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Ghost in/your Space

"You're dead" as you panic when you wake up next to me "You can't be here, you need to go" You then get up in and throw on some clothes that were laying on the floor. As you go to leave another girl comes in and presses you up against the bathroom door. To start to explain to the girl how you're sure I'm in the room with you, but as the girl scans the room, she looks right through me. "He's been gone for a week, its okay to miss him." She looks me in the eye as if she knows I'm there and kisses you.

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Beneath the Ivory Throne

I am of royal blood. Royal blood and a royal name and royal circumstances. I am protected up here, in my kingdom with my overseeing father and my precious mother, and my maids who watch and cater to my needs. I sit upon a throne of entwining ivory and I observe - I don’t act. I’m gifted with iridescent jewels, beautiful dresses and flattering footwear...however, I don’t feel accomplished, or even happy. Constantly trapped, I often find myself feeling distressed and uncomfortable with the constant prying attention. I’m not allowed to make my own decisions, nor my own mistakes. Therefore I do not learn the difference between right and wrong, so I am not able to grow up - understandably, my father wants me to remain as his obedient little princess forever. However, lack of freedom results in increasing curiosity and sometimes a little spark of rebellion. This job is very lonely. I’m always crowded by my workers and yet I never feel wanted or joyful. It’s like being with friends who don’t listen and don’t notice you, and I find it quite upsetting sometimes. I hear them whispering at night, giggling and chattering as they saunter past my door, calling me ungrateful and silly. But I always tend to smile to myself, smirking in the knowledge that I can indulge in what they can’t. My father is a powerful man. He persuades us through acts which suggest that he is a hero - a saviour of our small, abandoned town, however I sometimes come to doubt that. He rules with an iron fist, striking away at the smallest of nuisances; sometimes I, sometimes the poor and sometimes even children. My mother and I are often cast aside as he makes the big decisions, and I always see my mother staring at him with wide, captivated eyes and a warm, proud smile. Love is a strange concept to me, and I can’t say I ever really understood it. I wasn’t given the chance to. I never understood my father’s appeal. His harsh, intolerable words struck fear into the heart of our community, and although I never questioned it, he always seemed unhappy and on edge. He was very determined to prove that we, as a family, were better than the people living in our village, and he seemed to pride himself on that, always referring to it when meeting important people who sometimes visited from other areas of the country. Yet...something always struck me as strange about my father’s opinions. He treated our subjects as disposable livestock – just objects for work and for our own humour. I only recently began to notice this, and my curiosity into the subject matter is allowing me to begin defining the differences between wrong and right. That night that I realised that these workers were human, my father didn’t seem too impressed with me and my belated discovery. He frequently glanced between me and the singing slaves and shook his head with disappointment. My mother sat quietly, humming along to the fading tune which made the atmosphere melancholic and unwelcoming. I sat with my hands in my lap, occasionally listening to the cheerlessly cheerful music which suffocated the room. I spent most of that evening gazing patiently at my ladies who waited on my hand and foot, taking the time to notice each freckle, each mole, each laugh. Once or twice, I found myself laughing along with them before an aggravated look from my father shut me down. A week passed monotonously. I woke up, sat on my breaking throne, had a meal and returned to bed. The cycle itself was just as depressing as my mood. Then, late Wednesday evening, whilst I was returning to my chambers after a quiet meal with my mother, I heard quiet chatter coming from the library.

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A Cage of Curiosity

Constantly trapped, I often find myself feeling distressed and uncomfortable with the constant prying attention. I’m not allowed to make my own decisions, nor my own mistakes. Therefore I do not learn the difference between right and wrong, so I am not able to grow up - understandably, my father wants me to remain as his obedient little princess forever. However, lack of freedom results in increasing curiosity and sometimes a little spark of rebellion.

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The Hollow Throne

I sit upon a throne of entwining ivory and I observe - I don’t act. I’m gifted with iridescent jewels, beautiful dresses and flattering footwear…however, I don’t feel accomplished, or even happy.

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WAIT...WHAT MONTH IS IT?

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Fueled By Facts: Fall Out Boy Trading Cards

When Fall Out Boy first released Take This To Your Grave in 2003, a 6 piece trading card set was printed up and included in the first pressings of the CD. Oversized versions of the cards were included in the first vinyl pressings.

Learn more about the history of Fueled By Ramen in the Fueled By Ramen 15th Anniversary Book + DVD - available now in The FBR Webstore!

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ANDOR   10. One Way Out

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PARADISE LOST: “THE MOUTH OF HELL” by GUSTAVE DORÉ | engraving, circa 1866

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Supernatural (Victor Halperin, 1933)

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Scheduled downward spiral starts today 🥚

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the front bottoms - be nice to me

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bestie. beloved. bastard.

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Glass of Supervicious Fluid