#anyone else poopin? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elvendorx · 2 years ago

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Hi! I really like your blog! I was just wondering, how do you manage to find canon-based marauders content? I’m pretty new to Tumblr and while I follow the main tags, I’m tired of the short and shallow Siriuses, activist Jameses, and naive Lupins that don’t seem anything like the marauders I fell in love with. And the hatred for Snape and the condescension towards his fans makes me super scared to interact with blogs since I have posted Snape content on my main blog and I feel like I’d be eaten alive. I’m so overwhelmed! Do you use filters to help you? Or is it just finding and following the right people? Thanks for any and all advice!

hello and thank you! <3

a lot of it honestly is just finding and following the right people. the exact balance of that is personal that it will take a while to feel like you're consistently seeing things on your own specific wavelength but it's definitely doable. i think once you find one blog you really align with, see who they interact with regularly, check out those blogs, then check out who those blogs follow, etc etc. i used to systematically go through likes and reblogs on posts i liked, but once you find a few blogs you really enjoy, you'll end up finding more like-minded people quite naturally. and honestly, anyone who expects you to have the exact same tolerances for different characters as they do is probably not going to be much fun to interact with anyway.

i use filters for things i absolutely never want to see but not everything gets tagged/not everything that is tagged is the thing you don't want to see (so much sirius solo art/gen marauder stuff is tagged wolfstar) but it works and i would recommend it for absolute no-gos.

the main tags unfortunately are not safe spaces anymore and tbh if there's anything worth seeing in there, someone else will reblog it so it ends up on your dash anyway. sometimes i look in the prongsfoot tag but if anything look at anti (ship)/anti (character) tags lol and sometimes finding people who dislike the same things as you is also a good way to find like-minded people - hating can work, kids.

specifically for mwpp stuff, in my broad experience, snape fans are often more comfortable with the morally grey thing so they have solid views on snape AND sirius, james and remus, tho obviously you get the ultra protective stans too. but def follow snape fans if you are even slighty interested in snape, it's a great way of seeing how other pockets of hp fandom function. also, you could have identical views on a character as someone but you love them and they hate them, for the same reasons, and i feel like the joy is in finding the same interpretation, it's very fun and just in life it's good to see different perspectives. i got unfollowed a while back for a snape post i can't even remember but it was like 5 people and honestly the right people will probably be cooler than you think about it :)

so really my advice boils down to:

know what you do and don't want to see

know what you can and can't tolerate seeing (things that annoy you or more serious triggers)

find connections through sources you trust

try finding a mix of people who like the same things as you do/people who dislike the same things you do/people who you might not always agree with in judgement but whose analyses and approaches are objective

and eventually you'll have a great balanced lil circle <3

anyway a few recommendations of people i follow who i think offer great hp ideas:

@remus-poopin @narcissa-black-supermacy @ashesandhackles @urupotter @act-more-like-a-dog-sirius

but also consider anyone i follow/interact with a lot an endorsement! hope u have fun exploring :)

#ask #fandom

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bmwiid · 4 years ago

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I have 20 mins...

Essek wasn't really used to being around people all the time, not like this. He had always been on the outside, even with his own family and certainly with his peers.

It was Jester, of course, who managed to get her foot in the door of his private life and wedge her way through with seemingly random announcements in his head. Sometimes, when he was working, he would jerk up at the sound of her voice, making others in the area look at him.

He was giving information once, to the Bright Queen about the war - sweating, hoping he didn't give himself away - when Jesters voice had jolted into his mind like lightening.

The Bright Queen had smirked at his quick apology. Afterwords, as he was leaving, she had nodded to him. "Your friend is always welcome here." She said.

He'd hurriedly rushed to correct the misunderstanding. "My charges are enthusiastic about checking in."

But she'd already moved on to other, more important things, and his words were eaten up in the cavernous room.

It was Jester, who would wake him in the night, with a rambling account of her day. Sometimes asking for things, but more often than not, just... talking. Prattling.

He'd mentioned it to a colleague once, and they'd laughed, although not at him. As though they had experience with the same thing. "My son, he learned how to do that too," He'd said, with a wry grin. "Always at the worst time, to tell me about his newest idea, or to let me know he'd seen a new bug." His eyes drifted away. Sad at the memory.

His 'son' had been several lives before this one, and he had never been consticuted. The memory would always be bittersweet in this life.

It was Jester who made him laugh, once, without even being aware of it. "Are you poopin?" that caught him off guard and made him laugh aloud in the empty tower.

He was older than all of them, the mighty nien. He saw their dynamics better than they themselves did.

That Caleb loved Jester was clear. That his eyes would linger, or his words softer to the little blue teifling than anyone else.

Essek understood that, as he watched her. Those messages, the inopportune questions, the hugs.

Of course Caleb would love her.

Essek understood that. Who wouldn't?

He watched as Calebs eyes followed her around the grove where she was walking, talking to herself or her 'god' - no one was sure, he knew - but then Calebs eyes flickered over to him, and the younger man quickly looked away, caught.

Yes, Caleb loved Jester.

But Caleb was complicated, jagged, torn and had callouses in places no person should ever endure roughness.

Like Essek. Caleb looked over again, as though checking to see if he had been wrong to catch Essek gaze.

Neither looked away for a long moment, before the red-haired man gave a wry smile, just on the edge of his mouth.

Essek smiled back, watching as Caleb looked away again. Ears pinker.

It was too soon, of course, for anything. Essek wasn't even sure if this is what he wanted, but he certainly courted with the idea of... courting.

It would take time. And luckily, Caleb seemed to be... prepared... to invest that.

#critical role #the mighty nein #caleb x essek #caleb widogast #hot boi essek

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memetaped · 5 years ago

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the office iconic michael scott quotes.

i am not to be truffled with.

well, well, well. how the turntables.

okay, um... count me in as "who cares?"

catch ya on the flippity flip!

don’t ever, for any reason, do anything to anyone, for any reason, ever, no matter what, no matter where, or who, or who you are with, or where you are going, or where you’ve been, ever, for any reason whatsoever.

i wouldn't miss it for the world. but if something else came up, i would definitely not go.

do you think that smoking drugs is cool? do you think that doing alcohol is cool?

sometimes i’ll start a sentence and i don’t even know where it’s going.

i’m not gonna cry over it. i did that in the car on the way home.

this is an environment of welcoming, and you should just get the hell out of here.

whatevs.

bippity boppity give me the zoppity.

absofruitly.

there’s no such thing as an appropriate joke. that’s why it’s a joke.

HEY! NOBODY CARES.

the only thing that could make this better is ice cream.

christmas is cancelled.

well, this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker.

just poopin’, you know how i be.

please don’t send ___.

i’m not superstitious but i am a little stitious.

daddy’s here, and daddy’s gonna take care of you.

i am not gonna give up that easy. i’m gonna make this way harder than it needs to be.

would i rather be feared or loved? um, easy. both. i want people to be afraid of how much they love me.

yeppers.

NO, GOD, PLEASE, NO!

yesh.

mo’ money, mo’ problems.

what’s missing? the turtles. where are the turtles? where are the turtles? WHERE ARE THE TURTLES?!

i tried to talk to ___ and be his friend, but that is like trying to be friends with an evil snail.

i’m going through a bit of a rough patch. whole year, actually.

i don’t hate it. i just don’t like it at all. and it’s terrible.

i’m an adult. i don’t have to think or do anything.

halloween should be a day in which we honor monsters and not be mad at each other.

can i just say that, of all the idiots, in all the idiot villages, in all the idiot worlds, you stand alone, my friend.

i am running away from my responsibilities. and it feels good.

i’ll kill you.

i am beyoncé always.

you know, what eats a lot of the day are naps. you go to sleep, it’s lights out. you wake up, it’s dark. that’s the whole day. where did that day go? i have no idea.

you’re the worst. i hate looking at your face. i wanna smash it.

i am dead inside.

i hate so much about the things that you choose to be.

i understand nothing.

the only time i set the bar low is for limbo.

if i can get them depressed, then i’ll have done my job.

i’m okay. no, i’m not.

#tv tag.

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insufficientdata · 4 years ago

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anyone else like poopin in the dark

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velasnyx · 6 years ago

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Emaziska 007 AU Sequel: Vindicta Chapter 9

I ran to the car and found Fran passed out in the passenger seat. The wire for the leed wasn't plugged in. I plugged it in and pressed the defibrillator button when it was charged up. It sent shock to her chest. She gasped for air. I let out a sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “You alright?” I asked. “Are YOU alright? You look like hell”. “Speak for yourself,” I said. She flashed a smile. I sat against the car to catch my breath. “The game starts in fifteen minutes,” I said, checking my watch. “Let's get back to the room and clean up,” Fran said. I nodded in agreement.

I took off my shirt and washed the blood off my face. Looking in the mirror, I noticed just how bad I took a beating. The cut on my stomach was still bleeding a bit and I had bruises all over my midsection and back. Fran walked out of the closet. “Christ, I didn't think it was this bad,” she said. “Neither did I,” I said as I began cleaning the wound on my stomach. “Let me help”. “Don't worry. The game starts soon. Besides, mission first,” I said. Fran shook her head. “Screw the mission right now”. I sighed. I knew she wasn't going to take no for an answer so I had no choice but to give in. “Alright”. She cleaned the wounds and patched them up. “You saved my life… again. Thank you,” she said. I smiled and caressed her cheek. “Anyday, darling”. I leaned in to kiss her cheek. She moved away. I sighed. “Listen-”. “Why? So you could further emphasize that there is, in your words, “no us”?” Fran said. “It's complicated,” I said. “How? After everything we've been through; after everything we've said to each other and you just say that it's nothing”. I frowned. I felt guilty. I led her on. She thought that there could have been something. Honestly, so did I. “I didn't mean that,” I said. She slammed her fist on the bathroom counter. “Then why'd you say it?!” Fran exclaimed. I looked away. “Don't look away. I want you to look at me and tell me why,” she hissed. I looked her square in the eye. “It'll only hold us back. We are MI6 00 agents. We need to be quick, we need to be relentless, we need to feel nothing when we pull that trigger, and we need to finish the job. I can't have anything else on my mind. It'll only get me killed and it will be the same for you,” I said. “That's bullshit”. “It's the truth and you know it. We are always in danger. If one of us gets killed it'll be easier in the end. I don't have to mourn a wife”. “Jesus Christ, I can't believe this. What the fuck happened?! Was it something I did? Did I do something wrong? Something must've happened because just yesterday you were fucking flirting with me. We've kissed. I've held you in my arms. You flew thousands of miles to bring me back. You gave me a place to stay. You've helped me beat addiction. You helped me during my withdrawal. You've seen sides of me that no one, absolutely no one, has ever seen. Now tell me what the fuck happened!”. “I can't lose you again!” I blurted out. She just stared at me, devoid of emotion. “You can’t lose me again. Well, that’s a rather stupid way to not lose me because you’re definitely going to lose me now”. “Fran, please. You have to understand-”. She cut me off. “No, I understand completely. You are the one who has to understand. There’s no coming back from this,” Fran said. “I didn’t do this to hurt you”. “Well, you did, Ema. I opened myself up to you. I don’t do that with just anyone and there’s a good fucking reason why. I knew this would happen,” she said. What does she mean by she knew. She knew I’d hurt her? What fucking indication did I give that I’d hurt her. It seemed more likely that she’d hurt me in the end with her tendency to sleep with any woman she comes across. “Then why the fuck did you bother opening up? Huh? If you knew you’d only get hurt then why?” I asked. “Because I-” she stopped before she could finish. She looked away from me. “Forget it. You’re not worth it,” she said. She shot me a cold stare and walked out. I stood in the bathroom by myself. “Fuck you! I should’ve never brought you back!” I yelled. I didn't mean what I said but I was so angry. I just wanted to hurt her. Hopefully she had already left.

“Fuck you! I should’ve never brought you back!” Ema yelled. I was halfway through the door. Her words stung. I didn’t want to feel it but I did. I care about her. I thought we had something. I wanted us to be something. For once, I hoped for something that was more than sex. All of it was flushed down the toilet. I suppose I’ve learned my lesson once again. I can’t open up. I can't trust anyone with my feelings.

I went back downstairs. “007!. Zak rushed over to me. “You’re alright!” he said. Well, just barely. “Yes, Ema got to me just in time,” I said. “She was really worried. We thought you just had a bit too much to drink but she knew something was wrong”. “She has keen senses. So, has the game started?” I said. Zak shook his head. “You got back just in the nick of time. You got two minutes. Make ‘em count,” he said. I nodded.

Everyone was at the table but the dealer hadn’t started yet. “Are we going to play or what?” one of the players asked. “We are waiting for Mr. Swallow,” the dealer answered. “But he lost all his money,” I said. “He seemed to get a bit more funds for the game”. Just then, a man sat across from me but it wasn’t Swallow. This man had huge stitch scar that split right down the middle of his face. “Excuse me, sir. It is too late to enter the game,” the dealer said. “Oh, my apologies. I am taking over for Mr. Swallow. He became rather ill during the break,” the mysterious man said. “What? He can’t take over for him!”. The dealer looked uneasy. “Well, due to the high stakes, if a player cannot play due to certain circumstances, they can have someone else take over,” the dealer replied. Shit. That means we’re not in the clear yet. On top of that, I’m almost sure the reason Swallow isn’t here isn’t because he’s ill. He’s dead. Ms.Hawthorne along with him. “Welcome to the game, Mr…”. “Doe. Mr. Doe,” the man said.

There were three of us left, including myself and Mr. Doe. This guy was different. He's better than Swallow. Much better. I've been playing much more carefully than I've had to. “Mr. Galactica raises $700,” the dealer said. We all looked at each other. Mr. Doe placed all his chips forward. “Mr. Doe goes all in”. I looked at him. He had the same expressionless face. I can't get a fucking read on him. It's too much of a risk to call his bluff. “Mr. Galactica goes all in”. My turn. I have good cards but not good enough for this. “Fold,” I said. I looked over at the other's. They looked nervous. Except for Ema. She stared right at me with a stone cold glare. She looked away and took a sip from her glass. “Mr Galactica gets a full house. Kings, pair of aces”. Mr. Doe placed his cards down and flipped one. A three. Mr. Galactica smiled. Doe flipped the other. A king. Galactica's face dropped. Son of a bitch! I had a pair of aces. Mother fucker! I should've called his bluff! “Four of a kind. Mr. Doe wins the round. Thirty minute break before the final round between Mr. Doe and Ms. von Karma,” the dealer said.

I went after Doe. Someone stopped me. It was Ema. “What do you think you're doing?” she asked. “Don't worry about it”. Just let me go. I don't want to talk to you. “Don't worry about it? If you go after him and something happens-,” she said. “What do you care if something happens?” I sneered. She sighed. “You idiot,” I heard her say under her breath. “What did you say?”. She grabbed me by the collar and pulled me down. “I said you're a bloody idiot. You're going to fuck up this entire mission,” she hissed. I pushed her away. “Listen, I get it. You're angry with me. But you need to think. We can't risk the mission,” she said. I groaned in annoyance. She's right. If I approach him, there's a good chance one of us would start something. I started walking back with her. We stayed silent. After a while, I noticed the absence of her footsteps. I looked back. She was leaning against the wall. I walked over to her. “Hey, you alright?” I asked. Her breathing was labored and she had her hand over her ribs. “Yeah…”. She groaned in pain. “Yeah, I just need a minute,” she added. “You need help?”. She chuckled. “I'm surprised you still care”. “I don't. But we're on the same team,” I said. I was lying but let's hope she doesn't she through me. “Give me a second. Just make sure I don't die,” she joked. I leaned on the wall, next to her. “You should rest for the night,” I suggested. “And miss you win? Not a chance,” she answered. I chuckled. “You going to be my cheerleader?” I asked. “You wish”. We were silent again. “Did you mean what you said? That you should've never brought me back,” I asked. She frowned. “No. Of course not. I was just angry. I was hoping you had already left,” she said. “So was I”.

“This is the final round. Ms. von Karma, you have the big blind. $2,000,” the dealer said. I put in the chips. Doe put in the same amount. I stared at him. He looked back, unwavered. “All in,” I said. “Ms. von Karma, we just started the game. Are you sure you want to go all in so early?” the dealer said. “I'm sure”. I pushed my chips forward. I only had a high card so this was super reckless. “Well, I'll have to call you on that. All in,” Doe said. “All in. That's 12.3 billion dollars in the pot,” the dealer said. I showed my cards. A six of clubs and 8 of diamonds. He placed his down. A two of spades and five of hearts. I beat him. “Ms. von Karma, Lady Luck was generous to you tonight. You win,” the dealer said.

“You are one crazy son of a bitch,” Zak said, patting me on the back. “I took the chance and hoped for the best,” I said. “That was reckless,” Gavin said. He wasn't happy with what I did. “Oh, loosen up, Kristoph. It worked out so quite being such a party poopin' bitch,” Ema said. Gavin groaned in annoyance. “Good job, 007,” she told me with a smiled. I smiled back. “Thanks”.

I walked back into my room. Before I could even turn on the lights, I heard a muffled scream. I turned the lights in to find Ms. Hawthorne gagged and tied to a chair. I stepped forward and felt a knife at my neck. It was Doe. “He's dead, isn't he?”. He chuckled. “Why not her too?” I asked. “Well, she's connected to you now. You wanted to save her. Now she's leverage since you decided to play hero,” he answered. “Are you going to kill me now?” I asked. “You'll see”. “I suppose we will. Ema, now!”. Ema hit him and I knocked the knife out of his hand. He recovered quickly. We surrounded him. Two against one. We can take him. I threw a punch, which he caught. I was just the diversion. Ema swung her leg at his head. He ducked and sweeped his leg to trip her. He then flipped me. I guess this won't be as easy as I thought. I heard a crash. He had swung a bottle, hitting Ema in the face. He threw her into the glass table. I looked around and grabbed the knife from the floor. When I looked up, he had Ema in a chokehold. I stabbed him in the ribs, causing him to cry out in pain. Ema broke free. “Ema, get Hawthorne!” I said. She ran over to her. I grabbed our assailant from behind and suplexed him.

I ran over to Ms. Hawthorne and began untying her. Fran and Doe were fighting. Even after being stabbed, it barely affected his abilities. He grabbed her and threw her over us. Fran crashed into the mirror. He walked over to us. I got ready to defend myself. A vase was thrown at him but he caught it. Fran ran at him and he swung the vase, colliding it with Fran's face. She kicked his knee and he staggered. She tackled him to the ground. I continued to free Hawthorne. I removed the rope. “Thank you,” she said. “You alright?” I asked. She nodded. She pulled me close. She wanted to tell me something. I leaned down. “You couldn't satisfy her like I did,” she whispered. What the fuck? I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I looked down. Her hand gripped the knife that was plunged into my stomach. I looked at her. She wore a wicked smile. I felt weak. I tried to grab her but she kicked me back. “Ema. Ema!”. I looked over at Fran. Doe had her pinned down, the knife at her throat. The door was kicked open. It was Zak and Kristoph. Zak kicked the man off of Fran and aimed his gun. The bitch held the knife at my throat. “Don't even think about it. I'll kill her,” she said. “Go ahead”. I struggled to even talk. “I'm not afraid to die,” I added. “Oh, how stoic. For England?” she said. I glared at her. “Place the guns on the ground. Do it now or she dies”. They dropped their guns. Doe took them. He aimed the guns at Kristoph and Zak. “Get into the corner”. My vision was fading. I was getting weaker by the second. Hawthorne was distracted. I noticed the knife wasn't at my neck and her grip on it was loose. I quickly took it from her and swiped. She fell back with her hands covering her face. She screamed in pain. “You fucking bitch!”. I chuckled. “Fuck you,” I said. She grabbed the knife and brought it down on me. She aiming for my chest. I hit her hand, causing her trajectory to change to my shoulder. The blade plunged into me. I groaned in pain. “Ms. Hawthorne, we have to go. Now!”. “Burn in hell,” she told me. She left my field of vision. Fran ran over to me. “Ema! Oh, shit. That bitch fucking played me,” she said. I chuckled. “She makes me look like an angel then,” I joked. Fran put pressure on my stomach. I yelped. “Zak, keep pressure on the wound,” she said. “What? Where are you going?” he replied. “I'm going after them”. “007, it's too dangerous,” Kristoph said. Zak applied pressure. “Stay with me, kid,” he said.

I ran outside. They sped off in a car. I sprinted over to mine and quickly went after them. Opening the special compartment and I grabbed my gun. I shot through the windshield and broke an opening in it. I shot at the car. It wasn't long until the started to return fire. We continued to race through the city until we reached a rural area just outside the city. We continued to exchange fire. A bullet hit my tire and I lost control of the car. It flipped multiple times until it skidded to a stop, upside down. I crawled out, barely conscious. I heard faint voices. “Look at you. How pathetic. I thought I trained you well enough. You shouldn't have thrown it all away”. That stupid old bastard. Why can't he leave me alone?

I woke up in a bright room. I looked around and figured I was in a hospital. Zak sat at the table, playing solitaire. “Zak”. He looked over at me. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he said. “What happened?” I asked. He walked over to me. “They found you at a car crash. You've been out for four days,” he answered. Four days. Shit. They're gone then. “What about… what about Ema?” I asked. I hope she's alright. Please, let her be alright. “She was in critical condition but she's alright now. She's real tough, that one,” he answered. I let out a sigh of relief. “We lost those two. We don't have a clue where they are”. Dammit. “But we can rest easy, knowing they don't have the money,” he added. I nodded. There was a knock at the door. “Yes?”. Ema walked in. She was hooked up to a portable IV. “You woke up. ‘Bout time you lazy bum,” she said. “I'll leave you two alone,” Zak said. He left, closing the door behind him. We were silent. She sat in the chair next to my bed. She looked bad. She had cuts and bruises on her face. I probably looked just as bad. Maybe worse. “When I fully recover, I'll be going on a mission in Poland. I don't know how long I'll be there,” she said. I nodded. I didn't really have anything to say. Maybe this was for the best.

#emaziska #franziska von karma #ema skye #emaziska au #ace attorney au #emaziska 007 au

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kidzboppizza · 6 years ago

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Trans men do you ever get stage fright when there’s ONE other man in the bathroom and suddenly he gets stage freight? Anyone else experience this? Cause you’re scared he knows you’re trans but he’s scared you’re poopin

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gamingdotcom · 3 years ago

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anyone else’s discord poopin its pants?

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arnoldjaime13 · 4 years ago

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Blog Tour- MATRIARCH by @AdamWingWriting With An Excerpt & #Giveaway! @RockstarBkTours

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the MATRIARCH by Adam Wing Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Title: MATRIARCH

Author: Adam Wing

Pub. Date: December 1, 2019

Publisher: Adam Wing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 124

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Read For FREE With A Kindle Unlimited Membership!

The story is over. It’s already too late.

At the end of the Turkish War of Independence, a British soldier disobeys orders to return home. Setting out to explore a country he had only known as trespasser, he uncovers danger, mysteries, and magic—adventure, obsession, and true love.

One hundred years later, the soldier’s great-granddaughter sits at her great-grandmother’s deathbed while the old woman recounts this very tale; it is the last she will ever tell.

Secrets are revealed as past and present collide, and as one woman’s future draws toward its inevitable close, another finds hers thrown into uncertainty.

Excerpt:

(First Chapter)

THE ELDEST

FATE. DESTINY. DOOM.

They rule our lives, decide our futures, queens of fortune and potential. So small are we in Their eyes—so titanic Their vision—we sometimes view Them as a single inescapable god, decider of everything, of both final and first, both cause and consequence. But each is unique.

They are Sisters.

Born in the same instant, Destiny and Fate have ever been rivals. Squabbling for control of all that is, and all that will come to pass, they command our stories, vying for ownership: Fate singing Her songs in reverse, with endings decided before have begun—parables carved in the currents of an immutable universe. While Destiny scribbles in the ink of human action, telling stories born of spirit, courage and resolve, of foolishness, fear and greed. Her endings are those we achieve for ourselves, yet they are no less inevitable, no less Hers in the end.

Then there is the Eldest.

Doom.

Doom eclipses Her Sisters. They are nothing that She was not already. Like Fate, She is the chosen endpoint assigned to each living soul; like Destiny, She is the fruit of every worldly ambition. And She is more. Doom is the great and terrible scorecard, the price of admission, deferred until journey’s end. She is the reckoning of each life’s work, be it arranged in the stars or shaped by choices freely made.

Whether you believe in Destiny, in Fate, in neither or both, Doom cannot be denied.

She will be there in the end.

Doom awaits us all.

CHAPTER ONE

Doom

EACH Sister was present in the hospital that day. No one saw them. No one heard their voices as they laid claim to the oldest and youngest alike, to every life and future resting in-between. But they were there. Fate’s unyielding certainty clung to the air, mingling with the sharp balm of ammonia hastily spread across vinyl, tile and plastic. Destiny’s resolve crackled around every pulsing body, binding lives in an intricate web of hopes, fears and grim determination. And of course, Doom was there, lurking out of sight, hiding around corners and behind heavy doors. In such desperate settings, where people came to press back against death, fight tooth and nail for one more decade, one more year, just one more breath of life, the Eldest Sister was never far.

Today in particular, more than any in a very long time, Doom’s presence could be felt. Today, she was here with purpose. This was the day the Merrill family would arrive en masse. The day Ayla Merrill, the ancient family matriarch, came to the hospital to die.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

“SHE was fine,” the man explained—tried to explain—fumbling words as his voice betrayed an agitation barely held in check. “She was normal. Gran’s always been—I mean, she’s old, but she’s always been . . . healthy, you know? I can’t think of a time I’ve seen her sick. But she just started coughing and wheezing, and she just—and she just … dropped. Like a bag of onions!”

“How old is your grandmother?” the admissions nurse asked, pen never leaving her clipboard.

“Great-grandmother,” the man corrected automatically. “A hundred-nineteen. It’s her birthday. It was at her party it happened. Everyone was there. It was something else, really, a miracle—that we could all make it, I mean. Like—not just most of us—everyone came. So many different schedules. Six generations under the same roof…” The man was beginning to babble. For a time, the nurse allowed him. The patient had been admitted, assigned a bed, and wheeled away by an orderly; it was a slow afternoon, and amazingly, no one else was waiting; no harm letting him unburden himself. Soon she realized however, if she hoped to get anything useful from him at all, she would to have to interrupt. “…the youngest still poopin’ in diapers of course, but we—” The nurse opened her mouth to cut in.

“Dan!” A female voice slapped at them from the entrance. Five more had appeared through the sliding glass doors. The one who had called out, a well-made-up but dazed looking young woman—no older than thirty—scooted past a trio of middle-aged ladies who were supporting a hanging-grey-thread of an eighty—perhaps even ninety—year-old man. “We met up in the parking lot.” The younger woman nodded toward the others. “Mum and Dad are right behind. How is she?”

It took the nurse a second to realize this last was directed to her.

“Well we—”

“Cass! Dan!” A couple in their fifties hurried through the doors and up to the group. “How is she? What do they say?” These questions were not addressed to the nurse, who had yet to get a word in.

“I don’t know,” the young woman, apparently named Cass, answered. “I was just asking.”

“I don’t know,” Dan echoed. Then turning back, he resumed his monologue. “She was having trouble breathing, right? Well, first off she was fine. Everyone was saying…” The man’s rambling account washed over her once again. Painfully suppressing the urge to clench her jaw, the nurse watched as three more Merrills trickled in to attach themselves to the group. Was she to contend with the whole extended clan today? she wondered with no small feeling of dread.

Before more could arrive, before Dan could recite the entire family history, she managed to time an interjection into one of his short breaths. The doctors where examining their great-grandmother, she told them—or their grandmother—or in the case of the ancient-looking man, his … mother?—the one they called Gran, in any case—and they would be back with their diagnosis soon. In the mean time, no, they could not all go wait with her; no, she herself was not going to speculate on what might be wrong; and yes, they could remain in the lounge, so long as they kept to themselves and bothered no one.

This last answer was one the admissions nurse would come to regret.

One-hundred-thirty-eight relatives—ninety-nine direct descendants, and a healthy smattering of in-laws—gathered in the waiting area that evening. “Gran is a remarkable woman,” one of them told the nurse when she approached them to elect a contingent who would stay and wait for news, allowing the others to go home. “Hundred-nineteen and sharper than anyone I know. None of us can imagine what we’d do without her.”

“She sounds incredible,” she answered. Now please move on like any normal invasive swarm.

Eventually, she did convince them. Six would remain through visiting hours. One would be allowed to sit overnight with the patient. For this, they elected the young woman, Cass, who had grown up next-door to the old matron. All agreed, she lived closest to Gran’s heart.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

IT was a little after 2:00 a.m. when Gran awoke. Cass did not immediately notice. Her focus had fallen hard on what the doctor had told her, and it was difficult to think of anything else. “It’s her time,” the woman had said, hands folded on a closed folder containing Gran’s entire medical life. “Her body’s giving out. She might make it till morning, maybe a day or two, but … she’s very old.”

Old, Cass thought. Her laptop sat open in front of her, a half-finished pamphlet design splashed across the dimmed screen. She had hoped to distract herself with work, but for hours she had no more than stared at the open file. …might make it till morning, maybe a day or two… The words circled in her head, overwriting all other thought. …but she’s very old… The idea that this woman, this fixture in Cass’s life, would be gone soon, was all she could focus on. As her great-grandmother’s sleep became restless, Cass’s attention was drawn inward. Even when the old woman slipped back into consciousness, she failed to notice. Only when Gran actually called out, did she finally snap back to the world.

“Ollie?” Gran’s fear cut the darkness, causing the younger woman to start. “Ollie, where am I? Where is this? What am I doing here? Ollie?!”

Tossing her laptop to the other chair, Cass reached for the old woman. “Sh-hh, Gran,” she whispered. “Sh-hh-hh, it’s me. It’s Cassidy. Your little Cass.”

“Cass?” If anything, Gran’s voice sounded more panicked. “Oh God. Cass … where am I? Where—where’s Ollie?”

“Gran, no; it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re in the hospital. You’re with me at the hospital. You fainted at the party. We brought you here to rest and get better.”

“No. No, I don’t like this, Cass. I need to see him. I need … I need … oh…” Her voice trailed off, as though the effort to speak was too much. This frightened Cass. Gran did not scare easily. Gran did not get befuddled. She was immutable, a force of nature. Seeing her like this…

“Greatest-Granddad’s gone,” Cass said, pressing the old woman’s knuckles in her palm. “He passed a long, long time ago, remember? Years before I was born. You do, Gran. Don’t you?

Surprisingly, this seemed to have a calming effect. Gran’s muscles relaxed. She eased herself back onto the bed. “Yes,” she breathed, sounding a little more herself. “Yes, Cass, that’s right. A long time. I just forgot. Just for a second.” She placed a frail hand over Cass’s, which Cass then sandwiched in her own. They held on like that for a minute before Gran pulled away. “Poor Ollie,” she murmured. “Poor, poor Ollie.” Then, “Please, Cassidy, the light. I’d like to see my favourite girl before I go.”

Cass flicked the switch on a wall-mounted fixture over the bed, and a dull glow kindled in its frosted bulb. “None of this before I go crap,” she chided. “You’re going to get better, okay? Mum and Dad brought you some things from the house; some clothes, your jewellery, that old book you like to read. They want you to keep your spirits up so you can get out of here and back home where you belong.”

Gran smiled. “My little Cass. A hundred-and-nineteen is long enough sentence for anyone, wouldn’t you say?” Cass shook her head. Gran had exceeded her generation’s life expectancy before she herself was born, yet to her, a world without the old woman in it was unthinkable. “Besides,” Gran continued, ignoring Cass’s silent objection, “a promise was made many years ago, and I expect it’s time to keep it.”

“Gran, what are you—”

“You say they brought my bobbles?”

Sitting back, Cass nodded.

“Please.”

Cass allowed herself a moment of uncertainty before retrieving a small cherry-wood box from the windowsill.

The box was an antique. Intricate friezes lay carved around its sides, each depicting a season of the year. Webs of brass and silver decorated the lid, set seamlessly into the polished wood. Cass adored this box, though she had never been allowed to touch it, or even look inside. It was strictly off-limits, the only real restriction Gran had ever enforced. Setting it on the old woman’s lap, she returned to her chair by the bed.

“I never told you how I ended up with your great-grandfather,” Gran remarked quietly, opening the little chest.

Cass took a moment to consider. A legend in the Merrill family—second only to Gran herself—Greatest-Granddad Ollie had died in the 1940s, before even the grandchildren were born. Yet each generation had grown up with him. Sitting cross-legged on the old woman’s worn living-room carpet, or curled into an ancient chair or sofa, listening to Gran’s stories, they had come to know him, to love him as if he had always been around. And though his death was something of a murky spot in the family chronicle—rarely discussed and vaguely understood to be suicide—it was his life the old woman loved to recount. The sort of man he was, how much he meant to her. They had gone on such adventures together, lived through incredible events. Through these enthralling tales, he lived again, and the entire family grew to adulate him, even as Gran herself did.

It was no small shock then, when Cass realized she had no idea how Gran had actually come to meet him. That can’t be right, she thought. Gran would have told that one. Surely, I would have asked. But thinking back, giving herself a good long moment to think, she found her mind drawing a blank.

Before Cass could voice her surprise, Gran—whose eyes remained fixed inside the box—shot up a silencing finger. “Wasn’t a question, Cassidy,” the old woman muttered. “I’m not asking; I’m saying, you’ve never heard this story.”

Cass’s mouth snapped shut.

Picking carefully through her jewelry—a bird digging for insects amidst a carpet of fallen nettles—Gran’s eyes widened as she spotted what she was looking for. She set the box aside, and in her hand held a silver bracelet formed of fine, interlinking bands. It wore a heavy coat of tarnish, painted on, presumably, by time and neglect, but was a wonderfully detailed piece and looked to be one-of-a-kind. Cass could not recall ever seeing Gran wear it. In fact, she was fairly certain she had never seen it at all.

“This bracelet,” Gran said, wistfully, “is older than you’d guess. Older than you’d believe, actually. It has more stories in it than I could tell you if I had … well, till you were my age. But the most recent, the one as it matters to me … and to you … is the tale of your great-grandfather. Oliver. It’s a story I’ve not told anyone. But then, no one as God-awful-old as me could miss how special you are, Cass—could doubt that you deserve to know. I suppose it’s time someone does.”

Cass’s throat seemed to swell. It was a struggle to pull air into her lungs. She knows she’s dying, she thought. She knows this will be the last story she tells. Leaning forward, crushed by the realization, yet desperate to hear what Gran had to say, she listened as the tale began.

“It was, oh … so far back now, in Turkey, maybe a year after the war—not the Great War; a few years on. After the Liberation. I guess these old bones would have looked about your age then—just shy, maybe—a girl, figuring out what it means to be a woman.

The winter rains came strong that year. I don’t think I’d seen the river so high…”

About Adam:

Man of many hats: teacher, engineer, editor, scholar, mountain climber, bar tender, student, world traveller, and through and above it all, writer, Wing has dedicated most his life to the craft of writing fiction.

Wing's published works include the novel, Icarus, and a book of short stories, Apoca Lypse Sink Ships, and he has fantasy work on the way.

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Tour Schedule:

Week One:

1/4/2021

Two Chicks on Books

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1/4/2021

Rockstar Book Tours

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1/5/2021

Jaime's World

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1/5/2021

JaimeRockstarBookTours

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1/6/2021

BookHounds

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1/6/2021

BookHounds

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1/7/2021

Books A-Brewin'

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1/7/2021

Books A-Brewin'

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1/8/2021

Fire and Ice

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1/8/2021

Fire and Ice

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Week Two:

1/11/2021

I'm Shelf-ish

Excerpt

1/11/2021

Three gals and plenty of books

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1/12/2021

@minnesota_mailer

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1/12/2021

100 Pages A Day

Review

1/13/2021

Westveil Publishing / @thewestveilarchives

Guest Post

1/13/2021

Westveil Publishing / @thewestveilarchives

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1/14/2021

Adrienne Woods Books and Reviews

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1/14/2021

Books and Zebras @jypsylynn

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1/15/2021

She Just Loves Books

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1/15/2021

Two Points of Interest

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queerspacepunk · 7 years ago

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reminder to self (and anyone else currently avoiding chametz): keep your carbs up. no carbs = no poopin. we do not have time for that (lack of) shit

#i dont have any matzah either bc im a dumbass #bing bong #jewishish stuff #pesach #tmi or possibly unsanitary t

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gooeyghost · 8 years ago

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Meet Pickles

This is Pickles, who i’ve temporarily named for no particular reason. She was found in the parking lot of my local Petco store and the lady brought her in saying she had just found her but couldn’t take her. I assumed another customer would beat me to it but when everyone stayed silent and looked around awkwardly i immediately jumped at the opportunity. I took her home and immediately tried to give her a bath. Her fur was so matted and she reeked of urine. She made not a single whine or whimper as i began to cut away the thick matted globs of fur revealing several open wounds underneath, only 2 fleas, and no ticks or other mites or anything that i could tell. But i hecka washed her... sooo... if they did exist i hope they’re gone now. Cuz’ there are no fleas at my house. Luckily the wounds do not appear terrible or infected. After over an hour of a much needed haircut, I was able to give her a full thorough bath and applied some antiseptic ointment to her small wounds. She had stopped shaking and even tried playfully biting at some fly’s that flew too close when we were outside.

She is probably one of the most sweetest loving dogs i’ve ever met.

She is still a bit skinny and was reluctant to eat at first but thankfully she is now eating and drinking plenty of water and BOY DOES SHE LOVE TOYS AND TREATS! <3 ((( note: I feed my dogs Blue Buffalo. ))) She is about 8-10lbs, perfect teeth and seems very very young. Maybe a year old? After her haircut I found that her nails were rather long so either she had been lost for a good while or she was not being taken care of properly and the amount of matting in her fur alone was worrisome. She was even put through a terrible storm we had the night before she was found. Owners have not popped up despite my posts in local facebook groups as well as craigslist but I really don’t want to jump the gun and assume she was abandoned. Perhaps she had gotten out or was stolen? She is surprisingly quiet and has only barked once when my other dogs did. She doesn’t whine but apparently she did howl this morning while i was at school. She also follows me around the house and hangs out in the bathroom with me when i poop. <3 We’re poopin buddies.

Here she is playing with a giant hot dog. Also bought a giant icecream cone so she’s all ready for summer! haha! (the big dog often destroys all the little dogs toys.)

She got distracted from licking mah face which is good cuz i needed a break to breathe! Also note: apparently I decorate my room in leashes with poop bags tied to them because there are now 4 dogs in my house lol. Thankfully she gets along with all of them and even plays a lot with our other small puppy. Also, she does not have ANY training! She is not house broken, i don’t believe she is fixed, she doesn’t know ANY commands (I even tried in spanish, german, japanese) so it leads me to think she also doesn’t have her shots..

So far she’s peed on quite a bit of stuff, has no respect for the food on your plate, and luckily doesn’t chew anything but slippers! <3 None the less I already love her to pieces and am hoping to get her to her first vet check up as well as her shots, and basic training. Doesn’t she look like a little lamb? <3 Shep dog. I am able to take care of her and start basic training but I have been unable to get a new job (im also in school and have health issues that limit my work abilities). So on the plus side i have plenty of time to give her love and attention and help her become a best friend and family to someone that will love her the way she deserves to be loved (unless i move into a bigger place in which i’d just keep her but cali is expensive. cry face) But while i’m totally ok to spend the final bit of my savings on her, I am asking for help. I have started a GOFUND me page just for her. Not one penny goes towards non Pickles related funds. She will need to get fixed ( i’m getting info on free services but i’m weary about “cheap” places) as well as her first check up, puppy training pads, shots, and assuming her check up goes completely fine and she has no pre-existing conditions, then i’d like to put anything leftover towards food and extra training/proper grooming, anything else she may need. https://www.gofundme.com/PicklesPuppy Every cent is greatly appreciated and I will be trying to update and post about her achievements and well being as often as possible. I have lowered the goal amount once already from $500 to $300 thanks to info on more affordable care but i’m also worried about setting it too low if she does have any existing health issues. She has raised $40 so far which pretty much already covers her first vet check up! And after she is all cleared with the vet I can start taking her to the dog park with my dogs to make some friends and get tons of exercise. I am getting her registered at the only vet I trust that I take my dogs to. It’s a family owned business that have been nothing but extremely helpful even when it comes to costs. I completely understand if you can’t donate and I don’t want to instill any guilt in anyone. I’m the type of person who feels super guilty not being able to help other fundings so please please please don’t let it give you any negative feelings! She is doing very well and is in a happy home and does not need any kind of immediate care. Reblogs are just as appreciated! <3 <3 Thank you so much for reading her story! https://www.gofundme.com/PicklesPuppy

#gofundme #pickles #puppy #foster

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bastardtravel · 7 years ago

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November 9, 2017. Athens, Greece.

They hid the Acropolis.

I don’t know what they stand to gain from it. I think maybe the only way they could convince people to go through the Plaka. Apparently, it’s a beautiful, idyllic village, and one of the oldest towns in the world. It seemed to me like a whole lot of lame graffiti and narrow alleys full of outgoing grifters with friendship bracelets, all of whom happened to love my Barcelona shirt and sought to vocalize that.

The Plaka is a labyrinth that might wind up saving me the trip to Crete, and what few signs exist are in Greek. I asked a tiny goth girl on the corner if this was the way to the Acropolis. Her eyes got big for a second, but then she realized I was not trying to beg for money, give her friendship bracelets, or sell her drugs, and she became very helpful.

“All roads lead to Acropolis,” she said in some of the best English I’d heard out of a local, “But I think that one over there is easiest.”

“I’ll take easiest,” I said, and did. It’s possible she was a grifter plant, and by easiest she meant “most dense with people calling you MY FRIEND, giving you garbage bracelets, explaining how hungry they are, and inviting you to an African dance festival in the square”, but unfortunate dentristy aside, she was too cute for that to be her job. She could’ve been a waitress, at very least. Especially in America. Goth chain restaurant food service workers are the sultry, emotionally damaged specters that haunt every young man’s dreams.

I wove through the Plaka uphill, up stairs, up more hills, more stairs, small cafe owners giving me shady looks as I cut through the stairs that they somehow set up tables and chairs on. When I finally got to the top, I discovered all of the humans.

I later found out there’s an Acropolis metro stop, which is probably how all these fat old Americans beat me to the top. No one’s more confused by my aversion to obvious tourists than I am, considering it’s usually pretty obvious I’m a tourist, especially in Europe. I’m a foot and a half taller and 50 – 100 lbs heavier than everyone except the Nords, and none of them even lift. I think part of their socialism is they all decide on one guy who lifts for Scandinavia, and that guy is The Mountain.

All these little purple-lipstick hobbit women keep looking at me like I escaped a genetic engineering lab, and the international perception of Americans can’t be helping. From what I’ve gleaned in drunken hostel conversations, most Europeans and Australians seem to think America is a post-apocalyptic spaghetti western where we’re all looting in all the major cities and open-carrying AR-15s in case President Immortan Joe sends his death squad drones to Build the Wall.

As I approached the Acropolis, a one-eyed man on a Segway wearing a laminated SEGWAY TOURS sign cruised up to me and said, “You goin’ to the Acropolis?”

“Yes indeed,” I said without eye contact. I don’t want a Segway. This is a goddamn pilgrimage. You think I came around the world to irreconcilably demonstrate to Athena that I’m a li’l bitch?

“Well, you better hurry,” he said in an unexpected show of non-hustling candor. “It’s closing in an hour.”

“I thought it was open til 8.”

“They changed the hours. They start kickin’ people out at 4:40.”

Well, it was 4, so it was go time. I thanked him and charged up the hill, dodging around enormous Asian tour groups and lines of geriatric Central Americans walking 5 abreast to make sure no one could get past them. Everyone was shouting, all the time, forever.

I swung off the path a few times because it was easier to just climb the rocks than navigate the teeming sea of human vermin, paid the 10 Euro to get in, and climbed up toward the Acropolis proper.

You know in spy movies when there’s a laser grid the protagonist has to cross, so they do gymnastics and cartwheels to avoid hitting any of them? Imagine that, but with cameras and selfie sticks. No matter where you went, you were photobombing somebody, and still, they were screaming. Everyone was screaming so much at the silent hilltop archaeology temple, and making faces for the cameras like they’re in a cheap photo booth, and forcing me to hate them.

The Old Temple of Athena was devoted to Athena Hygieia, which pertained to health and medicine. This was probably my favorite part.

The olive tree planted on the west side of the Erectheion symbolized the original olive tree that built the world as we know it.

In the ancient days, Athens was already booming, but it wasn’t called Athens. King Cecrops almost single-handedly dragged Greece into civilization, introducing ceremonial burial, marriage, and literacy to his society. It’s arguable that this was a mixed bag, but eh. After seeing all the thriving, he decided that what the city really needed was more thriving and issued an open invite to the gods to have one become the city’s protector and patron. Immediately, Athena and Poseidon both laid their claim.

Athena suggested to King Cecrops that a contest be held, and he be the judge. Now, Cecrops must have been shitting bricks, because every time the gods hold a contest someone gets turned into a cow or raped by a goose or something, but you can’t tell Athena “that’s a terrible idea” because then you will definitely be getting flayed alive every day for the rest of eternity, so the king said, “Yeah, totally. Let’s do that.”

Poseidon had it all figured out. He knew what Athens needed. He stabbed the earth with his trident and brought a flood right up to the edge of the city. The people had water, now! Poseidon brought water, what a surprise! It was really practical and convenient, right up until they discovered it was seawater and drinking it would kill them.

We can assume that Athena shook her head in disgust before presenting Cecrops with the olive tree, or rather, seeds to it.

“Plant this and wait,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Seed they did, and see they did. Olive oil became a staple for everything in Greece, in ascending order of importance: fuel, wood, shelter, food, and lube. When the trees finally grew, Cecrops faced the music and declared Athena the winner, and they just kept building her temples after that. If you read up on the mythology, Poseidon got the shaft pretty often. Probably why he was always so salty (ha haaaaa).

The Odeon of Herodes Atticus. They still do performances here, unlike the Theater of Dionysius, which was far too ruined and roped off for me to sneak in and honor Diogenes’ memory by poopin’.

The plague of humanity was becoming too taxing. I was getting snippy. A dude’s just trying to honor his personal patron goddess. Did I yell in your church? Well, okay, a little outside of the Basilica in the Vatican, but that wasn’t on me. God started it.

I shimmied down a hiking path to get back to center city. On the way down, I saw a scrawny girl wearing boots with 6 inch heels, trying to navigate the slippery rocks and loose gravel that made up the entirety of the hill.

“Heels to the Acropolis, huh?” I asked her. Her boyfriend was not thrilled at my casually outgoing nature, and sneered a “Yuh” at me, as though he were the one wearing heels to the Acropolis.

“Bold choice.”

She giggled. He didn’t. I slunk back into Athens and went back to the hostel to spend happy hour writing. My Greek bartender friend tried to hit me up for that 4 Euro beer because happy hour didn’t start for another 3 minutes. I gave him a dark look and said I’d wait it out. When the clock rolled over, I got two smaller beers for also 4 Euros, but it was a net gain I could abide.

Outside on the terrace, I met four excitable Australian lads. We got drunk and compared cultures, and they taught me a lexicon of Aussie slang that I knew most of because of the internet. We were joined by a guy from Michigan whose accent was, to me, more pronounced than anyone else’s, and the Austrian tagger I mentioned yesterday. You can check out his work here.

“All right, mate, let’s hash this out,” they asked me. “How in the FUCK did Trump happen?”

“Bible belt, man,” I said. “The news you see coming out of America is all left-leaning media from metropolitan areas. New York, Boston, Philly, D.C., anywhere in California. The majority of America is middle America. Impoverished, living in the boonies, voting straight Conservative every time cuz “we gotta stop that therr abortion, mm-hmm”. The left is louder, but the right is definitely more prevalent. Not to mention, more likely to vote.”

“So, like, is it that bad? Is he really gonna build the wall?”

Me and the dude from Michigan both laughed.

“No, dude. There’s no wall happening.”

“He’s a joke,” the Michiganian said. “He just goes up there, and says things. But there are people behind him in the government that have to allow him to do these things, and they don’t.”

“Right, because they’re impossible and stupid,” I said.

“I think he just says things for attention. And that keeps getting him attention, so he keeps saying it.”

“So let’s get to the kangaroo thing,” I said. “Are they like deer?”

“They’re just like deer,” they said. “They’re everywhere, and all they do is jump in front of your car and fuck it up.”

“Yeah, that’s what deer are for.”

“Down in the bush, ya go shootin’ roos. Ya shoot a lot of things in Straya, actually. The ecosystem is wrecked from all the species the Europeans introduced, so if you shoot one of the poisonous toads and bring it to the municipal, they’ll give you 8 dollas.”

“Damn.”

We drank our drinks, then I said, “I saw an odd thing, the other night, allegedly pretty common in Australia. How prevalent are shoeys?”

Immediately, they all started screaming in joy like I just said the secret word on Peewee’s Playhouse.

We hit the streets, inhaled some 2 Euro gyros, and attempted to find a bar. Instead, we found a hookah bar that claimed it was 5 Euro a hookah, but was actually 5 Euro per person smoking a hookah. That, my friends, is how they getcha. They blasted reggaeton the entire time we were there, which kind of clashes with the intended ambiance of a hookah bar in my ever humble opinion, but nobody asked me.

After that, the impetuous Australians went to buy drugs from one of the shady grifters in the square. Apparently, friendship bracelets aren’t the only thing they’re selling. They picked up 6 gs of Grecian weed for 50 Euro, and then pledged to us that they’d meet us up on the roof terrace with it. It wasn’t going to make or break my night, but we gave them a half hour and they never showed. Ghosted. Too savage. But, you know what they say: Ozzie come, ozzie go.

Off to the rest of the sights. Talk soon.

Love,

The Bastard

Athens: Sartre Was Right November 9, 2017. Athens, Greece. They hid the Acropolis. I don't know what they stand to gain from it.

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