miles (121 km) southeast of Lake Tahoe, and 12 mi (19 km) east-southeast of Bridgeport, at an elevation of 8,379 feet (2554 m). Bodie became a boom town in 1876 (147 years ago) after the discovery of a profitable vein of gold; by 1879 it had established 2,000 structures with a population of roughly 8,000 people. The town went into decline in the subsequent decades and came to be described as a ghost town by 1915 (108 years ago). The U.S. Department of the Interior recognizes the designated Bodie Historic District as a National Historic Landmark. Also registered as a California Historical Landmark, the ghost town officially was established as Bodie State Historic Park in 1962. It receives about 200,000 visitors yearly. Bodie State Historic Park is partly supported by the Bodie Foundation.

#bodie #ghost town #abandoned #california #wikipedia #weird facts #weird history #strange facts #strange history #random fact #weird wikipedia #wikiweird #history

23 notes · View notes

kp777 · 5 months

Text

By Vishal Shankar, Revolving Door Project

Common Dreams

Nov. 18, 2023

President Biden has utterly failed to hold DeJoy to account for his internal attack on the US Postal Service.

In a time of historic distrust in government, the United States Postal Service has accomplished something extraordinary: it remains a universally beloved federal agency. Second only to the Parks Service in public favorability (a jaw-dropping 77% approval rating, per Gallup), USPS is arguably also the most frequently-interacted-with component of the federal government: packages and letters are delivered to Americans’ mailboxes six days per week. But these warm feelings – already under threat by Postmaster General Louis DeJoy’s continued destructive leadership – could quickly chill if the Postal Board of Governors has its way.

At least four times per year, the Board (the governing body that votes on DeJoy’s agenda and has the sole power to fire him) holds an open session meeting, its sole formal contact with the public. In recent years, these meetings have concluded with a well-attended public comment period, where in-person and virtual attendees have excoriated DeJoy for embracing a privatization-friendly agenda. Just this year alone, public commenters at Board meetings have decried the mail slow downs and price hikes, demanded changes to DeJoy’s gas-guzzling and union-busting fleet plan, raised serious concerns about transparency of DeJoy’s facility consolidation plans, and pushed DeJoy to expand community services offered at the post office.

The future of the people’s most treasured public institution depends on public participation and feedback

But when the Postal Board of Governors met this week for their final open session of the year, there was one major difference from its previous quarterly meetings: virtual and remote public comments were, without explanation, banned. This abrupt new barrier to public accessibility led the number of public commenters – which in recent meetings has been a double-digit tally – to drop to 4. The decline in attendance was also likely compounded by an unexplained shift in the meeting time: whereas past meetings have been held at 4:00pm ET, Tuesday’s session was held at noon – the middle of the workday.

The Board’s decision to not allow virtual comments at the November 14th meeting follows another alarming recent attempt to suppress public input. At the August 2023 meeting, each public commenter was allotted only 25 seconds to speak, in sharp contrast to the typical 3 minute time limit. And past meetings were not beacons of accountability, either. The Postal Governors never responded to any comments raised by the public, and the comment period itself was always excluded from the official publicly available USPS recording of the formal session.

But next year, the Postal Board’s accountability problem will get even worse. During Tuesday’s meeting, Postal Board Deputy Secretary Lucy Trout explained, starting next year, the Postal Board will only hear public comments once per year in November. In other words, though the next three Postal Board meetings (February, May, and August 2024) are ostensibly “public sessions,” members of the public will have no opportunity to inform the Postal Board about their concerns until a year from now.

And it’s not as if postal workers, customers, and public advocates don’t have anything pressing to alert the Board about. On the contrary, DeJoy has continued to advance a destructive agenda that includes:

Five successive postage rate increases, which have risked driving away business and failed to improve USPS financial standing, despite DeJoy’s promises.

A 10-year stealth privatization plan that is being advanced with zero opportunities for public input and would increase delivery times, slash 50,000 jobs through attrition, and cut operations at more than 200 post offices and sorting facilities, which could devastate rural and Indigenous communities.

A next-gen postal fleet contract with Oshkosh Defense that is nearly 40% gas-guzzler and 100% built with non-union scab labor. UAW workers from Oshkosh have regularly attended postal board meetings (including Tuesday’s) to call for an investigation into the company’s union avoidance scheme and for the Board to rebid a new, union-built contract.

Failure to protect USPS staff from a dangerous summer heatwave that killed one postal worker, even after members of Congress urged improvements to the USPS heat safety protection plan and letter carriers alleged their managers were routinely falsifying safety documents.

Refusal to support alternative revenue sources that could strengthen USPS, such as postal banking, grocery delivery, or electric vehicle charging stations.

President Biden has utterly failed to hold DeJoy to account for any of this, instead inviting him to White House stamp ceremonies and staying silent as the Postmaster General laughably reinvents himself as a “Biden ally” to credulous reporters. This is particularly egregious given the President’s power to nominate members of the Postal Board of Governors:

Biden has inexplicably failed to name replacements for two Trump-appointed Governors – including DeJoy-supporting Democrat Lee Moak – whose terms expired last December. This has allowed Moak and his Republican colleague William Zollars to stay on the board for nearly a full year (their holdover terms will expire on December 8, 2023) and continue occupying seats that Biden has been statutorily allowed to fill.

The Save The Post Office coalition has endorsed former Congresswoman Brenda Lawrence and postal expert Sarah Anderson – two strong critics of DeJoy’s leadership with decades of actual postal experience and policy expertise – for these positions. Biden has yet to indicate he will nominate anyone to these vacancies.

Though Biden has already nominated five of the Board’s nine governors (on paper, enough to fire DeJoy), at least two of his picks have been DeJoy backers: Democratic ex-GSA head Dan Tangherlini (who approved Trump’s lease of D.C.’s Old Post Office Building) and Republican Derek Kan (a former Mitch McConnell/Elaine Chao advisor). As I’ve written before, Biden’s choice to nominate Tangherlini and Kan (instead of two anti-Dejoy reformers) squandered a key opportunity to finally give the Board a pro-reform, anti-DeJoy majority.

The Postal Board’s restrictions on public comment are unacceptable. They must reverse course by allowing both in-person AND virtual public comments at ALL open sessions next year, and take further steps to improve accountability by responding to public comments and posting recorded comment sessions to the USPS website. Congressional Democrats and the Biden administration must publicly call out this shameful barrier to transparent government and fast-track filling the Moak and Zollars Postal Board seats with anti-DeJoy, pro-accountability reformers.

The future of the people’s most treasured public institution depends on public participation and feedback–that’s how public service works.

#usps #joe biden #louis dejoy #u.s. postal board

14 notes · View notes

redgoldsparks · 9 months

Text

July Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

How Far The Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures by Sabrina Imbler

This collection of 10 essays weaves together memories and experiences of the author's real life with the rich and varied lives of sea creatures, from octopi, Chinese sturgeon, whales, sand strikers and immortal jellyfish to yeti crabs and more. My favorite part was learning about some deep sea creatures I had never heard of before, the kinds of beings that live in oases around thermal vents on the ocean floor and survive by chemo-synthesis. I loved a story about encountering a bloom of clear, gelatinous creatures known as salps flooding the water of Riis Beach, a historically queer hangout spot in New York. This book wrestles with heavy content- one essay deals with eating disorders and parental pressure to diet, another with sexual assault and blackout drinking. It's hard for me to judge the quality of these essays when my life has not been touched by these topics, but I appreciated the author's honesty and the thoughtful maritime metaphors.

Comfort Me With Apples by Catherynne M Valente read by Karis Campbell

I listened to this 2 hour novella all in one afternoon. It's another spooky little fairy tale from a master of the genre, but if I tell you which one it's a remix of that would spoil the surprise. This wasn't deep or as original as some of Valente's work, but her writing is so vivid with flavors, sensations, smells, colors, I was thoroughly engaged the whole time.

Cry Wolf by Charlie Adhara read by Erik Bloomquist

Human Cooper Dayton and his werewolf boyfriend Oliver Park are engaged and beginning to plan their wedding, which is stressing Cooper out- not least because his family, who he didn't talk to much for a couple years, are being very supportive and it's weirding him out. Also, the chaotic scientist who threatened to expose the werewolf community and then turned herself in to werewolf government asking for a deal is making vague threats about enemies Cooper doesn't even know about. Then a body is discovered at the DC zoo, a werewolf killed and frozen in a half transformed state- nothing that the werewolves have ever seen before. I am still very entertained by this series as a whole and glad I listened to all of them, but I did want a little more than this book delivered on mysterious enemy front. There was a conspiracy, but it wasn't as far reaching as I was lead to believe by the cliffhanger ending of book 4. However, if you are reading these books more for the spicy scenes and romantic plot line, you won't be disappointed.

Shadow Scale by Rachel Hartman

What an ambitious and satisfying follow up to Seraphina! This book is much longer than the first one, and adds a ton of new elements and so many twists and turns. It opens with Seraphina, court musician of Goredd, setting out on a journey to find and recruit her fellow half-dragons to the war effort. The dragon society is being torn part by civil war, and some of the dragons will be coming to south to attack human settlements soon. Seraphina finds many new friends, but also encounters her oldest enemy- a half dragon who invaded her mind and attempted to control her as a girl. I really loved the way this book expanded the world and the various societies who live in it. It did a wonderful job of maintaining the pace and rising stakes over more than 600 pages; it also has a hinted at queer/poly relationship in the ending that really delighted me. I will definitely be reading more!

Eniale & Dewiela vol 1 by Kamome Shirahama

This series was pitched to me as "Good Omens with lesbians" but sadly I wouldn't say it lives up to that claim. It's by the same author as "Witch Hat Atelier" and it is just a beautifully drawn, but it's missing an emotional core to really hold the plot together. Each chapter is essentially a standalone story about a demon and angel who have been in petty conflict for millennia; the theft of a tube of lipstick or pair of earring will set of a battle that destroys half a city. One fun element is that the leads can both magically change their outfits, as well as grow and shrink their wings, at will; the looks are all so fun.

Eniale & Dewiela vol 2 by Kamome Shirahama

This comic is more visually beautiful than it is actually interesting to read. Eniale and Dewiela fight with each other over the soul of a child with a sick mother, then over a priest who feel in love with a criminal. One chapter is set in Japan and shows a conflict in which Japanese gods and spirits prove more powerful than Christian ones. I don't really have any emotional investment in any character or any story line but I'll probably read the last book in the series anyway.

The Wicked Bargain by Gabe Cole Novoa read by Vico Ortiz

Mar is transmasc nonbinary, a pirate, and a magic user who can control fire and ice. On their 16th birthday, disaster strikes the ship they live and work on with their father and a crew as close as family-a storm takes the crew, and El Diablo comes for Mar's father's soul. Somehow, Mar is spared and wakes up on a different ship, also crewed by pirates who steal from the Spanish and give food, weapons, and other supplies to those in the Caribbean islands fighting Spanish control. Mar strikes up a somewhat reluctant friendship with a boy their age on the ship, and refuses to the negotiate with a demonio who says they can help Mar free their father's soul. This story has a lot of fun elements, and the audiobook is expertly read by Vico Ortiz. But I didn't love this book as much as I wanted to. I found the first half quite slow, and overall felt like not quite enough happened to justify the length. I loved the nonbinary rep and the Spanish phrases in the dialogue, but wanted faster pacing and quicker reveals, especially of the demonio's motivations.

The Joy Luck Club (abridged) written and read by Amy Tan

I listened to the abridged version of the audiobook, which is read by the author, and only runs for 2.5 hours (the full book is 9 hours). This turns the full length novel into a much more concise novella of interlocking short stories, each one quite poetic and moving. I love reading books set in and around San Francisco, as are the scenes from this book which aren't set in China. The stories focus on four women, friends and mahjong partners, who met after immigrating to the Bay Area, and their daughters. The daughters are mostly in their mid-30s, at various stages of their careers and marriages, and at varying levels of close with their families and Chinese heritage. The mothers recount stories from their childhoods and their flight from war in the 1940s. I know I watched part of the movie adaption once, and maybe also read part of the full length novel in high school, because a few scenes felt so familiar while others sounded unfamiliar and new. I would like to pick up the full novel at some point, but I also really enjoyed hearing the dialogue in the author's own voice.

#reading #books #book reviews #comics #audiobooks

24 notes · View notes

melusine0811 · 9 months

Text

The Space Between the Stars Chapter 14

"Double Rainbow"

This art of Elisabet and Sakura was done by my very talented friend @1004knightingale as it heavily features them.

Chapter 14- Double Rainbow

After the Goodwill Shop, where Elisabet and Sakura had picked out wedding outfits they vowed not to show one another until the actual ceremony, they had promised the nice people there that they would first of all go visit something here in Tonopah called the Clown Motel. The looks on their faces were telling, so of course Lis and Sakura had been skeptical.

However, Sakura had closed her eyes after five seconds of parking in front of that monstrosity of an establishment, and she screamed bloody murder.

“I guarantee you some serious weirdos stay there, if you shined a blacklight on those sheets you’d see them from space! Let’s get out of here!”

They had decided to skip the other haunted hotel in town in favor of passing by the Crescent Dunes Solar Energy Project. It’s a tower, surrounded by rows upon rows upon rows of solar panels forming circles around it. Impressive, especially for two scientists.

“It’s almost…eerie,” said Sakura, “what I wouldn’t give to be working on a project that big and amazing.”

Lis had slid her hand across the seat, squeezing Sakura’s. “You will be, I know it.”

Lis then had swallowed, hesitating.

“I don’t know, I have been here before and feel some sort of connection to it... I can’t explain it. It’s happened all my life. Every summer my parents and I would go visit national parks and historic places across the western United States. When I was fifteen, we visited Colorado Springs and climbed Cheyenne Mountain and Pikes Peak and it was the worst it’s ever been, I had chills down my spine, the hairs all over my body stood on end almost the entire time. I couldn’t tell anyone about it. And I feel it here, too, but not quite as strong.”

Sakura had looked genuinely concerned.

“What do you mean, like déjà vu?”

“Kind of, but like, there’s more. Like whatever is going to happen in these places hasn’t happened yet, and I feel…displaced.”

She'd then looked at Sakura.

“You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. But I wouldn’t be nearly as crazy about you if you weren’t.”

She’d then leaned over and kissed her.

“Let’s get to Vegas, so that I can marry your crazy ass.”

They’d driven off, and now, several hours, and one dead air conditioner later, they arrive in Vegas, coasting into a very sparsely populated underground parking garage that serves several nearby hotels on the strip.

Yet Sakura is not herself.

Lis knows of course that part of the reason is that she’s exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and all sweaty from being in the truck in the one-hundred degree desert heat.

But this sullen look on her face is unusual.

They both unload their things from the bed of the truck, including the outfits they’d bought for their wedding (that they are hiding from one another until the ceremony), and they begin carrying all of it through the relatively cool underground parking facility to the elevator that would take them up to their hotel, The Tempo, apparently once called the Golden Pagoda. The ride in had indeed been very hot and miserable, so once they’d finally seen the Las Vegas skyline including the new dome, they had been very relieved.

Sakura had been very quiet for the last couple of hours, but she’s silent, now, looking quite bedraggled, every bit as much as Lis feels. Fortunately the temperature down here below ground is quite cool, helping to regulate them at least a little. Sakura throws her bags on her back and walks off silently, avoiding eye contact.

Lis walks faster to catch up with her.

“Hey, Sakuchan…hold on.” Lis drops her bags as Sakura scans the poorly-lit area for the elevator up to their hotel.

“I’m sorry Lis…I just…ugh. I know part of it is that I’m tired and hungry, but…”

“Are you…having second tho—”

Sakura looks up at her immediately.

“Absolutely not! No, no way. I’m just…angry. I’m angry that my father has to be an absolute monster, so much that I’m afraid to go anywhere, for fear that he’ll take me away. He’s always at the corner of my vision. I’m afraid. I’m scared, I…I can’t lose you.”

Lis comes close to her, face sweaty, both of them with hair in a mess from having the windows open due to the dead A/C. She speaks to her in a low, comforting voice.

“That’s not going to happen—because even if it did, there’s not a wall, barrier, or dimensional membrane that I wouldn’t claw my way through to get you back. I will always find you, and I won’t let you go, okay?”

Sakura nearly collapses, encircling Lis in her arms, tears clouding her vision, and they stand there with their luggage, the two of them, outside their rickety old pickup truck in this dark, underground parking garage somewhere beneath Las Vegas.

Lis pulls back, cupping Sakura’s face in her hands, stroking her cheeks with her thumbs, then whispers. “I love you more than anything. Now let’s go upstairs so that I can make you my wife. Please.”

Sakura barely lets her finish, regardless of how sweaty they are. She kisses her. These are not their normal, gentle, passionate kisses. These are kisses of need. Of intense gratitude that she can only express in this way. Whispering, dry kisses evolve into deeper ones, and suddenly Sakura has backed Lis up against the truck, which is still warm to the touch with the engine making creaking noises as it cools.

These moments seem lost to time, Lis unsure of whether they’re moving too slow or too fast, as she drops the last bag she’d been carrying and she kisses her back as though her life is tethered to her, because it is, and so is every fine thread tied to her very soul as she’s reveling in the feel of her mouth, and the grasp of her fingers tangled in Lis’s hair. She knows that despite the fact that the heat from the truck is becoming a bit uncomfortable against her back, and they’re both already covered in sweat from the Nevada heat, Sakura needs this to re-center herself. To anchor herself to the reality that Lis is here, and they are really doing this. As though Lis’s skin cells are bumping up against her own, screaming at her with each brush and touch.

Sakura takes her right hand and searches frantically for Lis’s left, which is wrapped around Sakura’s back, and when she finds it she caresses it with her fingers, touching her own ring on Lis’s third finger, pulling away and looking down at it.

Lis places her other hand on Sakura’s chin, tilting it back up, looking in her eyes, and kissing the tears that had dripped down her cheeks.

Sakura gives her a small smile, and she nods.

#Seyloy #aloy x seyka #sakubet #elisabet x sakura #elisabet sobeck #aloy sobeck #seyka #Sakura sobeck #please share

34 notes · View notes