#Impact of Frailty on Mortality

[jasminewalkerauthor]

Trope chats: immortality

The concept of immortality has fascinated humankind for millennia, often appearing in myths, folklore, religious texts, and modern literature. It evokes existential questions about the nature of life, death, and time, while exploring what it means to be human. As a literary device, immortality serves as a lens through which authors explore morality, purpose, and human frailty. However, it also comes with narrative risks, including the potential for repetitiveness or a lack of emotional stakes. Beyond literature, the immortality trope also plays a significant role in shaping societal beliefs, fears, and aspirations. This essay delves into the uses, pitfalls, and broader societal impact of the immortality trope, highlighting its continued relevance and complexity in storytelling.

The origins of the immortality trope can be traced back to ancient myths and religious stories. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest recorded works of literature, the hero seeks immortality after confronting the inevitability of death following the loss of his friend, Enkidu. His journey highlights the futility of escaping death, yet simultaneously reflects the enduring human desire to transcend it.

Similarly, in Greek mythology, figures like Tithonus and the gods themselves embody different aspects of immortality. Tithonus, granted immortality without eternal youth, serves as a cautionary tale about the consequences of living forever but decaying in body. The gods’ immortality, on the other hand, emphasizes their divine nature and separateness from the human condition. Immortality in these tales often reflects not just a desire for eternal life but a deeper exploration of what it means to live and die well, and how immortality complicates those values.

In many religious traditions, immortality is also connected to the afterlife. Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism each promise a form of life beyond death, whether it is eternal paradise, reincarnation, or enlightenment. The religious portrayal of immortality often carries moral undertones, where eternal life is a reward for virtuous living. Here, immortality is not inherently desirable but conditional, serving as both an incentive for moral behavior and a reflection of divine justice.

As literature evolved, the immortality trope took on new dimensions. In modern fiction, immortality is often examined through the lens of individual psychology, ethics, and social dynamics. The vampire genre, popularized by Bram Stoker's Dracula and modernized by works like Anne Rice's The Vampire Chronicles, explores the existential burden of living forever. Vampires, often cursed with immortality, grapple with isolation, moral decay, and ennui. In these stories, immortality becomes a prison rather than a gift, highlighting the human need for connection, change, and mortality.

More recently, works like Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go and The Age of Adaline reframe the immortality theme within the context of scientific advancement and human experimentation. These narratives question the ethical boundaries of life extension and the implications of such technological progress. For instance, in Never Let Me Go, the cloned characters are treated as vessels for immortality by others, emphasizing the dehumanizing consequences of pursuing eternal life through unethical means.

In speculative fiction, Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles and Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series engage with the idea of immortal civilizations or entities. These works extend the immortality theme beyond individuals, questioning whether societies and cultures themselves can achieve a kind of immortality through knowledge, science, or colonization of new worlds.

The immortality trope allows for the exploration of a wide array of philosophical and emotional themes, making it a powerful tool for authors. Key among these are the notions of time, identity, and morality.

Immortal characters often experience time in profoundly different ways than mortal beings, leading to a disconnection from human concerns. In works like Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, the Elves, who are immortal, possess a deep historical memory and an inherent melancholy, as they witness the rise and fall of kingdoms and people. Their immortality gives them a different perspective on war, love, and life itself, where events that seem monumental to mortals are but fleeting moments in their endless existence.

Immortality raises questions about personal identity over time. How does an individual maintain their sense of self over centuries or millennia? In works like Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, the protagonist’s immortality and gender fluidity are intertwined, allowing Woolf to explore the fluidity of identity over time and space. In contrast, works like The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde show the dangers of eternal youth, where a refusal to change or grow leads to moral and psychological decay.

Immortality often complicates ethical decision-making. Characters who cannot die may become indifferent to the suffering of others, seeing human life as transient and insignificant. This is evident in characters like Doctor Manhattan from Alan Moore’s Watchmen, whose near-omniscience and immortality alienate him from humanity, as he struggles to find meaning in life and morality. Alternatively, immortal characters might strive to use their endless time for benevolent purposes, as seen with Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who, who serves as a protector despite the pain his immortality causes him.

Despite its narrative potential, the immortality trope has several pitfalls. One of the major risks is that of repetitiveness. Immortal characters, particularly those in long-running series, may struggle to evolve in meaningful ways, since their inability to die removes traditional narrative stakes. This can lead to stagnant character arcs, where the potential for growth and change is limited by the character’s inherent invulnerability.

Another challenge is diminished emotional engagement. Mortality is central to the human condition, and much of a reader’s emotional investment comes from the awareness that a character's time is limited. In stories featuring immortality, the absence of death as a real possibility can lessen tension. Authors must compensate for this by introducing alternative stakes, such as the potential for emotional or existential suffering, as seen in Interview with the Vampire, where the emotional isolation of eternal life becomes the central conflict.

Lastly, immortality can sometimes lead to philosophical overload, where stories become bogged down by metaphysical debates and lose touch with the characters themselves. When immortality is used merely as a plot device for abstract musings on existence, it risks alienating readers who are more invested in narrative progression or character development.

The immortality trope also resonates beyond literature, reflecting broader societal anxieties and desires. In an age where scientific advancements, such as stem cell research, anti-aging technology, and the quest for digital consciousness, promise the possibility of extending human life, the trope takes on new relevance. It serves as a platform to explore the ethical, philosophical, and emotional consequences of such pursuits.

The immortality trope taps into the human fear of death and the desire to leave a lasting legacy. Whether through biological immortality or cultural immortality (such as leaving behind great works of art or knowledge), many people seek ways to outlive their finite lifespans. This desire for legacy is mirrored in characters who either embrace or reject their immortality, providing readers with a lens to examine their own fears of mortality.

Immortality also reflects societal aspirations toward technological progress. With the rise of biohacking, life extension research, and transhumanist movements, immortality is no longer a distant fantasy but a potential reality. However, stories that explore these themes often serve as cautionary tales, warning against the ethical and psychological consequences of altering the human condition. Works like Altered Carbon highlight the dangers of living indefinitely through technological means, from economic inequality to the erosion of empathy and identity.

In today’s society, the immortality trope intersects with cultural obsessions with youth and beauty. The growing industries dedicated to anti-aging products, cosmetic surgery, and longevity diets reflect a deep-seated fear of aging. Stories that feature eternal youth, such as The Picture of Dorian Gray, expose the vanity and moral emptiness that can accompany such obsessions, warning of the costs that come with an eternal pursuit of youth.

The immortality trope, deeply rooted in human mythology, religion, and literature, remains a powerful tool for exploring existential questions about life, death, and the passage of time. While it offers unique opportunities for examining morality, identity, and the human condition, it also presents narrative challenges, such as the risk of stagnation or diminished emotional stakes. Beyond its literary uses, the immortality trope continues to influence and reflect societal aspirations, fears, and ethical concerns, particularly in the context of modern science and technology. In a world where the possibility of extended life may one day become a reality, the trope of immortality will remain a vital means of grappling with the profound questions that define the human experience.

[sliptohk]

Prompt #11: Once Bitten Twice Shy

It was a rite of passage for the Ooja clanswomen to cut their teeth on the most benign of toxins, relatively harmless in the limited doses that were administered in the early stages of their education. Aside from a sleepless night or two as hearts raced and small spasms worked through their muscles, it offered little to fear in comparison to the dreadful concoctions they would strive toward.

Days later, body and mind would be whole once more and their sleeping patterns returned to a normal rhythm. Only that one reminder of how even the most simple of mixtures could greatly impact their bodies. The frailty of the mortal form before the complexities of nature that had developed over countless generations into the deadly compounds they were.

Swiftly moved past, accomplished mixologists never revisited such amateur diversions. Their name for it alone, Kittenweed, left to their youth as they advanced into the future.

By all but Qata it would seem.

It took some time for her tribeswomen to realize just what the young Keeper had been doing. A noisy day every now and then would hardly be noticed, but when the clattering and crashing of pottery could be heard well after the sun had risen for days on end they were swift to realize just what she had been up to.

Their warning had fallen on deaf ears. Making full use of its insomnia inducing potential, and simply working through the shakes, the burgeoning mage happily continued her research while the others slept. And as an added bonus, she reveled in the ways that such cases of longtime sleeplessness induced hallucinations and other avenues to expand her thinking.

At least that was her side of the story.

Finally weaned off those regular doses, the elders finally managed to show the dangers of the blend to the next generation when Qata fell into a near comatose state for the next five days. They chose not to spread the story of how she had to be dragged off by a pair of sisters when she tried to get her hands on another few doses once they had emerged from their sleep. Forbidden from touching it again by the Eldest before she could circumvent their protective measures.

It paid for an Ooja to be cautious. Somehow Qata had failed to grasp that lesson.

[qserasera]

I was tagged by @ncfan-1 for this meme (thanks!!). The rules of the meme are as follows: Post the first lines of your ten most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. If you’ve written less then ten, just go for what you have written.

tagging @swankitty @blackidyll @defeateddetectives @javert @futuresoon if you feel like it

decided to categorize ‘recent’ as writing from within the last year hahaha :D

1. so sings the chimes, aleatoric Genshin Impact; Scaramouche (The Wanderer)-centric

"My daughter wishes to learn to play the koto," the older man says.

He clears away an empty bowl and a set of cups, taking them behind the counter of the izakaya stall. Behind the softly wafting steam, his face is cut in sharp lines, like ones etched in a woodblock by an artisan's hand. But the gentle fondness in his eyes as he speaks of his daughter softens the look of what must have been a once-prideful youth.

"Oh? Is that right, Shibata-san? How time catches up upon us like a tiger! How old is she now—six? Seven?"

The answering reply is from Malek, a regular at Shibata-san's stall—though he has the thin look common to many scholars of the Akademiya, there is a suggestion of strength in the set of his shoulders, in the expertly tied knots of the bags to his hip, the sheathed dagger at his belt.

i think i generally don’t prefer just like. Jumping right into a scene from the main pov character hahah. this was a fun bit of easing into the rest of the fic in a sideways way through some slight worldbuilding painting---the koto mention was a choice as one of the intentional threads of something that reminds the Wanderer of Inazuma (something something he cut himself off from his home but can’t help longing for it regardless when he gets reminders of it :)) 2. these sunlit days our hands engrave Zhongli/Childe, slight sideways AU for Genshin Impact

In a certain kingdom, there lived a boy in a village. He seemed no different from any other boy his age—half-wild and restless, a fledgling eagle not yet full-grown; and yet, still made tame enough by affection to return to his family's humble home by nightfall, where warm smiles and warm words were doled out in equal measure. One winter night—one dark and hollow as an iron pot on a cold hearth—he did not return.

a somewhat fairytale beginning for what does really end up as a fairytale type fic :DDD i think i like the phrasing of ‘a fledgling eagle not full-grown’ for a young childe  3. on a high peak, sentiments sweet Zhongli/Childe, canon-compliant-ish Genshin Impact

Light shimmers before the eye, like heated oil over a wok. Through the air, the humming of cicadas seems to drown out the usual talk and bustle of the city by a hundredfold.

Outside on the second-floor balconies, waiters lean their elbows against the railings, a spare towel held against the sweat on their foreheads, their pose thoroughly languorous. Children walk with their families, tugging on their parents' hands while whining for sweet dessert soups from nearby food stalls—for the flavors of shaved ice and sour plums, or mung beans chilled and sweetened with sugar.

what do i even say here---more scenic intros i guess :DD 4. willow pond, locked in smoke Ayato/Thoma (heavily implied), Genshin Impact

"A pity," the man mutters, as one of his fingers traces a half moon on the tabletop around his tea cup. "The first flush of tea this year is not quite as promising as I expected."

"Shimada-sama is too humble," Ayato replies. "There is an undeniable charm, is there not, to enjoying the first bounties of nature in shincha such as this? A reminder perhaps, of mortal power and frailty both—that not even things grown from our hands will always remain in our control."

u can tell that. i loveee social intrigue in my fandoms and also in my fic, especially for ayato :)))) (his trailer was soooo cool with the mention of assassins Aghhhhhhh). i wasn’t sure if ayato’s lines were hitting a more pretentious note than not, but i like how it ended up

5. after the hundredth night of waiting Zhongli/Childe, Genshin Impact

Childe's gaze is drawn to Zhongli's gloves. The creature resting between his palms is a small, delicate thing. Barely bigger than the bulb of an ice flower, feathers green-blue in the firelight. Qing 青—the color of spring, as Zhongli had once explained to Childe, a stem of qingxin clasped between his fingertips, their buds still veiled in pale green. 

the bird fic......this was more of an extended metaphor but i really do like this beginning and also the seasonal appropriateness of it

6. a poem, halfwritten Zhongli/Childe, Genshin Impact

  Zhongli lowers his cup to the table, sliding it over to rest besides its partnering wine pitcher. Both equally empty, though the taste of the wine leaves a pleasant sweetness on his tongue. 

zhongli is just elegantly drinking here. he’s so cool *chinhands*

[mindturnedoff]

"For those of us who have watched people we love be robbed of their dignity by the ravages of old age, the visible sight of McConnell’s decline could give us, even in spite of ourselves, pangs of pity for the man. For those of us who grieve what McConnell has made our country into, his succumbing to mortality even from the heights of malignant power can feel like a certain kind of ironic justice, an Ozymandias-like contrast between how much he was able to hurt people and how weak he has been made.

...

What are we to do with these contrasts – between the contemptible evil of McConnell’s career, and the pitiable frailty of his age? Mostly, I think, we can direct our attention to those victimized by the impact of McConnell’s leadership – who do not have the comfort or the money to receive the quality of healthcare he did, or the opportunity to indulge their vanity by staying in power long after it was time to go."

[mineofilms]

amplectere palloris

Fear, in philosophical terms, emerges as a profound exploration of human consciousness and existence. It's a visceral response intertwined with the fundamental questions of life, reflecting our vulnerability in the face of the one thing we are all afraid of. The UNKNOWN… Rooted in existentialism, fear encapsulates the paradox of being alive, a relentless reminder of mortality. As a primal instinct, it taps into the separation of survival and contemplation, shaping our understanding of courage amid frailty. Within the philosophical landscape, fear transcends mere emotion; it becomes a dynamic force influencing our narratives, distorting perceptions of time, and challenging our conceptions of self. It is both an intimate experience and a universal phenomenon, connecting individuals through the shared recognition of life's uncertainties and the constant negotiation between dread and resilience on the philosophical stage of human existence.

—A dream?—

—A False Reality?—

—Existentialism—

—Nihilism—

Or NOTHING AT ALL?

Completely Meaningless and Purposeless…

“The world of reality has its limits; the world of imagination is boundless.” — Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Fear is like a storm of strong feelings, swirling together in our minds—feelings like worry, dread, and discomfort. It plays tricks on how we see things, creating illusions and making us imagine things that aren't really there. It messes with time, making us think too much about what might happen in the future or what's happened in the past, blurring the lines between then, now, and later. It's the reason we feel like running away, freezing in our tracks, or getting ready to fight when we're scared. Fear makes us think about the big questions in life, like how vulnerable we are, but it also pushes us to find courage and face challenges. It's a bit mysterious and hard to pin down, not fitting into clear categories, and it likes to hang out in the spaces where our thoughts and feelings mix. Fear is like a ghost, showing up when we least expect it, changing our stories into scary ones filled with worry and nervousness. Even when it's not around, we can still feel its impact, a lingering feeling that says a lot about how deeply it affects us.

“Dread’s Embrace” is basically a Top 10 Things That Terrify Me in Film/TV. In no order the ten things I remember that freaked me out in a Movie. Granted I am 45 and a lot of these were seen as a kid. So 80s baby all the way. Just a side note that I really harp on “conceptual horror” over just visuals. “Conceptual Horror” would be imagining you as a child, in bed, feeling this sense that you are being watched. You cannot see anything, but you look in the darkest corners of your room to see BLACK and feeling there is something there that wants you to be terrified of its presence upon you. You get the distinct feeling this thing, this entity, wants to do bad things to you or at the very least make you do bad things to others or yourself. That to me, this uncertainty, this distinct feeling of a harmful force upon you, is terrifying. That unknown feeling of dread by something you cannot quantify, but is in your space that is supposed to be yours and safe.

The Elephant Man (1980) Writers: Christopher De Vore, Eric Bergren, David Lynch Directed by: David Lynch Stars: Anthony Hopkins, John Hurt, Anne Bancroft IMDB Rating: 8.2/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 93%

The life of John Merrick (John Hurt), a severely deformed man living in Victorian London. Discovered by Dr. Frederick Treves (Anthony Hopkins) in a circus freak show, Merrick becomes an object of fascination and exploitation in society's eyes. As the narrative unfolds, it explores themes of humanity, compassion, and the cruelty of societal judgment. The film creates a haunting and emotionally resonant cinematic experience. The film navigates the division between Merrick's extreme physical deformity and the profound beauty within, unraveling a tale that challenges societal norms and explores the depths of human empathy. “The Elephant Man” isn’t a horror film, but as a very young child, the makeup scared me to death. I was like maybe three-years-old, watching David Lynch films. This movie is dark in tone. It looks like a horror movie. It feels like horror movies do. At times it is a horror movie. To a young child not having any real context to this, I was scared shitless. I couldn’t get enough of it. I was terrified for years by this movie. When I was finally old enough to watch it with a more mature mind. I cried… We can be boundless in our ability at human cruelty. As a young child I would walk up to my poor mother with a pillowcase over my head grabbing her leg and repeating the lines from the movie, over and over again.

“I Am Not An Elephant! I Am Not An Animal! I Am… A Human Being! I… Am… A… Man!” — John Merrick — The Elephant Man (1980)

To a hip mother in her late 20s of the 1980s this was, of course, cute to her and encouraged. Why she wasn’t teaching me Film Production College level courses at four-years-old I will never know…

The Thing (1982) Writers: Bill Lancaster, John W. Campbell Jr. Directed by: John Carpenter Stars: Kurt Russell, Wilford Brimley, Keith David IMDB Rating: 8.2/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 92%

You thought clowns were creepy? Try facing the uncertainty of not knowing if your colleague is secretly a walking, talking extraterrestrial entity ready to turn your organs into an intergalactic smoothie. It's the kind of uncertainty that makes you want to hug your pillow and question your life choices.

“The THING” isn't just a movie; it's like that ex that creeps on your Facebook for the new girl, a pure ride into the abyss of trust issues. It's a reminder that the world of reality might have some limits, but the world of paranoia and fear? Oh, that's boundless, my friend, boundless.

So go ahead, watch it with the lights off, but don't blame me if you start questioning your reflection in the bathroom mirror as thing, a thing, “The THING.” “The THING” has a way of making you realize that sometimes the scariest monsters aren't under your bed—they're sitting across from you at the research station's poker table. And yes, it looks like it would really hurt to be a victim of this shape-shifting, paranoid alien. We never seen anyone in pain. They either die fast or are absorbed slowly, experiencing unimaginable terror before the body dies. My dreams, say terrifying. Cosmic Horror wasn’t even a thing in mainstream horror films when I saw this, but I remember as a kid loving this movie, and as an adult believing this to be a classic among classics. The Special Effects gave me a nightmare-upgrade to five-stars. The grotesque transformations and visceral horror make your childhood fear of the dark seem like a walk in the park. I still have dreams or elements of dreams that have to be inspired by “The THING.” The visuals to me, at the time, represented what movies could not or would not show us but this one time, they went all out and did.

Who can you rely on when the guy next to you might be, “The THING…”

Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981) Writers: Ron Kurz, Victor Miller, Sean S. Cunningham Directed by: Steve Miner Stars: Amy Steel, John Furey, Warrington Gillette IMDB Rating: 6.1/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 48%

You thought unmasking Jason Voorhees was intense? Jason's potato sack isn't just an accessory; it's like that unexpected plot twist that leaves you wondering. What’s underneath that sack? A suspenseful journey into the slasher movie with a mutant as the killer. I mean, who needs a shape-shifting alien that literally absorbs you with tentacles when you have a machete-wielding maniac with a mysterious face covering?

Back in the day, I was about as tall as a potato sack, probably three or four-years-old as well, and I'd often mix up my horror films. I'd be grappling with the chilling thought of Jason Voorhees while simultaneously picturing the haunting imagery from David Lynch's "The Elephant Man" under that sack. Talk about a mindfuck. I thought they were the same thing.  Potato-sack-Jason, at the time, was an enigma of horror surrounding Jason's possible appearance. Limited backstory. Not really sure how he is supposed to be alive, living the woods? Knew what pants and shows were at the very least. The big reveal — that moment when the sack comes off. The choice to conceal Jason's physical appearance builds an aura of suspense and terror throughout the movie, as viewers are left in suspense, not knowing the true extent of the horror beneath the sack. The impact of this revelation echoes through the annals of the genre, solidifying the potato sack as a symbol of the unknown horrors that lie beneath, forever etched in the minds of horror enthusiasts and me as a child.

Altered States (1980) Writers: Paddy Chayefsky Directed by: Ken Russell Stars: William Hurt, Blair Brown, Bob Balaban IMDB Rating: 6.9/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 71%

"Altered States" explores the boundaries between consciousness and primal instincts. Driven by the relentless quest to unlock the mysteries of human existence and consciousness itself through sensory deprivation and hallucinogenic substances. Where blurred lines between reality and hallucination as the boundaries of time, identity, and even physical form disintegrate. The existential terror arises from the unsettling notion that reality itself is a basic construct susceptible to manipulation. The film's vivid visual effects, coupled with its psychological intensity, create an atmosphere of dread by challenging fundamental perceptions of self and reality. The tone of this movie. The sense of dread from the soundtrack. I was, again, very young and usually would only get glimpses of this film over the years till I was old enough to appreciate it.

The scenes of transformation into a blob of proto-consciousness and subsequent reconstitution serve as a visual metaphor for human existence. Dr. Jessup's (William Hurt) experiments with altered states of consciousness lead him to a primal, pre-human form—a manifestation of pure, unbridled consciousness. As Jessup undergoes these radical transformations, question boundaries of selfhood and the nature of reality. The visual representation of his reconstitution underscores the fragility of human form and the transformative potential within the recesses of the mind. We all used to be something more animal. More hunter, more predator than dossal plant eater woods dweller.  This surreal imagery and tone contributes to the film's existential unease, as it explores the profound and unsettling implications of manipulating one's consciousness and challenging the conventional boundaries of human existence.

Perhaps A Warning To Not Try To Hack God.

Tightrope (1984) Directors: Richard Tuggle, Clint Eastwood Writer: Richard Tuggle Stars: Clint Eastwood, Geneviève Bujold, Dan Hedaya IMDB Rating: 6.3/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 50%

This isn’t about the film. It is about a mask that is literally in one or two shots of the film, that it just so happen to be in the trailer. It was either Dirty Harry “Sudden Impact” or another Clint Eastwood film around that time; where there is a scene in an amusement park, where someone is wearing a creepy mask. That always freaked me out as a kid. I cannot remember exactly what movie it was, but I knew Clint Eastwood was in it. This mask scared the living crap out of my six-year-old ass every time I would see the preview on HBO back in 1985. This gave me nightmares for years and I didn't really remember what movie it was from till recently. I remembered Clint Eastwood was in it and there was a carnival or celebration. At first glance, I thought it was “Sudden Impact." After watching the movie I realized it wasn't it. I had been thinking for months about what I saw from horror films that actually scared me to my core as a young child. I remembered most of everything but this. After thinking hard on this subject for months I finally remembered it after going through all the movie trailers from Clint Eastwood films starting from 1982 and moving forward on YouTube. After only a few movie trailers I found it. “Tightrope” (1984). Stars and co-directed by Clint Eastwood... The Killer would wear masks, but this specific mask was at an outdoor exterior scene. The mask is only in the scene for a short second, but in both the trailer and the HBO teaser the mask was prominently shown and that was the part that always freaked me out as a kid. So here is a better look at the face that terrified me more than any creepy neighbor, creature feature or alien of the 1980s...

Communion (1989) Director: Philippe Mora Writers: Whitley Strieber Stars: Christopher Walken, Lindsay Crouse, Frances Sternhagen IMDB Rating: 5.5/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 46%

The 1989 film "Communion" unfolds as nightmare fuel. Based on Whitley Strieber's autobiographical account, played by Christopher Walken, of a series of real-life Alien abductions from a race of Aliens called “the GREYS.” The film explores his unsettling experiences, blurring the lines between reality and imagination. As Strieber (Walken) and his family confront the mysterious events and beings, the intricate dance with the unknown, a shadow, movement behind a door. Only a crack open. Nothing could possibly hide around the small of a crack of space. You look harder, your vision adjusts to the dark. Then you see it. A large black almond-shaped eye with no pupil, just staring at you, coldly. It’s both there and not there at the same time. You see the door creak open and then you wake up in your bed, believing it to be a dream. OR WAS IT?

The beings are not products of imagination; they are manifestations of existential terror. Short in stature, yet towering in malevolence, their featureless bodies and colossal, almond-shaped jet black eyes become conduits for an insidious force that defies comprehension to all that bear witness. Their presence is an intrusion into the sanctity of our psyche, a violation of the comfort derived from the familiar. The false and disjointed realities projected onto us by them makes us feel like we are watching ourselves perform in a film where we try to speak to ourselves to get out of there, but the us in the movie cannot hear us as we become a voyeuristic explorer of scenes that straddle the boundaries between sanity, insanity and stone cold terror. Love and familial ties dissolve into the pool of nightmarish aberrations, and reality itself becomes a will-less substance manipulated by unseen hands. The film skillfully crafts an unsettling tone that taps into the primal fear of being abducted by “the GREYS.” – They have haunted us for sixty years, perhaps longer, we just cannot remember it.

The ability to evoke sheer terror without relying heavily on explicit visuals of the alien beings capitalizes on the power of suggestion and atmospheric tension, causing a lingering anxiety that transcends mere jump scares. Apply this logic to a ten or eleven-year-old. Damn right, I was scare as hell when I saw this. The scenes depicting Strieber's abduction experiences are a masterclass in psychological horror for any era, plunging us into the depths of existential dread. The film doesn't merely depict the physical aspects of abduction; it digs into the psychological trauma and the unsettling unknowns that characterize such experiences. For those fascinated by the enigma of alien abduction, "Communion" remains a standout choice. Its ability to induce genuine unease, coupled with a haunting portrayal of the psychological toll of otherworldly encounters, makes it a fun and exciting watch if you like to be freaked out while you watch movies.

Abduction can induce terror through the invasion of personal space, loss of control, and the unknown. “The GREYS” mysterious presence creates an unsettling atmosphere, leaving most in constant fear and uncertainty. The heightening anxiety through psychological manipulation and the violation of domestic sanctity. The terror stems from the inability to comprehend “the GREYS” motives, leaving victims vulnerable to an enigmatic and menacing force beyond human understanding. 2013’s “Dark Skies” and 1993s “Fire in the Sky” get notable mentions for their tone and depiction of terrifying Aliens abduction sequences.

The Fourth Kind (2009) Director: Olatunde Osunsanmi Writers: Olatunde Osunsanmi, Terry Robbins Stars: Milla Jovovich, Will Patton, Hakeem Kae-Kazim IMDB Rating: 5.9/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 41%

"The Fourth Kind" was presented as a "re-enactment" of real events rather than a fictional narrative. The marketing campaign aimed to blur the lines between fiction and reality, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue around the movie. I fell for the trap myself. However, the “real events” that the film claims to make are a series of unrelated, other, random stories from all over the United States. The film was presented in a pseudo-documentary style, with reenactments of supposed “real events” mixed with both re-created footage based on the “real events” and actual "archival footage," along with interviews with the alleged “real-life people” this happened to. This approach was intended to make us question the authenticity of the story as it flips back and forth to the “re-enactment,” movie footage and the “archival footage.” Where the “archival footage” is also footage created for the film’s presentation to appear “based on actual events.”

This strategy received heavy criticism for potentially misleading people and exploiting the idea of real-life trauma for entertainment purposes. There were a lot of people online as well that felt cheated after discovering that the entire film was a work of fiction. An inside joke from producers to movie fans. The reality is people do "disappear" in and around the area of Nome, Alaska. They have a high rate of alcohol abuse among the locals, statistically. As isolated as this location is, it wouldn’t be out of the norm to wander off, nothing but the vastness of wilderness and not return. Exposure in the winter, bears in the summer... Man is not dominant here, even with our technology. It is a dangerous place to live. Make no mistake. Now ad hallucinational-alcoholism on top of that and I am sure you will find reports of people seeing Santa’s sleigh…

With all that said…

This movie still has some good total freak out moments in it. The aliens here are completely shrouded in Ancient Alien mystery. They are complete unknowns but command so much raw horror. So extremely terrifying, the ones that have seen them with their own eyes go insane if they saw “them” and remembered that they did. The fear of the subconscious and the unknown traumas that might lurk in one's mind. Combined with the dread “they” evoke to everyone that comes into contact with them. To know your eyes have seen something, but the memory cannot pull the image, and still the mere thought of it shows the body still remembers. It has not forgotten that anxiety, that fear, that horror. Go back and watch how the abductees start to act once they know they have seen “them” and they cannot remember but their anxiety immediately rises.

One of the Better Examples is the Owl.

The abductees didn't remember being abducted, but the owl evoked unspeakable terror in them. Like brainwashing or being tortured. A great example of what PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) actually is. Those scenes, in particular, evoked the worst kind of dread in me. I still feel my neck prickle in those sequences. The tension never lets up once all the characters understand what it is that is actually happening. Where Abbey (Milla Jovovich) discovers something terrifying has happened to her on the audio recorder she had turned on for dictation as she was being abducted by aliens and couldn’t remember it. That whole scene is freaky and really stood out to me with unease. The idea that she was abducted by aliens but cannot remember the experience. We hear what happened on the recording, every sound and it creates a chilling sense of vulnerability, terror and powerlessness.

This is the only modern-day film that is represented here. Remember this is a list of things that terrified me in Film/TV, mostly things that have stayed with me from when I see them as a child through the lens of a child. Most of these feelings are from me trying to retrospectively make sense of what I saw, how I felt and how I feel now.

The Entity (1982) Director: Sidney J. Furie Writer: Frank De Felitta Stars: Barbara Hershey, Ron Silver, David Labiosa IMDB Rating: 6.7/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 41%

The movie fictionalizes the real-life case of Doris Bither (Barbara Hershey), who claimed to be attacked and raped by invisible entities. Parapsychologists from UCLA observed the paranormal events and agreed to study the case. The film follows the fictionalized account of these events, incorporating supernatural horror and pseudoscience elements. The potential motivations of these entities, including feeding on human energy for survival using sexual assault as their weapon of choice. The invisible and unknown nature of the entity, the disturbing themes of sexual assault, the blending of supernatural and pseudoscientific elements, the relentless attacks, the emotional impact. Pretty much every rape scene in the film is horrific and painful to watch. From a special effects point of view it is absolutely brilliant for 1982. I mean seeing this as a young child and not really understanding the context of sex and there not be a man on a woman, but thin air on a woman just freaked me out from the time I saw the film as a child to an adult in film school. This movie still gives me ideas about what ghosts are and/or actually could be. I have a whole blog exploring the intersection of physics, consciousness, and the supernatural, into the idea that ghosts may be entities with measurable mass or formless energies that have consciousness. Drawing on concepts like Sacred Geometry and Quantum Mechanics. Considering the possibility of consciousness existing independently of organic matter. It connects various cultural representations of entities, from demons to energy vampires, and poses intriguing questions about the nature of consciousness, existence, and the mysteries within the UNIVERSE…

Kummituksia (Finnish word for Ghost)

Prince of Darkness (1987) Written/Directed: John Carpenter Stars: Donald Pleasence, Lisa Blount, Jameson Parker IMDB Rating: 6.7/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 61%

"Prince of Darkness," directed by John Carpenter in 1987, centers on a group of scientists investigating a mysterious cylinder filled with a pulsating, green liquid discovered in an abandoned church. As they study the liquid, they uncover disturbing revelations about its extraterrestrial origin and its connection to an ancient evil force that transcends time, space and reality as we now it. The liquid is revealed to be a form of concentrated anti-particles, a sentient embodiment of evil that was the inspiration of what the Christian church describes as Satan himself, seeking to escape from its otherworldly dimension of the anti-Universe. As the liquid turns their co-workers into zombies, the remaining members realize they have released the most unspeakable horror of them all. As the scientists delve deeper into the secrets of the malevolent substance, they confront increasingly terrifying phenomena, including disturbing dreams that blur the lines between reality and nightmare. The film explores the psychological and spiritual toll on the characters as they grapple with the horrifying implications of their discoveries. As the boundary between dimensions weakens, the group faces an escalating sense of dread and despair. The film's horror lies not only in the tangible threats posed by possessed individuals but also in the intangible, existential terror of an ancient, incomprehensible evil permeating the fabric of reality.

The concept of the "Anti-God" is explored within this mysterious cylinder filled with green liquid. As the liquid is studied by the group, they uncover ancient texts and prophecies that suggest the existence of an entity referred to as the "Anti-God." The green liquid is revealed to be a physical manifestation of this “Anti-God” in this Universe. This “Anti-God” is portrayed as a malevolent, primordial entity with the potential to bring about apocalyptic consequences with existential fear and terror of facing an ancient, incomprehensible evil. The concept plays on the clash between the divine and the diabolical, introducing a force that stands in direct opposition to conventional notions of goodness and order. That we never know what this energy actually is, but it can only be described in Christian terms of “Satan’s Father” or the “Anti-God.”

The dream sequences involving a shaky cam and white noise broadcasts from the future, featuring a demon-shaped creature emerging from the old Church and then later when Catherine (Lisa Blount) emerges from the old Church, used to give me nightmares for years, every few years all through my youth through college. For the viewer, this dream serves as a premonition, a foreboding glimpse into the impending terror to be bestowed onto the Earth in the fictional year of 1999 being broadcasted to the year 1987. The vagueness and distorted presentation of the demon/Catherine contributed to this lingering anxiety.

Lastly; in an earlier scene, Catherine and Walter (Dennis Dun) engage in a conversation about Schrödinger's cat while walking together on campus. Interestingly, as the plot unfolds, Catherine makes a sacrificial act towards the end of the film, ultimately finding herself trapped in the anti-Universe behind the mirror. One could argue that, within the movie's context, she becomes a tangible manifestation of the Schrödinger's cat thought experiment. In this analogy, her state in Limbo is in parallel to being inside a box or container, and her life or death remains uncertain until someone opens the "box" and observes her. Reopening the pathway between Universes. Existentially, this has always terrified me about this movie and movies like it. I am sure there are more buried in my subconscious but these movies still have things and concepts that still stand out to me after all these years.

Galaxy of Terror (1981) Director: Bruce D. Clark Writers: Marc Siegler, Bruce D. Clark, William Stout Stars: Edward Albert, Erin Moran, Ray Walston, Sid Haig, Robert England, Grace Zabriskie IMDB Rating: 5.0/10 Stars Rotten Tomatoes Audience Score: 28%

1981’s "Galaxy of Terror" could be said to be one of the worse movies ever made. It should be on that list. The effects from the film are either borrowed from other films or were used in other similar movies that deal with the same themes. I can distinctly remember seeing the same exact effects and ship models in other movies over the years. As bad as this movie is it did hold some existential horror through two disturbing scenes I saw when I was about two or three-years-old, that contributed to my psychological and physical fears and night-terrors.

The first scene involves the rape of Dameia (Taaffe O'Connell), by a giant space worm. This disturbing act not only portrays a violation of the character, but also taps into her previously established fear and aversion to maggots and worms. The grotesque encounter serves as a metaphorical manifestation of her deepest anxieties, merging physical and psychological terror. She literally dies from the giant space worm raping her violently to an orgasm that is so intense she has a heart attack. What they couldn't show in the movie due to the extensive graphic nature and sexual violence in this scene, was the worm's orgasm into her. I know this is gross, horrid and disgusting, but supposedly it was filling her up with so much, so quickly, that her body died from shock. Right up till the end of the scene; which is the worm still raping her as she dies. The scene ends with the last thrust of the worm into her. The scene had to be toned down for many reasons. The MPAA had threatened an X rating, which in the 80s was a death sentence to a film making any sort of money whatsoever. Taafee herself did not want to do full nudity, which is one of the reasons she is rolled over on her side when the rest of the crew find her body.

The second scene intensifies the existential horror by exploiting claustrophobia. Alluma (Erin Moran), faces a nightmarish demise as she navigates tight spaces. Her character, previously established as having high anxiety when confined, experiences a gruesome end as cables squeeze her, culminating in the grotesque explosion of her head, that is considered classic in the cosmic horror subgenre. This scene capitalizes on the primal fear of confinement and the dread associated with the frailty of the human body. Both scenes play on the characters' individual fears, transforming them into harrowing physical ordeals. From the context of a child with no frame of reference other than the screams of terror. As I look back at my very young viewing experiences in Film/TV; I laugh at some of these movies for how bad they are and funny they can be, but as a child with no context, yeah, scary as fuck.

Fear becomes a visceral response to the uncertainties of life, serving as a constant reminder of mortality. It is not merely an emotion, but a dynamic force that influences both our conscious and subconscious minds. Our dreams and nightmares distort the perception of time, and challenges conceptions of self. The psychological impact of fear is a storm of strong feelings that create illusions and blur the boundaries of safety. Fear is a mysterious and elusive force. The terror of the unknown and the feeling of a harmful force in one's personal space. Fear emerges as a multifaceted phenomenon, intertwining with existential questions, psychological intricacies, and cinematic experiences. It transcends the boundaries of mere emotion, becoming a force that shapes our understanding of existence. The unsettling nature of fear as both a universal phenomenon and an intimate, personal encounter with the UNKNOWN. The passing of fear leaves us contemplating the profound implications on the philosophical stage of human existence, where the line between reality and imagination becomes blurred, much like the elusive nature of fear itself.

Themes of existential terror, unknown entities, psychological manipulation, and the blurring of reality and imagination are recurrent from the haunting beauty within the deformity of "The Elephant Man," Jason from "Friday the 13th Part 2" to the unsettling uncertainty of extraterrestrial existence in "The Fourth Kind," and "The THING." Just a glimpse of a mask in "Tightrope," each movie becomes a vessel for exploring the depths of fear and the unknown. The thematic threads of existential dread, societal judgment, and the clash between reality and imagination weave through these instances of child-like terror, creating a tapestry of personal fears and cinematic brilliance. The exploration of psychological horror in "Communion" and "The ENTITY." The cosmic terror in "Prince of Darkness," "Altered States," and "Galaxy of Terror" showcases the enduring power of these films to induce genuine unease. These instances of sheer existential terror from my youth remain etched in my memory, lingering in my subconscious long after the credits have rolled and are still rolling.

amplectere palloris Latin for (Dread's Embrace) By David-Angelo Mineo 11/19/2023 5,196 Words

[lizzarrocks]

Grow up part 2

50s:

- Children leaving home, empty nest

- Aging parents require more care

- Career changes like retirement approaching

- Increased health issues/mortality awareness

- Marital relationship changes long term

 - Grandparenting responsibilities begin

- Grandchildren live far away

- Aging impacts physical abilities

- Job ageism and forced career changes

-Adult children may move away causing stress/loneliness

- Taking on more caregiving duties for aging parents

60s: - Retirement adjustment challenges

- Loss of spouse/friends to death

- Chronic health conditions

- Mobility/independent living issues

- Financial planning for retirement needs

- Role changes in later life

- Retirement lifestyle adjustments

- Spouse's health issues create increased care demands

- Social activities decline as peers face limitations

70s:

- Serious age-related illnesses

- Dementia onset for some

- Decline in mobility and senses

- Home care needs to increase

- Loss of independence

- End-of-life planning

-Assisted living/nursing home considerations

- Driving limitations impact independence

- Fall risks and loss of mobility heighten vulnerability

80s:

- Serious disabilities common

- Full care/assisted living needs

- Loss of friends and family members

- Health crises and terminal illnesses

- Decline in resilience and abilities

- Facing mortality directly

- Major health crises become more frequent

- Cognitive changes like dementia threaten identity

- End-of-life planning tensions with family

90s:

- High frailty and illness burden

- Total care/hospice needs

- Isolation as peers pass away

- Nearing the end of natural life span

- Total care needs for activities of daily living

- Terminal illnesses dominate health concerns

- Widowhood leaves many without lifelong partners

100:

- Significant disabilities

- Brittleness and vulnerability

- Managing pain and symptoms

- Preparing for final passage

- Around-the-clock care demands for frailty

- Communication limitations isolate individuals

- Preparing emotionally and practically for death

[gazrgaley]

C.R.O.W (Chapter 15)

Milo's weary eyes scanned the newspaper, absorbing the relentless bombardment of local news. The headlines and articles seemed to blur together, and a sense of déjà vu washed over him. It was as if time had stood still, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of cynicism. Nothing ever really changed, not when it came to politics or people. He had read the same stories, the same struggles, back in 1670. The world may have advanced technologically, but the essence of human nature seemed to remain constant.

He longed to put the paper down, to detach himself from the repetitive cycle of history. Yet, an invisible force compelled him to continue reading. His eyes moved effortlessly across the pages, as if driven by an invisible curiosity, even though he knew the direction in which the story would inevitably lead.

Amidst the chaos of the world outside, Milo found solace in the quiet confines of the cafe. The rhythmic hum of conversation and the clinking of cups offered a semblance of normalcy, a respite from the relentless march of time. However, even within this sanctuary, his mind was restless, grappling with the burden of his own existence.

His health, though now managed, reminded him of his mortality. The frailty of his body stood as a reminder that life, in all its forms, was ephemeral. He couldn't shake the unease that came with the knowledge that things merely being managed often had a tendency to revert back, slipping out of control. It was a reminder of the transience of stability and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Milo's eyes continued their aimless drifting across the page, his mind only half-engaged with the words before him. The sudden sound of a voice disrupted his detached reading, causing his heart to skip a beat. The voice was familiar, and its impact sent shivers down his spine.

"You should look in the business section," the person in front of him spoke, their words capturing Milo's attention. A surge of anxiety coursed through him, not for the idea of a lucrative business, but it was the description of the business owner that struck him with a mix of awe and trepidation.

"An escort service. I hear the owner is very beautiful and scary, someone you should never cross."

The words on the page seemed to melt away, losing their meaning and significance. Milo's focus wavered, and he found himself missing words, reading only fragments of sentences. His eyes, now filled with a mix of fear and anticipation, couldn't tear themselves away from the paper. He knew that voice, and the thought of facing her after all this time made his heart race.

Would he even recognize her? The weight of the question hung heavy in his mind. Time had passed, and he had changed, but he couldn't help but wonder if she had changed as well. The memory of her beauty and the power she possessed haunted him, fueling both attraction and fear.

The woman's voice continued, the sound weaving in and out of Milo's consciousness. Fear rooted him in place, making it impossible for him to put the paper down. He was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what the next moment would bring.

When Milo finally mustered the courage to put the paper down, a heavy silence settled between them. Isabel's steely blue eyes locked onto him, their intensity mirroring the memories he held of her. They were just as sharp and deadly as ever, and Milo felt a lump forming in his throat as her piercing gaze bore into him.

"Isabel," Milo uttered her name, a mix of longing and uncertainty in his voice. He felt at a loss for words, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected reunion.

"Isabel? Is that really all you can say for yourself?" she retorted, her arms folding across her chest in a display of displeasure. The disappointment in her voice was palpable, and Milo's heart sank further.

"Almost a year now," she continued, her voice tinged with frustration. "You have been awake for almost a year now. And what? You didn't once think of letting me know."

Milo's voice trembled as he attempted to respond, struggling to find the right words to convey his regret. "I was going to tell you."

Isabel's eyes flared with anger, her emotions reaching a boiling point. "Oh really, when?" she challenged, her tone filled with hurt and betrayal. "I waited so long, I was so worried every day you were gone, and..." Her voice trailed off, the weight of her emotions pushing her dangerously close to tears. However, she remained resolute, refusing to reveal her vulnerability in public. Some things hadn't changed.

Milo's heart ached as he witnessed the pain he had caused her. He wanted to reach out, to offer comfort and explanation, but he knew he had to tread carefully.

"I know I should have reached out sooner," Milo confessed, his voice filled with remorse. "I can't fully explain the reasons why, but I want you to know that I never stopped thinking about you. I wanted more then anything to talk to you."

"Then why didn't you?" Her voice trembled ever so slightly, the small cracks in her facade revealing her true feelings.

Milo felt the weight of her question, realizing that there were no excuses he could offer. He couldn't hide behind vague explanations or the fear of the unknown. Taking a deep breath, he mustered his courage and spoke.

"Let's go back to the flat, we can talk about whatever you want there," Milo suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of urgency. He knew that the crowded cafe was not the ideal place for such a heartfelt conversation.

Isabel hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. She was still guarded, holding onto the remnants of her anger and hurt. As Milo reached out to take her hand, she instinctively pulled away, a defensive gesture that spoke volumes.

"Absolutely not," Isabel retorted, her voice firm and resolute. She stared directly into Milo's eyes, challenging him. "I am perfectly fine where I'm at right now. If we're going to have this conversation, let's do it here."

"All right," Milo conceded, his voice laced with understanding. "We'll talk here. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"I didn't know if you would have..." Milo's voice trailed off, his unspoken words hanging in the air. He was too scared to admit it, even to himself. His past experiences with long absences between relationships had taught him that reunions often ended in heartbreak. The pain of losing loved ones who no longer wanted him in their lives haunted him, and he couldn't bear the thought of experiencing that again with Isabel.

"It's been one hundred fifty years," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. "For you. But for me, it's been no time at all." The weight of their lost years hung heavily between them.

His eyes locked with hers, trying to convey the depth of his remorse. "I was afraid things had changed. I didn't know if you moved on or would even want to see me."

A flicker of understanding crossed her eyes. She had a deep, intimate knowledge of Milo's past, not only from their conversations but also from the memories that flowed through her when Milo turned her into a Ka-Sekhm. She had glimpsed his pain, his fear of losing loved ones, and the weight of it all.

Instead of speaking, she stretched across the table, her fingers softly curling around his cup of tea. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a drink with measured grace, still avoiding meeting his eyes. Holding her composure she was able to make the simple act of drinking from a plastic cup look graceful.

"Of course things changed," she said with a silent frustration. "But," she paused for a second, her words heavy with vulnerability. She put the cup down, her hands shaking as she held them together tightly, the whites of her knuckles beginning to show. Doing all she could to keep her emotions at bay.

Drawing a steadying breath, Isabel's eyes flickered briefly to Milo's, seeking a connection, before returning to her hands. It was as if she needed that fleeting moment of reassurance, a reminder that she wasn't alone.

"You said you wanted to go to your flat?" she spoke up, her voice steady and composed, as if attempting to regain control of the conversation, to redirect her focus.

Milo, stirred by her resilience, stood up from his seat. In that moment, a wave of forgetfulness washed over him, momentarily clouding his awareness of the person sitting across from him. As he instinctively turned to pull out her chair, a flicker of worry passed through his mind, hoping she hadn't noticed his slip.

But she did notice.

Isabel's eyes, sharp and observant as ever, caught the absence of his usual gesture. The ritual of him pulling out her chair had been an unspoken language between them, a small but significant act that symbolized their connection. In that moment, her gaze met his, conveying a mixture of surprise.

As she stood up her hand gently intertwined with Milo's arm, drawing him closer to her. It was as if their touch formed an invisible bridge, effortlessly bridging the momentary gap that had appeared. The years seemed to melt away, replaced by a renewed sense of intimacy.

"And you were worried about me changing," Isabel said, her voice carrying a tender warmth. The unspoken words hung in the air. In that moment, the worries and uncertainties that had plagued their reunion dissipated.

[nutri-geriasyndromes]

Geriatric syndromes are a group of common clinical conditions that are not categorized as specific diseases but can significantly impact the functionality and life satisfaction of older adults. The term “syndrome” is used to emphasize that these situations are a combination of manifestations that are linked to numerous factors. Risk factors, such as older age, cognitive impairment, functional impairment, and impaired mobility are shared across common geriatric syndromes, including frailty, falls, pressure ulcers, incontinence, malnutrition, pain, and delirium. These syndromes can result in increased mortality and disability, decreased financial and personal resources, longer hospitalizations, and reduced quality of life for the older population (Brown-O’Hara, 2013; Inouye et al., 2007; Kutsal, 2019).

Nutrition plays a critical role in the aging process and is a major contributor to maintaining good health and reducing the risk of chronic illnesses in the future (Corcoran et al., 2019). According to Donini et al. (as cited in Navarro et al., 2020), malnutrition in the elderly can lead to a harmful cycle where both the causes and effects of malnutrition worsen the nutritional status. This cycle can be triggered by both undernutrition and overnutrition. For example, obesity can lead to a decrease in physical activity, which can in turn exacerbate obesity. Additionally, undernutrition can cause respiratory illness, which further worsens malnutrition. Therefore, it is important to address nutrition-related geriatric syndromes and promote proper nutrition in older adults to prevent and manage malnutrition and improve overall health outcomes.

In this website, you can learn more about the nursing care for these nutrition-related syndromes, particularly malnutrition, eating or feeding problems, and sarcopenia. Feel free to browse through the articles in this blog.

Happy learning!

References

[whetstonefires]

i mean, i would contest some of this analysis, because there's also the fact that the films do in fact handle Tony's problem as being heart-exclusive. it should affect his lung capacity, logically, but textually it doesn't.

and he declared at the end of IM3 that he Fixed It For Good, in a little narrated science montage that framed not having gotten around to fixing his disability before this as a matter of lacking the correct form of motivation, self-respect, and clarity of purpose--as, in fact, a result of character flaws he was now triumphing over.

tony's cure was presented as a moral victory in the battle of man-against-self. he's rewarded for his strength of will and brilliance by being freed from his disability.

so the parts of the fandom that engage with the idea that tony stark has a disability that extends in scope beyond 'dependent for heart function on giant epic pacemaker that also powers his supersuit' and in time past 'Iron Man III' are the parts of the fandom that are motivated to actively read interesting human frailties into the character, even against the text. very normal fandom activity! no shade!

this is also true to a considerable extent of the people willing to engage with steve rogers as someone experienced with human frailty. it was an explicit, thematically centered part of the text in the first Captain America film, but marvel hasn't actively acknowledged it since, so you have to care about his character to read it as still relevant.

i definitely noticed back when i was still reading MCU fic that tony-centric stories quite routinely characterized steve without any acknowledgement that he hadn't always been exactly what he looks like in Avengers (2012), to a sometimes comical degree, because that was the text the fic writers were engaging with and they had no motive to engage with cap any deeper.

the thing is that i, personally, find people interested in expanding further on tony stark's human frailties tend to be really insufferable about it.

because the iron man films traffic in a moral logic where suffering somehow pays off harmful behavior. like if Tony gets tazed by SHIELD Agents this means he's been 'punished' for his 'childish' lashing-out and destructive reactions to his impending mortality, which then closes the book on those actions and relegates them to the past, paid down like bills and therefore irrelevant, in some elaborate system of balances where at the end if you get a positive sum due to stacking up enough moral tax write-offs you have Won at Good Guy.

since this is the logic of the films, it gets extended into the fandom a lot, and i find it a toxic and distressing moral framework to begin with and absolutely heinous as a way to approach disability.

like honestly i've seen the idea of tony's hypothetical physical disability as well as his actual textual one leveraged to raise his whump score and thereby forcibly render him more sympathetic so many times i am exhausted at the thought of engaging with the idea even in purest good faith, because at this point i expect it to be used for emotional manipulation.

meanwhile the people interested in Steve's history of disability can be absolutely precious about it, and the ones getting in shoving competitions with Iron Man fans can be terribly smug, but quite a lot of the time outside that they're just examining it, and its impact on his character, and its historical context, rather than trying to Win anything.

it's allowed to just exist. so i prefer that by a lot.

What would be interesting is taking the way neither of them ever want to deal with their own damage, and the deep shame they both attach to weakness, and like. Looking at how that relates to disability issues in the larger world, and how many things haven't really changed.

Something something Steve Roger's was disabled and became able-bodied, Tony Stark was able-bodied and became disabled, the processes that led to those changes were intimately connected to their becoming heroes and just as connected to their respective treatments by fandom

There's a point in here but I'm too congested to stay awake and write it out

[hisgloryaloneradio]

Our Frail Mortality With the recent passing of people that are loved and cherished around the world such as Bible scholar Jack Van Impe, renowned percussionist Neil Peart and basketball legend Koby Bryan, we are forced to remember our mortality.

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Spark That Split the Seas - Poseidon x Reader x Thor

(A/N)

Hey guys I’m back! I’ve been grinding hard for a new character that I’d gotten in this game, Genshin Impact, so I’m sorry for the absence! Anyways, as always, I want to thank you all for the support on my past two stories and on my account, I truly appreciate every one of you! On a story-related note, since I’d mentioned on my previous post that I had a lot of Poseidon x Reader x Thor fics written in my drafts, I decided to post one so you guys could also join me in the feels! Any feedback would be appreciated! This was originally shorter than the final story you’re seeing now, as I’d first only written their dialogues, but as usual, I excitedly itched into making a story out of it!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Spark That Split the Seas

Poseidon x Reader x Thor

For more than all the millennia the gods and other species alike had known the lonely kingdom of Atlantis, never once did the crashing waves gave way to the chirping of the largest Albatrosses until now. Otherworldly flying creatures joined with the familiar exclusively earthly ones in enjoying the ebb and flow of the ocean, albeit this time, the hungry ocean appeared more satiated and seemed to follow a regular pattern ‘from sudden crash to a long calm, to crash again then back to another lengthy calm;’ life in the sea rejoiced in this odd occurrence.

Beautiful yellow sun rays poured through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope pattern on the large interiors of the kingdom ruled by the god of the seas, and catching the reflection of his nonchalant visage. The long, elegant dining table filled with every kind of seafood delectable imaginable also fell victim to the light, along with a figure that sat down opposite, whose invitation was clear.

Hidden from this heavenly atmosphere were the prying eyes of a little messenger bird who stood unobtrusively behind one of the tall pillars near the far end of the room, halting his slide just in time to witness this miracle:

The living bearer of the most fearsome title, the ruler of both this grandiose palace of the most precious gems and coral and all the oceans and waters, the almighty Poseidon, though against all reason and self-proved authority whatsoever, against the epics of Greek poets, was indulged, seemingly willingly, in the pleasure of having another’s company. In the shadows, Hermes’ red eyes shot wide open in shock.

Poseidon, the ever abrupt and rude god who had deemed most beings to be below him, received a guest, a still breathing one at that.

What in the gods’ name?

In a tone of haughty contempt, a grunt escaped from Poseidon’s lips. Finishing chewing the last bite of delicious food in your mouth, you nodded your head in earnest agreement with his point. Your next words were uttered with the firmness of an old sage who had all the answers, your beliefs shaped by the countless lifetimes you had lived.

“Existing is painful.” Your shoulders bobbed with your chuckle.

Although Poseidon felt a small measure of relief−a feeling that by habit had always been easy to brush-off with a condescending thought, his face betrayed nothing as his stoic features remained still. “If you agree, then why not allow me to kill you this instant?” As if to emphasize his strength, the crashing sound of dreadful combat between waves and rocks rang in the air, and you almost wished that a low rumble of thunder accompanied it, finding beauty in its loud peals, and additionally giving a volume of inspiration to Michelangelo below.

Despite your gaze being unrequited, you were sure you had the god’s attention. Since arriving here, Poseidon noted that your expression had always been smoothed into a calm, smiling one. “If you had intended to kill me, we would not be having this conversation right now.”

Poseidon sat rigid and silent.

“It’s a comfortingly tragic drama, my circle of life. I may not have been lucky to acquire a life as long as that of the gods, but I have definitely lived more times than you have.” Your words were so nonchalant, for a second there Poseidon thought you were kidding.

“That is for the simple fact that you mortals are weak, pathetic.” Lips as pink as young petunias touched the clear edge of the wine glass as Poseidon’s eyes closed, content to give over to listen.

“Yes, we are.” You paused. “But because of this frailty, we learned to adapt, evolve.”

“There is no need for evolution if you are perfect from the moment of conception. Hence why gods such as I, will always be above you.”

“You’re correct. Humans will never become gods after all,” Again, Poseidon found himself absorbing your words like a sponge. At the same time, he experienced an occasional sharp prick at the edge of his emotions, as if signaling him to pull back. “The same as gods will never become like humans.”

“Extremely foolish of you to think that trash is worthy of the shiniest Orichalcum. Your race has been created by us, for us, and will therefore always be inferior.”

“Humans are inferior in all aspects, this, is a fact. It is hence no accident that there is a history of rebellion and consequently, a false notion of superiority. But to be able to look beyond this, is to understand that we never truly intended to surpass animals nor the gods themselves. The nature of our desire: everything was meant for either survival or man’s search for meaning.

“We are by nature flawed and inconsistent creatures. And as you have no doubt seen for yourself as well, despite reaching all our goals, achieving our wildest dreams, we have never reached a position where satisfaction is achieved.” Keenness made your words sound almost heroic. There was a twinkle in your eye and a lilt in your voice, and Poseidon found that now he had a much clearer picture of your reputation for an irrepressible desire to see what is beyond your reach as you questioned: “If I may ask, as I have seen the gods share this sentiment of looking for meaning, do you feel an inkling of the same?”

When Poseidon had put the wine glass down, he hesitated a moment, his supposedly closed mind wavering between doubt and certainty. He would never come to understand this, nor admit to feeling this dissonance, but at last, he shook his head at his consideration, trying to reduce the unpleasantness he felt by the same way he had always used to get out of extremely rare difficulties.

“Do not disrespect me, mortal.” He knew himself that it was an empty threat.

“Those were never my intentions.” You bowed with great respect, but there was at the same time apparent in your manner the consciousness that while Poseidon would never in any way confirm your statement, he did not necessarily refute it. Your heart rose in gratitude as you regarded him with a look of affection, believing in your intellectual companionship.

“Lord Poseidon, as the fearsome god of the seas, what is the meaning of life for you?” The god surveyed your reflection in one of the golden plates, and maybe it was because he had acted in a charitable way towards you, but he saw brightness, a refreshing difference, as if there were no heavy shackles to weigh you down.

“My husband has always been in search of a worthy opponent. What about you?”

It was like a pin came dangerously close to the rational bubble of Poseidon’s beliefs. But then your words penetrated his mind, and he berated himself for almost falling prey, yet…

“Perfection.” Poseidon blurted out loud, full of self-indulgence, but uncomfortable with the thought of pity reeking from his pores, a role that was clearly uncharacteristic of him.

Tilting your head, your brows meshed inquisitively upon hearing this. “This presents the conundrum; you are already perfect, as should all the gods. Since you have explained, gods have always been pristine, perfect, the moment you all were born.

“So, if you have already achieved the meaning and purpose of your life, what is there left to live for?” There was something entrancing in your guileless form, and Poseidon was displeased that another should feel such an interest in your wise, unguarded character. “And if gods have already reached perfection, why is there an endeavor still for the dross of earth?”

For the first time in Poseidon’s life, he was receptive of contraries. Not one single time, had he ever been in the position where he listened, much more considered the act of interpretation. What he said goes, but for some frustrating reason, he was coming to terms of mutual respect; whenever he was sitting opposite you, chin in hand, the more he caught the flame.

Quickly, he stopped that train of thought and he seamed his mouth, stoic. Only his eyes betrayed a spark of defiance. “Stop asking ridiculous questions.”

Again, you bowed. “I apologize if I have overstepped such boundaries.”

“You better be.” With a look of eager inquiry, Poseidon asked, “Why are you not afraid of me? Is it because you are confident Thor would protect you?” One thing that distressed him was that the more he was alone with you, the more he saw your hands, always ungloved, noticed the wedding-ring on your finger. That closed circle excluded him, his face registering the insult. “As expected from a repulsive weakling,”

“No. I know he would be there for me whenever I should need him, and also the times when I don’t.” You said still a smile on your mouth.

Although you were unaware of the eagle eyes that were watching your every move, you had the instinct. You did not need all the information, and you had nothing to hide. Your shoulders were loose, back wasn’t ramrod straight and you exuded a carefree attitude. “The sole reason why my fears have dissipated is because perhaps, I enjoy your conversation.”

To say this whole exchange took Hermes by surprise would be an understatement. After the initial expression of shock, he laughed lowly.

You continued, “I have already accepted your beliefs. No one is entitled to those except yourself.

“If I were to die from imparting what my beliefs are, that is simply fate, a tragedy, but nonetheless, fate. Of course, I would try my best to avoid disappearing from this lifetime, seeing as I have made a promise with my husband, to continue to fight for my life, shall needed, until the very end.” Poseidon’s grip tightened the slightest bit.

“I believe that despite our obvious differences, we are simply two being who each have our own unique experiences that shape our views and beliefs. For hundreds of millennia, I’d seen calamity from all angles; mainly conflicts over a universal truth,

“But so long as there are questions, there will never be one solid concrete truth. And I’m okay with that.” You concluded.

Compliments never rolled off Poseidon’s tongue easily, since in his view they were nothing but hollow words. But this time, he could hardly slip a word in bad taste. He thought it pleasant to hear you, but it could not distract him from the uninvited presence in his throne room.

“You’re a heretic.” His usual strong voice beckoned your attention, discerning the sternness on the table of his expression to be forced. No matter, you had just enough of a last glimpse to see his face looking younger in repose.

“I have been labeled as such.” You noticed the unique rhythm of the crashing waves seemed to have settled along the sand grains, and you admitted it was so beautiful and timeless.

“You’re dismissed.” Poseidon believed in being straightforward with affairs. Since the conversation has ended, the final interchange of words was not likely to be a substantive one. Though this was his original reason, the face at the forefront of his mind right now was not yours but Hermes’.

You stood up and curtsied to show your gratitude. “Very well. It was splendid to be in your company this afternoon.”

Blue eyes followed you as you began walking away, and he watched you until you went out of sight when you began to ascend the Skíðblaðnir, a ship so completely reserved only for you by the Kingdom of the Norse. Then Poseidon’s ears turned toward the messenger’s direction.

Hermes quickly dashed to Poseidon and knelt to greet him with such a great respect akin to the expectations all elderly gods have always expected of their younger ones.

“We gods are perfect beings from the very start; therefore, we do not plot schemes nor engage in disagreements.” The implication registered with a jolt, and Hermes felt his mouth open as the real reason for your invitation became clear. He fought the urge to look at where Adamas had died brutally as a lowlife, not failing to recognize that this was the exact opposite of that faded history.

Finding quiet when Hermes immediately left, the god of the seas stared at his dominion, taking deep breaths of the air, not feeling the normal icy sting carried by the ocean. Over again he dwelt upon in his conversations with you, interested to find out if the Norse god of thunder had been able to sustain a similar type of conversation.

The very first quiver of interest sparked through Poseidon and though he did not recognize it nor perceived it, he understood the most important things, the only ones he ever needed to:

You did not seek validation nor attention. You had no fear of death, neither of the hardships of life.

Your depths of wisdom were unparalleled throughout the realms, which he would comment on its wasted potential, however, he knew Hermes already understood that part of it.

And the god of messenger did, as the word got around slowly but surely:

“There would always be those who dare to brave the ocean’s roar, but there was only one who withstood it.”

[qhsnap]

The member of the Q Continuum whom we all know and love most is a notorious rebel, and yet it turns out what he fears the most is what he can neither comprehend nor control: the Unknown, or as he he himself puts it, the Unknowable. All of his kind fear this, and yet, if an episode of Voyager can be believed, his unorthodox and meddling curiosity about “lesser life forms” make him uniquely suited to pave a new road down that “highway that leads in a circle.”  In fact, that he was eventually disciplined and reined in, a colleague of the Continuum argues, was an unfortunately expensive loss. “You desperately needed entertainment, and you gave us something to talk about.” 

“Farewell” in Star Trek: Picard deals with this: his unanticipated decline from immortality, and the fact that, in this context, standing “on the Threshold of the unknowable”--death--is the only conceivable gateway to newness and to growth.  It’s a vivid callback both to John De Lancie and Peter David’s novel, “I, Q,” and to  “Death Wish” in Voyager’s second season. Obstinately, shrilly, unconvincingly, with real fear in his eyes, our Q puts a colleague--seeking asylum with Starfleet, and once a “great philosopher of the Continuum”--on trial, with the hope of regaining custody of this person and persuading him not to do the unthinkable for any immortal: commit suicide, and, in doing so, spark a fundamental existential change in his people. He argues that the unchanging and eternal state of immortality is a small price to pay for all the ways that his colleague has positively impacted the universe, calling three humans from three different centuries to the trial as proof.  In a last-ditch effort to explain his existential agony, the fugitive Q escorts our Q, Janeway, and Tuvok to a kind of analogous representation of the Continuum: an old Western ghost town with a long, long desert road.  “No one is talking,” he explains, “because there is nothing left to say.” And ultimately, our Q can find absolutely no rebuttal.  Deep down, he  feels the ache of ennui too. There is no serendipity, No surprise. No evolution, or growth. What a terrifying notion, eternity without change. 

And how very like an iconic line from “Peter Pan”: "To die would be a very great adventure.” Yet our Q, who, poignantly, allows himself to appear to age just like any mortal humanoid, to “match” Jean-Luc Picard, chooses to use the remaining days (that he can anticipate or understand) saving the life of the very first human being who gave him real pause, and made him first wonder, in the sinfulness, the unending trial, the frailty, of the human condition, “Is this all there is?” Like a particularly precocious human child holding a chrysalis, taking it out of its hanging shelter and then putting it back, to see what happens. 

I actually believe that, on some level, Jean-Luc understands this when they say goodbye.  I think that’s why he initiated their embrace.

“I miss the irrepressible Q,” says the fugitive Q, decades before 2022 and Picard’s second season, “the one who forced me to think.” 

See you out there, Q, you obnoxious Promethean. 

[pinkoptics]

I just found this on my phone, having completely and utterly forgotten that I even wrote it. I love it. I really do. I fleshed it out, added a little more and I just want to post it because I’m so proud of it.

Cherik Fallen Angel Ficlet

(Part 1 of Chapter 1)

~1500 words

Charles is an angel (in the literal, lived in Heaven, sense) and falls to earth because of his love for Erik (of course). Some humour, some angst, some adorableness.

*

They cut off only one.

It was a cruelty beyond measure. For as long as he lived, and that would not be long now that his immortality had been stripped along with his wing, he would have a constant reminder of what he had been— an angel, one of God’s chosen, beautiful, protector of God’s children.

Only... he had taken that protection too far. He had interfered with God’s plan and been cast out of His Kingdom. He would never again know His Grace.

He was mortal and would now endure everything that came with it— mortal frailty, mortal lifespan. The only remanent of what he had been was a wing only he could see. He held back a very mortal sob. It was trapped in his now mortal throat and burned. The sensation was new and horrible, tearing at his new flesh in a way that seemed physical. Mortal emotions. Mortal wounds.

All because he had experienced the most mortal emotion of all— love.

He had saved his beloved from death. His beloved’s time had come and Charles had altered time and space itself for it not to be so, to not have to see Erik broken and bloodied on pavement, hit by a car. Random. Pointless. Except that it wasn’t pointless at all. Charles knew this. Charles had known this for millennia. Each human had a beginning and an end. Angels could help them along the way, bless their paths, smooth wrinkles, lend strength in hours of need, but the end of those paths were truly the end. The fabric of everything, the Plan, and the paths of everyone who should have been impacted by Erik’s death, were now in disarray, unravelling. Charles did not know what that meant. No one had ever done what he had.

“Are you okay?”

Charles blinked against the brightness of the sun above him, eyes stinging and watering from it in a way the obscured the vision of his new mortal eyes.

“Gott. You— you saved my life. Are you... Fuck, are you okay?”

When his imperfect vision finally focused, Erik came into view, hovering above him, concern etched into his unbelievably handsome features.

“I— “ Charles only got one word out before he had to pause. His human voice sounded odd to his human ears, no longer the effortlessly beautiful melody it had once been. “I... I’m fine.”

A lie.

He had been on earth for mere seconds and already a lie, a sin, had spilled from his lips. He was not fine. He was not anywhere close to fine. He was not in the vicinity of fine. But, what else could he say? I’m awful. God has cast me out of heaven because I literally love you more than heaven itself, so I threw away everything because I couldn’t watch you die.

No, he couldn’t say that.

Erik was offering his hand and it took him too long to realize Erik meant to help him up. He took it, the shock of skin to skin contact almost causing him to tumble back to the ground. All these years and he’d no idea what Erik felt like. Now, he did.

Erik’s eyes widened and he said, “Fuck. You’re not fine. You’re bleeding.”

Bleeding?

As though he were watching the scene from a distance, Charles saw the blood dripping from his elbow and splattering on the pavement below. It couldn’t be his blood. He didn’t have blood. But, no, that wasn’t true, he did now, didn’t he? What did one do when they were bleeding?

“I think you’re in shock.”

Understatement.

Erik had grasped his uninjured elbow and was guiding him off the street and onto the sidewalk. He had some distant awareness that other things were happening. There was noise, shouting, terrible smells— all of it swirling around him, cacophonous and awful, and the only thing holding him remotely together was Erik’s arm on his elbow.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding a lot.”

Charles was sitting now. Erik had guided him to do that too.

“Am I?”

Was it a lot? Charles wasn’t sure, not really being the expert in such things. How much blood did human bodies have? How much could they lose before it was too much? Was his mortal life to be measured in minutes? If it was, that was fine... Erik was alive. That’s what mattered— Erik. Alive.

“You’re smiling. Fuck. This isn’t good. You shouldn’t be smiling. Hey— look at me.”

Erik’s hand was pressed against his cheek now.

“What’s your name? Tell me your name.”

“Charles.”

“Charles, I’m Erik. You’re absolutely not fucking passing out on me okay? You just saved me from getting hit by a fucking car. You’re cute as all hell, completely my type, and I am going to take you out on a date after this to say thank you. Emma will never let me hear the end of it if I let this Hallmark movie meet-cute opportunity slip through my fingers.”

Charles furrowed his new brow. He hadn’t the slightest clue what Erik was talking about. Was he in shock too? Maybe, despite all of Charles’ efforts, he was injured too?

Erik was pressing hard against something on his arm. Charles looked down, briefly, to see cloth trying to stem the tide of blood. When had that happened? He looked back up, asking, “What’s a Hallmark? You’re beautiful. You should know you’re beautiful. Before I leave this mortal realm, I want you to know that.”

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Erik was saying that a lot. That couldn’t be a good sign. “Hang in, okay? The ambulances are coming. They’re going to take care of you. You and I are going to laugh about this when we tell people about how we met. They’re going to hate and love how obnoxiously cute it is, I’m going to hate how obnoxiously cute it is, because I don’t do cute and because shit like this doesn’t happen to real people.”

Charles started to laugh. If only he knew. “That’s because I’m not a real person.”

“You’re not, huh? What are you then, my guardian angel?”

The only appropriate response to that was to laugh harder. “Would you believe me if I said I was?” His ribs? Yes, his ribs started to pain him when he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Great, the cute guy who just saved my life is either insane or delirious.”

Charles felt like he couldn’t suck in a proper breath. Was that because he’d never had to breathe before so he wasn’t doing it properly, or was he injured in some place that effected breathing too?

“Both,” Charles wheezed.

Erik seemed to register his new distress and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, as much as I’m loving this crazy repartee, just slow down, okay? Breathe. You are going to be all right and I don’t make promises lightly.”

“I know.”

“You don’t. Stop talking. In... out... in... out...”

Charles did as he was told. In, out, in, out... there, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Except that it was and he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be, or how did humans get anything done when they had to focus so hard on breathing? That would have been a design flaw and God’s creatures didn’t have design flaws.

“In... out... I’m going to take you to this amazing little diner. It doesn’t look like much and you’re going to be thinking ‘I saved this idiot’s life and he’s thanking me by taking me here?’ But I promise you the food is better than any of the pretentious 5 star nonsense you find in New York.”

“Sounds—“ Cough. “—nice.”

“That’s talking. Stop it. You’re going to love it. You’re also going to be sworn to secrecy because if the fucking hipsters ever find out about it, it will be completely ruined.”

Charles tried to agree, or ask what a hipster was, but his voice seemed to be gone. That couldn’t be good either, could it?

“You’re going to be so impressed with my choice, you will immediately think dating me is an excellent idea.”

Charles already thought dating Erik was the most excellent of ideas. It had a lot to do with why he was in this situation in the first place. It was also one of the last conscious thoughts he had before things got rather dim and Erik’s voice indistinct. Perhaps God had gone more Old Testament on him than he had thought. Save Erik— get cast out of heaven. Erik asks him out on a date— pass out and... pass away?

But, there was one more thing Erik was supposed to know, something important, something very important, something Charles would never forgive himself for if Erik never knew. What was it? If only thinking wasn’t so hard...

Oh.

Right.

Of course.

“Erik, you are so loved.”

There.

Done.

*

Rest assured that Charles wakes up, in the hospital, asking for Erik. Erik is already there, worried out of his mind about the adorable insane man who saved his life. And, they will absolutely go on that diner date.

On to Chapter 1 - Part 2

[heejinnien]

k.yeosang | tomorrow

word count: 2.6k

synopsis: someone who always promises tomorrow, until there is no tomorrow anymore

genre: apocalypse au, angst

warnings: brief mention of alcohol, mild panic attack, implied major character deaths

author’s note: this fic was such a rollercoaster to write. my goal was to capture the frailty of mortality, as well as emphasize the question of what happens when we die. please keep these two things in mind as you read, and do not read if you are not ready to face them.

cross posted to ao3 here

It is a bright, sunny Tuesday afternoon, the skies' cheerful mood creating a stark contrast against the grim news being delivered to citizens across the planet.

An asteroid is heading towards the earth. Scientists have projected that it will arrive in less than twenty-four hours, and the impact it will have will be so damaging it will wipe out life as you know it.

They reassure you that it will be quick, painless even, as you and everything that you know are incinerated in the collision. In one moment you will be there, and in the next you will cease to exist.

You are curled up at home on the couch with a glass of wine, watching the announcement on television. Oddly enough, you feel a sense of peace. Your life hadn't been an easy one, to say the least, and you often felt adrift with no sense of purpose. You work a basic office job, one that is enough to pay the bills and allow you to live comfortably, but you never felt a particular sense or purpose, never had an answer for the existential question of your existence.

Unsurprisingly, you receive a phone call from your boss, informing you that you will not be needed today at work. The words ever again hang unspoken in the air, and as you bid your boss goodbye you wonder how many phone calls like that you will go through today, how many times you will say the word goodbye. Right before he hangs up, your boss pauses before wishing you a quick, painless death. You want to laugh at the morbidity of the statement, something you are sure you will be hearing over and over again.

As your screen darkens, you hesitate before quickly dialing your husband. He had left early this morning for work, and you wonder if he's heard the news. You are sure it would have been impossible for him not to, and you wonder if he will be home soon.

Your call is sent to voicemail, and you quickly redial to no avail. You set your wine glass down, standing up and moving to the window opposite you. You live in an apartment in the city so that you can be closer to your husband's work. You have always loved the city, so it was not difficult for you to agree to the move. It is times like these you are particularly grateful for the wall of glass that is one of your living room walls, providing you with a view of the city below.

You are not sure what you expect to see. Like always, the streets are packed with cars and people, and the normality of it all makes you want to laugh.

Your phone buzzes, and you quickly swipe across the device's screen.

"Yeosang?"

"Y/N," your husband's voice spills out of your phone's speakers, breathless. "I'm on my way home, are you there?"

"Yes," you affirm. "Yeosang, the asteroid — "

"I know," he interrupts. "I'll be home soon, don't do anything."

Before you can protest, he hangs up. You stare dumbly at your phone's blinking screen, signalling the end of the call. The news that Yeosang is coming home forces you into action, and you quickly rush to your room to change. You are still in your pajamas, the announcement having been broadcasted early enough in the morning that it is before you usually begin to get ready for work, so you quickly shower before throwing on your favorite shirt and jeans. You have just finished brushing your teeth when the sound of the front door opening echoes through the apartment, leading to you hurrying into the living room.

"Yeosang," you lunge towards your husband, the force of your hug causing him to stumble backwards. He returns your gesture with equal vigor, wrapping his arms around you and holding you two together for a few moments.

When you finally break apart, it is done a bit reluctantly on your part. You devour every detail of your husband's face, noticing the way his brow is slightly furrowed and the serious set of his jaw.

For a moment, you say nothing, instead simply opting to savor your husband's company. The fragile silence is broken by him, a groan breaking through the complete lack of sound. Yeosang sighs, running a hand through his hair before fixing you with a gaze so intense you nearly wither beneath it.

"Y/N, I wanted to talk to you."

You swallow nervously. "Of course, would you like something to drink first? You must be thirsty from work, and — "

As you talk, your hands flutter nervously, a motion Yeosang observes with amusement. He cuts you off with the raise of his hand, instead opting to tilt his chin in the direction of the couch. You wordlessly settle on the plush leather, drumming your fingers anxiously on your leg and watching Yeosang settle beside you with bated breath.

When he finally does speak, what he says is so unexpected you nearly fall off the couch.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you." Yeosang apologizes, looking everywhere but towards you. "When I heard what the scientists said, I thought about how we haven't been able to spend time lately, and I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay, I understand," you reply quickly. "You've been busy with work."

"It's not okay," Yeosang groans. "I keep promising you that we'll do things together, and now that it's our last day — "

Yeosang cuts himself off abruptly, jaw tightening once again. You take his hand in yours, gripping it tightly. For a moment, you two sit in silence, both of you unsure what to say next. You are reminded of the fragility of your morality, the fragility of the time you have left. Your heart wavers, torn between a mixture of anger and yearning.

"I would like to make it up to you." Yeosang says, this time locking eyes with you. "I know not a lot of things are open, but I was thinking we could at least go on a date like… like we used to."

You swallow dryly, a confusing cocktail of emotions swirling inside you. For the past few months, you had seen little of your husband. He often worked late into the night and left early in the morning, and what little he was home he was usually holed away in his study. Tomorrow, was his promise. Tomorrow, we can hang out, tomorrow, I’ll be less busy.

Ultimately, you decide what your husband did or did not do in the past doesn't matter. All you have left is now, and you are determined not to spend your last few hours feeling angry or sorry for yourself.

"I would love that," you say sincerely, the earnestness in your voice causing Yeosang to smile, the emotion lighting up his entire face.

"Great."

~~

Your afternoon is spent entirely with Yeosang, the two of you exploring the city and enjoying each other's company. Unsurprisingly, the city is deserted, and you imagine that most people are spending their last few hours at home with their loved ones. Your parents passed away a few years ago and you were never particularly outgoing, meaning that Yeosang is the only person you have. Even though you have lived here for a year, you haven't had the opportunity to visit many places, not wanting to go alone. Yeosang knows this, and you try to visit as many different places as possible. You know that Yeosang has thought of this too when you catch him staring at you throughout the day, a mixture of remorse and longing reflected in his eyes.

In the evening, you return to your apartment, heart filled with a lightness it hasn't experienced in a while. While Yeosang cooks dinner, something he insists on doing, you wander around your apartment, taking everything in one last time.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

You jump as Yeosang appears behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. He glances at the pictures on the wall in front of you before turning his head sideways so he can look at you.

“I was just taking everything in one last time,” you smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes and you hope Yeosang doesn’t notice. While you were never particularly a fan of your life, at least it is more familiar than happens next, a thought that makes you anxious. Instead of sharing this, you force your smile wider and turn, asking, “So what did you make for dinner, chef?”

He tells you about the wonderful pasta dish he’s cooked up as you follow him into the kitchen. You have no doubt that what he says is true from the presentation alone, fettuccine noodles mixed in an orange sauce and topped with shrimp and parsley greeting you.

You two eat in silence, all of your words from earlier now gone. No matter what you think about, in the end your thoughts always drift towards your impending demise.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Yeosang reaches over to your side of the table, taking your hand and squeezing it gently. He looks at you with concern, and the sheer amount of emotion in his eyes finally makes you break down.

You don’t realize that you’ve begun to cry until Yeosang reaches over and wipes a tear off of your cheek. Mortified, you quickly swipe at the remaining tears threatening to fall. You’ve never liked crying, considering it to be a useless action. Crying didn’t bring your parents back, and crying won’t save you from tomorrow.

The thought makes you cry even harder. You duck your head, ashamed. You hear the scraping of a chair, and then Yeosang’s arms are around you. He presses your head against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind, and if anything a renewed wave of tears leads him to press you against him harder.

He waits until the tears have subsided to pull away, kneeling so that he is level with you. “It’s okay, baby,” he coos, wiping away a stray tear.

“I’m just so scared,” you admit, letting out a shaky breath.

“It’ll be okay,” Yeosang’s gaze doesn’t drift from yours, and his hand rubs against your back soothingly. “It’ll be okay.”

Embarrassed by your breakdown, you break away from Yeosang’s stare, instead choosing to look out of the apartment’s window at the inky night beyond. You aren’t quite sure when it got dark, the night signalling a monumental passage of time. Yeosang follows your look and silently stands, holding his hand out to you.

“Come with me,” he says. You take his hand hesitantly, and follow him as he leads you to the glass door set into the apartment’s back wall. He quickly unlocks the door, sliding it open and revealing your small balcony, and a light breeze blows through the open door, causing you to shiver.

Yeosang removes his jacket, wrapping it around you before you can protest. He shushes you before you can even protest, taking your hand once more and leading you out onto the balcony.

From all your time living in the apartment, you had never thought to decorate the tiny space. It is a simple eight feet by eight feet concrete platform, a wrought iron railing bordering you in the only feature, and you step out onto it, Yeosang sliding the door behind you closed as you gaze up at the inky night sky. Afterwards, Yeosang sits on the middle of the platform, ignoring the cold seeping through his jeans and tugging on your hand for you to follow.

“That’s Orion’s belt, see the three stars over there?” He points towards a cluster of stars located towards your right.

“Wow, I didn’t know that you were such a huge fan of the stars,” you laugh.

“I minored in astronomy in college,” Yeosang shrugs, but you can tell he’s mildly embarrassed by your amazement. He wraps one arm around you, and you lean against him. You aren’t sure how much time passes as you both gaze up at the stars, a comfortable silence stretching between you.

In that moment, staring up at the universe and all the stars, you feel small.

“Where do you think we go when we die?” Your voice is small as you finally give words to the thought plaguing your mind. You pull away, turning so that you can look at Yeosang clearly. He continues staring at the stars, remaining silent for so long that you wonder if you even spoke before he finally looks at you.

“I think that somewhere out there there’s a god that’s watching out for us.” He lets out a dry laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? That the god who’s supposed to be protecting you is the one who’s ending your life?”

There’s a moment of silence before Yeosang reaches out hesitantly, and his hand brushes against your cheek lightly. He scoots closer until your foreheads are pressed against one another, stroking your cheek idly with his thumb.

“Whatever happens, I’ll be there for you,” he vows, and you let out a light laugh.

“How can you promise that when you don’t know for sure what’s out there?”

“I just have this feeling,” he says, voice earnest. You fall back into silence, this time staring at one another. In the faint light provided by the moon and stars, Yeosang looks radiant, almost ethereal in his beauty.

“Tell me a story,” you finally say, pulling away and nestling yourself against his side once more, attempting to shake off the sadness that has permeated the air around you. Yeosang obliges, launching into a hilarious story about one of his coworkers that has you both laughing. You both talk the rest of the night away, exchanging stories and memories. Your heart returns to the lightness it felt from earlier, and at some point you close your eyes, the only sensation you experience the timbre of Yeosang’s voice.

You can’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing you know Yeosang is shaking you awake. You blink, attempting to orient yourself, and Yeosang points towards the eastern horizon, where light has just begun to peek out.

“Look, the sunrise.”

You watch as the sun begins its slow rise for the last time, painting the sky in vibrant shades of pink and orange. Light gleams against steel and glass, and golden rays shine like magnificent auras around each of the city’s buildings.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

Together, you both remain on the balcony well after the sun has finished rising. The streets below are deserted, and the air seems still, as though it's holding its breath and waiting for something to happen. You savor the quiet and Yeosang’s presence, but even then you are aware every breath brings you closer to your last.

The moment that you have been dreading happens too soon.

As you hear the city's sirens that the scientists told you would signal the arrival of the asteroid, sudden panic rises within you. There are so many things you want to say, so many things you wish you had done.

"Hey, it's okay," Yeosang whispers, sensing your rising panic and tightening his arm around you. "Whatever happens next, I'll be there with you every step of the way."

You believe him, his words bringing you a sense of comfort in your last moments. Whatever happens to you now, wherever you go after death, you believe that he will be there with you, guiding you. You are no longer lost, purposelessly drifting through life and scared of what comes next.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I love you, Y/N,” Yeosang responds, and for a moment you think you can see tears glimmering in his eyes. Then he leans in, setting his lips gently against yours and pressing you against him.

The last thing you hear is a loud explosion, and then nothing.

[dwellordream]

“…For example, although it is true that death did take a dramatic toll on medieval children, families were, from the beginning of the medieval era, smaller than we had once thought. Furthermore, any thorough investigation of medieval records shows that parental love and the desire to care for children were commonplace, which disproves the preconceived idea that repeated grief estranged parents emotionally from their children.

…Engaging with medieval demography is a difficult endeavour as very few sources provide any substantial information on the rates of birth and death among humble families. Among the only archival documents that yield relatively accurate demographic data are the fourteenth- and fifteenth-century fiscal sources of Prato, Florence and other Tuscan cities, analysed in detail by David Herlihy and Christiane Klapisch-Zuber in the 1980s in their famous study Tuscans and their Families.

…In the rest of Western Europe, historians have to work with much less detailed tax records, which, when they were in fact drafted, often omitted to list young children. Other sources used by historians interested in demographic history are notarial documents, such as wills. However, it is important to note that these sources only mentioned the surviving offspring of the testator at a fixed point in time, thus only providing a snapshot of these families’ cycle of development.

Another issue with medieval demography is methodological. Dubbed “the meaningless mean,” it is widely held that averages and means can be devoid of significance if not interpreted wisely. If, in a sample of one hundred individuals, 50 of them had only one child, but that the other 50 each had six children, the average number of children per individual would be 3.5 – which none of them actually had. Nuances and careful examinations of data sets are thus essential in demography to better understand population patterns.

…Two factors have a determining impact on the size of families: fertility rates and child mortality rates. Estimates of infant and child mortality are often elusive in the Middle Ages. When they are available, they range from 30% to 50% of births, depending on the context and the socio-economic circumstances of families. Fertility patterns are even more difficult to ascertain. What is clear, however, is that both rates varied depending on a number of factors. Of these, wealth was the most important since it directly impacted the ability of individuals to properly feed their children and to have access to health practitioners. This, in turn, largely determined their fertility and life expectancy.

Wealth indeed played a role in female fertility patterns. Malnutrition and physical frailty are detrimental to women’s fertility and to their chances of having healthy pregnancies. Malnutrition for instance causes amenorrhea (an interruption in the menstrual and ovulatory cycle) and augments risks of miscarriages. The impact of wealth differences on fertility was in evidence in late medieval Tuscany, where wealthy women were more often pregnant and were fertile for a longer period of time than women of humbler means.

The richer the people then, the larger their families tended to be. In rural England, between the twelfth century and the Black Death, the average number of children who survived infancy in poor families was slightly below two. This average improved to over two surviving children in landowning peasant families, and climbed to as high as five among the wealthiest noble households. The situation was similar in the southern French diocese of Maguelone in the late Middle Ages, where peasant families had on average two living children at the time they made their wills, while wealthy families counted an average of three.

Even if medieval authors often stressed how the plague affected everyone equally, be it the young or the old, the poor or the wealthy, archaeological evidence points to the contrary. Like the COVID-19 pandemic, the plague took a larger toll on underprivileged individuals. Bioarchaeological evidence shows that malnutrition, prior infections and traumas – more common among poor families – increased risks of mortality during epidemics and famines. The poor had a shorter life expectancy than the wealthy and victims of plagues were predominantly from non-elite families. In sum, poor peasants lost far more children to the plague than wealthy merchants or aristocrats.

The Black Death may have killed the young and the old alike. But the plagues that followed the initial outbreak of 1348 took a larger toll on the young. In Sienna, Italy, children age 12 and under made up 88% of the victims buried during the 1383 plague epidemic. At the opening of the fifteenth century, underage skeletons made up almost two-thirds of the Sienese burials. In London, England, the average number of children per family dropped in the decades following the Black Death. During the plague of 1361-62, sometimes nicknamed the “plague of children,” two-thirds of the testators of the rural town of Manosque, southern France, were childless.

…Rural dwellers, even if impoverished, may have had a better chance of seeing their children reach adulthood than urban dwellers. Medieval English townspeople for one had a shorter life expectancy than villagers. Overpopulation, pollution and poor general health in cities contributed to creating an “urban pathogen load” that enhanced rates of child mortality and tended to hamper women’s fertility. This is not to say that life in rural settings was devoid of risks, but chances of survival were statistically better in the countryside.

For instance, fifteenth-century Tuscan women from the crowded city of Florence saw their fertility dwindle once they had reached their mid-twenties. Meanwhile, rural women had most of their children during their twenties and thirties. As a result, rural women had a wider window of fertility and were able to mother children in greater numbers than urban women.

Another example comes from the city of Montpellier, in southern France. There, urban peasant families of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries counted on average one surviving child — a very low number — while rural peasant families of the diocese had twice as many. This rural/urban divide is even visible in the sizes of wealthy families. The Montpellier elite had an average of two live children in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, while rural elite households had three. Wealth and place of residence thus played a central role in fertility and mortality patterns.

Family size increased during the demographic expansion of the high Middle Ages. It then stabilized in the first half of the fourteenth century before dwindling dramatically with the onset of the Black Death. Families remained small, often decimated by disease, into the first decades of the fifteenth century. They began to grow again once as the threshold for population renewal was reached by circa 1450.”

- Lucie Lamounier, “How Large were Medieval Peasant Families?”