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peninkwrites · 1 year

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Lines Drawn in Sand & Concrete - Ch 3 of ?

Wilbur and Tommy go underground. Wilbur remains unemployed, Tommy is extra homeless.

[CW: violence, injuries]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 2

Ch 4

Mafia AU

~ Wilbur & Tommy ~

Wilbur made plans when he returned to the city, and the past two months have yielded nothing. He’d never intended on abusing Niki’s hospitality, but he hadn’t expected this to take so long. Tommy has stuck around, to Wilbur’s surprise. So he’s at least had company on his petty escapades to catch some negative attention. They’ve continued tagging up the city, much to the bafflement of local law enforcement according to some friend of Tommy’s.

Tommy hasn’t turned up yet today. Sometimes he’d be waiting outside the bakery, other times he’d just somehow track Wilbur down, but nothing yet. Then again, Wilbur has strayed from their usual haunts, which was just creeping dangerously into Badlands territory at every opportunity.

Wilbur has a destination in mind.

He knows the path well. This area is now, or formally had been, Schlatt’s territory, but Wilbur had known it as something different. This patch of old townhouses had been the heart of the Artic Empire. It doesn’t look like much of anything now. Wilbur spares a glance at a wall of brick he knows used to be an entrance into the subway, and looks for something familiar. The diner he got pancakes at as a child is gone, gone for a while by the looks of it, the corner store is still there, of course, but staffed by someone different to the sweet old lady he’d buy cigarettes from, even as she scolded him for it. Wilbur feels a painful nostalgia that he doesn’t understand. He’d tried to get away from all this for a reason.

That reason had largely been because of the Empire itself, because of his dad.

Wilbur stops in front of his old home and laughs. The dark green victorian Wilbur had spent most of his childhood has definitely seen better days, and has seemingly been cut up into apartments, from the four rusty mailboxes now nailed beside the front door.

“Fucking typical, bet you would hate this, dad,” Wilbur mutters. “You put a lot of work renovating this shithole, and they’ve gone and probably gutted the place.” He scans the windows, but most of the shades are drawn, probably against weirdos like him staring in. It looks like the new owners nailed shut the window into his bedroom, probably because they, like Wilbur, had realized it led right onto the porch roof and was a perfect spot to climb down the lattice. Landlords probably saw it as a liability, just like his dad did when he finally figured it out, but by then it was too late to try to fix it. Too late for a lot of things.

“It’s not… it’s not working,” Wilbur continues softly, he doesn’t know if he’s trying to talk to the old house, or if he knows there’s no audience that could understand. “By now, I thought considering what a mess this place has gotten to be, I would’ve… I would’ve found the right sort of trouble.”

There is no reply, and Wilbur realizes with an uneasy feeling in his gut that in that silence, he’d almost been hoping for an abrupt, annoying reply from Tommy. He cannot get attached to that kid, and he has to hope Tommy won’t make the same mistake either. He remains staring up at that house. He wonders if the current tenants know how many people died in there, how many abandoned kids were brought there to be kept safe, what a strange way of growing up it had been for those two things to coexist, not beside one another, but certainly just in the next room over.

Wilbur doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He rummages in his pocket for a cigarette. He’s running out, he’s also running out of money. He’d earned a bit of cash playing for tips at the Secret City, but certainly not enough to live on. Wilbur heads toward the river, knowing Tommy likes to pickpocket there. Wilbur has taken to stashing paint cans behind the dumpster in the alley behind the bakery, but he doesn’t have any on him. Not that now would be a great time to start tagging up the place, it won’t be dark out for a few hours more, but it’s all he’s really been doing lately. That, and smoking.

“I can’t believe you still don’t realize it. You’re such a self absorbed prick,” Tommy appears beside him, holding his wallet.

“Hey!” Wilbur jumps, reaching out to snatch it back. “It’s not self absorbed to not be on the lookout for a bloody pickpocket 24/7.” Tommy ducks out of the way.

“You gotta be more aware, man, I mean look at you, you’re easy pickings. Gotta develop some healthy paranoia, ‘cause people will be after ya! Gonna smell weakness like blood in the water,” Tommy nods wisely, jogging backwards just out of reach.

“Look at me?” Wilbur blusters. “What about you? You’re a string bean with zero caution and it shows.”

“Yeah, true, but you’re not counting the fuckin’ look in my eyes, eh?” Tommy stares at him intently. “They can all tell I’m fucking crazy, and I’ll wreck their shit like a rabid dog if they try to fuck with me!” Tommy puffs his chest out, strolling further away, waving his wallet.

“Oi! Give that back,” Wilbur finally grabs it, largely because Tommy lets him. “How did you even get– Why do I even fucking ask.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I fucking bother, you’re a poor ass bitch,” Tommy scoffs. Wilbur now notices that the kid’s fingers are wrapped, poorly, in bloody bandages.

“What’d you do to your hands?”

“What?” Tommy is defensive in an instant. “None of your business. I can still snatch your wallet.”

“No, but really, how the fuck did you manage to… what, get papercuts on ever finger?” Wilbur grabs Tommy’s wrist lightly, turning it over so he can look at the injuries, worry furrowing his brow at the bloodied white cloth tied around the kid’s palm. Tommy slaps him away.

“Oi! If you have to know, these new battle wounds are from the lovely Blazeborne Hotel,” Tommy says bitterly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s all Jack Manifold’s fault. He left and the guy they replaced him with is a right dickhead.”

“What–” Wilbur is baffled and horrified. “He did that to you?! That’s fucking insane, how did–”

“He didn’t hold me down and do it with a knife, dumbass!” Tommy snaps. “He…” Tommy almost seems embarrassed. “He’s got razors stuck under the windows now. So I’d cut me hands goin’ in. I didn’t notice. Normally I notice everything, he– He just took me by surprise, is all.”

“Razors?” Wilbur is still indignant on his behalf. “Because– Wait, so the staff know some homeless kid sneaks into the rooms and the guy’s solution was to cut your hands up? That’s… that’s insane.”

“It’s war, dearest little Wilbur,” Tommy remains pompous. “I’ve been fighting with the Blazeborne Hotel for ages now, they’re just amped up their arsenal now that Jack Manifold deserted. Nothing I can’t handle,” he swaggers forward.

“You– You shouldn’t have to handle any of this shit. You should take Niki’s couch! You’ve got a right to it more than me.”

Tommy gives him a scathing look. “Obviously, but I don’t want to take Niki’s couch. I’ve figured out the razorblades, I can work around ‘em. I’d rather have a bed of my own than exploit Niki’s hospitality like a schmuck like you.”

“Uncalled for,” Wilbur mutters. “Still, that’s–”

Tommy cuts him off. “I can handle myself. Not as weak and feeble as you are. And you’re gonna make yourself even feebler if you keep smoking those fucking things,” Tommy’s lip curls in disgust at the smell of the cigarette.

Wilbur, irritably, puts it out on the bottom of his shoe shoving it back in his pocket. Tommy keeps moving, striding down the street, shouldering past a man who Wilbur is pretty sure just lost his watch, and from the way Tommy has started walking faster, Wilbur is all the more sure. Wilbur almost has to jog to catch up.

“Where are you going?” Wilbur asks.

“Um, I’m a man of the streets? So, wherever I like? What’re you wandering about for, Soot? Lazy layabout that you are,” Tommy tuts him.

“I was just–” Wilbur laughs half under his breath, rolling his eyes. He should be used to Tommy by now, but he still somehow finds the kid baffling as he is irritatingly endearing. “Nothing. Just… seeing the sights.”

“Have you not already done that? We’ve seen all sorts of shit in our escapades,” Tommy says pointedly.

“Yeah, just…” Wilbur trails off. He’s not going to get into this with Tommy, but he does have another step to take. “D’you remember when you were talking about the old subway lines?”

Tommy stops, turning to look at him with a frown. “Er, yeah? Why?”

“Well, you said you knew a spot down there, an old grate or something, that wasn’t bricked up, right?” Wilbur asks.

Tommy nods. “Yeah, but it’s fucking dark as shit down there. Probably structurally un-sound,” he enunciates each syllable. “You’d only be asking if you were planning on going down there, though, so, what’re you trying to do?” Tommy stares at him with narrowed eyes, suspicious.

Wilbur smiles. “It’s like I said, see the sights.”

“Trust me, bub, back in your day that place was way different, it’s been sitting empty down there for years,” Tommy says again.

“Just show me the grate, alright? I’m not asking you to go down there,” Wilbur scoffs.

Tommy looks offended. “You think I’m gonna let a little lad like you go down there all by your lonesome? The rats will eat your fuckin’ eyes, I tell you!” He leans forward, as if to poke Wilbur in the eye, Wilbur swatting him away.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t go down there! Aren’t you claustrophobic or something?” Wilbur huffs irritably.

“Yeah, but I’m a big man, not gonna let something as silly as fear stop me,” even as Tommy says this, he’s far from enthusiastic. “But it’s– It’ll be crazy dark down there, alright? Pitch-fucking-black. You won’t be able to check anything out blind,” for a moment Tommy looks hopeful, like he thinks this settles the matter.

Wilbur rummages around in his many pockets, pulling out a torch. “I’ve only got the one, though, so again, you don’t have to come.”

Tommy scowls. “I’ll get myself a fucking torch,” he mutters, marching off down the street.

“Where?!” Wilbur follows.

“Shop. This time you distract the clerk, alright? I’ll do the thievery-ing.”

Tommy’s expedition yields mixed results, as he managed to get ahold of a flashlight, but discovers it doesn’t have batteries in it.

“Oh, that’s bullshit,” Tommy grumbles, having half a mind to throw the thing away.

“Yeah, pretty sure you have to buy– sorry, steal those separate,” Wilbur teases.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to steal shit when your fingers are shredded?!” Tommy whines. “This is unjust!”

“What, do you want me to tell the shop to stock batteries with them because the little rat bastard with bandages on his hands deserves an easier time taking them?”

“Yes,” Tommy says sharply. Wilbur just laughs at him. “Fine, we’ll go with just yours, then,” Tommy shoves it into his pocket. “I don’t even know if the grate goes into the subway tunnels, alright? Could be… could be some other tunnel system running underneath the city which you might have no desire to go into, eh?”

“Right, sure,” Wilbur gives him a look. “Lead the way, then, Tommy, to this mysterious tunnel system under the city,” he says sarcastically.

Tommy gives him a resentful look before heading off at a quick walk. He knows this city too well. Wilbur watches the street signs, trying to track if he can tell which station they might be going to, but it’s been too long. Wilbur remembers where a few stations were. He sort of wants to find some of particular significance to him, but getting down there at all is the first task.

“And you’re sure it’s not a storm drain?” Wilbur asks.

“I know what a fucking storm drain looks––and smells like,” Tommy snaps.

He’s scanning the wall of bricks now. Tommy stops, crouching down beside a locked grate down the street from a bricked up entrance. It’s half a foot above street level, so it’s definitely not a drainage grate. Tommy squints down into the dark.

“This might help,” Wilbur shines his torch down into the dark. He frowns. “It’s just… metal. It’s a vent.”

“Yeah, it’s for ventilating shit,” Tommy says. “Did you think it would be a staircase laid out with a fuckin’ red carpet?”

“Well, how do I know if I’ll even fit? Or where it lets out at?” Wilbur is starting to get nervous.

Tommy looks smug. “Well, only way to find out is to get down in there, bitch boy.”

“Fuck,” Wilbur mutters. This isn’t exactly how he wants to die, but he wants to see it. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time.”

Tommy hums in agreement. “There’s little metal rungs though, that’s something. You’re less likely to die down there.”

“Hey,” Wilbur bumps his shoulder. “We’re less likely to die down there.”

“Dickhead.”

Wilbur sets down the torch, grabbing the edges of the rusted metal. It crumbles far too easily in his hands, he’s flung backwards onto the sidewalk, Tommy cackles.

Wilbur gets to his feet, unsteady and annoyed. “Stop laughing or you’re going down first.”

“No way in hell!” Tommy snaps. “I gotta wait and count how long it takes for you to hit the bottom.”

Wilbur sighs, grimacing. He’d hoped his self destructive patterns would’ve been a bit more convenient. Wilbur ducks down, there’s a ladder, so it’s meant for people to fit in it, but Wilbur is incredibly tall. He manages to not hit his head, the rungs of the ladder are slimy and coated in rust. He stops, staring down into the dark. He begins to descend, before stopping again.

“Oi! Tommy!”

“Ye– Yeah?!” Tommy pokes his head in, merely a shadowed outline from the light outside.

“If… if the ladder breaks and I get stuck down here, go find Niki.”

“...she’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be a lot quicker than dying down here!”

“Touché.”

Wilbur keeps climbing down into the dark, he hears the echo of water dripping somewhere, one of the rungs makes a horrible creaking sound, but nothing breaks. He nears the end when his next step is met by the hollow clang! of metal. He gives it a sharp kick, and the next grate breaks and hits the concrete loudly. Soon after, Wilbur’s boot crunches down into the narrow passage along the side of the tunnel.

“I’m still alive!” Wilbur calls up to Tommy and winces as his voice echoes down the tunnel. He turns on the torch, it’s a poor attempt to beat back the dark. It smells like mildew and metal down here, stale air left to putrify for years. “Smells rank, though.”

“So do you!” Tommy says, voice much closer now as he climbs down as well, muttering ow all the while as the ladder rungs are unforgiving on his hands. Finally, he hits the bottom, hopping beside Wilbur and shaking out his injured hands. “Oh, this isn't so bad. The tunnels are fuckin’ massive!”

“Really? That was your biggest problem with coming down here?”

“Told you I was claustrophobic!”

“Right,” Wilbur rolls his eyes, peering ahead. He tries to orient himself based on the streets above, he’s pretty sure the next station should be just ahead. He starts walking, Tommy sticking close beside him.

“Bet there are rats down here.”

“Yeah, probably?”

“Bet there are rats the size of dogs. Eat your fuckin’ face off.”

“The size of–? Right, sure. Dog rats.”

“You can doubt me, but I won’t save you from the rat king.”

Wilbur laughs at him. “Shut up, you’re ridiculous.”

“How dare you tell me to shut up!” Tommy is about to make a fuss when he stops, Wilbur’s torch outlining the subway platform. “Whoa, cool.” He runs ahead, clambering up onto the platform. “Oi! Keep the light over here!”

“Well, don’t run ahead!” Wilbur follows after him, scanning the area. “This one used to let up onto 11th.”

“Did any of ‘em go under the river?”

“What? No, there were rails that went over it, like the bridges. I think they might’ve gotten torn down when they bricked things off, though,” Wilbur scans the row of outdated advertisements peeling off the walls, finding a map showing the different tracks of the metro. The station he’d been looking for is a ways off, and Wilbur doesn’t exactly feel like their first expedition should risk wandering so far into the dark.

“Oh, yeah. There’s like, concrete posts left. I’ve tried hopping across ‘em when the water is low. Got a big scrape on my leg from it.” Tommy scuffs his feet, kicking a chunk of loose concrete across the platform, the rock skidding loudly. “We should’ve brought breadcrumbs or whatever the fuck.”

Wilbur laughs, “right, we’ve traveled ten yards, are you really gonna get lost?”

“I dunno,” Tommy shrugs. “It would help if I could see.”

“I bet it would.” Wilbur knows there’s nothing of note here, for the hell of it he wanders up the steps, only to be met by a wall of bricks. He turns back, hopping back down onto the tracks. “Come on.”

“In a rush? Worried you’re gonna miss your train?” Tommy teases him.

“Nah, I just don’t see a point in staring at nothing.”

“It’s just gonna be more of this, bub. Dunno what you think you’re gonna find down here.”

“Fine, you can just stay here, then.”

“No, no wait for me!” Tommy hurries to catch up. He clears his throat and pretends he’s not jumpy. “You’ll get lost without me, and that’s when the rats’ll get ya.”

“How kind of you to protect me.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m Tommy Innit, protector of stupid bitches with torches.”

“You’re really still caught up on the torch thing, are you–?” Wilbur cuts himself off with a scream, jumping as a large, gray rat runs between his legs, not dog-sized by any means, but fucking huge.

“What?!” Tommy jumps, grabbing onto Wilbur’s sleeve.

“N-Nothing,” Wilbur tries to pull himself together. “It was– Just a rat, just startled me, is all.”

Tommy cackles. “What’re you screamin’ about? We came into his house!”

Wilbur glares a him, even if Tommy can’t see it as he’s behind the torchlight. Tommy bounces back on his heels, antsy now.

“Can I hold the torch?”

“No!”

“Come on, man, please!” Tommy whines.

“Should’ve brought your own!”

“I tried to–”

“Don’t try and grab it–”

From somewhere in the tunnels, back the way they had come, they hear metal sharply clanging together, they freeze, neither of them daring to breathe. Wilbur looks straight ahead, the torch shining up between them, met with Tommy’s wide, scared eyes staring back. There’s another clang! as if someone were banging against the metal pipes running along the walls, the echo dies and there is once more silence save for the sound of Tommy’s shaky breathing.

All it takes is one more consistent thud and Wilbur and Tommy are sprinting the other direction, Tommy holding tightly onto Wilbur’s coat, the torch light swinging erratically from Wilbur’s hand as he runs, but their exit is thirty yards the opposite way.

“Stop stop!” Tommy yanks Wilbur back as in the flash of the swinging torch he sees a door. “Look!”

“There’s no fucking way it’ll open, Tommy–”

Tommy runs up to it anyway, giving it a desperate tug. “Ha!” Tommy says breathlessly as the door swings open easily, revealing a stairwell.

“Wait up!” Wilbur hurries after him, not wanting to be left alone. Tommy scrambles up the steps, Wilbur struggling to keep up, before barreling through another door at the top of the stairs, and the two of them find themselves out of breath in some alleyway, the door swinging shut behind them, a sign painted on it which reads DANGER: MAINTENANCE ONLY over a rusted through lock, which at first glance appears secure.

“Oh, we are the luckiest bastards alive,” Tommy collapses against the wall, a hand over his racing heart. Wilbur thinks he might puke. He hasn’t run that fast in a long time. “What the fuck d’you suppose that was?”

Back in the light, reason returns to him, Wilbur takes a few more deep breaths. “P-Probably old metal settling, or something from up on the street, maybe. Who knows. Old shit like that… m-makes noises.”

Tommy gives him a scathing look. “You’re full of shit.”

“What do you think it was?” Wilbur says dryly. “A monster?”

“Prick,” Tommy gives him a halfhearted shove, but he too feels less afraid now that he’s back in the sun. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He heads for the main street.

“You done adventuring for the night?” Wilbur follows more slowly.

“Not necessarily, but I’m fucking done being underground for the night,” Tommy says. “Wanna steal some food and tag up some Badlands shit?”

Wilbur gives him an exasperated and weary look. “Sure, why not.”

Wilbur isn’t sure what his goal had been in going down there, but it certainly wasn’t accomplished. The rest of the evening is spent far more typically for them until it’s late, approaching midnight at least, but they’re still spraypainting the front windows of some diner near the docks. Wilbur has gotten more elaborate, not merely writing the words crime boys but making the letters sharp and jagged or block-y and 3D. Tommy tends to paint symbols or threats, but today he’s more just chatting, kicking garbage around the alley. It hurts his hands to hold down the nozzle to spray the paint.

“Shit,” Tommy mutters, ducking back into a side street, motioning for Wilbur to follow.

Wilbur turns around, spotting a group of men coming down the adjacent street. The only party traveling the streets this late and that boldly had to be Badlanders. Wilbur drops his spraypaint, the can clattering loudly onto the pavement, and takes a few steps forward, intending on crossing over onto the street where the patrol is soon going to turn.

“Wilbur?!” Tommy whispers sharply, close behind. “What’re you–”

“No, you stay back there, Tommy,” Wilbur says offhandedly.

He can hear their voices from here, he doesn’t know if they’ll turn down this street, but they’re certainly going to cross the intersection soon. He gets one foot out into the road, and then Tommy is clawing at him, hissing and dragging him back into the alley.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Tommy is tugging on his arm with all his bodyweight. Wilbur could keep resisting, but he doesn’t want to drag the kid into the line of fire. Tommy punches his arm hard. “Are you trying to get yourself fucking shredded to ribbons?!”

“What?” Wilbur looks over at him, as if coming out of a daze.

“Shush!” Tommy clamps a grubby hand over Wilbur’s mouth as the voices get closer. Wilbur almost protests, but he tastes blood the moment he tries to speak and immediately decides to keep his mouth shut. Tommy has torn his hands back open scrabbling with Wilbur, but he still holds on tight. The men do not turn, they keep walking. Tommy stays quiet and refuses to let Wilbur move until their voices fade, once relatively sure the men are gone, he feels free to let go to berate and hit Wilbur incessantly. “You’re a fucking moron!” He says, punching Wilbur in the arm, shoving him back before shaking his hand out and hissing at the burn, blood still seeping through his sorry excuse for a bandage. “You wanna get yourself turned to swiss cheese, do it when I’m not around, alright? You piece of shit!” Tommy snarls, but he’s breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with ill buried horror.

“They… they wouldn’t have just open fired. Badlands are more cautious than that,” Wilbur doesn’t know why he feels like he’s just lost something, like an opportunity has passed him by, he leans back out into the street, but it’s deserted.

“Yeah, maybe they used to be! But lately they’ve been fuckin’ willy-nilly all over the place, killing all sorts!” Tommy huffs. “You’re– If you want to get yourself killed so bad, find a tall building! Alone. I’m not dragging your body to a hospital!”

Wilbur doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know how literal Tommy is being. “I think we’ve done enough tagging for the night. We should… We should go.”

“Yeah! Yeah, obviously we should fucking go, dickhead!” Tommy gives him one last shove, using his elbow instead of his injured hands, grabbing the paint cans, throwing one at Wilbur’s head, shoving the other in his pocket. Wilbur catches it just before it hits his face, oddly bemused by Tommy’s anger.

“You could’ve stayed back in the alley,” Wilbur says teasingly.

“I could’ve–” Tommy stops storming off and turns on him again, pulling himself up to his full height, standing up straight for once to stare him down. “You’re goddamn right I could’ve! I could’ve let you– Fucking hell, man, you’re just– You’re not funny! Alright?!” Tommy settles on that last jab, letting out an irritated growl and resuming his walk. “Good fucking night, Wilbur Soot! Go be Niki and Ranboo’s problem!”

“Hold on! Wait, Tommy, your hands– Come with me to Niki’s! I can… I can wrap them or something–” Wilbur tries to call after him, but Tommy is good at disappearing and in a moment Wilbur is alone.

Wilbur turns around, wondering what direction the Badlands patrol had disappeared to. It’s not worth it, not tonight. He glances back in the direction Tommy had ran off. Not yet. He’s actually surprised by how pissed off it made Tommy, was the kid that convinced he would get into trouble as well? It doesn’t cross Wilbur’s mind that maybe the kid was just scared for him.

Tommy wasn’t entirely wrong in him being Ranboo and Niki’s problem for the rest of the night. He returns to their flat late, and as such, he unlocks the front door, makes it two feet inside, and Niki’s bedroom door swings open and in one hand she’s attempting to raise a shotgun.

“Oh my god, Wil, you–” Niki lowers it in sleepy irritation. “You can’t keep doing that!”

Wilbur lowers his raised hands. “What? Come in? I assumed you gave me a key so you wouldn’t have to keep waking up like this.”

“Well, maybe if you were quieter,” Niki says grumpily. She glances at Ranboo’s closed door, her brother seemingly undisturbed. “Maybe I’m just…”

“Hypervigilant?”

She glares at him. “A light sleeper.” She gives him a once over, lips pursing disapprovingly at his paint-stained fingers. “You know I love you, Wilbur, and I like having you around, but you can’t live on my couch forever.”

Wilbur’s shoulders hunch inward. “I– I know. I truly am sorry, Niki, I wasn’t supposed to burden you this long.”

“I mean, burden is a bit strong, but yeah, the point stands. And, well, have you been looking for jobs? Or apartments?”

Wilbur wishes he could make himself smaller. “No, I haven’t, really, I meant more like–” he hesitates. “More like… I thought I’d be done being… here. Um, in the city, by now.”

Niki is tired and puzzled. “Right. I’m going back to bed. We can talk tomorrow. You should… you should play at the Secret City more, for a start to make money.”

Wilbur smiles weakly as she shuffles back into her room. “I’d like that.”

“And get a job!”

“I’d like that less.”

Tommy is still shaken and pissed off when he stares up at the bottom ladder of the fire escape into the Blazeborne hotel. He stares ruefully at his hands, the strips of sheets he’d torn up from the hotel room are now utterly soaked red, and he still has to climb the ladder. On his right hand, it’s mostly a cut across his palm, it’s his left that has a cut across all four fingers. He cannot figure out a way to climb the ladder without putting pressure on them. He winces, and clambers up the ladder, muttering vicious swears as the cold metal makes the cuts sting even further. His other irritation for the night still lingers in the back of his mind. He knew Wilbur was stupid, but my god that was excessive. He doesn’t understand that man. Tommy cannot comprehend why he would’ve been standing out there in the open like he was waiting for the Badlanders to spot him. He’s a fucking idiot. Tommy has seen enough people get shot dead in front of him, thank you very much. He’d prefer it not happen again with someone he actually knows and likes. Tommy glances in at the first window off the fire escape, pleasantly surprised to see the room unoccupied. It makes his trip easier. He’s figured out these locks as well, it takes a bit more fiddling with his knife, but then voila! he can get in just as easily.

Once that is done, Tommy is much more cautious, lifting the window using pressure on the glass, his sleeves covering his cut up hands. Tommy delicately steps into the room, scanning the floor half expecting to see glass. He sees a note taped to the window sill reading:

Guests: Please do not open the window, the latch is currently broken. We are sorry for any inconvenience.

“Broken my ass…” Tommy mutters bitterly. He’s paranoid now, and he’s probably right to be. He flicks on a lamp, lifting the sheets, leaning forward and taking a deep breath, looking for the scent of some harmful irritant put on the sheets or something similar. Other than the razorblades, thus far this conflict has been joined by mouse traps on the floor or under the bedding, broken glass on the ground in front of the window, the bleaching powder they use to clean the bathrooms being stuck between the sheets, and a few ominous notes warning him that soon they would stop messing around. Tommy didn’t care much about that. Whatever obstacles they try, he’ll work around them. If Jack Manifold couldn’t annoy him out of this hotel, Tommy will be damned if he’s stopped by a little pain. All of their attempts had to be easily manageable for when a guest actually needed a room, so as long as Tommy tread carefully, it’s not like they could gas him out.

Tommy bolts the door, the only lock the hotel can’t simply open from the other side is a little chain, but it’s all he has. Next he cautiously approaches the bathroom, flicking on the light, but no threats make themselves known. He steals a white pillowcase off of one of the pillows, assessing it carefully for sabotage or chemical warfare. Once satisfied, he returns to the bathroom, hands somewhat shaky as he peels off the bloodied bandages.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck–” Tommy mutters furiously under his breath, running over the new blood with cool water before dabbing it with a white washcloth until the bleeding slows. If these bastards were going to cut him open, he’s going to leave all their white fucking linen bloodstained. His hands are still shaky as he holds the pillowcase and rips away strips of it with his teeth. His eyes are watering, which only pisses him off more. Whatever scabbing had begun to form in the past 24 hours has been destroyed by his activities of the day, some of that being hanging out with Wilbur, more of it being stealing shit to live. Tommy does his best to tightly tie the cloth around his injuries. He doesn’t know how these cuts are going to heal if he has to work with his hands every day. If they get infected he’s fucked.

Tommy is always careful. He leaves the window open, sleeps as close to it as he can, with all of his things on his person, so he can make a hasty exit. He rarely showers here, if he does wedging the door shut with a chair, but these are unique circumstances. He’s been forced to camp out in the bathroom, the door open to the rest of the room, the light on, and the front door latched but unbarred.

As such, when someone tries to open the door to get in, he’s a bit thrown off.

Tommy flinches at the thud of the chain pulled taut, but he’s always ready to run, so he abandons his make-shift first aid and bolts for the window. He makes it into the main room in time for the chain to shatter from the man throwing his weight against it. Tommy doesn’t make it to the window, the man grabbing the collar of his jacket and choking him back.

Tommy’s panic swiftly turns to outrage. He is not abandoning his coat, so instead of doing the easy thing and slipping out of his sleeves, he shoves himself backwards until the man hits the wall, startled enough to let go, but before Tommy can bolt for the window again, the man wraps his arm around his neck. Panic returns.

“You’re not getting away from me!” He snarls. “You’re fucking lucky I’m calling the cops–” He’s cut off with a yelp as Tommy bites down on his arm as hard as he can.

Tommy jumps back, hopping up onto the bed when there’s a flash of metal swung down in front of him. “You’ve got a fucking golf club?! I’m like twelve!”

The man is shorter than him, but way bigger, cheeks flushed and livid, and yes, he does have a golf club. “You definitely fucking aren’t!” He snaps.

They’re for a moment frozen, Tommy crouched on top of the bed, unsure if it’s better to bolt for the open door or for the window, the man is directly across from him, clearly waiting for him to try something. Tommy takes one step toward the right side of the bed, balanced tenuously on the mattress, the man follows, golf club at the ready, but Tommy doesn’t jump down, he picks up the lamp from the bedside table.

“You wouldn’t dare. I have legal grounds, you are breaking and entering!”

“Oi! I think you’ve done the only breaking so far!” Tommy nods to the broken chain on the door.

“Be glad it wasn’t your fucking head!”

“Come on, man! I’m just a kid!” Tommy gives him the most pathetic look he can manage. “You’re really gonna hit a kid?”

Tommy throws the lamp a second too late. He’s only lucky in that the man did not swing at him with a golf club, instead his fist nails Tommy in the jaw, sending him toppling off the bed, the lamp shattering against the wall behind the fuming hotel porter. Tommy’s jaw aches, he feels dizzy, but he’s jolted back into focus by the man dragging him back by his ankle. Tommy snarls, twisting around so he can kick the man in the gut.

Instead, he kicks the man a bit lower. He lets go.

Tommy scrambles for the nearest exit, the door, only to be once more dragged back, hitting his head against the wall as the man presses his forearm to his throat, pinning him back.

“Stop struggling! I’m not gonna kill you!”

“As if,” Tommy snaps. “You’re gonna turn me over to the pigs, you fucking rat-faced bootlicker–” Tommy is silenced by the man’s fist nailing him in the face. “Ow!” Tommy whines, already knowing he’s going to end up with a black eye. His heart is racing as he tries to yank the man’s arm away from his throat, but his struggling is no longer yielding results. He looks around frantically, as if hoping for another lamp, none appears. “Right,” Tommy rapidly searches his pockets. He comes up with two things. His multitool, which he knows has a knife that’s not exactly intimidating, and a canister. “Hate to do this, well, not really, but–” The man screams and drops him as he gets a faceful of black spraypaint, staggering back and blocking Tommy’s exit out the door.

Tommy runs for the window, clambering through and swearing again as a razorblade knicks his ear, but by the time the man has stumbled blindly over to the window, Tommy is fumbling down the ladder, his injured hands slipping so halfway down he falls the eight feet back to the street, ankles twinging painfully, but he has no time to evaluate his injuries, he can hear police sirens. Tommy runs until he can’t breathe, until he can no longer hear sirens, until he realizes that he has nowhere to run to. At least winter has faded, the chill dulling enough that nights outside are tolerable, but definitely not comfortable. Tommy tries to get his bearings. He’s in Schlatt’s– Tubbo’s territory. He can find somewhere to hunker down here, first he needs to catch his breath. Tommy ducks behind a dumpster, leaning heavily against the bricks. Everything fucking hurts, his face hurts, his legs hurt, his hands hurt, and Tommy is furiously forced to accept that the Blazeborne Hotel is not an option for him anymore.

“What do you know, Tommyinnit? You’re… You’re more homeless than you were before…” He laughs hoarsely, sliding to the ground. His hands are bleeding again. “Fuck…”

#my writing #mafia au #woooo here we go !#shrimp time :)#c!crimeboys

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things2mustdo · 4 years

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In order for a nation to survive, two critical emotions must be controlled. Contrary to popular belief, these emotions are not fear and greed—although these are very important to control, as well. Rather, it’s masculine aggression and feminine vanity that must be controlled…and we are doing a terrible job at this.

Unfortunately, over the past 70 years, we’ve seen sex roles and gender dynamics completely turned on their heads. Rather than men and women working together to create better relationships, more functional families, and more powerful countries, we’ve been pit against one another by toxic ideologies and ruthless demagogues.

It is not enough to simply know what is happening, however—we must know precisely how it’s happening, step by step, and more importantly, WHY it’s happening. In this article, I will explore why our society has gone so downhill so fast, and potential solutions we can integrate to remedy it (if we can save it, at all).

The Two Forces

As I said previously, there are two very delicate forces which must constantly be counter-balancing one another, and anytime they grow unbalanced, there will be chaos. These two forces are, of course, masculine aggression and feminine vanity. Too much masculine aggression, and a country becomes war-torn, unable to run itself or stay stable long enough to produce any sort of civilization (think the Middle East).

Too much feminine vanity, however, and the opposite occurs. Men become reclusive, because women become far too difficult to deal with. This is why we’ve seen the rise of the sigma male over the past 20 years—men who refuse to attach themselves to any sort of social hierarchy. They’re not alpha, beta, or omega. They just do as they do, without adhering to any sort of social group or workplace hierarchy.

As feminine vanity grows excessive, female hypergamy is given reign to run loose. Rather than men and women developing healthy relationships with one another, women become so conceited that they refuse to “settle” for anyone less than an alpha male Chad Thundercock, and thus we have a surplus of angry, bitter women who hit the wall at 30 and end up childless and alone.

It’s so obvious that it should go without saying, that we are currently in a serious imbalance. For far too long, masculine aggression has been hampered and stomped down by our effeminate school system, our brainwashing devices (aka TV’s), and our mass media control system. All the while, these things have encouraged women to do as they please, without any consequences or thought of their actions on a larger, societal scale.

Restoring the Balance

Balance will be restored, one way or another. There are only two ways for this imbalance to possibly be restored, and most men here will acknowledge, at least implicitly, that this is the case:

Men in OTHER COUNTRIES restore the balance (by coming here en masse)

Men in THIS COUNTRY restore the balance (by not being pussies)

Those are the only two options. There is no third option, where women somehow magically stop giving men 500,000 shit tests a day and step down to become good, faithful girlfriends, wives, and mothers. This will not happen. When a society reaches this critical imbalance, only one of two things can happen.

Of course, we all know what the elites (oy vey!) are pushing for. They want to bring millions of aggressive, young, fighting-age men to this country, to supposedly help combat “population decline.” We all know that this is complete horse shit, and that their true motive is to destroy America.

Even so, with the full force of the elites raining down upon us, there is hope. Over the past two years, we’ve seen more masculine energy emerge and come to the front of our socio-political battlegrounds than arguably any other time in history. For the first time in the past 70 years, men are reclaiming their manhood.

Let me reiterate that this is the only option. There is no magical world where everything just works out great, where we have millions of violent, aggressive 20-something-year-old men come into this country, and we retain our values as an Anglo-Saxon country. No. This will not happen. We either get our acts together, collectively, as men, or we watch our nation burn.

The Path Forward (2018-2020)

The next two years are of critical importance. We have collectively, successfully memed the most brutally alpha and pro-American president into office arguably since Ronald Reagan. This is not an opportunity that we can afford to squander—we must all begin proactively restoring the balance of masculinity in this country, from the top down, otherwise our nation will perish to globalists and their dumb, but useful allies.

There will be resistance, as there is whenever masculinity tries to assert itself. Pay no attention to this resistance. Simply follow the advice which the manosphere advocates for:

Create an income independent of a massive, bureaucratic, globalist corporation

Increase your testosterone levels (start by avoiding foods that kill testosterone)

Lift weights, and become physically able to stand up for yourself

Proactively participate in the upcoming midterms, and the Presidential Election of 2020

Do everything you can to red pill those who are ready (emphasis on them being ready)

If we, collectively, as a group of thousands of like-minded men all across the nation can successfully pull this off, we will see a resurgence of economic, political, and social growth which will have been unprecedented.

If we do not pull it off however, and our nation succumbs to the manipulations of the elite, a far more grim and sinister future will play out.

The Alternative

If we do not successfully reclaim the balance of masculine aggression and feminine vanity in this country, all will be lost, and we will be forced to either live through hell, or leave our homelands. Here’s what to expect over the next decade or so, if a social justice warrior is elected President in 2020, and we lose the culture wars:

Increasing surveillance over the internet

More thought crime policies instituted into law

The figurative castration of men all across the country

Eventual race wars, or religious wars, spurred on primarily by Islamic migrants

This is non-negotiable. If we lose the culture wars to SJW’s over the next several years, we will begin to see lobbying to shut down any and all manosphere websites dedicated to spreading the truth. We have already seen PayPal, YouTube, Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, and Google begin to censor people like Roosh, Alex Jones, Donald Trump, and other conservative/red pilled speakers. We cannot afford to stand this any longer.

If we lose these mediums to the globalists, they will easily gain the support of the public to institute thought crime policies into our legal system. You have a book by Bronze Age Pervert, that Amazon can track from your order history? NAZI SCUM! You’re going to prison. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t actually hurt anyone in any way shape or form, because you had an opinion that the globalists dislike.

As this begins to happen, men will self-imprison all over the nation. Some will fight, of course, and maybe win (if we’re lucky). Others will leave and attempt to gain citizenship in more male-friendly countries such as Denmark, Austria, and Poland. The rest will be forced to hang their heads in perpetual shame.

Eventually, as the population of third world migrants explodes, and tribalism is exacerbated by the polarizing media, we will begin to see rampant terrorist attacks, which are already happening in Germany, The UK, and other nations around the cucked European Union. Inevitably, this will end in a civil war.

It’s Our Choice

I have presented to you the only two choices that we have, and to me, the decision is quite simple. We can either sit around passively, and squabble amongst ourselves over stupid theories and philosophies, or we can take action to better ourselves and improve the stance of our nation.

The choice is clear to me. We either succumb to globalist propaganda, see the death of masculinity in the West, and see freedom of speech die as it is destined to do, or we fight back and create a better future. Some may say this is melodramatic. I would say that a mere cursory glance at history will prove otherwise.

Read Next: Cultural Collapse Theory: The 7 Steps That Lead To A Complete Culture Decline

It was Joe’s first date with Mary. He asked her what she wanted in life and she replied, “I want to establish my career. That’s the most important thing to me right now.” Undeterred that she had no need for a man in her life, Joe entertained her with enough funny stories and cocky statements that she soon allowed him to lightly pet her forearm.

At the end of the date, he locked arms with her on the walk to the subway station, when two Middle Eastern men on scooter patrol accosted them and said they were forbidden to touch. “This is Sharia zone,” they said in heavily accented English, in front of a Halal butcher shop. Joe and Mary felt bad that they offended the two men, because they were trained in school to respect all religions but that of their ancestors. One of the first things they learned was that their white skin gave them extra privilege in life which must be consciously restrained at all times. Even if they happened to disagree with the two men, they could not verbally object because of anti-hate laws that would put them in jail for religious discrimination. They unlocked arms and maintained a distance of three feet from each other.

Unfortunately for Joe, Mary did not want to go out with him again, but seven years later he did receive a message from her on Facebook saying hello. She became vice president of a company, but could not find a man equal to her station since women now made 25% more than men on average. Joe had long left the country and moved to Thailand, where he married a young Thai girl and had three children. He had no plans on returning to his country, America.

If cultural collapse occurs in the way I will now describe, the above scenario will be the rule within a few decades. The Western world is being colonized in reverse, not by weapons or hard power, but through a combination of progressivism and low reproductive rates. These two factors will lead to a complete cultural collapse of many Western nations within the next 200 years. This theory will show the most likely mechanism that it will proceed in America, Canada, UK, Scandinavia, and Western Europe.

What Is A Cultural Collapse?

Cultural collapse is the decline, decay, or disappearance of a native population’s rituals, habits, interpersonal communication, relationships, art, and language. It coincides with a relative decline of population compared to outside groups. National identity and group identification will be lost while revisionist history will be applied to demonize or find fault with the native population. Cultural collapse is not to be confused with economic or state collapse. A nation that suffers from a cultural collapse can still be economically productive and have a working government.

First I will share a brief summary of the cultural collapse progression before explaining them in more detail. Then I will discuss where I see many countries along its path.

The Cultural Collapse Progression

1. Removal of religious narrative from people’s lives, replaced by a treadmill of scientific and technological “progress.”

2. Elimination of traditional sex roles through feminism, gender equality, political correctness, cultural Marxism, and socialism.

3. Delay or abstainment of family formation by women to pursue careerist lifestyles while men wait in confused limbo.

4. Decreasing birth rate among native population.

5. Government enactment of open immigration policies to prevent economic collapse.

6. Immigrant refusal to fully acclimate, forcing host culture to adopt external rituals and beliefs while being out-reproduced.

7. Natives becoming marginalized in their own country.

1. Removal of religious narrative

Religion has been a powerful restraint for millennia in preventing humans from pursuing their base desires and narcissistic tendencies so that they satisfy a god. Family formation is the central unit of most religions, possibly because children increase membership at zero marginal cost to the church (i.e. they don’t need to be recruited).

Religion may promote scientific ignorance, but it facilitates reproduction by giving people a narrative that places family near the center of their existence.[1] [2] [3] After the Enlightenment, the rapid advance of science and its logical but nihilistic explanations into the universe have removed the religious narrative and replaced it with an empty narrative of scientific progress, knowledge, and technology, which act as a restraint and hindrance to family formation, allowing people to pursue individual goals of wealth accumulation or hedonistic pleasure seeking.[4] As of now, there has not been a single non-religious population that has been able to reproduce above the death rate.[5]

Even though many people today claim to believe in god, they may not step inside a church but once or twice a year for special holidays. Religion went from being a lifestyle, a manual for living, to something that is thought about in passing.

2. Elimination of traditional sex roles

Once religion no longer plays a role in people’s lives, the stage is set to fracture male-female bonding. It is collectively attacked by several ideologies stemming from the beliefs of Cultural Marxist theory, which serve to accomplish one common end: destruction of the family unit so that citizens are dependent on the state. They achieve this goal through the marginalization of men and their role in society under the banner of “equality.”[6] With feminism pushed to the forefront of this umbrella movement, the drive for equality ends up being a power grab by women.[7] This attack is performed on a range of fronts:

medicating boys from a young age with ADHD drugs to eradicate displays of masculinity[8]

shaming of men for having direct sexual interest in attractive and fertile women

criminalization of normal male behavior by redefining some instances of consensual sex as rape[9]

imprisonment of unemployed fathers for non-payment of child support, rendering them destitute and unable to be a part of their children’s lives[10]

taxation of men at higher rates for redistribution to women[11] [12]

promotion of single mother and homosexual lifestyles over that of the nuclear family[13] [14]

The end result is that men, confused about their identify and averse to state punishment from sexual harassment, “date rape,” and divorce proceedings, make a rational decision to wait on the sidelines.[15] Women, still not happy with the increased power given to them, continue their assault on men by instructing them to “man up” into what has become an unfair deal—marriage. The elevation of women above men is allowed by corporations, which adopt “girl power” marketing to expand their consumer base and increase profits.[16] [17] Governments also allow it because it increases their tax revenue. Because there is money to be made with women working and becoming consumers, there is no effort by the elite to halt this development.

3. Women begin to place career above family

At the same time men are emasculated as mere “sperm donors,” women are encouraged to adopt the career goals, mannerisms, and competitive lifestyles of men, inevitably causing them to delay marriage, often into an age where they can no longer find suitable husbands who have more resources than themselves. [18] [19] [20] [21] The average woman will find it exceedingly difficult to balance career and family, and since she has no concern of getting “fired” from her family, who she may see as a hindrance to her career goals, she will devote an increasing proportion of time into her job.

Female income, in aggregate, will soon match or exceed that of men.[22] [23] [24] A key reason that women historically got married was to be economically provided for, but this reason will no longer persist and women will feel less pressure or motivation to marry. The burgeoning spinster population will simply be a money-making opportunity for corporations to market to an increasing population of lonely women. Cat and small dog sales will rise.

Women succumb to their primal sexual and materialistic urges to live the “Sex and the City” lifestyle full of fine dining, casual sex, technological bliss, and general gluttony without learning traditional household skills or feminine qualities that would make them attractive wives.[25] [26] Men adapt to careerist women in a rational way by doing the following:

to sate their natural sexual desires, men allow their income to lower since economic stability no longer provides a draw to women in their prime[27]

they mimic “alpha male” social behavior to get laid with women who, without having an urgent need for a man’s monetary resources to survive, can choose men based on confidence, aesthetics, and general entertainment value[28]

they withdraw into a world of video games and the internet, satisfying their own base desires for play and simulated hunting[29] [30]

Careerist women who decide to marry will do so in a hurried rush around 30 because they fear growing old alone, but since they are well past their fertility peak[31], they may find it difficult to reproduce. In the event of successful reproduction at such a later age, fewer children can be born before biological infertility, limiting family size compared to the historical past.

4. Birth rates decrease among native population

The stage is now set for the death rate to outstrip the birth rate. This creates a demographic cliff where there is a growing population of non-working elderly relative to able-bodied younger workers. Two problems result:

Not enough tax revenue is supplied by the working population in order to provide for the elderly’s medical and social retirement needs.[32] Borrowing can only temporarily maintain these entitlements.

Decrease of economic activity since more people are dying than buying.[33]

No modern nation has figured out how to substantially raise birth rates among native populations. The most successful effort has been done in France, but that has still kept the birth rate among French-born women just under the replacement rate (2.08 vs 2.1).[34] The easiest and fastest way to solve this double-edged problem is to promote mass immigration of non-elderly individuals who will work, spend, and procreate at rates greater than natives.[35]

A replenishing supply of births are necessary to create taxpayers, workers, entrepreneurs, and consumers in order to maintain the nation’s economic development.[36] While many claim that the planet is suffering from “overpopulation,” an economic collapse is inevitable for those countries who do not increase their population at steady rates.

5. Large influx of immigration

An aging population without youthful refilling will cause a scarcity of labor, increasing that labor’s price. Corporate elites will now lobby governments for immigration reform to relieve this upward pressure on wages.[37] [38] At the same time, the modern mantra of sustained GDP growth puts pressure on politicians for dissemination of favorable economic growth data to aid in their re-elections. The simplest way to increase GDP without innovation or development of industry is to expand the population. Both corporate and political elites now have their goals in alignment where the easiest solution becomes immigration.[39] [40]

While politicians hem and haw about designing permanent immigration policies, immigrants continue to settle within the nation.[41] The national birth rate problem is essentially solved overnight, as it’s much easier to drain third-world nations of its starry-eyed population with enticements of living in the first-world than it is to encourage the native women to reproduce. (Lateral immigration from one first-world nation to another is so relatively insignificant that the niche term ‘expatriation’ has been developed to describe it). Native women will show a stubborn resistance at any suggestion they should create families, much preferring a relatively responsibility-free lifestyle of sexual variety, casual internet dating via mobile apps, consumer excess, and comfortable high-paying jobs in air conditioned offices.[42] [43]

Immigrants will almost always come from societies that are more religious and, in the case of Islam with regard to European immigration, far more scientifically primitive and rigid in its customs.[44]

6. Sanitization of host culture coincides with increase in immigrant power

While many adult immigrants will feel gracious at the opportunity to live in a more prosperous nation, others will soon feel resentment that they are forced to work menial jobs in a country that is far more expensive than their own.[45] [46] [47] [48] [49] The majority of them remain in lower economic classes, living in poor “immigrant communities” where they can speak their own language, find their own homeland foods, and follow their own customs or religion.

Instead of breaking out of their foreigner communities, immigrants seek to expand it by organizing. They form local groups and civic organizations to teach natives better ways to understand and serve immigrant populations. They will be eager to publicize cases where immigrants have been insulted by insensitive natives or treated unfairly by police authorities in the case of petty crime.[50] [51] [52] [53] [54] [55] School curriculums may be changed to promote diversity or multiculturalism, at great expense to the native culture.[56] Concessions will be made not to offend immigrants.[57] A continual stream of outrages will be found and this will feed the power of the organizations and create a state within a state where native elites become fearful of applying laws to immigrants.[58]

7. Destruction of native culture

This step has not yet happened in any first-world nation, so I will predict it based on logically extending known events I have already described.

Local elites will give lip service to immigrant groups for votes but will be slow to give them real state or economic power. Citizenship rules may even be tightened to prevent immigrants from being elected. The elites will be mostly insulated from the cultural crises in their isolated communities, private schools, and social clubs, where they can continue to incubate their own sub-culture without outside influence. At the same time, they will make speeches and enact polices to force native citizens to accept multiculturalism and blind immigration. Anti-hate and anti-discrimination laws will be more vigorously enforced than other more serious crimes. Police will monitor social networking to identify those who make statements against protected classes.

Cultural decline begins in earnest when the natives feel shame or guilt for who they are, their history, their way of life, and where their ancestors came from. They will let immigrant groups criticize their customs without protest, or they simply embrace immigrant customs instead with religious conversion and interethnic marriages. Nationalistic pride will be condemned as a “far-right” phenomenon and popular nationalistic politicians will be compared to Hitler. Natives learn the art of self-censorship, limiting the range of their speech and expressions, and soon only the elderly can speak the truths of the cultural decline while a younger multiculturalist within earshot attributes such frankness to senility or racist nostalgia.

With the already entrenched environment of political correctness (see stage 2), the local culture becomes a sort of “world” culture that can be declared tolerant and progressive as long as there is a lack of criticism against immigrants, multiculturalism, and their combined influence. All cultural identity will eventually be lost, and to be “American” or “British,” for example, will no longer have modern meaning from a sociological perspective. Native traditions will be eradicated and a cultural mixing will take place where citizens from one world nation will be nearly identical in behavior, thought, and consumer tastes to citizens of another. Once a collapse occurs, it cannot be reversed. The nation’s cultural heritage will be forever lost.

I want to now take a brief look at six different countries and see where they are along the cultural collapse progression…

Russia

This is an interesting case because, up to recently, we saw very low birth rates not due to progressive ideals but from a rough transition to capitalism in the 1990’s and a high male mortality from alcoholism.[59] [60] To help sustain its population, Russia is readily accepting immigrants from Central Asian regions, treating them like second-class citizens and refusing to make any accommodations away from the ethnic Russian way of life. Even police authorities turn a blind eye when local skinhead groups attack immigrants.[61] In addition, Russia has also shown no tolerance to homosexual or progressive groups,[62] stunting their negative effects upon the culture. The birth rate has risen in recent years to levels seen in Western Europe but it’s still not above the death rate. Russia will see a population collapse before a cultural one.

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very low

Brazil

We’re seeing rapid movement through stages 2 and 3, where progressive ideology based on the American model is becoming adopted and a large poor population ensure progressive politicians will continue to remain in power with promises of economic redistribution.[63] [64] [65] Within 15 years we should see a sharp drop in birth rates and a relaxation of immigration laws.

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Moderate

America

Some could argue that America is currently experiencing a cultural collapse. It always had a fragile culture because of its immigrant foundings, but immigrants of the past (including my own parents) rapidly acclimated into the host culture to create a sense of national pride around an ethic of hard work and shared democratic values. This is being eroded as a fem-centric culture rises in its place, with its focus on trends, celebrities, homosexuality, multiculturalism, and male-bashing. Natives have become pleasure seekers with little inclination to reproduction during their years of peak fertility.[66]

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very high

England

While America always had high amounts of immigration, and therefore a system of integration, England is newer to the game. In the past 20 years, they have massively ramped up their immigration efforts.[67] A visit to London will confirm that the native British are slowly becoming minorities, with their iconic red telephone booths left undisturbed purely for tourist photo opportunities. Approximately 5% of the English population is now Muslim.[68] Instead of acclimatizing, they are achieving early success in creating zones with Sharia law.[69] The English elite, in response, is jailing natives under stringent anti-race laws.[70] England had a highly successful immigration story with Polish immigrants who eagerly acclimated to English culture, but have opened the doors to other peoples who don’t want to integrate.[71]

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very high

Sweden

Sweden is experiencing a similar immigration situation to England, but they possess a higher amount of self-shame and white guilt. Instead of allowing immigrants who could work in the Swedish economy, they are encouraging migration of asylum seekers who have been made destitute by war. These immigrants enter Sweden and immediately receive social benefits. In effect, Sweden is welcoming the least economically productive people in the world.[72] The immigrants will produce little or no economic benefit, and may even worsen Sweden’s economy. Immigrants are turning some parts of Sweden, such as the Rosengard area of Malmo, into a ghetto.[73]

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Very high

Poland

From my one and half years of living in Poland, I have seen a moderate level of progressive ideological creep, careerism among women, hedonism, and idolation of Western values, particularly out of England, where a large percentage of the Polish population have emigrated for work. Younger Poles may not act much different from their Western counterparts in their party lifestyle behavior, but there nonetheless remains a tenuous maintenance of traditional sex roles. Women of fertile age are pursuing relationships over one-night stands, but careerism is causing them to stall family formation. This puts a downward pressure on birth rates, which stems from significant numbers of fertile young women emigrating to countries like the UK and USA, along with continued economic uncertainties faced from transitioning to capitalism[74]. As Europe’s “least multicultural” nation, Poland has long been hesitant to accept immigrants, but this has recently changed and they are encouraging migrants.[75] To its credit, it is seeking first-world entrepreneurs instead of low skilled laborers or asylum seekers. Its cultural fate will be an interesting development in the years to come, but the prognosis will be more negative as long as its young people are eager to leave the homeland.

Likelihood of 50-year cultural collapse: Possible

Poland and Russia show the limitations of Cultural Collapse Theory in that it best applies to first-world nations with highly developed economies. They have low birth rates but not through the mechanism I described, though if they adopt a more Western ideological track like Brazil, I expect to see the same outcome that is befalling England or Sweden.

There can be many paths to cultural destruction, and those nations with the most similarities will gravitate towards the same path, just like how Eastern European nations are suffering low birth rates because of mass emigration due to being introduced into the European Union.

How To Stop Cultural Collapse

Maintaining native birth rates while preventing the elite from allowing immigrant labor is the most effective means at preventing cultural collapse. Since multiculturalism is an experiment with no proven efficacy, a culture can only be maintained by a relatively homogenous group who identify with each other. When that homogeneity breaks down and one citizen looks to the next and does not see a person with the same values as himself, the culture falls in dis-repair as native citizens begin to lose a shared means of communication and identity. Once the percentage of the immigrant population crosses a certain threshold (perhaps 15%), the decline will pick up in pace and cultural breakdown will be readily apparent to all observers.

Current policies to solve low birth rates through immigration is a short-term fix with dire long-term consequences. In effect, it’s a Trojan-horse prescription of irreversible cultural destruction. A state must prevent itself from entering the position where mass immigration is considered a solution by blocking progressive ideologies from taking hold. One way this can be done is through the promotion of a state-sponsored religion which encourages the nuclear family instead of single motherhood and homosexuality. However, introducing religion as a mainstay of citizen life in the post-enlightenment era may be impossible.

We must consider that the scientific era is an evolutionary maladaptive feature of humanity that natural selection will accordingly punish (i.e. those who are anti-religious and pro-science will simply breed less). It must also be considered that with religion in permanent decline, cultural collapse may be a certainty that eventually occurs in all developed nations. Religion, it may turn out, was evolutionary beneficial to the human race.

Another possible solution is to foster a patriarchal society where men serve as strong providers. If you encourage the development of successful men who possess indispensable skills and therefore resources that are lacked by females, there will be women below their station who want to marry and procreate with them, but if strong women are produced instead, marriage and procreation is unlikely to take place at levels above the death rate.

A gap between the sexes should always exist in the favor of men if procreation is to occur at high rates, or else you’ll have something similar to the situation in America where urban professional women cannot find “good men” to begin a family with (i.e., men who are significantly more financially successful than them). They instead remain single and barren, only used occasionally by cads for exciting casual sex.

One issue that I purposefully ignored is the effect of technology and consumerism on lowering birth rates. How much influence does video games, internet, and smartphones contribute to a birth decline? How much of an effect does Western-style consumerism have in delaying marriage? I suspect they have more of an amplification effect than being an outright cause. If a country is proceeding through the cultural collapse model, technology will simply hurry the collapse, but giving internet access to a traditionally religious group of people may not cause them to flip overnight. Research will have to be done in these areas to say for sure.

Conclusion

The first iteration of any theory is sure to create as many questions as answers, but I hope that by proposing this model, it becomes more clear why some cultures seem so quick to degrade while others display a sort of immunity. Some countries may be too far down the wrong path to be saved, but I hope the information presented gives concerned readers ideas on protecting their own culture by allowing them to connect how progressive ideologies that may seem innocent or benign on the surface can eventually lead to an outright collapse of their nation’s culture.

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vldchanwook · 4 years

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this is heather, finally bringing you a brand new character -- legion’s main dancer, lead rapper & vocalist, yang chanwook / axl. so far, the only pages i have up for him are his public & private profiles. everything else is still under construction, but i do also have a pinterest board to offer. if you’re interested in plotting, please like this or hit my dms and we can work something out!

born in mapo, seoul on april 15, 1992; he’s currently twenty-eight years old.

TW ABUSE & ALCOHOLISM ---

his childhood wasn’t great. his mother was 19 when she had him and he was an accident, so she had no idea how to raise him/how to be a parent at all. plus, she only married chanwook’s dad because they had a baby together; he wasn’t a good guy at all, very aggressive, manipulative, hateful. he also had a drinking problem and it wasn’t uncommon for him to come home in a drunken rage, hurting anyone in his path, if he even came home at all.

--- END OF TW.

he had a lot of pent up anger in his childhood because of his relationship with his father & he always took it out on the wrong people; his mom, his peers, his teachers. never anyone who actually deserved it. started acting out A LOT in middle school and his attitude persisted all throughout high school; he was always looking to pick fights, everyone knew he wanted to fight so most people avoided him.

when he was fifteen, he started hanging out with a rougher crowd & they frequently snuck into the local bars/clubs. also started drinking around this time -- this was the official end of his childhood.

him & his friends started rapping as a joke when they were together, mimicking the nameless performers they saw in the little clubs, but chanwook actually? started to like it? he was pretty good at it, too, so after a little persuasion from his friends, he started performing under the alias “jace”.

at around 16/17, he stopped going home so much because it was just... never a good experience, started staying out on the streets all night or sleeping in subway stations; frequently misunderstood as being homeless, but sometimes he definitely looked it. got into some trouble, but nothing too bad. was pretty much always just getting chased off by business owners/irritated cops/etc bc he was always somewhere he shouldn’t be.

things pretty much stayed the same until he was 20 & he was scouted by a representative from atlas records after one of his performances. he denied the offer at first/claimed he wasn’t interested at all, and he really wasn’t, but he also had no idea what he was going to do with his life, had no education or career plans, couldn’t keep being a street rat forever, so he eventually agreed.

trained for three years before debuting with legion as axl.

ii.

when legion first debuted, there was a lot of criticism surrounding chanwook -- people he’d known while he was an underground rapper started making the connection & thought he was a sellout, netizens found old videos of him & claimed that he wasn’t idol material because a lot of his lyrics were very misogynistic, vulgar, cocky. neither side was happy, but the netizens settled down a little after he clarified that he hadn’t actually written any of his own lyrics in that time (which was a lie) and apologized gravely with promises to be better in the future. obv the underground scene just screamed SELLOUT! even louder but you gotta do what you gotta do.

his image during debut days was... a whole mess because his anger was definitely still present, but the only way he could express it was through disobedience -- he loved to do the opposite of what he was told to do, or to just take things overboard. he played every part he was assigned wrong; if he was told to be chic & mysterious, he’d be distant and a little rude; if he was told to be funny, he’d make outrageous jokes & would constantly show a very fake smile. the general public assumed that his unpredictability was his image, so it became his image; the company was content bc he finally simmered down a little and stopped acting like a fool, he was content because he felt like he had won.

there are definitely still people who think he’s sexist or arrogant, probably even people within the industry. esp since he has a little bit of a reputation for flirting with idols (male or female presenting -- he doesn’t care), but is always shot down.

has a tattoo of his mom on his chest, and he’s never had something ruin so many chances. pretty much any time he tries to hook up w/ someone, they see the tattoo of his mom and they’re either so shocked or so amused that it ruins the mood. rip chanwook.

not really angry anymore. he can still give off that energy because of his rbf & the rumors attached to him, but he’s come to peace with most of his inner turmoil, no longer wants to hurt people or start fights just for the fun of it. would much rather vibe, and with that said, he’d probably even prefer to vibe alone.

right now....... his goal is pretty much just to change the stigma of idol rappers but also try to stay on the public’s good side.

#vldintro #do i use capitalization? do i type all lowercase? it depends on the day #if there are any typos just ignore them please

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subjecta5newtella · 5 years

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Filigree

(I promised like 3 people I’d write some happier Nalby, and I crowdsourced holiday prompts to keep me from losing my absolute and entire mind at work, so here we go!!)

-----------------------

It’s not particularly that he’d wanted to go to the symphony alone on Christmas Eve. It’s just that Alby’s coworker hadn’t been able to go and had offered his tickets up, and he hadn’t had a good excuse not to take them. He didn’t have other plans. He’d been in the city for a month and a half, and hadn’t really met anyone other than his coworkers, who all had better places to be tonight. Maybe the concert will be a little less lonely than sitting at home, at any rate.

They’re surprisingly good seats, he finds out. Not that it really matters. Alby’s not averse to orchestral music, he supposes, but there can’t be that much to look at.

Except.

Except the first chair violinist takes his seat, and good god, he’s gorgeous. He’s tall, probably just a little taller than Alby, with long, blond hair tied up out of his face, and with an odd, fluid sort of grace to the way he moves, even despite a slight limp. Maybe Alby doesn’t appreciate high art enough, but he can’t help feeling like this whole thing suddenly became a much better idea. So he’s chronically single and likes attractive men. Sue him.

The concert starts, and Alby does his best not to stare. He’s doing a mostly decent job at first, just barely nodding along to some of the more upbeat movements and clapping politely at the correct intervals, but then the guy- Newt Ross, he’d checked the name in the program, although that can’t be his real name- has a solo. He steps into the spotlight, fingers poised on the strings, and everything else falls away. It’s only the music, and it’s only Newt, eyes closed, swaying slightly in place as he plays. The music is the type of beautiful that presses at an ache deep inside of you you hadn’t known you had, high and sweet and almost a little sad.

Alby’s not sure how long it goes on. Time stretches, tangled tightly between the notes, and he hopes it’ll never end, just keep existing in this breathless space. Eventually, though, it has to, silver threads replaced by applause that he’s a second late in joining, he’s been so deeply entranced.

For the last few songs, he more or less gives up trying not to stare. He doubts he’s the only one, anyway, although he kind of hopes he is.

After the show, he waits around and tries not to look like he’s waiting for the musicians to file out. He checks his phone for the texts he’s not getting, scrolls through social media that’s mostly dry because everyone’s busy with family, plays a couple rounds of a matching game that he hates but can’t bring himself to permanently delete.

Finally, Newt comes out, and Alby’s hope or fear or both that he wouldn’t be as beautiful up close is proven irrational. His hair is loose now, falling just past his shoulders, and his face is flushed a little pink from the cold. His coat collar is flipped up, and he shifts the violin case to his other hand to fix it. And, okay, there’s absolutely no way this guy is single, but Alby can at least compliment his playing.

“Newt!” he calls, doing his absolute best not to come off as stalkerish when Newt turns.

“Huh? Oh. Hi?”

“Hi. Sorry, hope this isn’t super weird, I just wanted to tell you that I loved your solo.”

Newt smiles. “Thank you. Only a little creepy, but I’m willing to forgive it.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“What can I say, I’m feeling the Christmas spirit. What’s your name?”

“Alby. Uh, Alby Grant.”

“Well, nice to meet you. Where are you headed?”

“Subway. Orange Line.”

“I’m taking the Red from there. Walk with me?” Alby must look surprised, because Newt says, “You’re shivering, and if we’re gonna talk, might as well walk as we do it.”

Alby had been shivering, but he hadn’t known it was that obvious. “I’m from a lot farther south.”

“Where?” Newt starts walking, shifting his case to his other hand so it’s not in between them.

Alby falls into step beside him. “Tiny beach town in South Carolina. Definitely doesn’t snow there. You?”

“London, originally. Are you new here, then?”

“Was it the fact that I’m slowly freezing, or the fact that I was alone at the symphony on Christmas Eve that gave it away?”

Newt laughs. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one without grand plans. My friends are all out of town, and my sister’s staying with me, but she’s out at some party.”

Alby would be lying if he said his heart hadn’t jumped a little when Newt had failed to mention any kind of significant other. Maybe it was just an oversight, but it does seem like the kind of thing one would mention during the holidays.

“That’s rough,” Alby says, not quite sure what else to say.

Newt shrugs. “I’ve had worse Christmases. It’ll be alright.”

They fall into silence for a moment, before Alby asks, “When did you start playing the violin?”

“Started when I was ten, but for a while it was just something I did, ya know? School credit or whatever. I only got serious about it when I was sixteen and broke my leg and couldn’t do anything else.”

So that explained the limp, maybe, something that hadn’t healed quite right, but Alby’s not about to ask. Instead, he says, “Well, it seemed like it worked out. You’re incredible.”

Newt ducks his head a little, and if Alby’s quick glance isn’t mistaken, he’s gone just a little pinker, although it could just be the cold. “Thank you,”

“I’m half-tempted to come back to the next performance,” Alby says as they descend the stairs to the station, and he’s only sort of joking.

“Well, if you want to see the orchestra and help me pay my bills, go for it.”

“And if I just want to see you play?” The words are out of Alby’s mouth before he really thinks them through, catching even him off guard with their boldness.

Newt smirks, and Alby takes a second to appreciate how unfairly hot the expression is on him. “Well, if that’s all you want...”

He waits for a couple people to pass and makes his way to a side alcove, just out of the path of traffic. He sets the violin case down and opens the clasps, resting the violin on his knee to attach the shoulder rest.

Alby dodges around another few straggling passengers, still trying to process exactly what Newt is doing. “Here?”

Newt shrugs, adjusting his bow. “Plenty of people busk in the subway.”

“How many of them play in a major symphony orchestra?”

“Some of them, maybe. It’s kind of fun.”

With that, Newt straightens up, settles the violin into place under his chin, and hovers the bow just over the strings. His eyes close, and he starts to play.

What was beautiful in a concert hall is otherworldly in this near-empty subway station. It resonates differently, echoing off the tiled walls and the low ceilings, with the rumble of trains below them, though it still carries the same hints of something unspeakably sad and achingly sweet. And Alby wants to sit and listen forever, yes, but he also wants to know, wants to know what it all means, the grace and the sorrow. He wants to know Newt, if Newt will let him.

He stands and he listens, watches as Newt sways, as the few people rushing for their trains linger just a moment on the edge of this ethereal something, and then, once again, it comes to a finish and Newt opens his eyes.

When all is said and done, they both miss the trains they meant to get on. They end up stuck waiting in the space between platforms, just talking, unwilling to part until they have to, and Alby ends up running to make the last train on the Orange Line before it stops for the night. And it doesn’t matter, because when he comes home to his empty apartment and the sounds of other people’s Christmas parties drifting through the walls, he has three new texts from Newt on his phone and it’s all a little less lonely.

#i KNOW it's december 30th im a chronic procrastinator #im doing my best and it should count for something #the maze runner #tmrspoilers #nalby #tmr newt #tmr alby #ty gel for the prompt!!!

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svetlanawagner-blog · 5 years

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Our year in NYC is already over! I can’t believe how fast it went. As I write this, I’m currently staring out my window soaking up one of the last beautiful sunsets I’ll see over the city

For the past 5 years, we’ve explored a new city every year, and moving to each city has felt a little like dating. We’re originally from Atlanta, and so far the cities we deep dived into were LA, Vegas, San Diego, Portland, and NYC.

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Last Updated: Mar 22, 2019

Pros and Cons of Living in New York

Each city had its pros and cons. Ultimately, we haven’t felt like we could settle down in a of these cities. Maybe we’re commitment-phobes and afraid to lay down deep roots in one place or maybe we just want to pave our own path that just might not look like everyone else’s.

It always feels bittersweet to leave because there will always be parts of each city that made our stay worthwhile and also parts that made it a living hell. I’m going to mix up the pros and cons since each one with a different perspective or taken to the extreme can go either way.

The Weather Perpetually Sucks / All the Seasons

You get all the seasons, and it’s beautiful. However, the fall and spring are fleeting, and winter seems to last forever. There are ma places that get colder temperatures, but what’s most brutal is the length of winter. You can assume it will go well into April. If not, you have a nice surprise. Summers are also not ideal since it gets hot and humid.

Overall, after the gloomiest and rainiest year in Portland (they had in decades), my body felt much happier having sun in NYC. I will admit that I didn’t spend much time outside during the winter.

More: How to Survive Winter in New York + Best Places to See Cherry Blossoms in NYC

It's One of the Most Expensive Cities to Live In

We’ve all heard this before, so this is no surprise. Or maybe it still is, because it’s still common to hear visitors exclaiming how crazy the prices are.

You’re paying double or maybe even triple for everything. Right now we live in an apartment that’s triple the size and half the price of our NYC studio. Get ready to say goodbye to savings, because your income is going straight to rent, and you can pretty much forget trying to buy a place.

We’re not just talking about rent. It’s also the eating out, drinking, and entertainment. Yes, there are some cheap eats in the city, but if you’re comparing it to the rest of the US, you’re paying a lot more for the same quality. For example, dinner and a movie can set you back $100 compared to $30-50 in other cities.

PRO – Every other place will feel cheap to you!

More: Top Free Things to do in NYC

No one cares about you

This could be either a pro or a con depending on how you look at it. What I absolutely loved about New York is that you could roll out of bed or act completely batshit crazy, and people will just go on with their own busy lives. No one is judging you for how you look.

On the flip side, if you’re in trouble, everyone might pass you by thinking it’s someone else’s responsibility. Our friend saw someone have a seizure, and they were the only ones that stopped to help out.

We did have one incident that contradicts this. When Jacob passed out on the 7 train, there were several guys who stepped up and helped me carry him out.

Everyone Hustles Hard

Because everything cost more, we hustled more. We saw that ma of our friends also hustled hard simply to be able to live here. I loved the working energy, but I could see it wearing me down if I had to do it for more than 3 years. It’s a great city if money ain’t a thing, but for the rest of us, it will be a city we pass through.

It's a Concrete Jungle

It has some great urban parks and green spaces, but overall it’s much harder to get outdoors and connect with nature. The busyness can sometimes feel overwhelming if you don’t have ways to “find your zen” or have inner peace.

More: 11 National Parks in New York City + Your Essential Guide to Central Park and All Its Secrets

There's Always a Wait and It's Crowded Everywhere

You can almost always expect a wait if you’re going out to eat during peak meal hours.

I overheard a visitor saying how New Yorkers love to wait. No one loves to wait, but New Yorkers accept that it’s the reality of New York. Not only do you live on top of each other, but you also get a ridiculous number of visitors that clog up the regular flow of the city. It’s impossible to escape if you leave your home, which is why it’s nice not to have the pressure to go out and see everything in the city. Staying home can feel like a luxury too. Is that why people are going from place to place to get out of the crowd as fast as possible?

Yet a Lot of People feel very lonely

Although you’re always surrounded by people, it can be a lonely place. It’s already difficult to meet people and make friends the older you get, but New Yorkers are busy people. We got lucky since we already had a few friends living here, and since we climbed a lot, we met friends at our climbing gym.

New Yorkers aren't Friendly / They Don't Fake It

I hear a lot of people say how New Yorkers are rude or cold. Maybe it was my expectations coming in, but I was pleasantly surprised to find plenty of New Yorkers that were friendly. No, it’s not Mr Rogers neighborhood where everyone is saying hello to each other, but when we needed it, strangers took the time to help us out or chat with us.

I also don’t need people to be fake nice to me. I like people being a little more rough around the edges and honest.

It's truly a melting pot

It is the most linguistically diverse city in the US. Over 800 languages are represented here. On our apartment floor alone, we represented 11 countries.

You See it First

Since it’s a city that starts trends, you get to experience a lot of things like trends, fashion trends, etc before it arrives awhere else in the states. Companies often build flagship stores, pop ups always come through, and you’ll get huge music acts visiting the city.

More: Your Essential Guide to NYC Pop Up

You Never Run Out of Things to Do

There are tons of museums, shows, restaurants, bars, and more. It has a little bit LOT of everything for aone.

More: The Ultimate Guide to Broadway Shows

It's the city that never sleeps

There’s always something to do or eat a time of day. It was perfect for night owls like me who always have a midnight craving.

The Food

The is hard to top and the options are endless. We started with a big list when we arrived and every time we checked one off, we learned about another 3. Our list never got smaller. Out of all the great options, they did have a shortage of amazing Korean , Vietnamese , and tacos (yes, even in the outer boroughs, but I will always take more recommendations in hopes to prove myself wrong).

More: 99 Best Places to Eat in NYC + 17 Best Desserts in NYC

It's Not Great for Big Groups

If you’re going out with a big group, you don’t have as ma options for places to hang out or eat. A lot of places are compact and have limited seating.

Amazing Public Transportation / It's Hard to Own a Car

You can practically get awhere via subway and bus. If not, there’s always Uber. Regardless, you can find ways to get around having a car. The hardest thing for us was not being able to do a large grocery haul. Instead, we would buy things here and there when we’re out, which can be more time consuming.

If you want a car, the challenge is finding parking and paying for parking. Parking can be the cost of rent in other cities.

More: 15 Incredible Weekend Trips from NYC

You Can Get Screwed by Public Transportation

We’ve been lucky, but a lot of locals have been screwed by public transportation. You’re at the mercy of their schedule if it goes down.

You’re also exposed to the elements when you have to use public transportation to get everywhere. Subways aren’t heated or cooled.

More: 25 Fun Things to Do in NYC for Rai and Cold Days

You Walk a Lot (And Fast)

I miss the walking city. You learn to walk fast and be conscious of the people around you, so that you’re not in their way. I felt healthier not being in a seated position most of the day from desk to car back to desk.

It's safe

NYC used to be known as a dangerous place, but nowadays, you can walk around most of the city at a hour without having to worry about your safety.

Sometimes people get freaked out that there are tons of homeless people. For the most part, they are harmless.

Direct Flights and the Airports

Since we still travel quite a bit for work, it’s important for us to have direct flights. We have plenty of airports and flights to choose from, but they’re all a cluster.

There isn’t a other city like it. I actually surprised myself how much I fell in love with the city, since I had a love/hate relationship whenever I visited. It turns out, I just needed to take on New York at a slower pace.

Tell me… could you move to a city like NYC? What are some dealbreakers when you decide where to live?

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Esther + Jacob

Esther and Jacob are the founders of Local Adventurer, which is one of the top 5 travel blogs in the US. They believe that adventure can be found both near and far and hope to inspire others to explore locally. They explore a new city in depth every year and currently base themselves in NYC.

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sacrasm · 7 years

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okay so i usually dont dream/remember my dreams and of course last night i remember what i assume is the later half of my dream

and of course this one is all kinds of crazy. im still confused. how can you put a child lock on a car so it can only go 65 mph. what is glitterball. this is going to haunt me for the rest of my life

dont read if you want to keep your sanity intact. (tl;dr: i hosted the weirdest house party, cars come capped at one speed, tyler hoechlin was our responsible adult of the night, everything seemed so unrealistic but totally shit we’d do. i think im going crazy.)

it goes like this:

for some reason im driving this dark blue fiat but it had a child lock on the gas. it was literally impossible for the car to go anything but 65. not any faster, not any slower, and if you held your foot down long enough you might get to 66.

so im driving to my grandmother’s house, and pull up in the driveway, and when i get out my dad tells me that he hired a babysitter to make sure things don’t spiral out of control. apparently i’m throwing a house party, except the house looks like my grandmother’s, but is actually my parent’s and the inside is a weird fusion of my grandmother’s home, a friend’s home, and the valley fair mall if any of you know what that looks like.

the babysitter gave me the evil eye when i went inside, and told me that just because there were 15+ teens in the house doesnt mean we can go wild and skip bedtime. she looked like this little crotchety old blonde lady, like the kind you’d get for a sub in highschool that just hates any and all teenagers and stress knits.

i didn’t see anyone when i actually went into the house, aside from a comically large escalator and doorways and thirty or so pizza boxes in the kitchen. some still have pizza in them, but no one knows which boxes. my fiat was in the middle of the living room. the babysitter had a shotgun and told me that she’d use it if we got too raunchy. tyler hoechlin was sitting in an armchair. he complimented my car.

for some odd reason the halls and doorways were all the size of one car, so you could drive in the hallways. the fiat still had the child lock, so i just drove around the hallways at 66mph until i accidentally hit someone, that turned out to be one of my friends, who was riding a horse. somehow he was fine and uninjured, as was his horse. he refused to answer to anything except napoleon, which doesn’t make sense because that friend isn’t short.

idk how but somehow i’m in a different room, the horse is on top of my car, and all of us are trying to do as much irresponsible shit that we could get away with before getting caught by the babysitter, like drinking copious amounts of alcohol and having indoor paintball tournaments. time is a social construct inside the house and doesn’t exist, which we’re all fine with.

and then i drove down a hallway and then a door opened, which the car hit at 66 mph and the door stayed intact. two of my crushes were sitting in someone’s bedroom, which i guess was mine bc a ton of my shit was in there. they were playing a weird cards against humanity and truth or dare fusion game, that also included pokemon cards. hoechlin is doing vertical pushups on my bed while simultaneously playing the strange card game. he’s not doing so good. i went back out into the hallway and my best friend had a rainbow donkey pinata that was as tall as her shoulder. we both couldve fit in it. she told me that it was filled with the world’s greatest chocolate, but she refused to open it because she didn’t want to ruin the donkey. irl that friend loves chocolate. her boyfriend was following her around the house/mansion trying to convince her to just smash the paper mache donkey already.

i got back in the car, a different best friend was in the fiat with me. she liked throwing smokebombs out the window at anyone she saw. somehow she got her hands on a t-shirt cannon and shot confetti in people’s faces despite never leaving the car. someone bet that i couldn’t kick a hole through a refrigerator. they lost the bet. everyone was suddenly betting that i couldn’t kick through anything. i could kick through anything as long as i was wearing my necklace. my necklace gave me power.

all the tvs in the house only played the sports channel, which had this game going on 24/7 called glitterball. it looked like football meets ice hockey, except there were pits on the field and whack-a-moles would pop up and players would slam into them or fall in. there was no glitter involved. someone stole the babysitter’s shotgun and was trying to shoot her since she kept interrupting us during shit but she was faster than sonic and kept matrix dodging the shotgun shells. tyler was rooting for us. actually i think he started a betting pool with other celebrity friends to see who could shoot the babysitter. it turned into a little hunger games, except we were all hunting the babysitter.

one of my other friend’s bedrooms since they all had rooms at my parent’s house was literally filled with weed. there was a path big enough for a car to squeeze through and a sofa in the middle of the room but other than that, floor to wall weed. nothing else. he called it the posey room. he also had a lamborghini which also had a child lock, but his was stuck at 45 mph. i always passed him in the halls in my tiny ass car even though the hallways are one car so idfk how i managed to pass him. whenever he honked it was just a yeaaaaaaaaaa boiiiiiiiii. there was a record player in the exact center of the house, suspended in midair. it played whatever you wanted to hear the most. we called i the record player of erised. no one could hear what it played for themselves, and no one could give accurate descriptions of what they heard for someone. someone would argue they heard smooth criminal, another would say moaning, and someone else would say fireworks. we knew they weren’t right. without fail hoechlin would always say it sounded like wonderwall. we all looked at him funny because that was the only thing we found weird in the dream.

since the house was part mall there was a weird amc extension. we watched a movie that was a combo of ferris bueller, me before you, avatar, and your name. the friend with the pinata had a whole kiddie pool filled with popcorn and was sitting on the pinata, which was still intact even though someone had ran it over in the 45mph lambo. i watched it get rekt. but there it was, whole and fully intact. the friend on the horse was still on the horse and refused to dismount, and managed to convince most of us that he was actually attached to it so he couldn’t get off. i had seen him get off the horse to kick someone in the balls. after the movie none of us could find the babysitter. she disappeared. we were all fine with that. we found tyler eating leftover pizza in the kitchen and watching glitterball. he said the babysitter left him in charge because she was sick of us. we were fine with that as well.

the fridge that i put a hole in was the door to his room. there was a camaro in there, and it was locked at 120mph. my car was faster than his. no one thought it was strange. someone drank sriracha like it was water. someone else buttered the hardwood flooring and put lube on the doorknobs and faucets. we all stayed in our cars for a while to avoid the buttery floors, all capped at different speeds. the camaro was still the slowest, even slower than the horse. hoechlin’s car horn was just assorted swear words. every time he honked it would stop our cars. someone traded cars with him and just honked at random intervals . we could hear the muted swearing every time our cars jerked to a stop. eventually tyler traded back.

i got in a fight with my other friend about what would be in a sandwich called the lgbtq+. i said edible glitter and anything the person making it wanted. she said that was literally just glittery subway. she argued that it had to be lamb, grain, bacon, tabbouleh, quince, and an ingredient starting with the letter of the maker’s sexuality. hoechlin said that we had to fight and whoever won would be right. someone backhanded me before the fight started and i woke up. what the fuck.

mildly concerning facts about this shitshow:

how does someones brain create this nightmare??

why was i driving a fiat??

none of the neighbors filed an noise complaint.

im so confused.

how did tyler hoechlin get into the house.

do they even make pinatas bigger than small children

how does a fucking pinata survive a rollover from a lamborghini

why did no one stop us

we drank enough alcohol to die of poisoning three times over but werent drunk

a room full of weed. an entire room.

this is the second half so what was i doing before this

what was i doing

why did i dream this

what the fuck is wrong with me

if this was the second half, then what the hell happened in the first half

#my ridiculous family #just me saything things again #how about i never remember my dreams again yeah thanks #that was more than enough bullshit for me anyway

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antlerscolorado · 8 years

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chapter 8, part 5

“Are you sure this is it?” Rainer asks, propping a hand on their hip and squinting skeptically at the crumbling brick shed.

“Yep,” Dallas says. “Help me get these boards off, will you? I’d hate for any of us to get splinters.”

Rainer doesn’t volunteer, and Austin isn’t so sure either. The boards over the entryway to the shed look ancient and warped, the door behind them hanging crooked on its hinges. The grass here has grown tall and thick, coming up to Austin and Rainer’s knees, and the shed itself has walls overgrown with kudzu and rope-like poison ivy vines. It’s hard to imagine that this place has stood on the DPR campus for so long without anyone knocking it down entirely, though it looks like the kind of small building where a water pump or a generator would be stored. Maybe too important to knock down, in that case.

“This is really an entrance to the Underground?” Austin asks. How has it been here for so long without any of the agents knowing?

“Oh, yeah,” Dallas says confidently. “It was a back way into the labs. The main entrance was sealed off a while ago, but I don’t think many people know about this one.”

“Is this the only other way down there?” Austin asks. He glances around for anything to help smash through the boards and, coming up empty, steps up to try kicking through one of them. It breaks apart under his boot with barely any give at all, nearly sending Austin crashing into the door with the leftover momentum.

“Not at all,” Dallas says, as Austin kicks through the second board. “There’s access tunnels all over town. You just seem like you’re in a hurry, so I figured I’d pick the closest one.”

“We are a little pressed for time,” Rainer agrees. They join Austin in the doorway of the shed, reaching out to push the door with their fingertips. It swings slowly inwards on a small, dark, entirely silent interior.

Austin switches on one of the flashlights the group took before leaving the DPR building, suddenly glad he has it. He swings the beam around the shed, revealing a complete lack of furniture or machinery. There are no other doors visible in the shed, nor any conspicuous seams where a secret entrance might be located.

“Allow me,” Dallas says, pushing in between Austin and Rainer and stepping into the shed.

The ceiling isn’t nearly low enough that he should have to stoop, but Dallas drops down onto his knees, tapping the wooden floorboards experimentally with his fingers. Finally, he seems to find the one he’s looking for, and pries it up, wincing a little bit. With it comes an entire section of the floor, a manhole-sized chunk of boards that Dallas props up against one wall. Austin and Rainer file into the shed, and Austin shines his flashlight down at the exposed spot beneath the floorboards, a square, metal hatch with a circular handle at its center.

“And there you have it,” Dallas says proudly. “Who wants to do the honors?”

“I will,” Rainer says, “but you’re going down first.”

They kneel next to the hatch and begin turning the handle, grunting with effort as it creaks a little, resisting the movement. Eventually, though, it starts to rotate properly. Rainer tugs on it after a few complete, clockwise turns, and the hatch pops open. They turn their own flashlight on to look down, the beam glinting off of a ladder and faintly illuminating a floor below.

“Well, no time to waste,” Dallas says, still smiling. Austin’s not sure he’s stopped smiling this whole time.

Rainer holds their flashlight beam steady on the ladder, giving Dallas enough visibility to lower himself into the hatch and start to climb down. Once Dallas is about halfway down, Rainer starts to descend as well, using Austin’s flashlight beam as a guide. Austin brings up the rear, holding the flashlight between his teeth and finding each rung of the metal ladder carefully with his foot before stepping down. The rungs are old, rust flaking off onto his hands, but his boots give him good traction, and it feels like no time at all before he’s standing in the underground chamber with Rainer and Dallas.

Chamber is a bit of an understatement, actually - like Dallas said, it’s more of an access tunnel. The wall behind them is a dead end, but in front of them, the path stretches onwards, past where the beam of their flashlights can reach. There are fixtures on the ceiling that must be fluorescent lights, though they’re either turned off, or long burnt out.

“This way,” Dallas says, switching on his own flashlight and gesturing for Rainer and Austin to follow him. “It’s a little bit of a hike, but a good way to sneak in. Most of the Underground doesn’t know this entrance exists.”

Austin matches Rainer’s pace, letting Dallas walk a good half a yard ahead of them. There are doors set into the walls of the tunnels at odd, almost random intervals, each with a darkened light above them, all unlabeled. Maybe storage, maybe branching hallways to other parts of the Underground.

Are we near the sewers? Austin wonders. He can’t hear rushing water, nor does he smell sewage. Above them, maybe? Below them? How do subway systems in bigger cities work? Maybe it’s something like that.

He’s still puzzling over it when they come to a fork in the path, and Dallas stops abruptly, considering both paths. He looks pensively towards the left side, then the right, then nods, and turns down the left corridor. Austin and Rainer both wait for a moment before going after him, letting Dallas have the lead again.

“Do you really trust him?” Austin asks Rainer, under his breath in case they’re not completely out of earshot.

“Yeah,” Rainer says. “I mean, he’s hard to get a read on, but I think he really does want to help out. He’s saved a lot of agents.” They hold up their hand, the one with the prosthetic thumb and forefinger. “He helped attach this, too.”

“How, uh,” Austin begins, and swallows, “how’d you lose them? If that’s okay to ask.”

“I don’t mind.” Rainer grins. “Got in a scuffle with a gang of werewolves who’ve been squatting in an abandoned hotel, out by city limits. I actually got off pretty lucky - one of the other agents with me had his whole arm taken off.”

“Jesus,” Austin says. “Is he okay?”

“Is who okay?” Dallas asks from up ahead, looking over his shoulder at the two agents. It’s impossible to tell if he’s been listening in this whole time, or if Austin just raised his voice loud enough to be heard.

“Ross,” Rainer says, by way of explanation. “The agent who lost his arm to a werewolf.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine,” Dallas says. “I think he was supposed to start getting fitted for a prosthetic soon.”

“Good to know,” Austin says, and glances back at Rainer’s prosthetic fingers. They look more advanced than any prosthetics he’s ever seen, which isn’t particularly surprising - the DPR lab technicians tend to develop some wild stuff that never really sees the light of day. “So, do those do anything besides just be fingers?”

“They’re an electroshock weapon, as long as I keep them charged.” Rainer’s grin stretches a little wider, showing off their fangs. They flex their index finger demonstratively. “The tip can come off, like a Taser. It’s strong enough to knock someone out.”

“Sounds handy,” Austin says, relatively impressed. He doesn’t expect to be losing an appendage any time soon, but it’s good to know that the DPR has some cool gadgets to act as replacements.

“That it does,” a voice from behind him agrees.

Austin, Rainer, and Dallas all freeze in place. The hairs on the back of Austin’s neck prickles, but his stomach is oddly calm. The precognitive sense that usually fires off warning bells whenever he’s remotely close to danger is inactive, though there’s only one thought coursing through his mind, his heartbeat pounding heavily in his ears.

Abbott. It’s Abbott. He has been hiding down here. He’s been waiting for us to find him, and now he thinks he has the jump on us.

Austin grips his flashlight tightly in his hand, ready to use it as a weapon. He whirls around, winding up for a punch, but suddenly finds stars exploding in his field of vision, pain blossoming in the side of his skull. His hand falls open, the flashlight tumbling out and clattering against the concrete floor. He’s already unconscious before he hits the ground next to it.

8.4 || 8.6

#story

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maciaslucymua-blog1 · 7 years

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When You Know It’s Over But You Can’t Say Goodbye

New Post has been published on http://www.healthgoesfemale.com/when-you-know-its-over-but-you-cant-say-goodbye/

When You Know It’s Over But You Can’t Say Goodbye

Ending a relationship isn’t easy or painless – even when you know it’s over. Here’s how to cope when you feel like you can’t say goodbye but you know you have to. I wrote this article for a reader who knows her relationship has no future, but is having trouble accepting the truth… “I have strong feelings for a man – we’re not in a relationship anymore but we’re emotionally involved with each other,” says Liz on How to Emotionally Detach From Someone You Care About. “Recently I learned I’m living in denial. Since both of us know it’s not a good idea to stay emotionally involved, we decided to part ways a couple of times last year. But we keep getting back together, resuming contact. He wants to be friends with me – and he has a long distance relationship with a woman. I recently learned they are getting married. He didn’t tell me, a mutual friend spoke of their engagement. This is not a surprise to me but I’m hurt anyway. I realized I’ve been a fool all along. I’m not sure how to let go off this attachment and it makes me insecure about finding such a great connection again with a man. What do you do when you know it’s over but you can’t say goodbye?” A season of your life has ended. Some seasons are harder to let go of than others – and all seasons have their joys and heartaches. In this article, I describe healthy ways to let go of a relationship that you know is over, but you’re having trouble releasing. I’m drawing on wisdom from the Dalai Lama, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and King Solomon.

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” –Albert Camus. When You Know It’s Over But You Can’t Say Goodbye Acceptance of this season in your life is the healthiest and wisest path to healing after a relationship is over. Instead of focusing on the pain and difficulty of trying to say goodbye, I encourage you to focus on acceptance and surrender. This may feel like a season of death, but it is also a season of healing and renewal. Take a deep breath and look upwards Take a moment to notice your body posture. Are you hunched over, frowning, tightened up and curled inside yourself? Are you wound up and tense, grieved and closed? If so, you are normal! This is a typical response to knowing that a relationship is over but not being able to say goodbye. You are holding on to something that is not yours. This relationship is no longer yours, and you need to let it go. Take a deep breath and slowly let the air escape from your lips. Sit up straight and take another deep breath. lift your chin, looked upward towards the sky or the ceiling for the roof of a subway train you’re sitting on. Look around you. What you see? Who’s there? What is in front of you, and how you interact with it? Now that you are in a new season of your life, you must of living and seeing. It’s time to find new breath, new life, and new growth. How will you do that? I’m glad you asked! Look at the past seasons of your life – the people who have come and gone This isn’t the first relationship that has ended for you, is it? Think back to all the hello’s and goodbye’s you’ve seen in your life. Write about them – tell me about them below, or describe them in your private journal. Take time to reflect on relationships that have ended in your life; look at them as seasons that have come and gone. This is important, especially when you know a relationship is over but you can’t say goodbye. Your present grief is connected to your past relationships. All your current emotions – the grief, disappointment, denial, reluctance, anger, sadness – are part of the people, places, and experiences you’ve loved and lost in the past. Perhaps you had to say goodbye to your grandfather, mother, or your beloved family dog when you were younger. The losses you are experiencing now will hurt more – and it will be harder to say goodbye – if you did not deal with your past losses and grief in healthy ways. So, if you’re struggling to say goodbye even though you know it’s over, consider the losses you experienced in your past. It’ll be painful, but ultimately healing. Those losses may be affecting you more than you realize, and it’s only by writing or talking about them that you will begin to understand what’s really going on. Don’t ignore the signs he doesn’t love you when you know it’s over. Behold! There is a time for every season, every hello and goodbye When You Know It’s Over But You Can’t Say Goodbye One of my favorite books of the Bible is Ecclesiastes because it talks about the different seasons of life. It’s hard to let go of people we love and relationships that are important, that have become such a big part of our life. It hurts. Letting go of a relationship is especially painful when we really connect with someone and wonder if we’ll ever feel understood, accepted, and loved again. The reason you can’t say goodbye even when you know it’s over is because you are clinging to a season that no longer exists. You haven’t accepted that this season of your life is over, and that the time has come to let it go. A Time for Everything There is a season (a time appointed) for everything and a time for every delight and event or purpose under heaven – A time to be born and a time to die;A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted. A time to kill and a time to heal;A time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to weep and a time to laugh;A time to mourn and a time to dance. A time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones;A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing. A time to search and a time to give up as lost;A time to keep and a time to throw away. A time to tear apart and a time to sew together;A time to keep silent and a time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate;A time for war and a time for peace. – Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. In nature – and in life – every season is equally important: winter, spring, summer, and fall. Right now you are in the cold lonely depths of the winter season. It’s when you know a relationship is over but you can’t say goodbye that you feel lonelier and colder than ever before. This is when you need to tell yourself that this season, too, shall pass. Learn how happy, healthy people say goodbye Happy people see the seasons of their lives – and finish their life stories – on a joyful note of gratitude and appreciation.

In What Happy People Know: How the New Science of Happiness Can Change Your Life for the Better, psychologist Dan Baker says that instead of going over and over what they’ve lost, happy people focus on what they’ve gained. He recalls a woman who reminisced fondly about her deceased husband: “I said something along the lines of what a good man he must have been. ‘No way,’ she said. ‘He was a womanizer and a drunk. A real pain in the butt. But we had more love than most people ever dream of.’” Baker adds that appreciation is the first and most fundamental tool of happiness. Appreciation is the purest, strongest form of love. It is the outward-bound kind of love that asks for nothing and gives everything. And, research shows that it is physiologically impossible to be in a state of gratitude and a state of fear at the same time. Accept the end of this season “Acceptance – whether we believe in God or not – allows us to move into the fullness of joy,” writes the Dalai Lama, Desmond Tutu, and Douglas Carlton Abrams in The Book of Joy – Lasting Happiness in a Changing World. “Acceptance allows us to engage with life on its own terms rather than rail against the fact that life is not as we would wish. It allows us not to struggle against the day-to-day current. The Dalai Lama had told us that stress and anxiety come from our expectations of how life should be. When we are able to accept that life is how it is, not as we think it should be, we are able to ease the ride, to go from that bumpy axle with all its suffering, stress, anxiety, and dissatisfaction, to the smooth axle with its greater ease, comfort, and happiness.” When you know it’s over but you can’t say goodbye, remember the Dalai Lama’s words: “So many of the causes of suffering come from our reacting to the people, places, things, and circumstances in our lives, rather than accepting them,” he says in The Book of Joy. “When we react, we stay locked in judgment and criticism, anxiety and despair, even denial and addiction. It is impossible to experience joy when we are stuck this way. Acceptance is the sword that cuts through all of this resistance, allowing us to relax, to see clearly, and to respond appropriately.” If you aren’t sure if your relationship is over, you might find Is Your Marriage Over? 6 Signs You Shouldn’t Ignore helpful.

Say goodbye with love, forgiveness, and peace The time has come for you to stop saying that you can’t say goodbye. It’s time for you to accept that this relationship is over. It had its joys and heartaches, its happiness and sadness, its ups and downs, its peaks and valleys. It was what it was, and it no longer is. Yes, you can say goodbye with love, peace, and even joy – especially if you learn how to say goodbye in healthy ways. You can find forgiveness if you need to forgive. You can find compassionate if you need to go gentle on yourself or others. You can find love even as you end a relationship. And you can find life even in the depths of this winter season. What say you, dear reader? Feel free to tell me your story in the comments section below. I can’t offer advice and I have no solutions, but you may feel better if you write about your experience. What does it feel like to know a relationship is over? Why do you think you can’t say goodbye? Help When You Know It’s Over But Can’t Say Goodbye In 3 Powerful Secrets and 75 Tips for Healing Your Heart, I share practical, helpful tips for healing after a breakup and saying goodbye even when you feel like you can’t let go of a relationship. In this ebook, you’ll find: 3 powerful secrets for letting go of someone you love 75 tips for taking specific action towards healing your heart To write this ebook, I interviewed life coaches, counselors, and grief coaches. I summarized everything I learned about letting go of someone you love, processing the pain of a breakup, and grieving the end of a relationship. Most of this ebook consists of practical, helpful, effective tips from the counselors and life coaches I interviewed. I also included 15 stories of the actual struggles people face when letting go. In Coming Apart- Why Relationships End and How to Live Through the Ending of Yours, Daphne Rose Kingma says that next to the death of a loved one, the ending of a relationship is the most painful experience most people will ever go through. Coming Apart is a first-aid kit for getting through the loss when you know it’s over but you can’t say goodbye. This book will help you live through the end of your relationship with your self-esteem intact. In this book, you’ll learn: Love myths – and why we’re in really in relationships The life span of love The emotional and unconscious processes of saying goodbye when it’s over How to get through the ending of a relationship Originally published in 1987, and continuously in print since then, with more than half a million copies sold, Coming Apart has been an important resource for hundreds of thousands of readers experiencing the pain and stress of a breakup. A Blessing for You May you find hope and healing, life and light. May your goodbye be filled with acceptance and peace, and may you end this season of your life in healthy and even joyful ways. And may you be filled with the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding. Blessings, Laurie

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