#and then the whole world is such shit and people are dying in much ~worse~ ways that it makes me feel bad for even feeling like shit

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[lunar-years]

Sending you hugs from the absolutely terrible to be in "parents dying from cancer club" that I wish no one was joining.

yeah. yeah. thank you and right back at you. ❤️ sending you lots of love.

[swanpyart]

This is probably a silly question, but I really wonder how much the Narrator’s plan for the world when you slay the Princess would realistically be as efficient as he thinks.

Like, will animals die? Not just people, but will ALL life forms stay the same forever? Do the animals know that? Do they still attack each other and try to hunt each other for food? I know the Hunted and the Beast are not exactly representative of animals in this universe, but the LQ and Shifty are both gods who did not really need to play cat and mouse in order to survive, but they did it anyway, so…

What if someone is horribly injured, like to the degree that they SHOULD be dead but now just… can’t. Will they heal automatically? Are they made of rubber, so such an injury would not be able to happen in the first place? What if someone needs a surgery for like, an illness? Will it be impossible to cut them open? If someone has a terminal illness, do they just… have it FOREVER? Cus that would be actually the worst honestly. Imagine getting cancer and the universe freezes, and now you live with cancer for literal ETERNITY. Gee, thanks Narrator.

Also, what about FOOD? So much food relies on killing other life forms. So, if things can’t die, then there’s no more meat (unless the meat is still alive, which would be horrific) or certain plants that require you to chop them down. Can you chop trees down to build houses? Would the tree stump die? Does the tree keep growing even when you chop it up? Do new ones grow? Is there any point where supplies just runs out? Do people even eat anymore? Cus let me tell you, every world culture defines themselves on their cuisine, so I can imagine people would HATE not being able to eat the stuff they used to.

Also, do people keep having kids? Cus if literally no one dies, there will be absolutely nothing from stopping overpopulation in like a hundred years. Or is one of the side effects that, because no one can die, no one can be born either? Well, that’d suck for any parents who were planning to have children when the universe freezes.

I’m sorry, I don’t think Narry thought this through before doing this whole “killing death” thing, which makes it even worse that he fucking died. I know his universe is dying, but at least then no ones gotta live with the absolute buffoonery that is an eternity of weird shit like this.

[fandomfucker]

💳 💥💳💥💳💥💳 Rhea Ripley social media posts / talking bout her girlie in interviews part 2 pleaseeeeeeeee 🥵🙏

I mean, if yall are insisting…🤷‍♀️

For the purposes of this, you're not a wrestler

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfucker/745782885181734913/do-you-think-you-could-do-one-for-rhea-were-its?source=share

Also, currently getting my first tattoo as I write this so please ignore any possible grammatical errors

With the ass video going around, you’d repost it with a “😋🍽️” caption and she would immediately repost it with a “🙇🏻‍♀️🍑🍽️” or sum shit to rile up the fans

You don't have a hug social media following yourself, but they do often ask for more content. Specifically outfit of the day(s)

You make Rhea do them with you because she makes you feel more confident and in every video you can see her just staring at you in the mirror the whole time

I've already said Rhea will bully people off the internet for being me to you. But you? Oh my god you’re worse than Rhea is

If one of her co-workers says something even slightly unkind about her in an interview (Becky👀) you will go with Rhea to her next show and find them backstage

You don't even wrestle or fight but Rhea has had to pull you away from multiple people now because you will fight anybody and everybody for her

One of said fights happened to go viral online, no punches were actually thrown as Rhea had dragged you back first though

People online either loved the love between you two as a couple, or wished they had a partner absolutely willing to throw hands will someone over them

Rhea would do your makeup for videos and she'd always do her makeup on you to see what it would look like

She also does voiceovers on your own makeup videos, or a day in the life, or something

The fans always eat it up too cause Rhea's commentary is hilarious

Whenever you're backstage and Rheas going to take photos, she’ll ask you to do the shoot with her so that her fans, and yours, can get sexy pictures of you both to thirst over

Totally not because she loves seeing you both look like that and wants a picture for her lock screen

Rhea started a war of bad facetime screenshots between the two of you on Instagram and you're determined to win

To the point that you have called people to interfere in the background while Rheas at work to get a bad reaction photo out of her

She's too proud to admit it, but it's worked several times

Your tiktok has pretty much become a house reno account

You build all the furniture and shit, make the cool decorations and put them up, paint, do everything yard-eorl related while Rhea picks out what's pretty and the pretty colors

She'll also help you carry heavy stuff around cause she's jacked and you like watching her work but she mainly kinda just like, flounces around

The fans are dying for the two of you to have a show on HGTV together

Which may or may not be in the works

SCARY DOG TREND

It went VIRAL

that's how most mosherz were introduced to you as Rhea’s partner

You started vlogging, though not very often, just so that you could have the permanent memories of all the different experiences between you and Rhea

You only post like once a week but people eat it UP

You have your own merch now

Most of its the two of you but there is a shirt or two thats just one of you

There are mercy plushies of both Barry and Luna that you always have to put up for pre-order cause they sell out in seconds

Clothes for said plushies are in the works

She posts little video clips of you on her story the same way she does her dogs

And it's always the embarrassing ones where you're completely cuddled into her and shit

She got Saints of the Undead (the people who make her leather jackets) to make you a personalized one as well even though you don't wrestle

It's your favorite thing in the world and you wear it more than you should

Like it matches with nothing that you're wearing it with

But, it says “Mami’s” on the back of it so you make sure to wear it especially when you go with her to Raw, Smackdown, any povs, etc so that people know you belong to her

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

I think that the misandry by the writers , especially Hess, is something that isn't discussed much. It's much deeper and dare I say, more sinister than just 'men bad women good' because the way she wrote the last episode shows that she wants to convey how Alicent's actions are commendable in a sense that her male children don't deserve her devotion and unconditional love anyway, while her only female child and grandchild do. It's framed as her liberation because she sells her own sons to another woman who is their enemy, but you know, it is good because Rhaenicent and reasons. As a woman, I'm appalled by this. What's worse is that I've seen takes here and on x like "Alicent regained her agency by ditching her sons for the woman she loves, her betrayal is understandable, go girl, you have my support" (and this one is tame compared to some others). Believe me, I'm not exaggerating. And I must be from mars because in my book that's not acceptable, understandable or commendable in any way, just the opposite. The problem, however, lies in the fact that the narrative and the writers' agenda support these vile and delusional takes. You don't even have to be a parent to see how evil and nonsensical this idea is, you just have to be able to understand basic human emotions and family dynamic. The writers and a big chunk of the fandom apparently don't.

Hello!

Thank you for this, really. The writers' (Hess' specifically) misandric agenda is absolutely crazy - and IMO crazy evident as well, so seeing so many people fall for it is baffling, sad and infuriating at the same time.

Don't they see that in HotD the women are the ones to blaim for something only when they side with men in one way or another? Don't they understand how forced, unsubtle and - because of that - cringe all the "you are a woman so you can't rule", "they don't respect me because I'm a woman" and "women suffer while men fight" are? House of the Dragon is one of the most force-feeding shows I've ever watched - and for some reason GA and even some people in the fandom believe it's alright. Media literacy is dead for real.

And the parent-children aspect of misandry you brought up is indeed one of the most atrocious things about the whole debacle. I am not a mother myself - but I have one, just as, I think, the majority of the viewers do. I refuse to believe that everyone who cheers for Alicent to abandon her sons has their own familial relationships so screwed that they are unable to understand the outlandishness of the opinion they are choosing to uphold.

Not to mention that in their quest for showing just how terrible Alicent's sons (minus Daeron - at least for now) are, HotD writers completely destroyed Helaena's personality, even the sparks of it she had in season 1. Now she is all about three things: bugs, clairvoyance and suffering (and I can't believe that the first point has been handled the best development-wise). Helaena is supposed to be good and kind: but what good and kind things have we seen her do? Taking care (kind of) of her crickets, offering a necklace in exchange for the life of her son (oh wow) and saying that she shouldn't really grieve for her child that much because the commoners' kids are dying all the time (how relatable for anyone who actually lost a child, right?). For most part she is just there, staring into the distance and saying something prophetic (or, again, suffering).

Just imagine a real mother saying to her son "You know, sonny, I love you, but you forgot to thank me for the pudding I made for your birthday plus you called my bestie an old cow - so I invited your school bullies to our house so that they could beat the shit out of you, you ungrateful jerk. They are in the backyard, go on, don't make your mommy wait".

Just imagine a real woman whose son has just been brutally killed say "You know what, there are so many children starving to death in the world. Why should I cry over mine?"

Honestly, I am beginning to think that people are steadily losing the ability to connect the things happening on screen to actual human emotional experience - as if the characters (in HotD in this case) are aliens to whom basic concepts that have been holding humanity together for millenia do not apply.

[sukiipjs]

✮ BLONDIE : PT 2

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

↳ nick sturniolo x masc reader

↳ words - 1961

↳ summary - you’ve been having a hard time realizing and accepting the fact that you’re gay, and in love with your best friend. you try to ignore the feelings but that only makes everything worse until you can’t hide it anymore.

↳ contains - swearing, use of y/n, angst, crying, verbal fighting, idrk 😭 [READ PT 1 - PT 3]

↳ song - blondie by current joys

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

°:. *₊ ° . ☆

days after and nick hasn’t texted me since. no more random tiktok’s, no more check ins, just complete nothingness now. i don’t blame him of course, i’d do the same if he was being as shitty as me right now. but honestly i miss those texts so so much, even if i rarely responded to him, or more so i miss the texts we had before all this stupid shit started.

but again, i truly don’t even know when it all started, it was so easy to just brush this off these feelings and whatever as a friend thing before and not think of it too much. why can’t it just be a friend thing now?

actually i think ive just accepted it all at this point though. i love him and no it’s not just a friend thing, it’s way more and it always has been way more. sure i might wish it wasn’t, but it is and i know it is and i cant just ignore it.

i’m not even trying to get rid of it anymore, i don’t have the strength for hiding it. honestly i think if i kept trying to get rid of it, it wouldn’t even work. obviously i still won’t tell him, or anyone, unless he pries it out of me. i know he doesn’t feel the same and i doubt he even looks at me as a friend anymore.

☆ °:. *₊ ° . °

i continue repeating my own sad cycle of doing nothing but staying in bed, hiding myself from the world… without nick. i still check up on his socials, being the weird stalker that i am and looking at all the story’s and snapchats he posted of himself, he looks just fine without me, of course.

i lay in bed, staring at my phone to avoid looking at the mess around my room. i scroll and scroll, starting to see a weird amount of videos of people taking care of themselves or videos of people ‘spring cleaning’.

i scroll away, i really don’t need to see people functioning completely fine right now, it’s like their taunting me, laughing at me. but the videos just keep coming back, haunting me, laughing at me. all i see through my scrolling cycle is random ass dog videos, cleaning and organizing videos, or nick edits… and that’s exactly what i need.

i let out a loud sigh, slightly rolling my eyes then rolling over to my other side, having my blanket wrap around me. i choose to just swipe off the app and throw my phone to the side of me before closing my eyes and just trying to get some sleep. that way those videos, my stupid feelings, and not even nick can haunt my mind anymore.

°:. *₊ ° . ☆

my eyes flicker open, the sun shining directly in my face and i finally decide to actually do something good for myself and go out for a walk when the sun and clear weather is still out, it’s been raining almost the whole time i’ve seen dying in my room alone.

i slowly move myself up to sit, leaning my back on the wooden headboard behind me and sitting on some pillows below that cushion me. i stretch out my arms in front of me, yawning and running my fingers through my hair to fix the shaggy mess.

i move myself off my bed, stand up then fixing my off center shirt and trying to flatten out a few wrinkles. i throw the blanket that covered me to the side and decide to just throw the shirt and pants that i wear off me -actually putting them somewhere other than on the floor too- i pick out a clean outfit, already feeling way less gross, it’s the small things that count right.

i walk out my room, not forgetting to grab my phone to come with me before going into my bathroom, splashing my face with water to get me more awake. i run my hands in my hair again, fixing it up with my mirror in front of me so i can actually see what i’m doing before grabbing some actual water giving myself something to drink other than dr pepper.

finally i walk out to go by my door, grabbing a light jacket and pulling it over my arms then putting on my shoes and heading out the door. i start off to go a longer way, turning the corner of the sidewalk. i feel all the small breezes on my skin as i get actual sun and nature.

i continue walking random ways, i just want to be out of the mess that i’ve been living in for so long right now. it actually feels nice to be outside, not sitting in a gross hole of dirty clothes and dishes.

☆ °:. *₊ ° . °

i walk, making my way around the neighborhood, my eye catching all the small colorful flowers blooming up and all the small brown squirrels scurrying to run up trees as i pass them. i remember all the times me and nick went out, running around the streets when we were younger. not thinking of anything, just being kids living a simple life. i wish it was still that simple.

as i walk, still obviously thinking of nick, i notice the sky above graying and clouds starting to cover up the sun, shit. i start to walk a little faster, hopefully being able to get home before it pours but as soon as i speed up, small water drops start to fall on me.

i grab the end of my jacket to pull it over my head, holding it over me to shield out the rain. the sides of my jacket block my view as i focus on the path i walk to my place.

i look down at my feet walking, trying not to get too wet as the rain pours more and more, bouncing off the sidewalk. suddenly i feel two hands place on me, pushing me back, “the fuck.” i mutter as i look up, gaining my balance on my feet again. “oh” my face softens as i see nick standing in front of me, his blonde hair damp and drops of water falling from his cheek. he stares at me, i can tell he’s mad and obviously i can tell it’s my doing.

“nick-“ he cuts me off quickly, slightly pushing against my shoulders again as i put my jacket down, wearing it normally, my head now getting pelted with rain. “no, i talk. what the fuck y/n. honestly what has been going gone, you’ve completely ignored me for weeks, you keep blowing me off and i don’t fucking know what i did and the only way i can talk to you about this is randomly bumping into you since you won’t even answer my texts?”

“nick-“ i sigh as i try speaking again but he pushes me back once more. his glassy eyes narrow and i see water pooling in them, i can’t tell if it’s rain or tears. “no! you’re my- you’re supposed to be my best friend and this shit isn’t cutting it y/n! just what is it! what is it. what did i do please just talk to me. if you hate me or something just tell me!” he shouts, his fists starting to clench as i wipe the wet hair in my face away.

“nick stop. you- you didn’t do anything i promise, i’m sorry okay” my voice croaks, i can feel the water pooling in my own eyes now. “then what is it! you can’t just block me out, out of no where.” i shake my head, trying to figure out how to say an actual explanation without saying too much. “nick i’m sorry!”

“stop apologizing! i’m not asking for that, i’m asking for an answer, please. i feel like shit and you haven’t even been there, i kept trying to talk and hang out with you but apparently you hate me now and never want to see me again, i get it!” he scoffs, staring me down as his eyes shut, tears dropping as he takes a breath before opening his eyes back up, wiping off the mixture of tears and rain.

“like i said, if you hate me or suddenly don’t want to be my friend, tell me. i truly, truly, don’t understand this shit your pulling and if you won’t talk now then when will we? you’ll just ignore me again so just spit it out now!” nick keeps rambling on and i just stare at him, seeing how hurt i’ve actually made him. i don’t know what to say, i really don’t.

i just want to shut him up, have him realize that it’s my fault and i don’t hate him. i cut him off as he continues to yell at me, “nick!” my voice feels weak as he shouts back, “what!” i stare at him for a moment, seeing those blue eyes i miss, those star earrings, his grown out roots and before i know it my hands go up to his face, pulling him in as our lips press together.

my hands hold him as strands of his hair poke my fingers, our noses slightly brushing against each others. i quickly step back, eyes wide as i realize what i just did, taking my hands back. “i-im sorry“ my breath is short before i turn around, running away from him to get back to the shit hole of comfort i’m living in to avoid what i just confessed.

i swear i hear him try to call my name but i ignore it, i can’t see him. what did i just do. i can’t even process any of this.

°:. *₊ ° . ☆

i finally reach my place again and i swiftly open my door and walk inside, standing as raindrops slide off of me, creating a small puddle on the floor below. i shake off my hair a little, flicking the water droplets off of me. i take off my jacket, putting it on a hook to let it dry as i take off my shoes too, leaving them by the door.

i wipe my face off with the palms of my hands, wiping off many of my tears that still fall. i walk over to my fridge, getting out another dr pepper then walking over to my couch, slumping down into it as i set my can down and wrap a blanket around myself to warm me up again.

i slowly slide to the side, laying myself down on the cushions. why the actual fuck would i kiss him? what that really the best thing i could do? he already hated me, i did not have to make it worse. i ponder in my head, genuinely trying to find a valid reason of why i just kissed my best friend that hates me. oh. my. god. i’ve ruined my life -not like it was already ruined- i’m never coming back from this.

i stare at the unopened dr pepper sitting on my coffee table, i try making myself reach for it but my arms don’t want to leave the warmth of the blanket i’m huddled in. i hear my phone buzz next to the dr pepper on, i also cannot seem to have my arm reach out to see who’s calling, i hope it’s not who i think but why would he even call me?

rain pelts out on my window, water sliding down the cold glass of it as i lay holding my blanket close to me, pulling the blanket over my eyes as they close, resting as i try forget about my phone continuously buzzing and the drink still on my table.

☆ °:. *₊ ° . °

taglist : @slutforchriss @mattsleftnipple03 @mattsdinosweater @ccolleenn @mixvchelle @leah-loves-lilies @sturn-wrld @redz0nez9 @cheriematt @freshloveforthefit @nickuniversity @whore4matt @txssvx @will-yummy @matty-bear @venusbabysblog @m0r94n

[youlooklikedead]

Here I am imagining if Klaus could feel the people he loved dying the same way Luke from The Haunting of Hill House felt his twin sister death.

First time it happens is when Ben dies. Klaus feels freezing cold and is shaking but he blames it on the winter. He looks paler than usual, there's dark bags under his eyes, his lips even have a slightly tint of blue. His muscles hurt all over his body and his limbs feel stiff, like the ones of a corpse. The others look fine, as fine as they can look after losing their brother, but Klaus looks and feels like shit. When he conjures Ben after the funeral, Ben asks if it's withdraw catching up to him. "I don't know, but this feels so much worse." Klaus says.

The next time it happens it when Dave dies. The grief of the love of his life dying in his arms is overwhelming, but so is the physical pain. He feels like he's the one who's been shot too, and he feels dizzy and weaker by the minute as Dave bleeds out, not sure if it's due to his own emotions or something else. When he's back in 2019, sitting on that bus with Dave's blood on his hands, all dirty and exhausted and broken, the same sensations he felt when Ben died are back — the pain, the stiffness, the cold. He blames it later on the whole traumatic day.

When Reginald kills Luther at the Hotel Obsidian, he feels it again. He starts to feel weird and sick out of sudden, but maybe it’s nothing, right? The world is ending again, it's not the time to get sick. So he does his best to ignore it, goes back to drinking to take his mind off it.

When they find Luther dead, something clicks. That maybe he felt his brother's death all along, like it happened with Ben and Dave.

It's terrifying.

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force• ch 2

Chapter 2- DARK ENIGMA

Jake x reader (we'll get there... I promise)

Words: 12.4k

A/N: Semi-AU// Set six years in the future, the world has decided to cast humankind aside, starting with the poisonous entities that are destroying her the most.

Warnings: Dystopian Horror Cursing, Smoking, Mention of Drugs, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Hunting, Violence (mention of firearms), Kidnapping, Wounds and Pain, Blood, Death & Dying, Burials, Lying, Deceit, Sadness, Panic Attacks, Use of Restraints, Mentions of Sex

Cheatham County, Tennessee

Five days later

Y/N

The old wood of the rocking chair squeaks beneath me as I gently move my body back and forth, snuggling into my thick afghan wrapped around my body. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and I’d spent the majority of the evening out here on the porch, taking in the scene of my grandparents’ farmland before me. The lead in the pencil I’ve been writing with all evening is starting to dull, but I press a little harder to get the last few sentences written down into my journal. 

December 29, 2030

Day five back at Pap and Gran’s farm. We didn’t do much today except peel some potatoes and boil chicken for broth. Gran’s state has deteriorated since we made it back here. Paps and I truly thought that maybe bringing her back to her home would make her feel better, but she’s only gotten worse. Part of me thinks that she might have just wanted to find her peace here, in her own home, in her own surroundings before she decides it’s okay to let go. Awful of me to think that, isn’t it?

I miss my Mom. And I miss my dad, and I really, really miss my brother. Having nearly no time to mourn them has truly put me in a weird headspace, I don’t know how I’m making it day to day. Sometimes I think back to that fear I felt when I first realized I had to get the hell out of my house when I found the faultline in my foundation, that feeling that it could all come crashing down on me at any second, burying me in walls and furniture and drywall to the point I can’t breathe… That’s what this feels like. Like I’m standing in my basement again, just waiting for the whole thing to crush me. 

The only thing that is keeping me going is Paps and Gran. And the fact that if I stop, then they stop. And Gran is already slowing to a crawl. 

I pull out my pocket knife from my pants, opening the blade and sharpening the graphite in my pencil a bit before licking the tip, and getting back to work. 

I’ve lost nearly 16 pounds, and my hair feels so thin. I can feel my muscles starting to wear out, and the joints of my bones are beginning to ache. Lack of nourishment, I guess. But I don’t let it stop me, and neither does Paps. We are still getting up at the crack of dawn every single morning to look for roaming wildlife to catch. Thankfully we were able to get our hands on six chickens, a rooster, a goat, and the neighbor’s old Blue Heeler, Hank. Hank sits by my Gran’s side day in and day out… I think he remembers that she used to throw him scraps out into the front yard.

The strangest thing happened to me yesterday, and I feel embarrassed to even admit it in this stupid journal. 

For the first time in months, I got the overwhelming urge to want to fuck. 

I wish I could write that in invisible ink like we used to do in text messages, yikes. But, I guess I have to realize that I am still a living, breathing woman who still goes through her monthly cycles, and still possesses the urges associated with it all. God, I  fucking laughed out loud at myself. I haven’t seen another man close to my own age since we left Nashville and I saw a group of young people throwing a cinder block through the front glass of a coffee shop. For fucks sake I’m so embarrassed. 

But I actually even dreamed about it last night. Real, true, romping sex in some strange place… it was so real that I woke up in a cold sweat with my heartbeat between my legs. Shit. I don’t even know who it was with, but that part didn’t matter. I used to love those pointless, carnal dreams that made you blush in your sleep. But damn, now? That’s as close as I’m probably ever gonna get. 

I had to spend the rest of the day fighting the flashbacks while spending time with my literal grandparents. Ignoring the fact that I used to daydream about it, then make a phone call to whoever, and make it happen. It used to be so easy. Shit, I miss random hookups. Fucking hell. 

Now I’m spending my days collecting freshly laid eggs before a pack of wild dogs come and kill my chickens. Goddamnit.

ANYWAYS. 

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. And I don’t even care. It feels silly to even think that even though the world is pushing me off the literal land I stand on, I still have to age. I still have to deal with being a human. And mourn the loss of my family. What the fuck. Just lost the last of my immediate kin, I’m digging up last season’s potatoes from the ground and nursing my sweet Gran as she lies in her bed in pain, and I’m having sex dreams. Really, really fucking good sex dreams. If I could roll my eyes with paper and pencil, I’d be doing it right now. The human experience is so fuc

My thought process is stopped when I hear the sound of something I haven’t heard in literal days. Weeks? I don’t know… But I hear it, the faint sound of a tune and a melody coming through an old, staticy speaker. I close my pencil into my journal and stand, realizing I’d been sitting outside for a while now as the stars had become bright and the moon sat high in the sky. 

My brow furrows as I listen harder. It’s Billie Holiday. I push the front door open and enter the warm house, firstly noticing the crackling fire that Paps had kept burning all day. I then saw him standing in the dimly lit corner, fiddling around with his old vinyl records and adjusting the volume of the music. The wall behind him is stuffed full of records, floor to ceiling and two shelves wide… all full of the music he filled mine and James’ lives with since the time we could walk. He’d been collecting his entire life.  Truly, I owe my love of music to him. 

“Paps…” I say softly as I enter the living room. 

“Hey youngin’, sorry if I disturbed ya…” he said, puffing some pipe tobacco smoke up into the air. I used to tell him he needed to quit, but now… what’s the use?

“You didn’t, Paps.”

“I sorta… forgot that music exists,” he chuckled, opening the cover of a Bill Monroe album and inspecting the inside.

I place my hand on his back, giving him a few pats as I lay my head against his shoulder, watching the record spin on his antique hand-crank phonograph. “I kinda did too, actually,” I reply, admitting it to myself. “What made you pick Lady Day?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Always loved her voice, hated it when she passed. She left one hell of a legacy, though, huh? Your Gran sure loved her, that’s for sure,” he mumbles on, looking back to the daybed we had set up for Gran in the living room so she could be closer to the heat of the fireplace. 

“Love her, Don. Not loved. I ain’t dead yet,” we both hear Gran stir from under her blankets. The both of us erupted in a fit of laughter at her unbridled and filterless sense of humor. 

“Hell’s fire, Jane. Didn’t think you’d be able to hear us,” my Paps laughs as he places the cover back down on the table and goes to join her at her side. I follow behind. “Did we wake you?”

“You did, but that’s okay. No better way to be woken up from a dreamless sleep than by some pretty music,” she says, propping herself up on her pillows. She still has so much strength, and though she’s weakening by the day, I’m still astounded by her ability to get up and even walk herself to the restroom. “And!” she boasts with her crooked finger in the air. “No way I wanted to miss my favorite granddaughter’s birthday when the clock strikes twelve,” she adds with a reassuring nod. 

“Gran, you don’t need to stay up this late! It’s almost midnight now, go back to sleep,” I push her, not wanting to miss one second of any rest she can get, while also wishing that she and Paps could sit up and reminisce with me until the sun comes up. I’d give anything to have just one more hour with my parents and James.

“Oh, child, I’m fine!” she pushes my hands away, pulling herself back up. “You’ve gained another year. This day and age, that means something, you know?” Her voice is weak, but she still sounds like herself, her southern drawl coming out to play as she tries to fluff the pillows behind her. 

I nod in understanding. “If you say you want to stay up, we’ll stay up!” 

There really isn’t such a thing as a true bedtime, anymore. I’m up at strange hours of the night, take many naps throughout the day… time doesn’t matter, aside from the rooster reminding us of when the sun is about to come up every morning. 

But we still set the clock, and we’ll change the batteries. The Grandfather clock against the back wall reminds us of each hour, every day. And how lucky we still are to have each and every one, no matter how long they drag us on. 

Gran taps her fingers along to ‘Love Me or Leave Me’ as Paps sings quietly along, and I place a few new logs onto the fire to keep it burning. The smell of this house has always stuck out to me– matured wood, the scent of the barn wafting through the cracked windows, the Murphy’s Oil Soap that Paps was always obsessed with cleaning the floors with… it’s all still stuck here, unmoving in time. Just like the photos on the walls, the dinnerware filling the shelves, and the wall that’s covered in pencil markings and dates, marking mine, James’, and my father’s height growth over the years. 

It’s all still here, exactly where they left it. Exactly where they carved things into the load-bearing beam that runs the span of the house. The wearing in the wood of the floor where Gran stood for fifty some odd years in front of the stove cooking meals. The screen door that hangs haphazardly on the front door, the screen ripped and aging as it served its purpose keeping the flies out of the house for however many summers.

A time capsule. And by god, were the three of us overjoyed when we pulled up and found it not sitting at the bottom of a sinkhole.

“Have you got any Sinatra?” my Gran asks, pulling me from my deep-thought trance as the Billie record spins now, without any sound. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Paps agrees as he stands to replace the record, knowing that he’d give my Gran anything she could ever ask for, just like he always had. 

He makes his way back over to his setup and finds exactly what he’s looking for, switching the vinyl out and putting the needle back down. Gran tilts her head back onto her pillows as she hears Frank’s voice come over the crackly violin sounds. 

“Ol’ Blue Eyes,” she mutters before sitting back up and grabbing at my hands. “You know, Y/N, I didn’t always love music, it was your grandfather’s doin’ that got me to fall in love with it.” Much like he did for me, actually. “Of course I’d go to the dances at the school and I knew a few songs here and there, but it was when I met him that I truly found my love and appreciation for it.”

“He’s had that effect on us both, then, hasn’t he!” I jest, smiling and squeezing at her frail hands. We both glance at him still standing by his collection, eyeing the spines of the covers and pulling them out to look over. I truly did owe a lot to him, he taught me more about artists than I could have ever taught myself. Older ones, especially. He knew the stories that were never recorded in interviews and tabloids. He knew, because he kept them all in the back of his mind as if they were his own family stories.

“That man got me to follow the Dead around for nearly six months before I told him he’d better get me back to Tennessee so I could have me a garden,” she went on, making my face warm with a grin. I’d heard the story a hundred times before, but I’d sit and listen to it a hundred times more, if time would let me.

“Oh, shoot, Jane. We had a good time,” Paps interrupted, scowling at her as he puffed his pipe. 

“Didn’t say we didn’t, Don!” she pokes back, and I can tell they’re about to get into one of their little playful spats. “Your grandfather and I tried LSD for the very first time while we sat in a drum circle after a Dead show in Kansas City,” she said, her eyes wide as she still held my hands. 

Now that, they’ve never shared before. 

“Gran!” I exclaim, truly surprised.

“Now Jane!” Paps barks from his place.

“What?!” she replies, shrugging her bony shoulders. “It was a damned good time and I can honestly say I came back a changed woman. Nothing wrong with that, now is there? I’ve lived one hell of a life…” she trails off, earning a scoff from Paps as he waves her off. “There should be nothing stopping you from still living your life, Y/N. Do you hear me? The Earth might swallow us up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t keep running, keep on living, you understand, child?” she asks, moving her cold hands to cup my cheeks.

“‘Course I do, Gran. I promise,” I relent, and I envy her ability to speak to me with this regard, knowing that the end of her life is near.

“Good,” she pats the side of my face. “Don, how about a little acoustic for a dying old woman?”

Paps drops his shoulders. “Now Jane, do ya have to keep talkin’ that mess, or am I gonna have to make you?” he teases.

I laugh and stand to go into the kitchen as Paps makes his way over to the corner, plucking his old acoustic from its place. I re-wet Gran’s cloth in the icy water, wringing out the dripping water and returning to place it back over her chest. 

Paps sits beside us on the daybed, the smoke rising from his pipe as he plucks at his strings, his feeble but strong hands re-tuning them to where it sounds best. My grandfather is, and was, a very handsome man. Strong and built like an ox. I can see why Gran followed him around chasing after the Dead for six months.

Finally he strums a perfect chord, raising his eyebrows at Gran as she smiles back at him. “Guess it’s a good thing I never got my hands on an electric, hm?” he says as he bites the end of his pipe. 

Neither Paps or I have shown any signs of the rash, at all. No where. And neither of us could fathom why.

The two of us sit and listen to Paps play a plethora of familiar tunes, his fingers still agile enough to float over the strings and play little snippets of all of Gran’s favorites. I can feel Gran’s body relax as she listens to him, her mind probably floating through a million memories of watching him play over the years. He hums along a little as his eyes close on their own, listening to himself play. I swear I could sit here for days. 

After a few minutes, his fingers contort and play a little more harshly, strumming out a tune that hits a nerve buried so deep within me, I almost cry right there on the spot. His very own rendition of one of my favorite songs in the world, You’re the One. 

“Paps…” I murmur, almost whining.

“Hush, child, let me see if I can still pull through these chords,” he shushes me. And he does. I want to scorn him for bringing up the music that was made by my favorite band in the entire world. But then again, in later months, Greta had become one of his favorite bands, too. 

“Babe, ain’t no denyin’, that I got you in my head…” he sings to Gran, making her cover her face with her hands. He plays through about half of the song before he stumbles over a note or two, and decides his hands have gotten too tired. 

“How dare you, Paps. You know that struck a nerve…” I say, scowling at him. 

“Oh, quiet, now. You used to walk around the house singing their songs for days on end. Watch those silly videos of them, hell. How many shows did you go to?” he asks, truly schooling me on my own obsession with that band.

“Twenty-three,” I mutter under my breath. 

“How many?”

“Twenty-three! Okay?” I play along with him, the both of us knowing that he attended the last five of them with me. 

We’d traveled over to Kentucky for his first time seeing them live after I’d shown him a few of their songs. He was hooked after his first play of From the Fires, ripping the album cover from my hands to read along with the lyrics. After that we moved on to Anthem of the Peaceful Army, Garden’s Gate and so on, each play enrapturing my grandfather even more than the last. 

“These kids have some damned promise, that’s for sure. This is a sound I haven’t heard in ages… and their talent? Boy…” he’d said. I still remember the day I surprised him with tickets to his first show, watching him fall in just as much love with them as I was. Swaying along to their classics, singing along with the lyrics he’d learned to love. He learned their names, he learned their personalities a little. He even met a few of the friends I’d made along the way, flirting with them as we’d all stand in line before a show. 

It was Paps and Gran’s travels with the Grateful Dead that inspired me to follow Greta Van Fleet around on their tours. Not for six months straight, as I had to hold down my job, but nonetheless. Twenty-three shows I went to over the course of nine years. Strange Horizons all the way up to their last tour before the world shut down. I had tickets and plans to meet up with my group of friends for a show after Greta had gotten back from Greece, but, of course that never happened. 

Paps grew to love them just as much as I loved them. Love them. For so many years, they were my escape. My solid rock to land on as the headaches of daily life surrounded me. I made lifelong friends through them. Traveled to other countries to see them, with my friends by my side. I watched them grow into men, as I had grown into a woman right alongside them. Watched them evolve, grow, and retreat into silence before exploding back onto the scene with something brand new and fresh, roping me right back into their world. Obsessing over every little detail they fed us. Digging deeply into the meanings of songs, and discussing all the lore with my cohorts on social media. I can account many of my life’s milestones to at least one song of theirs. 

Now, when I find the world more quiet than it ever has been in my lifetime, I find myself reminiscing on those times, some of the best times of my life with that band, and my friends that felt more like family. I catch myself humming their songs, just trying to keep myself centered and rooted to the earth as it literally is falling apart beneath my feet. Greta was always my solid foundation, and even during the End of Days, they hold true to that assignment.

The grandfather clock finally decides to strike midnight, signaling my 33rd birthday.

“I’m sorry we can’t celebrate like we normally would, sweetheart,” Paps says as he continues lightly strumming.

“It’s okay, Paps. Just having the two of you still here with me is celebration, enough.” And I truly mean that. I watch as Gran’s sullen eyes fill with tears as she watches the two of us, and I know I’d give anything to keep the two of them alive as long as I possibly could. But her rash is worsening by the day, and Paps and I can tell that though she puts on a tough exterior, she’s suffering inside.

Gran had fallen back asleep peacefully to the sound of Paps’ acoustic, and we covered her up and threw another few logs onto the fire to last us a few more hours, at least. Paps kisses my forehead after he places his guitar back on its stand in the corner, wishing me a happy birthday as we both retreat to our beds.

+++

The next morning, I wake to myself shivering; Paps and I both must have slept through the night without waking up to tend to the fire. I stretch my muscles and rub my eyes, but I’m instantly startled  by the sound of someone coughing. I throw on my robe and slippers and rush to the living room, finding Gran sitting up in her bed, coughing terribly. Paps and I are by her side in seconds, asking her what she might need to get through the fit, but she just shakes her head. 

Her skin is cold and gray, and it looks as though her muscles are shaking uncontrollably. She’s almost completely covered in the rash, now.

“Do you want to get in the tub, Jane? Do you need to get in the water?” Paps begs of her, kneeling by the bedside. 

She shakes her head more. “No,” she chokes out. Her throat sounds scratchy and dry and we offer her water, but that, too, she rejects. Finally her coughing subsides and she relaxes back, and Paps and I share a knowing look. A look that we’ve both shared three times, when everyone else finally succumbed to the rash. 

This is so fucking unfair. Why don’t I have the rash?! Why can’t I take this pain away from her? Why am I not suffering, too?!

“I’m ok Don. I’m ok,” she mutters, her voice barely her own. 

We both sit there with her for hours, until the sun is noting midday. We hold her hands, caress her face, talk to her, tell her stories… anything to get her to pass with as much comfort as we can. She coughs, still, but each time she begs us to carry on with talking to her. I watch as my grandfather finally sheds a tear, wiping it free from his face as he sniffles through it. 

“Don’t you dare cry for me, Don,” Gran says. “We’ve had a beautiful life together. Beautiful… family,” she struggles to breathe. My chest feels heavy, too, with the overwhelming amount of sorrow it’s holding. I want to throw my fist into the wall, curse everything that has ever lived. I feel a rage building up in my stomach, one that is beginning to burn with so much fury that when it finally awakens, I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain it.

“I love you, I love you both…”

And with one small exhale, she ceases to breathe any more. 

We both allow ourselves time to weep at her bedside for a minute or two before I finally stand and open the windows, uncaring of how it will chill the house. I wanted to let her soul be free. 

+++

It took me about three hours to dig my grandmother’s grave, as the ground was hard from the cold and one shovel can only dig so fast. Hank the heeler was by my side the whole time, sitting and watching guard as I threw the shovels of dirt into a neat pile. I insisted Paps let me do it alone, and he spend a little bit of time with her to say his goodbyes.

 It was cathartic, really, putting my body through physical grunt work as I let the tears fall freely. I wept for her, for the rest of my family, for the heartbreak of my grandfather. But mostly, I cried for myself. I shouldn’t have, it felt selfish to, but I had hardly allowed myself any time to feel sorry for me. Fuck, a person can only take so much. My heart was already broken into a thousand pieces, but the numbness of the past few months had shielded my ability to listen to myself. My body somehow must have felt the need to get it out, so that I could put a brave face on for Paps. He’d need me to. So, as a rare bit of bright sunlight came down and scorched my arms, breaking through the freezing cold wind, I allowed myself to cry again.

It’s almost sunset, now, and Paps had wrapped Gran up in a few white sheets, topped with a pretty lace tablecloth that she had woven many years ago. It used to cover the dining room table, but it did seem fitting for it to be with her, now. 

I give Paps a sweet smile as I make my way into their bedroom, sitting on her old chest as I open the top drawer of her armoire. There, arranged still so neatly, was all of her expensive jewelry that she hardly ever wore. Gold bracelets, diamond rings, emerald-encrusted pieces… all if it is so precious, so valuable, and so completely worthless. 

I take a second to collect it all up and slip it into a canvas drawstring bag, making sure first to keep just one piece out for myself. She’d have wanted me to, I’m positive of it. 

A sterling silver ring topped with the prettiest piece of deep blue turquoise. Her grandmother had given it to her many years ago, and she only ever wore it to special occasions, but it fits perfectly on my middle finger. And if I wanted something to remember my grandmother by, it would most definitely be this. 

I go back into the living room and gently grab my grandmother’s cold, bruised hands, replacing each piece of precious jewelry onto her fingers and wrists wherever I can fit them, stacking them one on top of the other. 

“Should we add her books, Paps?” I manage to ask. 

He shakes his head solemnly. “No, might be best to keep things like that above ground…” 

Paps and I make our way out to the barn as dusk falls, and I light the few candles he has placed around on the shelves and tables. It’s dilapidated but in a good way; the walls and ceiling showing wear of many, many years of hard work. I watch as Paps grabs up one of the candles and walks to a swing door I’d never really noticed before, using some force to pull it open and propping it with a cut of a two-by-four. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness as he walks further inside the room, illuminating the space. There in the center of the small room is a pine box casket.

“Paps, what in the world? When did you…?” I breathe, walking closer to it. I notice that it has my grandmother’s name carved right in the top, the letters painted in black.

“About fifteen years ago, I’d say. Jane and I always said we wanted to be buried right here on the farm, when our times came. Guess we never told you kids about that. Your parents knew, a’course, but we never dreamed they’d go before us…” 

Paps pulls his blue handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes his nose, his eyes still dripping with remnant tears. 

“It looks really good, Paps. You did a great job,” I commend him, but he pays no mind. Instead he blows across it, relieving some of the old sawdust from its home on the lid. He pulls the top open and inspects it again, pulling a few pieces of straw from the inside. 

“Help me get it over to the site?” he asks, and I realize I’d never even asked him where he wanted me to dig the grave. I just picked the prettiest place that I could. Something tells me he would have picked the same place, too. “Under the willow?” he asks. 

Great minds.

“Under the willow.”

We lower the casket onto the wheelbarrow and roll it across the back yard and along the fenceline, right beside the weeping willow tree. It was Gran’s favorite place to come and lie in the grass with a book. Hank walks alongside us, his snout on guard for any wild packs that may be a threat to us. 

Together, we lower the pine box into the hole I’d dug, making sure it was level at the bottom. “Want me to go get her?” I ask. 

“I’ll get her,” he responds as he takes off back toward the house. The wind is whipping my hair across my face, now, as the stars are beginning to show themselves, and I can’t stop myself from crying again. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be standing beside a grave I just dug, with a casket my grandfather built, watching his back walk across the tall grass to retrieve the body of the love of his life. This shouldn’t. Fucking. Be. Happening. 

In the moonlight, I finally see the figure of him coming back through the shadows with her in his arms. I silently thank the heavens above that he is a strong man, still yet, with more brute strength than any man his age should have. Just like James.

I help him lower her inside, but not before the both of us place kisses on either of her cheeks. I work to cover her back up with dirt as he stands behind, Hank begging his hand for a pet.

“You wanna say a few words?” I ask him as I throw the last shovelful of dirt on top, wiping a hand across my cold-sweat forehead. 

He takes a quick, chopped breath. “Sixty-two years wasn’t nearly enough with you, sweetheart. Won’t ever be enough. Thank you for every single laugh, every single tear, every single argument and happy moment. Thank you for our beautiful children, and grandchildren, and thank you for filling my heart with more joy than any man should have the privilege of havin’. You sure made my life worth livin’. Give ‘em hell up there in heaven, Janie. I know ya will. I love ya to the moon.” He sniffles again as he gives in to Hank’s requests, finally leaning down and wrapping a strong arm around the dog. I sidestep and wrap my arm around him, too, and we stand there in the wind until we can’t stand any more.

JAKE

“RRRUHHHHH!” I growl loudly as I wake up from unconsciousness in a full-on panic. My eyes are shifty and dry as I work to sit myself up quickly, my hands still bound at my back. The tape is gone from my mouth now, though. 

It’s dark, and it's cold, but I’m indoors. I just can’t fucking see a god damned thing. 

“Hey! Help!! Can anyone hear me?!” I yell, my voice echoing hard off the walls that surround me. My voice feels dry and knotted in my throat as I try to swallow what little moisture I have in my mouth. When I get no response, I crack my neck sideways as pain sets in over my body, and not just from my arms being bound. I feel as though my legs have been hit with something hard, and my back feels like it’s bruised and sore. What the fuck? What the fuck!

“Heyyyyy! Somebody come and fucking talk to me! What do you want?!” I yell again, my heart rate flying as reality sets in that I’ve been kidnapped from the cabin. Alone. 

The last thing I remember is being alone in the back of that truck, rolling around as whoever was driving had little care for it’s cargo in the back. Maybe that’s why I feel bruised and beaten. Or maybe it’s not. 

Yes, alone. In the truck… six intruders… weapons… it’s all coming back now, in little spurts of memory. Where is everyone else? Where is my family? When was I brought in here? I feel bile rising in my throat as I feel a panic attack setting in, and I grind my hands against one another so as to try and free them from their ties. But it’s no use, of course. It only digs them into my skin more. 

I sit in silence listening to only the sounds of my uneven breathing, trying to calm myself and make a plan of action. No time to fall into fear, Jake. 

I maneuver my body around to get to the walls, standing on my sore legs to turn and let my hands run along them. There’s nothing there– no windows, no chairs or furniture. Just a box. I diligently run my hands along every one. Four walls. With nothing. Nothing but– 

A door. 

I turn my body to try and find a doorknob or whatever to open it, and when my hand finally grasps the spherical knob, I realize that the mother fucker is locked. Of course. I turn and slam my shoulder into it a few times to see if I can pry it, but it’s no use. “Hey! You son of a bitch! Let me out of here!” I yell again, getting mad, now. 

“Quiet, Jacob,” a voice I do not recognize suddenly fills the room. My stomach drops. 

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing really comes to mind. The voice is male, but distorted. Quiet? QUIET? 

“Who the fuck are you? Open this door and come and talk to me!” I yell again, my body suddenly feeling like my blood is going to pulse from every orifice of my body. 

There is a long pause. 

“I said quiet, Jacob,” it repeats. 

I grit my teeth. This voice is really pissing me off. 

“I’ll be quiet when you come in here and fucking show your face!” I yell even louder this time.

There is another long pause, and finally, I hear the metallic screeching of the heavy door opening. I waste no time in trying to push through it, relying on only my hearing to know what is going on, just as I had back at the cabin. Everything is so fucking dark.

But I get nowhere. I’m stopped by my body running into two stern and sturdy men again, pushing back further into the echoey room. I nearly lose my footing, but I press forward again, determined to get through that fucking door. But they stop me again, thrashing my body back so hard I hit one of the walls. It nearly knocks the breath from me, but I catch it. “Who are you? What do you want? I want to see my fam–”

“It’d really do you good to stay fucking quiet, like we told you to.” Suddenly I feel a gloved hand cupping across my mouth, stopping me from speaking. The man’s face is close to mine, whispering in my ear as he pins me back against the wall with his other arm. “Do you understand? Can you keep your voice down?” It asks, a little more lax. 

After a few seconds, I nod, but my mind doesn’t have the time to process another plan. Maybe if I cooperate, they’ll let me the fuck go. His hand slowly falls from my mouth, and I stay quiet, nothing filling the room now but my haggard and nervous breathing, again. “Who are you,” I whisper, my tone demanding. 

I notice that the second man must be standing behind the one still holding me to the wall, hearing him huff a laugh under his breath. How can they fucking see me? 

“Let’s just say that if you play your cards right, we’ll be your new best friends,” the man says as he releases my chest, allowing me to breathe. I hear the tear of velcro twice, realizing he must be taking his gloves off. 

“I don’t need any more fucking friends. I have plenty back at home,” I bark, still gritting my teeth as I stay at a quieter level. 

They laugh again. “Home? You mean the cabin you were holed up in? Barely surviving?” the man behind the first asks sarcastically. 

“Home is where my family is, actually,” I bite.

“Aww, isn’t that cute,” they laugh at me again as I hear that they’re both standing, now. I should try and run again, right? But it might get me knocked unconscious again. Maybe not. Not yet. 

“Little Jake Kiszka, maybe you really do have the heart of gold everyone says you have,” the first one says. “Maybe being rich and famous didn’t get to you, after all.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you? How do you know my name?” I ask. 

They both scoff again. “You’re fairly fucking famous, my guy. Lots of people know your name,” the second one blurts. My guy? Who–

“Well it’s pretty convenient that I don’t know yours, seeing as how you have me fucking tied up in a pitch black room. Can we cut the shit? Or am I gonna have to try and run again?” I ask, completely over this game. Suddenly, I don’t feel very threatened. 

“You won’t get very far if you do, Jake,” the first one whispers, and I hear his boots step closer to me again, and his breath hot on my face. “Listen to me, and listen closely, okay? Are you listening?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m listening,” I say.

“We told you to stay quiet for a reason. You’ve been captured by an outfit that’s been around for a long, long time. But you weren’t caught for just any reason,” he goes on, barely audible. 

“What does that mean? What reason?” I ask. 

“They’ve got reason to believe that you know.”

“Know what?” I ask, confused. 

“Why the fucking world ended. Or actually, how. Your brothers, you all wrote about this, didn’t you? In your music?” he goes on, and if I wasn’t confused before, I sure as shit am now. 

“What?!” I squeal, almost laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Hmm-mm. They aren’t kidding. Does it feel like they’re kidding right now? No.”

“Why do you keep saying they? You are the one that’s got me locked up, right now,” I retort. 

“Because we’re pretending,” suddenly the other one is in my ear. “They think we work for them. The brunt work. The dirty jobs…. Like kidnapping you,” he says. 

“Listen Jake,” the other interrupts. “We know you, we know who you are. We were… we were fans of your band, back then. But these people, the ones who hired us, they trust us. And they have worse plans for you than holding you in a dark metal box with your hands tied…”

“Why me? Why did they take me?” I ask. 

“Your music, your songs… you fucking predicted more about all this than you think you did,” the other explains. 

Josh’s dreams. 

“We didn’t predict shit, we were just writing fucking songs, we didn’t–”

“All of it is real, Jake,” the first whispers, his lips brushing my hair. “The stories you told, the worlds you built… all of it exists, and has existed for a long time.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, blinking my eyes in the darkness. 

“The lyrics you wrote about, the Garden you all dreamt up… It exists. In a complete other realm.”

I damn near laugh in their faces. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? This is a joke?”

They stay quiet for a beat. “No jokes here, Jake. Just know that more is happening than you could ever even fathom. It’s not just the end of the world here. It’s the end of the world there, too. Well, it’s about to be, if the battle is lost,” the second says. 

“You’re both insane, and I’m in on some kind of prank. This is all a joke!” I argue. “We didn’t create that world...”

“No, you didn’t. But you knew about it. You wrote songs about it, didn’t you? You told tales of a Battle, wrote songs about war and peace, lyrics about the water rising, and the air so thin…”

My head is spinning. I’m getting a headache. And I could really use a fucking cigarette.

“Yeah, global fucking warming, who didn’t know about that?” I defend. 

They both laugh under their breath. “Let’s just say you guys literally wrote the time and space of another world as if you’d read their history books. And, lived there alongside them.” 

There’s no fucking way. This is absolutely ridiculous. 

“What do you mean if the battle is lost?” I ask, the question coming from my mere curiosity. 

The second crouches down in front of me again, from what I can tell. “Our world here has already begun to end, right? Technology itself is murdering us by the boatloads. The thing we created. It’s omnipresence became too much for earth to handle, started to suck away at her resources and poison her. Poison her natural way of ebb and flow. So she said fuck you humans, I don’t need you. You shall all suffer my wrath, and I’ll use the poison that you created to kill you,” his voice had gotten a little dramatic, as if he was reading a romantic tragedy. 

“Okay Shakespeare, we get it,” the first says, and I can’t help but laugh a little. “Here’s the thing… the other realm is suffering, too. What happens on earth is mirrored in that realm, but the mirror isn’t a clear reflection. It’s more of a…”

“Cloudy and messy shadow of what happens in our realm,” the other says. 

“Yeah, actually,” the first agrees. “It happens here, it happens there, just not the exact same way. So their world is suffering, too. But they’re going to try and stop it.”

“How are they going to do that?” I ask.

“...Have you not figured that out yet, man? Don’t you think that uh— capturing a few guys who have predicted it all to a tee so far and using them for information on what’s to come next wouldn’t be a nice and easy route for them?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” I say blankly. “You kidnapped me because they think I know what’s going to happen next after the world ends?”

“Mm, kind of. You’ve gotten it all right, so far.”

No, Josh has. Apparently.

“That and… a pretty good other reason,” the first mumbles. 

“What other reason?”

“You don’t have any signs of the rash yet, do you?” the second inquires, throwing me off. How would he know that?

“No… but what’s that have to do with all of this?” I say, my mind spinning. 

“You’re an immune. Just like us,” the second says with a bit of pride in his voice. 

“An immune? How the fuck do we know that we just haven’t gotten it yet?” I press. 

“You’ve seen how fast that shit kills people,” the first scoffs. “Don’t you think you would have at least shown a little bit of a sign of it, by now?” 

He’s right. It’s been months since the first sign of the rash, killed more people than I’d like to discuss. And quickly, too. But my whole family… none of us have shown signs…how are we all so lucky?

“Maybe the earth decided that she’d keep a few of us, the ones who aren’t fucking assholes,” the second barks, earning what sounds like a slap to the chest from the first. 

“I don’t think that’s how it worked, idiot,” he says. “Anyways, we’ve already spent too much time in here with you, Jake. But listen. Remember we’re all pretending. They’re going to push you, they’re going to make us push you. But we want you to know we’re on your team, even if we act like we’re not. They’re out collecting immunes as we speak, trying to put everyone into some type of commune to protect the longevity of mankind. But you’re special, because they think you know. They’re special because they’re immune. You following me?”

“When they kidnap more immunes they’ll group me with them, but treat me differently because they think I can help them, got it,” I say, catching on fairly easily, for some reason. 

“Bingo,” the second clicks his tongue. 

“Do the people who hired you live in the other realm, too? Like, why do they care?” I ask, feeling like I just read the plot of a fantasy novel.

“Think of it like a family intertwined between both worlds. They’re able to bounce back and forth, but they all take up space in both places. One realm can’t live without the other. That’s why they’re trying to stop the end of their world there, so they have somewhere to be if our’s ceases to exist,” the first explains. 

“That’s fucking confusing,” I whisper. “If ours ceases to exist, one can’t exist without the other. Isn’t Earth already too far gone?” 

“Maybe her inhabitants are almost wiped, but as a planet, she’s still got a long way to go before rejoining the cosmos. If the other realm is saved, it could power Earth enough to stop her eradication. Plus we have immunes. Earth won’t completely die, she’s just trying to do a hard restart, if that makes sense,” the second one adds. “She’s sick, and she’s trying to make herself healthy again.”

I let out a huff as I try and wrap my head around the dystopian film I’m apparently a part of now. Half of me thinks these guys are lying to me. Playing games to distract me. But then again, why would they be wasting their time?

“Play dumb, Jake. Pretend you don’t know a goddamn thing. Especially when they start to question you about what you guys wrote in this last album,” the first says, standing to his feet and putting his gloves back on, from what I can tell. “This isn’t gonna last forever, we’re going to put a stop to this.”

“You are? How?” I ask, pulling hard on the ties around my wrists. 

“We are. With your help,” the second whispers. “There’s a whole group of us who plan on breaking free of this shit, we’ve just got to trust each other that we can run. Gather up the other immunes once they’re captured and create our own destinies.”

“But, if we don’t go along with them, won’t Earth completely shit out on us? If their realm dies too?” I ask. 

“Catching on quickly, Jake. I’m impressed,” the first whispers. “If we recreate our own line of mankind from the immunes, everything will be okay. We just want to do it out from underneath the thumb of these selfish motherfuckers. We can do it on our own.”

The two of them turn on their heels and start to walk toward the door again, leaving me sitting in the floor. “Hey, where is my family?” I ask. 

“They were assigned elsewhere. Separated all of you, we don’t know where they ended up. Sorry, man,” the second says. And within seconds they’re both gone, and I’m alone, yet again.

Y/N

I trudge back inside the house now under the cover of darkness, after having spent a few minutes outside trying to breathe and calm myself. Paps has lit a few candles inside, and I can see the warm glow of them through the windows making the house look like a jack-o-lantern. I smile a little at the thought. As I push the door open and lock it behind me, I turn and notice he’s stood by the kitchen table, a few more candles lit across it. There in front of him are two bowls of potato soup. 

“Paps, this is so nice of you,” I mumble as I hang my afghan on the back of a chair. “I thought you said you weren’t up for eating tonight?” 

“Your Gran would have been ticked if she knew we were too upset to feed ourselves, you know that’s a fact,” he says, pulling my chair out for me. I take a seat and I can smell the herbs he’s put into the soup.

“You’re right…” I agree. “She wouldn’t have been happy with us at all.”

“Plus, figure you could pretend one of these candles is on a birthday cake, and blow it out. Since we didn’t get to celebrate you the right way,” he adds as he takes his own seat. 

“I think I could do that,” I say, picking up my spoon to dig in. “Thank you Paps, you’re really too good to me.”

“We’re all we’ve got, sweetheart.”

As we eat, I watch as Paps’ hands seem weaker now, and how they shake a little as he brings his spoon to his mouth. He’s done an excellent job on the soup, but we both know we’re choking it down, both of our stomachs too wrought with nerves and heartbreak to enjoy it like we should. 

As we clean our bowls, he pushes one of the candles toward me, holding his hand out to motion for me to blow. The candle is old and burned through almost all the wax, but it still smells of pumpkin and apple pie. “Don’t forget to make a wish, sweetheart. And make it a good one,” he says, giving me a sweet wink from behind his glasses. 

I take a deep breath and wrack my brain, feeling like making a wish right now is selfish. Normally, I’d wish for a happy next year, health and fortune for my family, or even for the next man that walks into my life to be the right one. 

But all of that feels stupid now, pointless to request of the universe. 

Next year isn’t even promised. 

Over half of my family is gone. 

And no man is destined to walk into my life to better it in the least, let alone offer me kinship of any kind. 

So instead I wish for Paps to stay as healthy as possible for as long as possible, and that the universe bestows good things upon us both. Because like he said, we’re all we’ve got. 

+++

After I’ve cleaned the dishes and tidied the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks from the same sound I heard coming through the walls last night– the sound of quiet, staticy music. 

I find Paps with his record player again, cranking the handle on the side as the sound begins to spill from the horn. For a second, I’m happy that he’d kept this old thing, knowing that without it, we wouldn’t be able to hear music at all, probably ever again. 

I step up beside him and watch it spin, listening to “Lovin’ You More Every Day” by Etta James drift into the air. I know that Gran loved this one, too. It was one of the songs they danced to at their wedding. 

So I take his hand in mine, pulling him to stand with me on the old oriental rug in the middle of the room. I begin to sway around as he gently places his hand on my back, swaying right along with me. We’re dancing a little too slowly for the speed of the song, but neither of us care. We’re just enjoying our time, wishing that Gran was here to clap for us after the song ends. But as it comes to a close, we’re met again with static, waiting silently for the first note of the next song. 

“You’re a bit too big now to stand on my feet,” he says through a stiff smile. 

“Maybe so,” I giggle. “But it was your training that got rid of my two left feet…gave me a sense of some rhythm…” I grin. 

He smiles again as he sniffles through some more tears. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to dance with you at your own wedding, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he pulls me close, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. 

“Now Paps, don’t talk like that…” I argue. “Lord knows I’m not gonna find a man who can dance better than you, anyway.”

I hear a chuckle run through his chest. “May be, sweetheart. May be.”

We sway along to a few more songs before we’re both yawning. “Believe I’m gonna hit the hay,” he says solemnly, patting me on the head a few times before making his way to throw a few more logs onto the fire. 

“Me too, I’ll see you in the morning?” I ask, realizing that this will be the first night in over sixty years that he is going to sleep knowing he won’t wake up to the love of his life. 

“When the rooster crows, my sweet. Love you.”

“I love you, Paps,” I say as we part ways, drifting off to our respective rooms. 

I’m thankful the weather isn’t too horrendous tonight as I snuggle into my bed, pulling the covers onto my chest. I relax, but leave my candle lit, staring up at the ceiling and recounting the day. The look on Gran’s face as she finally met peace, no longer feeling the wrenching burn of the rash that had enveloped her body. Poor Paps. I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling, right now. 

I grab my journal back up and flip to the page I’d left off on, realizing I’d stopped in the middle of a thought. Instead of finishing it, I start a new one. 

I write about Gran’s passing, how and where we buried her, how I adorned her hands and wrists with all her old jewelry, and how Paps had made me a special birthday supper. I try to be as detailed as possible, leaving nothing out as I let my hand flow from print to cursive. My eyes begin to get heavy as the candle light flickers, and I realize just how exhausted I am. How mentally and physically drained I’ve become, simply from trying my best to stay alive. 

My eyes close a little, drifting down onto my forearm that’s covered in tattoos. My dad hated them, but Paps and Gran always told me they were an expression of my life at the time, like a roadmap of all of the things I loved, when I loved them. Keepsakes I’ll never part with. I always thought it strange, that coming from grandparents from an era of humans who normally found tattoos distasteful, but. 

But they were right. I have over twenty tattoos, but my forearm is dedicated to the band that I knew and loved so much, and who brought me some of the happiest times of my life.

The first one sits right in the crook of my elbow, a simple sun and crescent moon that I got right after I fell in love with From the Fires. Then words, right below that, reading ‘In an age of darkness, light appears’ in small font, wrapping all the way around my arm. Under that, a swirling symbol that resembles a radar, 13 lines that make an almost complete circle to commemorate the song that reminds me to step back into the natural world. Beneath that, a sword and an arrow, parallel with one another. And lastly, a symbol that truly represented their fifth album, lines shaped into what looks like a bird in flight. 

I never got to get a tattoo from this last album. And honestly, the darkness of the theme of it made choosing what I would have gotten a little difficult, anyway. 

I run my hand over the dark black ink and my mind begins to sleepily drift. I wonder what my friends are doing right now…are they alive? Are they sad, too? Are they still clinging to the good times we shared to keep their minds from falling into the deep depths of solitude?

My fingers stop over the Age of Machine tattoo, the little ridges of the skinny lines still rigid on my skin. I think about how much this tattoo reminded me to unplug and drown myself in nature every chance I got. How that song truly motivated me to do the exact opposite of letting myself be pulled into the false world of social media, and spend my time in my garden, or swept up in a book. Strange, now… thinking about how it made me feel when I listened. Haunted, dizzy, and uneasy. Scared, almost, but cautious. Ominous and anxious, but in the most peaceful way. Now I’m glad of the inspiration it gave me. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten the rash. It’s almost like that song was warning us of what was to come…

What are the men who wrote this music doing right now? Are they okay, too? My heart wrenches in a different way than it has, yet. Yearning to know of the state of people I had never met, yet worried about the wellbeing of for so many years of my life. “Silly,” I whisper to myself. But, it’s not silly. It’s just the heart they helped me find within myself to care about other people so deeply.

I close my pencil into my book again as I blow out my candle, thinking of all the nights I went to sleep excited to wake up before the sun and double check the luggage I’d packed, grabbing a quick coffee before I hit the road to travel to god knows where to see my friends and my favorite band again. Carefree, and careless. Living my life the way I wanted to, choosing the road ahead to achieve that happiness I’d always chased when it came to hearing their music live. Life unchained, the way Gran lived hers. 

+++

Just as my body is relaxing into a well-deserved sleep, I’m awoken by a loud rumble, a deafening sound so deep that I feel it in my bones. I shoot up in bed, realizing that the bed below me is shaking, vibrating. I pull the covers back quickly, rushing down the hall to find Paps already coming toward me with his candle in hand. 

“What’s going on?!” I yell above the loud rumbles. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” he yells back, and we both make our way to the large picture window in the living room. The moonlight illuminates the hillside of the farm, revealing a giant faultline that reaches from one side of the field all the way to the next. 

“Shit,” Paps mutters as I feel panic setting into my gut. “Faultline.”

“What’s that mean?! Paps, what is it?” I ask in succession, watching as the crack as wide as a river is eating up the ground.

“Probably another sink hole. Or one is going to happen nearby, I’d say,” he barks as he turns and rushes back to his room. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to run,” he hollers. 

What?! Run?? We can’t run! 

“Paps, but the house! We’re alread–”

“Get your backpack. Get dressed, hurry! We’ve got to get away from it!” he commands, his voice booming. The house begins shaking again as I run to my room, throwing on my pants, jacket, and boots, and tossing my heavy emergency backpack over my shoulders. I make sure to secure my toboggan onto my head before stuffing my journal into the free pocket of my backpack, rushing back out into the living room to find Paps ready and waiting. 

I hear plates and dishes falling from the shelves of the kitchen, and books falling off the shelves of the living room. It’s just like an earthquake, except I had watched a crevice form in the ground, right before my eyes. My hands are shaking, and I am already broken out in a cold, panicked sweat.  We rush to the truck, throwing our things into the bed as we climb inside. 

“Hank! Where’s Hank?!” I yell, looking around for him. 

“Leave him, we’ve got to go,” Paps says as he turns the key in the ignition, hearing the engine purr to life for just a second, before shutting right back off. He tries again, pumping the fuel pedal to get the block to heat and the glow plugs to light. “Fuck, fuck!! Come on, baby! Don’t do this!” he yells, trying to coax the machine. But it’s to no avail. The battery has died.

We open the doors and clamber to grab our bags again, realizing that on foot is our only means of escaping the growing faultline. We take off rushing down the dirt road, still hearing the deep rumble of the ground separating behind us. I wish I could describe the sound, a noise unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The cracking and snapping of deep roots, the crashing of trees, a low bellowing sound so deep that it sounds like it came from hell, itself. Unreal. And utterly fucking terrifying. 

My legs carry me, and luckily so do Paps’, straight down the long driveway and back onto the main road. I hear the wood of the house start to creak, and more wooden-sounding bangs. Fuck. Please, not the house… 

“Should we go to the woods?” I pant, knowing that Paps is just as out of breath as I am. 

“No, to the knoll,” he points, panting too as he motions toward the top of a high hill. When we finally make it there, we stop, taking a breather as now it feels as though we’re far enough from the field to get a better view of everything that lies beneath. And there, right in the center of the field is another sinkhole, giant and deep and dark with half the farm swallowed up in it. 

Luckily, the house is untouched.

“How on God’s green Earth…” Paps breathes as he lets his hands fall to his knees, trying to catch his breath as the two of us look down on the scene in front of us. Like it was straight from a horror film. 

“Had to of been Gran. She wouldn’t let the devil himself take her home, if it was the last thing she did,” I say, earning a breathy laugh from Paps. 

“You’re goddamn right, sweetheart. You’re goddamn right,” he says, finally catching his breath. “We need to run, we’re pretty close to this thing, still.” We take off again, rushing back down the road as we still hear the ground shaking below us. We hear trees falling in the distance, and we begin running again. I’m truly thankful for Paps’ stamina and heart right now, his legs getting him to safety even at his age. 

“Keep going, Paps, not much further,” I encourage him, just in case he needs it. “We’re okay, we’re okay…”

Suddenly, I see a set of headlights in the distance, barreling down the road towards us in a cloud of dust. When it finally approaches, I flag it down until it stops beside us. An old man is sitting in the driver’s seat, his face just as panicked as ours. “Hop in! Hop in!” he says, and we listen. Paps and I rush to the passenger side and slide into the cab, the man already hitting the gas before Paps can even shut the door all the way. 

“You’ve got to turn around!” I say, “There are sinkholes this way!”

He turns the wheel harshly, and I’m glad he listens to me. We rush back the opposite way, zooming down the road so fast I can hardly fathom what’s happening. Pure panic. 

“We’re alright, Paps, we made it out,” I try and calm him, reaching for my canteen of fresh water and offering it to him as he catches his breath. 

Suddenly we’re being thrust forward as the man steps on the brake, and I’m close to cursing him before I notice he’s stopped before another faultline in the road. “My god…” the man says, opening his truck door and climbing out. 

“No, no… what are you doing?!” I yell, wondering why in the hell this man is getting out of our escape vehicle and walking towards the crack in the ground. I watch as he steps closer to it, inching his steps as he peers down over the edge. “Is he insane?! Are you insane? Please, come back!!” I scream, but he doesn’t listen. The ground shakes again, throwing the man off balance as it makes him stumble, swallowing him right up into it. 

“Oh my god!!” I yell as Paps lets out a guttural scream. My hand covers my mouth as I yell in disbelief, watching as the man is there one second, and gone the next. 

“Drive, Y/N, drive!” Paps urges me, pushing my arms to scoot to the driver’s seat. I throw the truck in reverse, pulling the door closed as I rush to get us away from it all, pushing the pedal to the floor as my eyes scan for more faultlines. It feels as though we’re surrounded by them. My heart is pounding, now, as my body does the necessary work on auto pilot. 

“Keep going! Keep going!” Paps says as we get closer to town, and away from the vibrating ground. After a few minutes of shaking panic, it feels like the buzzing of the ground has subsided, and I can finally take a deep breath. A shaky one, but a breath nonetheless. 

As I finally allow my eyes to adjust and my hands to stretch, I’m finally feeling in control of my body again. Okay, okay, I’ve got this. Just keep driving. “Paps, you okay?”

“I’m okay sweetheart, you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” I breathe, taking another deep breath in to calm my shaking body. “God, why the fuck did he do that?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, dumb and curious, I guess,” he says, taking another drink from the canteen before offering it to me. “Head toward the city, we’ll need to find a place to hunker down, tonight.”

And though my heart is still pounding as his words hit me, I take the right turn off the state route to head to the interstate, both of us in high hopes that the city will offer us more than it did when we left it. But honestly, I’m losing faith. 

I’d been driving for nearly twenty minutes on the empty road before I take a cutoff exit, determined to cut our drive time down and conserve fuel. The exit leads to a sideroad that is heavily wooded, but I know it will get us to the city more quickly. As the headlights shine down the two-lane road, I notice some kind of dark, shadowed figures standing down in the distance. I blink a few times, trying to see what is there. 

“Is that deer?” I ask Paps. 

“Can’t tell, it’s too dark,” he says, so I slow my pace. My headlights do little to light them up, but the closer we get, the more human they look. Tall, dark… just standing there?

And they aren’t moving. I bring the truck to a stop, my headlights almost no help at all as the figures begin to close in on us, instead of moving out of the road. 

“The hell is this, what’s happening?” Paps yells as the figures have us completely blocked from continuing down the road, now. My panic returns. I hear Paps cock his shotgun. “Drive, drive!!!”

My foot smashes the pedal to the floor, but the truck doesn’t move. The tires screech as I continue pushing it, willing the truck to keep going. But it won’t. It’s like I’m running it into a brick wall. “What’s happening!! Why won’t it go?!” I scream, my hands gripping the wheel as the truck begins to fishtail from the force of the tires on the ground. The lights from the truck are completely gone, now. We’re in total darkness. “Paps!”

“I’m here, I’m here, honey!” and I feel him grab my hand. Suddenly the truck doors slam open, and my body is being grabbed and pulled from the seat. I thrash and kick at whatever has grabbed me, but nothing works. It’s too strong. I feel a painful hit to my head, and my ears scream as I start to lose consciousness. I feel a dark cover be put over my head and secured, completely blocking my vision altogether. “Paps!!!!” I try and yell, but I’m slipping quickly into unconsciousness as my voice is barely a squeal. My hands are being tied in front of me, and all I feel is cold. 

+++

I wake up in a cold sweat, my hands still bound as I sit with my back against a metal wall. My breathing is ragged as I try and take in my surroundings, and I realize I still have the covering over my head. I wince in pain from the impact of whatever hit my head earlier. I hear others beside me, many crying, panicked voices whimpering in the same room. I try and make a sound, but my voice is hoarse from screaming. I try and speak, but there is tape over my mouth. What is happening, where is Paps?!

My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to raise my bound hands and remove the covering, but it’s secured tightly. I’m in pitch black darkness, and I can’t see a fucking thing. I try to stand, but my muscles are weak and sore, and I can hardly will them to move, let alone stand. It’s unclear how long I was knocked out, and how long I have been sitting in this cold, metal room, but it feels like only a few minutes have passed. I feel tears begin running down my face, I feel so helpless, so exhausted. So blind.  

Suddenly I hear a loud noise, like a heavy metal door being thrust open. I see a light through the covering over my face, and I try and yell again. But nothing comes out. Just like in those nightmares where you are unable to make a sound. I hear footsteps come into the room, heavy boots pounding against the concrete floor. My covering is forcefully removed, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the bright light. 

Finally, I’m able to see eight or ten others with me, all of us sitting with our hands bound, lined up against the walls of this room. Some beside me, some directly across from me. I watch as two tall, masked men work their way around the room, removing each and every face covering. A woman, a man, a teenaged boy, an elderly lady… and then, Paps. I make excited eye contact with him as I feel a squeal leave my taped lips. He’s safe. He’s here. 

I watch as the rest of the covers are removed one by one, the person seated directly across from me being saved for last. They leave him sitting for a few seconds as they exchange what looks to be laughs with one another before one of them gently kicks his legs a little before undoing his head covering. 

The man’s face is beaten and bruised, his brown hair tangled and long and falling in front of his face as he winces in pain. They throw his face covering back down to the floor beside him, laughing again as they turn and leave the room without a word, locking the door behind them. 

I peer to the hair-covered face again to get a better look, and I swear if my mouth wasn’t taped shut, I would have screamed out in disbelief. 

That’s Jake fucking Kiszka.

He feels my eyes on him as he finally looks up to me, noticing my awkward stare. Neither of us can speak. I feel myself smiling under the tape, what are the fucking odds? What is happening?! Where the fuck are we?

His eyes grow wide as he realizes I know him, and he stares back at me in utter confusion. Do I tell him I recognize him? Shit, he can probably tell I do, by now. For some odd reason unbeknownst to me, I maneuver my tied hands to slowly pull up the sleeve of my shirt, showing him the splattering of tattoos that line my forearm. I know you. I watch his eyes see them as I straighten my arm out, willing him to see them, recognize them.

I watch his chest rise and fall as he begins shaking his head slowly side to side, his breathing picking up significantly as he looks at me with red, swollen eyes. 

No? Is he telling me no?

Just as I hear the sound of the heavy footsteps coming back down the hall, I watch as Jake slowly lifts his bound hands to his face, his pointer finger sticking up in front of his taped mouth. 

My stomach falls as I realize he’s serious. Not only is he telling me no, he’s telling me to stay quiet.

Tags: @gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick@kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka @jjwasneverhere @gvfmarge @pineapple-photographer @vanfleeter

[ganondoodle]

as i was awake in the middle of the night for like 2 hours bc i felt sick i had more somewhat random totk thoughts

one being that i really hate how raurus response to concerned zelda is, after sonia died in that almost funny how little impactful it was way, "im sure you are here for a reason" (actually, i hate how often this sentence is used in general to .. idk i guess its supposed to be inspiritational???)

bc what does that mean actually? him saying that to someone who got there absolutely by accident really just sounds like "i dont care go figure it out yourself bc i dont want to think about anything concerning you or your troubles lol" i guess its meant to sound like OOOOH fate has BROUGHT you here bc you have to furfill a role you dont know yet (spoiler its being a sacrifice girl with no personality) and besides me hating the 'inescapable fate' trope in general (at least the way its usually done in these games, which is not to struggle against it but willingly accept whatever you are told and pretend thats good) its really jsut goddamn boring and is really only an excuse to well .. ignore her and her trouble; shouldnt you, if you were actually such a cool guy like the game wants me to believe so bad, do everything in your power to get zelda back to her own world before shes pulled even further into the war you caused now that her only ""mentor"" that could help her get more use of her pretty much useless sudden powers is gone too?? i know shes basically dead wife sonia replacement (can of worms ugh) but it still grinds my gears whenever i think of that cutscene, bc i cant help but hear it as the lamest excuse in existence to not care about her and just kinda .. see what happens which in this case means leave zelda completely on her her own since both rauru and mineru die as well (honestly shouldnt rauru have thought about like .. any plan to defeat gan besides dying himself, given hes the oh so cool and goodest guy king whos only mistake was not stabbing gan the second he stepped into their kathedral castle thing, like even if you had a plan it can still fail but it seemed like he just kinda went in with a handful of people that didnt seem to know each other at all, never got names or faces -or unique voices for that matter- to fight gan face to face inlcuding the girl that came from a different time and had nothing to do with any of this conflict and couldnt even really control her sudden new powers just seems pretty stupid)

thought 2

how totk really feels like botw but for the people who didnt like shiekah tech, its not a sequel, its botw again, but version of only sonau, its like a pokemon game that had two versions but one has weirdly incoherent story and acts like the other never existed jsut as a whole its like retreading the same points but worse, all shiekah tech that was so integral to the world and had such a long history just vanishing and no one caring about any of it like it never happened, HELL the titans were called divine beasts in english but i guess they werent divine or important enough to keep around LOL champions WHO and isntead a never before seen or even heard of race for that matter showing up and planting their ass in every place the shiekah were before, dare i say it feels weirdly manipulative, like either them or some outside force erasing every fact about the ancient shiekah and replace them with sonau stuff bc they are the hot new shit now

this is a point that just doesnt stop bothering me, how the shiekah tech seemed so carefully designed and integrated into botws world and story, its a difficult to keep balance after all, integrating high tech stuff into a medieval setting, but they made it work! and then totk comes around and throws a bunch modern day tech into it puts some vague greenish stone filter on its exterior and call that even better more ancient tech; why did they even bother to make pottery inspired laser shooting spider legged robots so well integrated when they throw a car and rockets into the next game without a thought and call it a day, what was the fucking point

it feels like someone was dead set on having a set of legos thrown into the game it had no place in, if you want players to build whatever they want make a building game instead!! especially if you are just gonna throw it in with seemingly no consideration how out of place it feels togehter with the fACT THAT YOU ALREADY HAD AND ANCIENT HIGH TECH CIVILIZATION WITH A VERY DISTINCT AESTHETIC THAT WAS ALREADY WELL INTEGRATED INTO THE WORLD YOU ARE PLANNING TO REUSE WITH ALOT OF MYSTERY AND UNKOWN STUFF ABOUT THEM TO EXPLORE FURTHER YOU COULD HAVE USED!! but i guess they just "didnt want to play with you anymore" and that so much so that they went out of their way to erase every trace of it, i dont think the words shiekah tech are ever used in the game, and the purah pad and her towers just drive me more isnane bc they are the same shit but called different and also much worse, liek the purah pad isnt some more developed shiekah stone, no its a glorified camera with a teleport function and thats it

(i know i said this before but i really cant stand how obsessed every single NPC is with sonau shit, you get told to your face every second line of dialog that they are so cool and are so mysterious that it just makes me annoyed of them even more, the game is obsessed with shoving them everywhere and telling you over and over you too should obsess over them, they werent weird like that about the shiekah stuff in botw?? the biggesst talking point in botw was calamity ganon ..... which makes sense and in totk its like ... gan is mentioned what, in a newspaper article??? once???and then not even by name i think???)

aside from that big point which will never let me go, its also just .. its not moving forward anything, it actively walks BACK the progress that was made in botw, call me dumb but i dont really count moving one step up in the social roles of each race as a character development (for the side characters like the champions desc- ahem SAGES) but mainly zelda ... god how dirty she was done, totk pretty explicitely makes her regress any development she made in botw aside from she likes link uwu and some people like her too, but also not enough to notice that that weird zelda being all evil and weird isnt her (INLCUDING THE CHAMP- SAGES WHO YOU ARE SUPPOSEDLY FRIENDS WITH??? you dont have to be a genius to pick up on that my god, were you all given the mc dumbo potion or what)

she gets put back to square one, back into the little itty bitty princessy maiden role forced upon her by her royal parentage, this time rauru edition, back into a white little dress, back into the scared puppy eyed teenager, back into a situation she cant handle, back into losing everyone around her (tho honestly botw made me care more about rhoam than totk did about rauru), back into being forced to do a big sacrifice- but worse actually

in botw she went to FIGHT AND HOLD GANON IN THE CASTLE SO LINK HAD TIME TO RECOVER AND IT WOULDNT DESTROY THE LAND!! and you are telling me in totk rauru takes up her botw role and she bascially killed herself to ... restore the mastersword.

......... she ... she did that only to be a glorified version of the stone pedestal in the forest. and then she gets returned to normal itty bitty girly no problem via magic sparkle beam at the end and

DOESNT

EVEN

REMEMBER.

it really is just botw but worse, you even get yet another ghost king of hyrule to guide you around (rhoam did it better fight me ... we dont talk about the questionable choice to make himself darker skinned when posing as just some guy)

i honestly dont think i was ever truly taken aback by anythign that happened in botw, while in totk, the further i played, the more i had to fight with myself to keep the feeling of unease, disappointment and betrayal down

its such a god damn shame, totk should have stayed a DLC, i will forever mournfully dream of a game that explores more of the ancient shiekah, doesnt erase integral parts of the world, developes characters more instead of making them regress back and make them end up even less developed than at the start of the game, dives into buried secrets and mistakes of dark pages of history without giving into a weirldy nationalist(imperalisitc?) narrative and lets characters have some agency for once

if it werent for the yiga i might have actually considered refunding the game, just to be at peace with myself

anyway, aboslutely incoherent word vomit.

[watchoutforthefanfics]

goodbye for now || Reddie (IT)

AVAILABLE ON AO3 (SOON)

Inspiration: ^^^ this amazing art by @you-are-braver-than-you-think + I love you by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie was ready to leave Derry. But that doesn't mean he's ready to leave everything in it.

TWs: crying, saying goodbye, angst, hurt/no comfort, the Forgetting (idk what to call it) and mention of the 27 years.

[[A/N: This one fucking hits. So be warned. Enjoy :)) ]]

Richie didn't believe in wanderlust. The whole longing for something bigger, better. Or that, one day, he'd want to leave Derry.

Not because it wasn't a shithole, it definitely fucking was. He knew that ever since that summer when their whole lives were changed (he still stared at the scar on his hand sometimes). Even still, he never in his heart felt like he wanted to leave his friends -they'd been through so much shit that he'd knew they would be there forever. Or at least, he thought they would be.

But then, people started leaving. Promising that they would write, that they would call.

And Richie watched their cars leave -chasing them with his bike the first time, waving so enthusiastically he almost fell off. But as time went by, they disappeared and there was nothing. Nothing from anybody. It changed.

The hugs lasted longer, and he cried a little more. All of them did. Because even though they said they'd call, or even fucking write, it never happened. It was like as soon as they left, Derry was just gone. Richie eventually learned to stop waiting.

Richie Tozier didn't believe in wanderlust when he was ten. But as he got older, colleges were reaching out and the world was at his fingertips, and well, teenage Richie Tozier believed in wanderlust. Magazines of monuments and letters from colleges, he wanted to fucking go.

Derry felt like a cage, and Richie was ready to open the door.

But it wasn't that easy.

Not as he stared at the acceptance letter from the University of California Los Angeles. Not as he saved up for an apartment with his shitty icecream parlor job (his parents wanted to help him, but they wanted him to earn it too) wage. Not as he got fucking excited about the idea of making more of himself than dirty bathroom walls (and a carving on the kissing bridge).

And especially not as he looked into the eyes of Eddie Kaspbrak and told him that this was his last summer in Derry.

"What?"

"Eds," he was laughing, but it felt like his heart was ripped open, "-I got accepted into UCLA a couple of months before we graduated. And I'm... starting in the fall."

"What?" Eddie repeated, and he watched his face twist into something Richie fucking hated (hurt), "-Why the fuck didn't you tell me that shit?"

"I didn't want to make this any worse," Richie answered honestly.

"Richie, it's fucking June," Eddie retorted, something deep and heavy in his words, "-and you're leaving in like two months and you didn't fucking tell me?"

Richie had debated it for a long time. But as he watched Eddie live out his senior year, the most free he's ever been, the decision was easy. He wouldn't ruin it for him, and, selfishly, didn't want to ruin it for himself. Make everything sadder than it already fucking was (with 3 missing faces and no contact to show for it). Because he just... god, he wanted this with Eddie. He just wanted to feel fucking happy with Eddie-

And that was a whole other thing. Richie had realized just what exactly Eddie was to him when he was 11 years old and he carved into that fucking bridge. He knew what it was, and what that meant he was. He knew that. And maybe that's why wanted to go to California. And maybe, he just wanted to remember that shit with him happily. Just in case-

"I know, Eds," he breathed out, feet dangling off the Quarry cliff -his shitty car parked just off the road, "-I'm so fucking sorry. But I wasn't going to fuck up our last year."

"It's not like we're fucking dying, idiot," Eddie retorted.

But it kinda was.

Richie knew that he'd fucking call Eddie, or even write him, whatever the fuck he wanted. He knew, if he could help it, he'd talk to him every fucking day, see him every summer, but shit... shit didn't work out that way. Everyone else said the same things, and now... now there were only 3.

Richie hadn't heard from Bev in years. Fuck, Stanley (his best friend before the Losers even existed) hadn't even called him once.

But he hoped to fucking god that wouldn't be him.

"No, we aren't fucking dying, but-" Richie relented, but it felt like a lie, "-our lives are changing. There's no going back to high school, where we're fucking together all the time."

"No, Richie," Eddie's face was pushed into a flat line, "-your life is changing. I'm gonna fucking... rot here in this shithole, by myself-"

"Eds, I told you-"

"I know what you said," Eddie sighed, turning out to the water -Richie wanted him to look at him, "-It's just not fucking happening. You know that. Ma is never-"

"You'll get away from her, Eds," Richie interrupted, "-You can't let her control you forever."

Eddie wrung his hands together and didn't look at him. Richie felt like throwing up, he just knew it would end up this way. He really didn't want to fucking leave Eddie.

They talked about Eddie coming too, running away. But then, his Mom got sick. And well, Eddie would hate himself if he left her -helpless. And Richie spent nearly every day trying to convince him differently, it hurt in his fucking chest when Eddie refused. Every time.

But he needed to fucking leave-

"I can't do that shit without you," Eddie leveled, looking at him, "-I can't... I can't stand up to her without you."

"Yes, you fucking can," Richie argued, shoving into his arm, "-You're brave as shit, Eddie. We fought a demon clown before hitting fucking puberty-"

"I did that with you guys!" Eddie burst, frustrated and Richie might've seen tears in his eyes, "-I did it with everyone. I'm not... Fuck, I can't do it alone. I don't wanna be alone."

Richie frowned, gnawing at his lips, "You're not alone, Eds. You'll never be fucking alone as long as I'm alive-"

Eddie was just staring at him, big brown eyes dusted with tears. Richie felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest, it just fucking hurt-

"-Eddie, even if I... even if I don't do anything like call or write letters, I'm still here for you-"

"Don't-" Eddie frowned, "-Don't say that shit."

"-Eddie, no, you need to hear this-" Richie leveled, putting his hands on his shoulders, "-If I don't talk to you, it's not up to me. I don't... I don't know why it's happening. But I swear to fucking god, I would come back to you, or at least fucking talk to you, okay?"

Eddie was crying now, wiping at his eyes like he was much younger (Richie flashed back a moment), "Yeah, okay."

The summer was, as expected, bittersweet. Richie knew it would be, but he kept it light-hearted or tried to with everyone not just Eddie. But still, it was heavy. In the clubhouse, which was so hard to be in now, there was something in the air. It sucked, but it was gonna happen. He knew it was gonna happen. So, he tried to make it the best summer of his life, of all of their lives.

He thinks it worked. He thinks he had a good impact. He thinks they'll remember this, or he'll try his fucking hardest to.

And then, it was August.

Richie had been packing up since late July, and Eddie made himself comfortable helping. ("You need to be fucking organized so you know where your shit is, asshole.") And Richie let him. He was pretty sure he'd let Eddie Kaspbrak do anything, honestly. So, he'd labeled boxes and argued why he "shouldn't take fucking everything you own, Richie", and danced around just what was happening. They didn't talk about that conversation over the summer, they didn't even touch the fact that he was leaving -not even over his packed fucking boxes.

Eddie just didn't seem to want to touch it, and Richie honestly didn't either. This felt normal, the bickering, even though the reason they were doing it all hung over everything like a fucking storm cloud. They still acted normal, like Richie wasn't leaving, like he was gonna stay right there. They were gonna stay. Together.

He wanted that so bad it burned, but Richie fucking needed out. It was time.

And then, it was the day.

Richie was silently packing up the last box, and taping it shut. And Eddie scribbled on the front with his insanely perfect handwriting -comics.

It was quiet, too quiet. Eddie was still crouched down, staring at the box, the words. And Richie was staring at him. Unabashedly. He thinks he should be allowed to now. And the thought crossed his mind of finally telling him, bubbled along his skin. As he watched Eddie's eyes trace the letters for the 10th time, it felt like it was on the tip of his tongue.

Richie cleared his throat -voice a little scratchy, turning toward his old bed (grabbing something under the mattress), an extra comic. A special one.

Wordlessly, Richie extended it forward.

Eddie eyed him for a second, standing up -glance landing on the comic.

"Are you fucking serious?" Eddie hissed out, "-You forgot one? You're such a-"

"Eds," Richie leveled -seriously, extending it forward -shaking it a little.

Eddie's lips snapped shut, and his eyes dropped from Richie's to the comic in his hand.

It was one they used to fight over when they were younger. He remembered particularly being on the hammock, Eddie's head on his shoulder (cussing him out when he moved too fast, but doing the very same when he moved too slow), and peeking glances when he was focused on reading. Because he was Eddie, and Richie felt a lot then. Still does, but he knows what it is now.

Eddie raised a hand, hesitantly, and pulled the book into his hands. Naturally, he started flipping through it -red pen sticking out on the page.

"I wrote notes," Richie pointed awkwardly, "-like um, like commentary. So..."

Eddie was silent, flipping through the pages -not looking up. Richie just kept talking.

"-So, it was like I was still here. Saying stupid shit."

Eddie laughed a little, something caught up in his throat. He swallowed once, heavily, eyes blinking a little too fast.

Fuck, don't cry, Eds. If you cry, I don't know if I can fucking leave.

"If you talk about fucking my Mom, I'm burning it."

Richie laughed, something heavy on your shoulders, "Well, you better get the fucking matches, Eds."

Eddie laughed a little more, finally looking up at him. The laugh faded, his smile slipping, and his eyes were the same big ass brown ones, but now they were teary. And he was just staring at him, his face falling further each second that passed. Richie felt like he was ripping out his heart and leaving it here with Eddie. It hurt so fucking bad-

And then, before Richie could even blink, Eddie was in his arms -face shoved into his shoulder.

Richie's eyes were watery now, his chest aching, and he wrapped his arms around him, unhesitatingly. He could feel Eddie's shaky breaths against him, wracking through his lungs. And Richie pulled him tighter, pressing the side of his face into Eddie's. God, he never wanted to forget him, please don't let me fucking forget him-

"Promise you'll write?" Eddie breathed out, heavy breaths against his shoulder.

And even though, they'd talked about the outcomes and the fact that, if he didn't, it wasn't up to him, something was happening. Richie still answered the same.

Squeezing him a little tighter, he whispered -maybe through bleary tears, "I promise."

They stayed like that for a while, and Richie felt it on the tip of his tongue. It almost came out with every breath.

Eddie, I love you. I think I've loved you my whole life.

It didn't come out.

Not as he and his Dad and Eddie packed all his boxes into his shitty ass car's trunk. Not as they forced his trunk closed. Not as Eddie angrily told him to take the necessary stops, don't skip meals, and stay hydrated ("Don't fall asleep on the road, dipshit."). Not as his Dad grabbed his gas can and filled Richie's tank. Not as his Mom hugged him, crying. Not as his Dad patted his shoulder and told him to "Take on the world, son". Not as he, Ben, Mike, and Eddie crowded together into a hug so tight that it hurt. Not as Eddie threw himself into Richie again (on his own), all angry edges and sharp pointy elbows ("Promise?" "Promise."). Not as he pulled himself into the driver's seat, aching like he had ripped off a limb. Not as he stared into the rearview mirror, watching as his friends waved and Eddie stared -waving so desolately that it was like he was going to war. Not even as he pulled out of Derry, and Eddie followed the car as far as he could (Ben and Mike pulling him back). Not as the trees flew by his windows, and his eyes teared up -road blurry and sobs wracking through his chest.

But as he got further along, it lessened. He stopped feeling so heavy, wondering why he felt that way before anyway. The towns passed by and he got out, hitting tourist spots (taking pictures and not being sure who to send them to). And then, he was in California, and everything felt fresh.

Pulling up to his apartment building, he trucked up the stairs over and over -boxes piling up in the empty room. When it was all inside, Richie laid down on the floor -letting a big breath out of his lungs. And then, he moved on autopilot.

Digging into his boxes, he found a piece of paper and pencil, pulled a box toward him, and set it down -throwing the pencil to the paper.

Richie blinked once.

He was supposed to write something, he felt it in his bones but he couldn't remember what, or maybe who to write to. But he was fucking supposed to, it was so... visceral.

Richie felt so... He felt something he'd never felt before, an ache in his bones. And just as everything seemed so happy, there was something nagging at him-

He scribbled along the paper, just what he felt (no header, no name).

I think I loved you.

Shaking his head once, Richie blinked and grabbed the paper, crumpling it up, and throwing it into a corner (the apartment really was fucking empty). This feeling would go away. If it mattered, he'd know.

And then, a year went by.

Eddie Kaspbrak arrived in New York, unpacking as soon as he got into his apartment. Digging through his boxes, his fingers dusted along some paper, maybe a magazine. Why the hell did I pack a magazine?

He pulled it out and eyed it for a second.

An old comic book. His eyes flicked along a red pen on the front, Return to Richie Tozier. Eddie pulled it open, skimming over the pages -hinging on red marks. They were shitty jokes, he noted.

Did I get this from some fucking second-hand store? Why? It's fucking ruined.

Eddie shut it and stared at the name again. Richie Tozier. He wondered for a second who he was, like a lot of people did with original owners of their shit, and felt something nagging in his mind. Richie Tozier, he repeated.

Nothing.

He pressed his lips together and although he didn't know shit about it (or why he fucking had it), he carefully placed it onto a table -away from anything else. He'd look at it later, maybe figure out why he kept it.

It ended up forgotten, slid into a bookshelf.

None of it would make sense. Not until 2 phone calls, 2 trips, and the hitting of a gong.

Then... Then, it would make a lot of fucking sense.

[neptunescore]

Literally started this blog just to say how hypocritical F1 – both the people working in it, and the sport itself – is becoming. The main 3 things I want to address is: no.1 women in motorsport, no2 the ongoing genocide in palestine and no3 F1's disallowance of anything political, yet enabling the absolute political shitshow that was the 2024 miami gp.

Numéro 1: I just think its absolute bullshit that the FIA genuinely created a whole ‘Women in Motorsport Commission’, assigned SIX STRONG ambassadors to it, and THEN proceeded (come 2023) to launch a wholeass unfair investigation onto one of them, based on the MOST groundless claims?? Like wtf?? (Talking abt Susie Wolff here). Also, the whole Cristian Horner situation really showed just how much they care about women working under them, bc tell me why the possible victim in his situation was the one getting SUSPENDED, while this possible filth of a man is still parading shamelessly around the paddock?? Like??? AND SOME OF THE DRIVERS COMMENTS ON THE SIRUATION?? pissed me off so much u dont even understand. Anyway, my last point on this convo is how women should ALSO be taken accountable of their actions, and not just glossed over because they’re ‘women’, over here im specifically talking abt Bianca Bustamante and her liked tweet which calls lance stroll autistic… girl :| and her apology was so atrocious as well. T-T

Numéro 2: The fact that not ONE driver (excluding Lewis Hamilton — that man is so much more than a driver) has spoken up/ posted about the situation pisses me off SO much bc?? THOUSANDS of people are dying, and with the platform you have, the fans you have, you could have such a positive effect! This is ESPECIALLY targeted on the drivers so I FULLY KNOW have control of their accounts (Charles Leclerec, Esteban Ocon, Lando Norris [GOD DO I HAVE ALOT TO SAY ABT HIM], Pierre Gasly, etc) bc tell me why drivers are fully capable of uploading a post 2 years ago stating how the WHOLE of F1 stands with Ukraine (which i do applaud them for) but cant say SHIT abt the same situation occuring in Gaza, but SO much worse?? Lando can genuinely go f himself, bc as much as i used to adore him there’s no way he did NOT know abt the atrocities happening in Palestine, no way he did not know abt the company boycott when he decided to fully display that Starbucks logo on his little reel. And IF (literally a 0.0000001% chance, bc by then a 1000 articles were already written on it and the WHOLE world was aware) he genuinely didn’t know, then that is just ignorant as fuck. Icel. Anyway, literally all drivers should be held accountable, no matter if they’re ur favs or not; I like Carlos a lot but that doesn’t mean i dont get the ick every time i think abt the fact he’s stayed completely silent on the matter. OH MY GOD, DONT get me started on lance stroll and his confirmed (yes, i DO fact check) Zionist girlfriend, like?? Ew.

Can i also just say, that if any of u are gonna msg me saying ‘oH bUt NeP, thE FIA BanNeD AnY anD aLl PoliTiCaL StAtEmEnTS’ Shut up. If you guys could just READ the rest of the statement, you'd know that this rule only applies to when the drivers are ACTIVELY in the paddock. The FIA has literally included the fact that driver can do WHATEVER the want, stand up for WHOEVER they want in their personal lives – which brings me to my next point,

Numéro 3: The FIA bans any and all political statements in the paddock, (without their written consent) YET INVITES TRUMP (a man who has been charged with EIGHTY EIGHT criminal offenses) to the race, is the most disgusting and hypocritical thing ive seen in all my years of watching F1. And don't even get me started on all the shit lando said abt him, like bro?? What are you saying?? Why are you saying these things?? I get u cant speak bad abt him, but that does NOT mean u need to praise him to the sun and back. T-T

That's my rant! Additional reminder abt ppl bringing up how '*retired driver (insert name)* would NOT stand for this, and would post and talk ALL abt palestine if they were still racing,' this is a reminder that those drivers are still alive and well, with WORKING platforms and can STILL do all those things now if thry CHOOSE to :]

-Nep○~

[beanghostprincess]

What if…. What if Shanks was ticklish and Buggy was the only person in the world who knows because would you go over and just try and tickle an emperor of the sea? Would you have the balls? I don’t think so. Buggy’s Chopchop ability was the bane of Shanks existence when they were young, but he would insist on being not ticklish at all, even when Buggy’s detached hand was finger walking it’s way up from his arm to his shoulder to his neck and he was already biting his lower lip and shaking because he knew what was coming.

Which also is the problem he’s facing in the current day, because you’d think Haki would help with being ticklish because you can anticipate it coming but it’s even WORSE actually because Buggy can just look at him funny and Shanks is already trembling and giggling because he’s the kind of guy who gets phantom tickles and he knows Buggy well enough to know when he gets the idea.

Buggy is torn between being pleased that he has finally found a weak point and thinking it’s the stupidest thing he ever heard and being mad about it (especially during the time when he’s still in denial about having positive feelings about him as an adult) and between being weirdly… moved? Nostalgic? Trying not to be touched? Because thing is: Shanks only lets him do that. There aren’t many people around who would still dare to try this with Shanks anyways, but let’s say Buggy sees Yasopp just kind of make a grabby motion towards Shanks in jest while they are out drinking and Shanks equally playfully slaps his hand away, which Buggy knows he wouldn’t have done if it was his hand and would have lead to a one sided twenty minute long tickle fight between them when they were younger. Tries real hard not to think about why that pleases him.

I don’t know either I was just struck with the mental image of Buggy with a shit eating grin on his face asking Shanks if he’s suuuuure he’s not ticklish at all? Reaaaally not even a little? While his fingertips lightly draw circles on his neck and Shanks going „NOPE! Ffffhhh. Not, ha-, not at all! Nooooo…“ while visibly holding back laughter. And it’s cute af

This is the sweetest thing ever and I'm dying reading this,,

I love this because I'm sure there are a lot of things Shanks and Buggy did only with each other together when they were kids that feel too personal and intimate to let anybody else do it. Shanks doesn't let other people tickle him, not because of being an emperor, but because that's something Buggy did to him when they were kids and he refuses somebody else to do it. And it's such a simple, stupid thing but,, Imagine these two trying to reconnect. Trying to get along again. And it's hard to be the way they used to be all of a sudden, so it's slow and it takes a lot of time for them to learn about the people they've become without the other. And as you said, Buggy sees the whole thing of Yasopp trying to reach out to Shanks and Shanks not wanting that. There's just this warmth inside of Buggy. Satisfaction. Relief. Whatever this is called. And he hates the feeling of getting soft and weak around Shanks again, but damn, it's just so fucking nice to see him react like that to his own crew, even, when Buggy knows he would never do that to him.

So he tries to prove that theory and after a few more drinks he reaches out to him and places a hand on his hip (trying to play it off like it's nothing and it's not embarrassing at all, when he's actually panicking). And Shanks not only lets him do it but sits closer to him. He places his arm around Buggy's shoulders and keeps laughing at somebody else's joke like nothing happened. He likes his touch and apparently, he keeps wanting more and Buggy hates how much he loves being like this again, even if they've changed. Even if the arm pressing him close it's not the left one like it used to be.

Shanks looks at Buggy smiling, oh so happy and satisfied it makes Buggy go insanely mad. So the clown just rolls his eyes and smirks, and decides to do the thing he always did to piss off Shanks and starts tickling him. His laugh fills the whole place and it's so damn lovely,,, Their crews just ignore them but share knowing looks of "Oh, these two are going to be so damn annoying now if they start getting along again".

And I think that, besides the tickling, there are so many things that they don't let other people do because the other used to do it with them. Like- Buggy let Shanks touch his hair all the time because it felt nice and apparently the redhead loved it, but now he fucking hates it when other people touch it. Shanks doesn't let people tickle him, as you said, but also despises it when somebody drinks from the same bottle/glass as him because he and Buggy used to share bottles of sake in secret back at the Oro Jackson and it brings back old memories. Etc, etc, etc and a thousand things more they did together and refuse to let other people do now.

[coeluvr]

(Genuine question and sorry for the word vomit in advance) the faq said that having a child consort in universe is considered not normal/acceptable. Will we get to see more people talking about that what luceris did was not okay? So far from the asks it seems like the in universe attitude is c'est la vie ish (or that it's secretly some weird adoption situation but idk my memory might not be right)? Like MC is a child married to an adult but things could be worse (like dying)? Idk if it's me missing some things but no one else seems to have a violent reaction except lancelot (maybe the council but that feels more like because luceris strongarmed them into doing what he wants)? Luceris also seems to have a decent enough popularity (enough to at least stabilize a whole other country), so does that mean people in universe are willing to accept him marrying a child if it meant food or better living conditons? Or just be okay with a child spouse?

Will there be more discussion within the story about the impropriety of Luceris' actions?

Yes.

Are the people in universe willing to accept him marrying a child if it meant food or better living conditons? Or just be okay with a child spouse?

Yes but only in this situation because MC's parents weren't the best rulers and with everything going on it almost felt like it was MC's price to pay since their family wronged both the public and Luceris and MC was the only one left alive.

I wouldn't say they (vesphirians) worship the ground Luceris walks on because he takes care of them better but it's like "yeah at least now we have this, poor kid but shit they have much more than us even after everything" because most people have so little (monetarily) that they automatically view the world in a materialistic way.

This kind of ties with that one post I made a few days ago in which it was basically saying how people fail to view that even if MC has "everything" they don't have what mattered to them.

Some do view it as an odd adoption scenario because it's clear to anyone who sees Luceris and MC that they don't actually have THAT type of relationship.

I think they just use that excuse when they run out of "reasons why this is fine" 😭 most people don't think it's fine or normal until someone questions it like "how come everyone accepted it so quickly for some bread and juice huh" then they feel the need to make it acceptable so they don't start feeling kind of bad.

[unsolicited-hotd-opinions]

What is going on with Rhaenyra and Alicent? Why are they making these stupid decisions, that don't relate to the culture they live in, or their character development from Season 1?

I really really liked most of House of the Dragon Season 1, and a lot of that had to do with the story of Alicent and Rhaenyra, how their relationship deteriorated and what that situation had to say about women in this kind of world (some of which relates to our own world).

The two women's rivalry wasn't particularly interesting to me in the book (I also just didn't find any of the royals likeable enough to care much what happened to them). Making them ex-teenage besties added so much delicious heartbreak to the story.

The way they were pitted against each other (and how they each made the situation worse), the different ways they viewed and dealt with the patriarchal nature of Westeros, the role of a woman, purity culture, the fact that in any society so intensely focused on patrilineal descent and male primogeniture a women's sexuality HAS TO BE CONTROLLED. All this made for a fascinating drama for me.

The FEAR of how they could hurt each other further that was evident in several episodes also seemed like such an important part of season 1. Otto told Alicent that she couldn't trust Rhaenyra and that the princess would inevitably come for her children's lives, and that was a very reasonable concern, but it wasn't an absolutely unavoidable outcome. It seemed like a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy that afterwards they continued pushing each other away, the bitterness and paranoia building until there was no turning back. This was also such an interesting way to look at the story, and made both of them sympathetic.

...But then we find out that neither of them had any sort of plan to weather the coming shit-storm that was obviously coming after Viserys died...That seems strange since Alicent was shown to have been paranoid for so long about the fate of her family on Rhaenyra's ascension. Alicent claimed Viserys barely coherent dying words was the only reason she wanted to put Aegon on the throne. I thought this was sort of an excuse at first (since 6 years ago she said that she wanted and expected Aegon to take the throne), but she was so wrapped up in the idea of being dutiful and well behaved person, that she wanted to convince herself and others that she had a good reason to stage a coup, not just fear and/or ambition.

But we then have the awkward talk in the Sept where upon hearing that she misunderstood Viserys' last words, Alicent seemed like she genuinely believed her own bullshit. That just seems so corny to me that it really was just a 'misunderstanding', when the writers had set up that she actually had every reason to want Aegon on the throne.

The whole Rhaenyra sneaking in to Kings Landing thing was totally stupid. Besides what I mentioned above it is very weird that either of them would be trying to make peace at this point when vengeance and retribution are such major aspects of their society. I like the characters being a bit more likable in the show, and having some consciousness about how awful their war is going to be for the people. I like that there was a desire in the beginning for peace from these two characters. But it doesn't make sense at this point. I want them to make realistic decisions, and realistic mistakes, for the society they live in.

And then Alicent just lets Rhaenyra leave!!!! That is an insane decision!!! If war is unavoidable the best thing to do is make it end quickly. And taking their rival Queen prisoner could lead to a much quicker win for the Greens.

I could go on about this but I really didn't even mean to write this much, and I have far too many thoughts bumping around in my head to form them all into complete sentences.

I just don't understand what Ryan Condal is trying to do anymore!

[explosionshark]

my favorite Miorine thing is that she's so laser focused on suletta to an almost comical degree. prospera reveals that she wants to ruin delling's life (like, her dad, who is dying at the hospital) and miorine goes "ok but leave suletta out of this!". near the end prospera goes on a tirade about eri and miorine, pissed out of her mind, says "you have another daugher! suletta, remember??". i love her.

LIKE. YEAH.

I think the show does a really good job acknowledging that 1) Suletta and Miorine both have REALLY different methods of parsing their emotions and expressing themselves and 2) holy shit they're fucking IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER FOR REAL

You really cannot meaningfully analyze these characters and the decisions they make and the way they relate to each other without keeping their toxic relationships with their parents in mind. There's SO much projection going on - Miorine project herself onto Suletta and Suletta projects her mother onto Miorine.

When we meet Miorine she's isolated and miserable and her only concern is to spite her father and secure her own future. She feels at once dismissed by Delling and also oppressed and controlled by him. Suletta and, subsequently, Earth House are the only real connections she's made with other people. It doesn't take very long for her priorities to shift from getting herself away from her father to providing for her groom and gund-arm.

By late S1 she's undergone this massive shift - she's in charge of a project she chose, working with people she cares about. She's got two things she never had before: autonomy and support.

When Miorine hurts Suletta's feelings by trying to take greenhouse duties away from her, by endorsing her spending time with Elan, she is trying to give Suletta the most important thing she can think to give: autonomy. Freedom to choose how she spends her time and with who. It's a great conflict because it's such a revealing miscommunication. By projecting her own feelings and trauma onto Suletta, Miorine misses what Suletta actually needs. And it beautifully foreshadows the conflict in s2.

Bc the turn in s2 is that Miorine needs to reconcile the version of Suletta that she has come to know and care so much about with the Suletta she was confronted with at plant Quetta. Correctly, Miorine identifies that Suletta is being manipulated and controlled by Prospera. But she takes it further - she overlays her own parental trauma onto Suletta. Miorine sees herself and her father in Prospera's control over Suletta. Worse even: to her father, Miorine was a chess piece in reserve. But Prospera isn't holding Suletta back from anything to preserve her though: she's putting her on the front lines. She's using her as a weapon. And Suletta lacks the perspective to see it.

Suletta is, it seems, incapable of conflict. She can't stick up for herself. We see this all the time but especially in the whole lunch fiasco when she decides everyone hates her because she's too sad to ask for food. Miorine, on the other hand, actually has an easier time expressing conflict and disapproval than she does vulnerability. Calling out Prospera for the way she dominates Suletta makes perfect sense because Miorine has been calling her own dad out for the same things pretty much her whole life.

So, ultimately, Miorine deciding that she has the moral right and authority to make decisions on Suletta's behalf is a great piece of character work. The thing she spent her whole life resenting her father for becomes exactly what she does to Suletta.

Suletta projecting her mother onto Miorine is definitely another part of the dynamic. Again, it's something we see most in s2. Right before the sabotaged duel, we see this moment of total cognitive dissonance in Suletta's thinking. Miorine and Prospera come to hold fully oppositional places of importance in Suletta's world. She ascribes basically an equal level of authority to them.

She loves her mom > her mom loves her > her mom would never make choices against Suletta's best interests > whatever her mom says must be right > if it hurts or if it feels wrong, it's because Suletta has to be more mature. And at the same time she loves Miorine > Miorine is smart and capable > Miorine wouldn't make a wrong decision > if she hurts Suletta, it's Suletta's own fault.

After she loses to Guel, Suletta copes by blaming me herself. She doesn't know how to be angry at someone she loves, but she does know how to feel shame for not being good enough. She wasn't the victim of a cruel betrayal, because her love for Miorine means she CANNOT be capable of doing something that bad. It becomes instead a failure of Suletta's - if she has been better, Miorine wouldn't have abandoned her. It's her own fault for losing and for wanting more than she should have in the first place.

It's the exact kind of broken, warped thinking she applies to Prospera. And it's why Prospera is exactly right when she tells Miorine that she too could get anything she wants from Suletta.

This is why I love the reunion so much. It's so explicitly about owning your own actions and allowing the person you love the space and freedom to decide how to respond. Suletta extends her hand. Miorine decides to meet her there.

Suletta chooses to risk herself in the Calibarn. Miorine alone respects her choice enough to raise the permet score, even if she breaks down immediately after.

Anyway wow I'm fully brainsick about these two. Sorry for that long ass rambling reply but oh my god I'm in a chokehold atm

[competitivedust]

So I completed Season 4 of TUA and wow guys this was bad.

I mean Lila and Five isn't even my major complaint because I kind of get it. But I don't see it working or being a genuine thing. It only happened because they were the only two people and didn't have anyone else for six years. As Lila said, they were surviving.

But my major issue is that I still don't get who Reginald and Abigail really are. I am guessing they are sort of an alien species with the way they speak of humans. But what planet did they live on? How did it get destroyed? How did they just create those particles and stuff? Are they godly beings?

And instead of adding this weird Durango plot we could have done countless other things like look for Sloane? And why did Luther get his monkey body back after drinking the Marigold? He didn't even have it originally.

I don't know, this whole thing just feels so unsatisfying. The only good part was that we got to see Viktor being happy and powerful, and not meek and sad like he was in the previous seasons. I love that he got to have some closure even though it was with a variant of Reginald and not his actual dad.

Another thing, while I mentioned that Lila and Five didn't bother me much but what did bother me was Diego and Five fighting about it during the fucking mission. I mean! Your siblings are dying! Can you focus on that very important, literal world ending catastrophe?

Also another thing, when Allison says she was the one who always looked out for Klaus when he hit rock bottom, am I remembering this show wrong because I don't really remember that at all...?

I swear this dumpster fire show is gaslighting me.

Anyway, so not a great season. In fact, I would go as far as to say that it made the previous seasons retroactively worse. I mean, I loved the first season but then I was just watching it for the sake of my curiosity but that never got anywhere and I can say that this was a complete waste of my time. That said, the actors and the music were great. If I ever do rewatch this show, season 4 will be skipped because holy shit this was messy.