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There's something so beautiful in how Maverick says talk to me, Goose while he's flying the Darkstar.

Here he is, doing something that no other human has ever done, something that would have been sci-fi the last they saw each other, and all he can think is Goose, you should see this.

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setting my clock now! could I ask more about it?

has anyone written anything scholarly about top gun or top gun: maverick? if so, would you possibly let me read and/or share with the class?

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MILES TELLER photographed by François Berthier, 2019

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has anyone written anything scholarly about top gun or top gun: maverick? if so, would you possibly let me read and/or share with the class?

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RIP Val Kilmer 💔

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This is a museum of roosterbruiser.

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this blog hates donald trump

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𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐱 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐄) 𝐱 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 𝟖𝟎𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝟖𝟎𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋-𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑. 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄. 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑, 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐎𝐚𝐤𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕. 𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 ��𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞--𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 '𝟖𝟕 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠--𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥, 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫. 𝐎𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 𝟖𝟎𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 —𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟕𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟖𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 & 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃-𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟒𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 & 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 —𝐒𝐓. 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 —𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟏𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟖

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐓 —𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐘.

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Here's your reminder to Click for Palestine today! 🕊

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women kissing at the 1990 National Bisexual Conference in San Francisco, CA

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The beaten path | Rhett Abbott

spookweek masterlist

Prompt: getting lost in the woods | sent out to the old barn with Rhett one evening, the two of you aren’t alone in the woods.

Warnings: themes of horror and violence. being stalked by something. supernatural stuff. impersonation. It’s a bit of a spooky one! wc: 1.7k

”He’s such a jackass,” Rhett kicks through dirt and leaves, shaking his head and biting out his words through gritted teeth. “Too fuckin’ old to do it himself, and god forbid Perry gets off of his damn ass.”

The flashlight shines off into the darkening woods up ahead. He squints into the shadows, twisting his neck to check back the way he had come. After the storm that had been tearing through Wabang the past two days, it’s a wonder that the ranch held up as well as it had.

All that’s out is the generator. And the part for that generator is way out by the old barn, and the road is blocked by all the tree fall, so he’s the idiot who has to head out there on foot. 

Your fingers curl around his bicep, tugging him back until you can loop your arm through his and hug yourself to his side. Stuck on the ranch for two days yourself, you’re glad to get out of that house for a while — and to have him to yourself, too. 

He had warned you not to come.

You had been all bundled up in his bed already, warm and half naked between his sheets, eyelids drooping. 

But, you had insisted on coming with him. Now, frost nips at your nose and your cheeks, the Wyoming winter creeping in before the leaves have even finished falling. Rhett feels you turn your cheek toward his shoulder, slowing his pace to keep you with him. 

He shoots a glance towards the sky, catching the last glimpses of amber and orange as the sun disappears behind the Tetons. Can’t go another night without power, not when Amy’s already sick. She has a cold and the road will be clear enough for them to go to the pharmacy in the morning but no, this expedition had been urgent anyway. 

“Is it much further?” You ask him, bundled in an old Carhartt from their hallway closet and a pair of his thermal socks, already thinking of how good it’s going to feel to tear it all off and slip under his flannel sheets again tonight.

One glance backward and the truck seems so small, so far away at the end of the dirt path.

He stops to take a quick look around. He knows these woods like the back of his hand. It’s a mile and a half the long way around, but it could be longer if the path is messed up. 

You’d be there and back in fifteen minutes if you cut through the trees. 

He knows better. If it was just him, he’d take the long way around, risk the fallen trees and the hour-long walk that should have only taken twenty minutes. But, he can feel the way you’re trembling against him.

“Nah. Not much further. This way.” He mumbles, turning his head and kissing your temple softly. He unwraps you from his arm and drapes it around your shoulders, hugging you close as he steps off of the path and turns his light toward the trees.

It’s marshy and darker again, where the woods are denser and the ground is wetter, more uneven. Your boots slip in the mud every other step, and your breath comes out in clouds in front of you.

A city girl by Wabang’s standards, Rhett knows that you haven’t ever found this property to be particularly welcoming. Hell, it isn’t. 

Its harsh winters are designed to kill. The air gets cold enough to make it feel like your lungs are screaming when you suck in a deep breath. The ground freezes solid, the grass disappearing and leaving the living with nothing. It’s like even the soil goes back when the trees become bare. 

Draped against him, it’s not the autumn chill that has you shivering.

One more glance backwards and the truck isn’t visible anymore, just trees for as far as your eyes can see.

Turning forward again, the scene up ahead is darker already. Gnarled trees, twisting and looming, the sunlight has faded and the last glimpses of it have disappeared from the canopy above.

You swallow. Your shadow lurks on the chilled ground, looming taller than usual. Wet leaves stick to your boots, mud caking your soles. Each twig that snaps echoes through the silent landscape, each of your jagged breaths sounding amplified through the cold air. 

The wind wails through the trees with a low moan, mist passing through the gaps in the dark. 

There’s a comfort in knowing that Rhett knows this land. A solace in the way he perseveres through the harsh environment, seemingly unfazed. He works in the dark all the time, and he’s been lost in these woods more than once.

That’s why he knows when to stop.

Dead in his tracks, the flashlight stuck on the path up ahead, his breath caught in his throat. His fingers gripping onto your shoulder so tightly that it feels like he’s made of stone.

Your head whips towards him, eyes searching over his face. His jaw is set and his gaze is fixed, his entire body rigid.

“Rhett?” You whisper.

“Go back to the truck.” He breathes, his voice even quieter than your whisper, “Don’t turn around, I’ll meet you there.”

Your face wrinkles, turning to look into the trees, trying to see what he’s looking at. “What? — Don’t mess—“

“I said I’ll meet you at the truck.” 

An icy sensation crawls up your spine as he turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes struck with a dead kind of fear, a type of resignation.

Your heartbeat thuds in your chest, your boots slipping in the wet ground as you stumble a few steps back. It’s silent for miles. Too silent — no birds, no more wind, nothing but the sound of your breathing.

He turns his head once more and it’s like you’re alone.

If he’s fucking with you, you’d never forgive him. It’s even worse, because you know that he’d never be able to fake that look in his eye. You’ve never seen him so afraid.

Your instincts scream at you to run. All of the alarm bells in your head are ringing at once, and it’s like Rhett can tell.

“Go slow. Quiet.” He whispers.

One foot falls back, and another. You stumble back the way you had come until your back hits a tree. You take one more look at your boyfriend, staring off into the trees ahead, and swallow the rising, swelling lump in your throat.

The wet ground shleps under your trembling feet, threatening to swallow your boots with each wobbling step. Your hands drag across jagged back, feeling your way through the trees. 

Finally, you turn on your heel and head back for the path. It was right behind you. You couldn’t have strayed that far. You walk, and walk, and walk until you’re practically jogging. 

Your eyes grow glassy with burning tears, your nose stinging from the harsh cold, your palms damp with sweat. Your head whips to the left, and then to the right as your body spins in a clumsy circle. The path couldn’t have been this far away.

Maybe you had gone the wrong way. The darkness swallows any remaining light as it glimpses through the gaps in the trees — every direction looks the same. Gnarled, twisting shadowed figures for as long as you can see.

Your mouth falls open, your voice catching in your throat, his name falling silent on your tongue. Something tells you that you don’t want to go making a whole lot of noise right now.

Even so, a sob threatens to wrack its way through your throat. You clamp a hand over your own mouth, shuddering back a sniffle as you force yourself forwards. 

Walking, and walking and walking. Darkness around you pulsing like something living, deafening silence filling the air — like there’s nothing really living around here at all. The leaves caking your boots feels like they’re weighing you down, the wet mud pulling you in further with each footfall.

Hot tears spill along your freezing cheeks. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, muffled by your palm. 

The silence is broken as the wind tears through the trees with a whistling howl. Your steps grow heavier, fighting against the wet mud. You sprint until your legs burn, your chest heaving, choking on your tears.

Finally, there’s a glow in the distance. Headlights. Rhett. You gasp out, struggling for breath, rushing for the treeline. Breaking out into the light, your body trembles.

He’s standing by the driver’s side door. Illuminated just by the beams, his figure sunless and hard to see. His shadow stretches out far beyond the hood.

His back is to you. He’s facing the Abbott house, three miles back the way you had come.

You wipe your streaming nose, catching the tears on your jaw, sniffling hard.  “… Rhett? — Rhett, what the fuck was—“

Your voice stops as instantly as Rhett’s footsteps had. It’s like a kick to the chest. 

Rhett’s head turns. Real slow, like the hand of a clock, ticking, ticking — ticking until he has turned enough to be watching you over his shoulder. Peering at you through the driver’s side window, and then the windshield of his old truck.

His eyes are dark and hollow. He doesn’t have the flashlight anymore. There’s something different about him, but maybe that’s just the dark.

The words are caught in your throat and you can’t manage to say anything further.

He moves swiftly, stepping out from beside the door, putting both hands onto the hood of the truck. He steps into the shadow cast by the headlights, darkness falling over his face.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice comes out softly, familiar, almost amused.

Barely visible, an indistinct form, creeping out from around the hood. Inching towards you. 

Long, slender fingers curling across the headlight and casting shadows over your face. Shadowy legs that follow. He steps into the beam of the headlights once more. 

A bent neck, and yellow, lifeless eyes. A wide-stretching smile.

It braces on its legs, dull, hollow eyes growing wide with a sudden excitement, unblinking. Its tight lips peel back across its face, baring sharp, bloodied teeth.

You had taken a wrong turn after all.

[roosterbruiser]

silver springs Jake is making liam a vigil as we speak

this is the most comforting and funniest thing i’ve ever read. thank you for making me laugh when i’ve been so distraught 😭😭

[roosterbruiser]

NOT LIAM OH MY GOD IM PANICKING WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED

[roosterbruiser]

NOT LIAM OH MY GOD IM PANICKING WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED

[roosterbruiser]