#and how to process grief and whatnot

[meanderfall]

something about the way Livane says "The Netherworld is for the Living" really gets to me, and has been echoing in my mind ever since i first heard it, probably a decade ago

[one-strugling-bean]

No but ure so right

Thinking abt Hater n Peeps...

thinking about how they probably started out as friends with similar interests. Two losers with a damaged heart and a need to feel respected (and loved) meet and decide to conquer the world that wronged them before together

Thinking how at first they probably saw each other as more of a means to an end: ill make him do all the boring paperwork stuff while I actually conquer everything vs ill let him believe he's the number one and show his face while I pull the strings from behind type of shit. but eventually grew to appreciate each other's company, found interests in common, and went through shit that forced them to grow closer

(especially since they were probably each other's first friend. I imagine the giddiness over finding someone you just click with was even greater between these two at the start)

thinking bout how much hater must have soaked in and appreciated peeps praise from the start. Peepers being the 1st person to have ever called him cool. to support his dreams. even if hater hides it under a "sure you can tag along, if you do everything I say" kind of facade, he actually becomes super addicted to (and dependent on) peeps right from the get-go

Thinking bout how peepers must have been the opposite. He sees the potential hater has from the start, but for all the praise and admiration to become more than a way of manipulation it takes a bit. Still, it's only a small matter of time before peeps drowns in all the charisma and power being with hater brings. besides, he's found in Hater companionship the likes of he'd never felt before with anyone.

When he decides to make Hater the nº1 villain in all the galaxy, he knows he's sealing his fate - but he doesn't regret it one bit.

They essentially become best friends (also 1st and only friends), even if they never properly talk about it because ew feelings, and they're supposed to be villains, and villains aren't "friends". but they still see each other as friends and act accordingly

but then their pipe dream actually starts looking like it could work, and what before sounded like a make-belief game the two played with each other while they travelled the galaxy together, starts looking like a reality

They are ecstatic. they buy a customized ship. peepers convinces his people to fight for their cause and suddenly they have an army as well! hater steadily learns how to behave like a terrifying overlord instead of an edgy teen, and suddenly their fame is spreading everywhere!

they're unstoppable! hater is on his way to becoming the biggest threat to the galaxy and peepers is the 2nd in command that made it all happen! everything is perfect!

then, hater hurts peepers with his powers for the first time and things are... different.

They're both shocked that 1st time. hater has hurt many people by that point, but he never lost control on someone close to him. even if he was upset... peepers is also shocked because by that point he trusted hater with his life. he saw himself as a valuable part of their team - their partnership, and it felt like a betrayal. to both of them actually

but they don't talk about it, just like they never talked about whether they were friends before, so separately, they start making excuses. Hater is the leader - the Villain! Of course he shouldn't spare anyone! And Peepers is just an assistant, if he makes a mistake, of course he should be punished! they were always using each other for their own goals. there can't exist a betrayal of something that never existed, right?

and slowly, these excuses become the reality. hater hurting peepers physically and verbally becomes the norm, and perhaps in an unconscious bout of retaliation, peepers becomes hater's biggest critic, just as he is his biggest fan. He's the first to point out hater's flaws and mistakes (under whats acceptable of him) knowing exactly where to press on his insecurities to make it hurt more

they stop hanging out informally as much because "they're not friends it's just a mutual partnership". they still do hang out sometimes, because they're still lonely and have no other friends but its less... carefree

time passes and the empire grows. the more it does, the more they fall into their make-believe roles - the evil villain and his assistant. hater becomes crueler, peepers becomes more obsessed with his work (and crueler) and slowly they lose that spark that started them out in the 1st place

Then wander and sylvia come around and the make-belief starts to crack.

things start getting out of control. Hater's cruelty doesn't kill the enemies. peepers work isn't efficient enough. the two are once more thrown into unlikely situations together that force them to be closer, and the occasional chaos breaks the carefully crafted characters they'd built over themselves for so long.

they start being seen as jokes again. the empire is losing its edge and so are they. all the while, they start losing that shadow of subordination that had been controlling their relationship for so long

but many wounds and misunderstandings have been piling up for years, and there's only so much "casually hanging out with my friend-turned-toxic workplace relationship-turned-sorta friend again" they can do before something gives

and by the end of season 2, hater's fate seems inevitable - he'll let go of villainy sooner or later. but what about peepers? the other half of the same pipe dream, the other half of the same messy relationship.

Was he gonna be able to let go of it too? What was going to weigh heavier in the end? The fractured friendship? or the pipe dream?

were they meant to be able to solve their issues and regain that initial connection that drove them to conquer the stars together in the first place? Or just... break apart, for good.

...god i rly want a season 3

[cr4yolaas]

second best (pt 2) — iwaizumi hajime

notes: at last, the heavily requested part 2 to this fic !! i really hope it met a lot of your guys’ standards — i tried my best to take as much of your requests into account ^_^ i rlly dislike m the flow of this … but hopefully u guys still enjoy LOL

tags: angst → (bittersweet?) fluff, depressive episode (reader), swearing (once), a longgg process of grief and healing and whatnot, alcoholism (only briefly), roommate! tsukishima, best friend! oikawa, tsukishima does NOT have feelings for you, not proofread and quite long

taglist (incl. everyone who asked for a pt 2 !!): @altumsomnum @gennaray @romanticandupsetting @multi-fandom-fanfic

it was tuesday.

a frigid air pierced your limbs and left you to rot away, with the windows shut tight and the door locked. there was no mistakening the dark bags hanging beneath your eyes or the flakes of skin peeling from your bottom lip, nor the soft pleas of your stomach or the iciness of your fingertips. you basked in eternal slumber and silence and darkness and whatnot, save for the ticks of a clock that was 14 minutes behind and the hum of the air conditioning.

you were not frightened in the slightest. the warning signs plastered on your flesh were no great concern, and you could not fathom the idea of having to function again. it was horribly consuming.

with a groan, you released yourself from bed, your legs trembling under the mere weight of the air. you avoided the collections of trash and clothes splayed across the floor, being careful not to disturb the peace that had formed over the past handful of weeks. the sight of the kitchen was much more refreshing.

you were locked in stasis. contrary to the comfort these walls once provided, they now served as a a form of imprisonment, designed to allow the grief and the sorrow and the anger and the guilt to coalesce and spill over. it was terribly suffocating — you wished to escape.

gently, you poured a cup of water (not that you drank more than a sip, anyways). a thought passed your mind.

you needed to leave.

sendai was a home you could not find solace in anymore. gone was the youth encapsulated in the mountaintops and the hidden pathways and the convenience stores, and no longer could you feel at ease when faced with the neighborhoods you familiarized yourself with as a child.

your new apartment was shared with an old face — one you had only seen glances of in high school, notorious for his glasses and upfront attitude. he bore no hesitance when taking you in. instead, he was grateful for your presence, as if splitting the rent with him had taken off his life’s burden off of his shoulders.

he was quick to set ground rules — laundry days were on saturdays, trash needed to be taken out on sundays, the dish washer had to be clear at the end of the day, all groceries were shared, so on and so forth. you weren’t sure if you could keep up.

it took one week for him to actually conversate.

“why did you come back here?” he questioned, with a tone that implied he knew of you for years upon years (which would be false).

you picked at the skin of your lip. “why do you ask?”

“no reason. just curious.”

in a burst of energy, you recounted the tales of your past life, one of love and youth and joy; of the old apartment, of your past hobbies, of hajime. his gaze was so distant that you weren’t sure if he was listening at all.

in return, he expressed brief apologies and turned the story to himself — he discussed his volleyball career, his teammates, how he felt somewhat disconnected from his high school friends. he did not care to mention the exhaustion riddled into the pores on your face nor the weakness of your voice. that was all you needed. a conversation, not comfort.

only an hour later did he remind you of his name — tsukishima kei — and it was only then that you realized you had moved into an apartment without taking any precautions whatsoever. he laughed when you informed him of the situation.

this was not yet a home, but it was a house. and that was sufficient.

a month had passed before tsukishima forced you to get a job. he was clearly not a fool — at some point (you couldn’t tell when), he realized you were paying off your share of the rent with your life savings, which irked him ever so slightly.

“do you plan on moving out and dying on the streets when you run out?” he complained, despite the concern laced in the fluctuations of his voice.

you began working at his former high school coach’s family store. the owner himself was welcoming — he didn’t question your circumstances nor your physical state, and merely mentioned in passing that he was “given a token of appreciation from a prized student.”

and so began the cycle. on weekday mornings, you would depart for work and tsukishima would leave for practice. occasionally, he would pack you lunch (“only because i had leftovers,” he’d say) or leave a can of coffee on the counter for you. you would work at the register until the amalgamation of students died down, and once you were left with an empty store, you would take a break and go on a walk (as requested by your boss). then, you would return in the afternoon to serve the same population of children, handing them their ice cream and their sandwiches and whatnot. when they all disappeared, the coach would let you free and dismiss you with a “good work today, let’s do it again tomorrow.”

returning home was your favorite part of the schedule. a majority of the time, tsukishima arrived later than you, leaving you to your own time until he came home with dinner and a drink.

it was a monotonous cycle, but enjoyable nonetheless.

“i’m cutting off the beer for a month,” tsukishima exclaimed one warm summer night. you left your room to see him collecting unopened bottles and discarding them in a trash bag with little regard. you could only frown.

“those are all going to waste, we haven’t even opened them,” you groaned.

there was no response from the man as he continued to clear the apartment of any alcohol, akin to a parent cleansing their child’s home. before you could protest any further, he shut the door behind him and the crashing of bottles against one another could be heard beside the building.

tsukishima re-entered the apartment with empty hands and furrowed brows. “what’s up with the shitty face?” you asked from the couch.

he clicked his tongue at your comment and bore no response, instead letting his eyes wander to the screen in front of you. the morning news was playing, as usual. and yet, it was so wrong.

the screen flashed to a familiar face, one clad with a slight grin and sweat spread over his skin. his hair had grown slightly and his complexion had darkened, evidence of his labor. but most of all, he looked happy. his eyes screamed with a passion you hadn’t seen before, and despite his haggard appearance, he seemed to be content.

you did not see tsukishima rushing to turn off the television. you did not see the screen turn black, and you did not hear the noise diminish. you did not see tsukishima’s face adjacent to yours.

“hey. let’s go outside,” he muttered before moving to pull you up and out of the house

a delicate breeze washed over you both. the sun began to kiss you goodbye, and the noon crept up in its wake, leaving both of you in the dark.

“he looked so happy,” you whispered. “i don’t know what i’m doing wrong.”

you watched tsukishima light a cigarette in your peripherals, his lighter evidently battered and marred from heavy use. he made no move to offer one to you. “you’re not doing anything wrong,” he spoke firmly, although you could tell he was struggling to formulate the right combination of words in his head. “he’s just… going along a different path.”

“it should’ve been us on the same path. i feel so stupid. he’s gone on to do such great things, and i… what am i doing?”

tsukishima didn’t push the conversation any further. you were grateful.

a week had passed before tsukishima told you he had gotten you a new job, one deeper in the city. on an early sunday morning, he presented a uniform and badge to you, your name imprinted on both. the effort made you smile.

at some point, a new cycle formed. the museum was a far cry from the run down family store, and tsukishima taught you how to welcome it with an open mind and open arms. he never did mention the exact reason for the new occupation, nor did he tell you why he was so adamant on enforcing routine in your life. nonetheless, you appreciated it.

the mundanity that your new job encapsulated was slightly more enjoyable than that of your former job. exploring the concrete rooms filled with statues and paintings and whatnot was a sufficient way to pass the time. every now and then, you’d catch your roommate detailing a specific sculpture to a curious visitor, the scene contrasting his typical behavior. not that you would ever mention it to him, though.

a new routine was not unwelcome, but it did not feel impactful anymore. you still burned blue in the night, your bones aching with reminiscence over a lost life. your hands and legs still knew tokyo; they still knew the morning commutes and the bustling cafés and the chirping crosswalks and your own home, one that had been so devastatingly haunted by grief. your heart still knew the morning calls and the evening texts and the handfuls upon handfuls of promises made on once solid territory, and yet, you knew to return to it was to betray yourself.

you missed iwaizumi hajime.

rather, you missed the life that you formulated in his presence, opposed to the shambles you had grown comfortable in now that you were back home. tsukishima had carved a clay pot for your worn soul, and yet you could not help but yearn for the comfort and stability and routine you established in a past life.

the soft padding of feet echoed outside your door. soft strings of light streamed under your door as your roommate entered the kitchen, his actions indiscernible as he maneuvered about carefully. you decided to step out to greet him.

a startled tsukishima turned around to face you. “what are you still doing up?” he interrogated, albeit not in offense. “it’s late. we have work tomorrow.”

“but i don’t want to go to work. i want to go home,” you protested. you felt childish all over again — the thirst for selfishness was one that could not escape you, even now. an overwhelming desire to be in control of your own life.

tsukishima furrowed his brows. “to tokyo?” you nodded. “okay… then let’s go to tokyo.” he paid no mind to the slanted smile that transformed your lips, instead opting to turn away and fill up his bottle. “but why?”

“i need to escape,” you sighed, as if releasing a burden that had been lingering for a moment too long. “i need change. i just- i feel so stuck. i need to live.”

he merely hummed in agreement before uttering a comment about your poor sleeping schedule and ushering you back to bed.

tokyo was a city of hopes and dreams and noise. the shift from sendai’s cicada lullabies and whispers in the wind to the incessant chatter and obnoxious roads of the city was significant — any pedestrian would notice the irritation on you and tsukishima’s faces.

the inn he picked was small, yet slightly more comfortable than your current abode. the owners were kind and your neighbors were quiet, save for the occasional drunk couple. it was a life you remembering living, but not one you yearned for any longer.

in the night, you would both visit various attractions and markets and restaurants, with tsukishima insisting on paying for your meals (“as thanks for getting a life,” he argued). for that handful of days, you bore a smile that you weren’t sure would grace your lips ever again, for there was an adolescence in the evening activities that mended the remnants of your spirit. you felt whole.

on the last day, you brought tsukishima to a ramen house nearby the inn and promised to pay for the meal. it was a tuesday, again.

for reasons you could not discover, that appeared to be one of the busiest nights for the establishment — moments after you had settled, a line began to form, and the tables were crowded with families and friend groups and dates alike.

amidst the composition of metropolitans stood a man you wished you didn’t have to see. as if it were punishment, he locked his eyes with yours, the shock in his complimenting your dread.

you watched as he excused himself from his group while ignoring the cheers and shouts about him “shooting his shot.” tsukishima observed in tandem, seemingly reading the situation from a distance despite sitting right across from you.

you noticed the bold athletic trainer embroidered onto his chest, and the fitted red shirt he wore that matched those of his team. beads of sweat compiled on his forehead — you weren’t sure if it was from the density of the room or his exhaustion or anxiety. a small part of you hoped it was the second option.

“hey,” he began. “can- can we speak outside?”

you could not help but oblige.

hajime seemed to have developed an obsession with fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. you noticed the frayed strands on a spot that aligned perfectly with his hand, and you nearly laughed.

he coughed into his fist before rambling. “i’m sorry. i know you definitely don’t want to see me, and it’s not wrong of you at all to feel that way, but i just- i’ve thought about you- no, i think about you every day up until now. i know i don’t deserve you at all, and me being here is probably super upsetting, but-“

“hajime.”

the way you called his name seemed to deteriorate him and his principles. you finally felt otherwise.

“i really, really, didn’t want to see you at all. i don’t even want the thought of you to pass my mind. i’ve built a life outside of you and i’m tired of you interrupting it.” you witnessed his heart, mind, and body freeze simultaneously.

“i- i understand that, i know, i’m sorry. i’ve been- i’ve been reflecting a lot recently and i’ve known i was horribly in the wrong and i’m ashamed to have done nothing about it, and i know this sounds really, really dumb but i wish i had just stayed with you for that extra day because- because i don’t think i can go any longer without you now that i have you here, in front of me. could we- can we at least… keep in touch?” he seemed to speak without limitations, akin to a leaking clay pot. he was distressed, evidently. but you no longer saw his face and thought of guilt and love and yearning; you held no space for him.

you shook your head gently. “hajime, i don’t want you in my life anymore. you achieved your dreams, and i��m working on finding mine. that’s how it was meant to be.”

if not for the small lamp above the two of you, you would not have noticed the tears spilling onto his face. you bore no sympathy — with a goodbye and a small wave, you left him in the alley with a heavy heart and saline tears.

to witness him before you had awakened the truth riddled in your sinew and bloodstream: iwaizumi hajime was no longer a necessity. a truth that had cowered away beneath guilt and fragility and shame had uncovered itself, and for once, you breathed a full breath.

oikawa seemed so vibrant on the other side of your screen, the argentinian sun kissing his skin almost perfectly. “…i miss you lots!! i’ll visit soon, maybe, and we can catch up and maybe go get coffee and then debrief and then…” he trailed off with an aloof grin, his words spilling out from your phone and reverberating around the living room. tsukishima stood in the kitchen, the sound of his deliberate chopping and washing contesting oikawa’s voice. “but anyways, i’ll see you soon! byebye!!”

you waved goodbye and hung up, leaving only the noise of your roommate’s cooking. a loud groan left his lips in the midst of his mixing, followed by a complaint about how irritable your friend’s voice was. you could only laugh.

gentle strings of moonlight spilled into the apartment through the kitchen window, the songs of the evening falling upon both of you and your shared comfort. tomorrow was your off day, granting you both an opportunity for an actual meal. tsukishima (begrudgingly) agreed to make your favorite dish, with the request that you’d make his favorite dessert next week.

“thank you for the meal,” you whispered. tonight would consist of good food and a relaxing night, and tomorrow would entail a day of rest and a weekly reset, along with another call with oikawa. with marred hands and a porcelain heart, you had managed at last to craft a solid life — steady health, steady friends, and a steady routine.

you would no longer be second best to anything, and that was sufficient enough.

[browneyedartist01]

Tamlin next love interest should a women in her late 30's whose been in a healthy relationship before meeting Tamlin. A Sophie to his Howl if you will, who isn't afraid to tell him how she feels and who pushes Tamlin to not only talk about their problems but to also fix the problems.

Her name could be Janet, and she could have been born to a human lord but she ran away from her arranged marriage to elope with a blacksmith. She moved closer to the wall and picks up the trade of a healer to help with moeny and her husband could die a few years before the start of acotar that way she's can be out of her grieving stage and won't feel as guilty for falling for Tamlin.

Speaking of Tamlin, because of his own trauma and grief of losing everything, spring could not be functioning properly or the humans could be trapped in winter well beyond the usual time.

Janet could see this and decide to sneak into the fairy world to fix the problem only to find the ruined spring court and monster tamlin.

The two agree to work together to rebuilding both their worlds, the spring court turns into an different more wild form of a fairy court (aka what a fairy court should be) and the human world becomes more accepting of fae.

Janet uses both her skills as a healer and the skills she was taught to run house holds to repair the court with Tamlin skills of a warrior and his magic to not only fix his court but to protect the human world too from evil faires, creating acotar worlds wild hunt.

Over time Janet would gain the respect of not only the court but of the mother who would turn Janet into a fae and the first real high lady of not only the spring court, but of any other courts in fairy land.

She basically become a persephone or gaia fae where she has domain over all of plants, while tamlin domain over all beasts, and she makes new plants to cure diseases and whatnot for humans/fae.

She and Tamlin obviously fall in love, but their not fated mates, which makes Tamlin worry because ya'know, it's a big deal for him. But Janet dosen’t care, so she's like; "I'm not going to have kids with another fae because a pot thinks we could have powerful children."

Oh, also Tamlin and Lucian repair their friendship, while Elaine and Janet bound over flowers and baking, so Elaine decides to leave the night court to becomes a lady of Janet’s court and marries Lucian in the process.

The end.

[cheecats]

To soothe you from your Riverstar's Home trauma, how about you ramble about oneripple?

YOU'RE SO KIND FOR LETTING ME GO OFF ABOUT THIS TY TY 💞💞💞 I'm terrible at structuring logical/coherent rambles, so I'll just dump some thoughts I have (obv these exclude Riverstar's Home and are roughly how I'd like to play with their dynamic [give them to me NOW erins!!])

LONG POST UNDER CUT!

Obviously this is way before the mountain cats arrive. BIG FAN of the idea that River Ripple and his small circle at the time were the ones to help One Eye and baby Star Flower get back on their feet after the two lost the rest of their family to the sickness we see again in TBS (I imagine One Eye had already treated them with the Blazing Star, but the two were still so terribly weak and unwell after that.) The group find the two living inside a rotting hollow and approach them. One Eye is, naturally, EXTREMELY aggressive and reclusive at first — distressed from sickness, grief, and fear of losing his tiny daughter, for he hasn't been strong enough to feed them much. The other cats are nervous around him, unwilling to approach the tom for his sheer size and ferocity, even if he is weakened. But not River Ripple. He understands why he is acting this way, that his aggression is a defense mechanism to mask his fear, and ultimately wishes to convey to One Eye that he is not going to do anything to them without his explicit permission first: and he sticks to that promise! Every day he sits outside the makeshift shelter with food, asking permission to come inside, leaving prey, water and herbs at the entrance if One Eye is asleep or simply says no. He never challenges it, and simply obliges and wishes him and Star Flower well. It is through this gradual process that One Eye begins to somewhat relax around River Ripple, allowing ONLY him to come inside, communicating his and Star Flower's needs and whatnot (Vulnerability moment!!)

Although she was too young to remember, once she began to recover, Star Flower was always excited when River Ripple visited, coming up to him, chasing his tail, and telling him all about her big adventures (all just made up ones, but River Ripple would always listen and ask her questions about them!) One Eye initially doesn't take well to Star Flower going up to the near-stranger, pulling her back or growling at River Ripple to back off. But over time, he sees that the risk is minimal, and the two never leave his sight while interacting. Besides, it stops Star Flower pestering him to entertain her for just a bit (also I just find this funny because adult Star Flower can barely recall this and River Ripple is just looking at her like omg you've gotten so tall now!!! I remember when you used to tell me how you beat up monsters and dogs 🤭💙!!)

SO LIKE skipping the recovery period, and now One Eye and Star Flower are more present outside … One Eye falls first. He initially is bothered by this, still grieving the loss of his mate and their other kits moons ago. But the feeling is nonetheless there. It's complicated, because at first he had every intention of claiming the area for himself and pushing River Ripple & his friends out… but as much as he tried to resent River Ripple's philosophy, there was just something so…. soothing yet powerful in the way he carried himself. He realises he actually enjoys his company, which is also weird for him! One Eye has lived among opportunistic cats his entire life, learning that being aggressive and domineering is the only way to make it, and that the passive and meek were destined to be crushed. But River Ripple is a curious example to him. He is gentle and patient, but completely capable of establishing boundaries and shutting down veins of discussion that belittle or threaten him. He would call out One Eye's bullshit every single time, but in a way that didn't escalate the situation. His heart was soft and his identity was strong in that. Kindness without weakness??? In MY Warrior Cats??? Impossible??? (Erins: yes it's impossible. 🗿)

Anyway, montage of One Eye giving terrible rizz and making a complete fool of himself 90% of the time — getting frustrated and defensive while everyone else is like🧍‍♂️. River Ripple is confused at first, but slowly begins to catch on. He finds it both amusing and sweet… and yeah! He realises he does feel the same way! He always found One Eyes protectiveness of Star Flower warming, found his intelligence to be engaging, and he genuinely believes there is good in the tom's heart (me shaking my head slowly.)

First date? Swimming lesson! One Eye is terrible! He's half drowned, scrabbling onto River Ripple every .2 seconds, and hates how pathetic it makes him look. But River Ripple is patient, assuring him that they can always try again some other time, and that it took him a while to get used to it too <:)

^ I feel like it's important to emphasize that One Eye genuinely feels like he can relax around River Ripple. That this cat doesn't have any ulterior motivation to trick him or take from him. Nor' does River Ripple ever belittle his failures or negative traits. They simply exist, are acknowledged, and pass like water.

But of course there is difficulty in how these two's ideologies clash. Everyone's beliefs are different, but theirs almost completely counter. River Ripple's philosophy is peaceful. To live and let live, and be custodians of the land. One Eye's on the other hand is to conquer. To take, to fight for what you need, and to claim the land. While there is room to accommodate each other, they are both two strong individuals with strong identities. Neither is going to abandon their philosophy, and when they clash so strongly, it can make it impossible for them to see eye to eye on issues. Long term, that would be hard. I believe that is why they'd go their separate ways. It doesn't work out. But that is okay. For that period of time, there was coexistence, there was connection, and there was love.

TL:DR. Very brief romance! A spark of passion that burns then fizzles out when One Eye leaves to be on his own (with Star Flower) once again. River Ripple, of course, says One Eye can return any time if he needs anything. Even for a short visit. He never does. For everywhere the tom goes, there is destruction and disruption, and River Ripple's home is like an oasis to be left untouched in One Eye's head.

Even as One Eye's reputation worsens, they still feel for each other. River Ripple especially. He knows what One Eye is capable of, what he has done, and how downright hideous he can be. But it's hard not to miss the memory of him. (Cue the mountain cats like PLEASE stop talking about this asshole in flowery prose he is trying to kill us!!)

BONUS: Not really relevant here, but their presence in the narratives respectively as the punisher/destroyer vs the voice of reason… ooogh, sun that burns, moon that soothes e.t.c but that deity kind of vibe would be more relevant once they're spirits in the Dark Forest & Starclan!

I could go on forever but that's the meat of it. Ty ty i hope everyone enjoyed and its not terribly incoherent ✌️

[kimpossibly]

THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree PART THREE: the six

PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader WARNINGS: swearing, drinking, drugs, minor injuries, blood, very suggestive content, implied sex (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I fear I may have screwed up the timeline, but oh well! Hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a life threatening illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals

SEVENEIGHTNINE (1975-1976)

The recording of their first album tested The Six's strength ― not only as a band, but as friends. And Y/n, who had never really been a part of the band during its songwriting process, was quick to realize that there was friction between the same band members again and again. Most notably, Billy and Eddie.

KAREN: Eddie wanted more freedom with what he was playing, Billy thought that since he was the frontman that his word was law...it's the same old story you've heard before. They were in a constant dick measuring contest and neither one of them wanted to admit defeat.

WARREN: Billy was my friend. Eddie was my friend. But when you put them in a room together and told them to make a song, they were the most annoying motherfuckers you'd ever met.

One day after a particularly harrowing songwriting session, the band found themselves back at the house in Laurel Canyon. The place that was usually filled with talk and music was silent, the telltale sign that they had brought work home with them. but what else were they supposed to do? They worked together, they lived together. The lines between work and home were becoming dangerously thin.

Y/n couldn't stand the silence. At her house, there had always been something going on ― her mom would be talking on the phone, someone would come in injured and she'd fix them up. At the very least, she'd keep the television on so she could get a good nights' sleep. But that night it was dead silent. Sickeningly so.

So Y/n got out of bed and wandered into Eddie's room. She didn't acknowledge his presence as she walked in, stopped in place suddenly, and collapsed onto the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

Eddie watched the whole thing from his bed, his guitar in his hands. He expected that maybe she'd say something, start a conversation and whatnot, but she didn't. She just went on, staring at the ceiling as though she had all the time in the world and a perfect reason to be there on the floor.

So he spoke first. "Hi."

"Why can't you just get over things?"

EDDIE: Out of the blue, no hesitation. "Why can't you just get over things?" I knew what she was talking about. Me and Billy had been at each others' throats for weeks, ever since we started writing the damn album. She wanted to know why I couldn't just pack it all in and take the hits as they came.

"Um―"

"Because here's the thing: you guys both have so much pride. Soooooo much. So much it makes me want to slap you guys across the face and remind you that you're human, not gods. And, look, I get it. He walks all over you sometimes and that's not cool. But sometimes it feels like you're pushing back just to be contrarian. Like you don't really disagree with what he's saying, you just disagree with the fact that he's the one saying it. You get my drift?"

EDDIE: Like I said, she doesn't sugarcoat things. She'll tell you what you are and if you don't like it? Tough.

Eddie paused, leaning back. She was right; he knew that much. And maybe he did argue with things just to argue, but so what? They weren't The Dunne Brothers anymore, they were The Six. Implied equal partnership. And still...

"He's thinks it's his band, Y/n."

"Then talk to him about it."

"I can't."

"Why not?" Y/n sat up, a crease formed between her brows.

He wasn't quite expecting that question. But, after a bit of stumbling, he came to what he thought was a reasonable answer: "Because he doesn't listen."

Y/n just looked at him like that was the dumbest thing he had ever said. "Well then make him listen."

"Yeah, alright. and how the hell am I supposed to do that?"

She didn't answer immediately, thinking. Eddie thought for a moment that he might have won.

EDDIE: There wasn't really a way to win an argument with her. Not really.

After a moment she turned to him. "A war isn't just two guys screaming at each other, Ed. They need soldiers, armies. Let me be your army."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like watching you get pushed around. It's kind of...sad."

"Thanks."

"You asked."

They lapsed into silence again. Y/n laid back down on the floor, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. When she spoke again, it was so quiet, Eddie wasn't sure at first if she was talking to him or to herself. "I just...I'm on your side, okay? So don't make it any harder to be."

EDDIE: I never quite got that, you know? "I'm on your side." I had no idea why she'd be on my side. Billy was the frontman, Billy was the guy you looked up to. And there she was, trying to help me out without me even asking. I guess I thought, am I really that pathetic? [Laughs] I probably don't want to know the answer to that. I don't know why she was on my side, I really don't. But it was good to know. Made me feel like, aside from all the melodrama that came with rock n' roll, I had something to hold on to.

By the time SevenEightNine was done, the CEO of Runner Records, Rich Palentino, was not impressed. In fact, in his opinion, the entire collection of songs they had collectively poured their hearts and souls into, did not have a number one single among it. Teddy Price decided to take things into his own hands, and that's when Daisy Jones got involved.

The plan was to take 'Honeycomb' ― a song Billy had written about the life he had promised Camila ― and add a female vocal onto it, a sort of call and response duet.

Needless to say, Billy was not happy about the arrangement.

GRAHAM: He had just gotten back from rehab and was finally making things right with his wife and his daughter, and they wanted to bring a new chick in to "fix" his song. I can see why he was upset. I just think that he could've handled it better.

EDDIE: He threw a fit. So, naturally, everybody tried to do things to appease him. Graham had the idea that Karen could sing the female part.

KAREN: Like I said, I can back up a chorus, but I can't hold my own.

EDDIE: Y/n was thrown into the mix.

KAREN: Eddie put "Y/n" and "solo" in the same sentence and she looked like she was going to vomit. We moved on.

GRAHAM: Eventually Billy got the gist that Daisy was what we needed. At least, Teddy thought so. And Billy would take Teddy's word over his own any day of the week.

BILLY: I thought, "Fine. If this Daisy girl wants to try it, we'll let her try it."

Daisy was brought into the studio within the next couple of days, marking the first time she ever officially worked with The Six. She was generally well received by all its members (except maybe Billy) and found a fast friend in Y/n.

Firstly, they were the closest in age, and, when you're thrown into a new environment surrounded by strangers, that tends to be what you gravitate towards. That, and Y/n had the special ability of getting the boys to shut up long enough to let her do her thing. That was especially important.

DAISY: The first time I got into that studio to record, the rest of the band crowded at the window, staring at me like I was an elephant in a zoo. It was unsettling. I was probably on the verge of yelling to them to give me some room to breathe when I saw Y/n and Karen dragging them out by their collars, kicking them out of the room until they were the only ones left. That meant a lot.

Despite Billy's every attempt to complain, Honeycomb was released featuring Daisy Jones. Billy was stubbornly pessimistic about the whole thing, of course. And by the time the recording and mixing of 'Honeycomb' was done, it was completely different from the song Billy had first pitched. He felt that his vision had been trod upon in a most disrespectful manner, so much so that, when it was first played, start to finish, for the entire band, the walked out the second the record stopped.

They all watched him go with confusion ― the song was good. It was great, even, but Billy hated it so much that he couldn't even stand to be in the same room as it. And this was before Camila started coming to recording sessions, so no one really wanted to follow him out. Especially not Eddie.

So after the door slammed, they all spent a tense few seconds looking around, sharing confused and annoyed looks over Billy's outburst, and when it became clear that no one was going to do a damn thing about it, Y/n sighed and got up. "Looks like I have to do everything around here, huh?"

She found Billy outside, leaning on the hood of his car, staring at the slowly heating pavement in the California sun. He had his hands crossed over his chest, not unlike a kid who had just gotten his toy taken from him. He didn't look up when Y/n stepped outside, but he spoke the moment she was within earshot: "We're not releasing it."

The reply that came back was a sharp, loud laugh from Y/n. "Fuck you, we're not releasing it. It's a good song. Probably the best one we've ever made."

"You don't get it," Billy shook his head, "that's my song that she's singing. Mine. The one that I wrote about my wife."

"It's not about your wife, Billy," Y/n said. "It's an apology to your wife. You asked us all to make it and we said yes, so don't go acting like you're the goddamn puppet master pulling all the strings. You asked us to make the song, and we said yes. And it's our band. Your song, our band. Sometimes we have to make decisions that don't please your every fucking whim because it's our band and we want to take it as far as we can. And this song, Billy? This is how we do that."

He said nothing, continuing to stare at the ground.

"We're releasing it as soon as we can, and the world is gonna lose its fucking mind. At least you can go home and tell your wife that everyone loves her song."

Billy looked up then, some of his scowl melted away. Y/n grabbed him by the wrist, uncrossing his arms and pulling him back towards the studio. "Now the least you can do is go be civil to your bandmates and to the girl who just made us a number one single."

Eventually she succeeded in dragging him back into the recording booth, to the surprise of everyone already there.

"He threw a fit; I told him to shut up and get over himself. So, when can we release it?" Y/n asked, looking to Teddy.

BILLY: Just like that, she told me to get my act together and got me back in that studio. It was a little harsher than it had to be, but it worked. She had perfected the art of making someone realize how much of an asshole they were being at that point. I think she used it most on me. Occasionally Warren. If it weren't for her, I don't know if I would've gotten back in that studio. Because I don't know if anyone else would've walked out to get me.

Just as Y/n had predicted, 'Honeycomb' quickly sailed to the top of the charts. It generated national attention, with the whole world seeming to suddenly ask the question, Who the hell is The Six?

Daisy Jones had singlehandedly brought them to the top, and it pissed Billy Dunne off to no end.

The rest of the band, however, was enjoying their newfound celebrity. Their album, SevenEightNine, came out soon after, putting them on the road for their first tour ever. Daisy was set to be their opening act ― which, again, did not exactly please Billy. But she was a magnet. Where Daisy went, people seemed to follow.

As the days counted down before they left, they did what they knew best: partying. Y/n, in particular, found herself spending increasingly more and more time with Daisy.

DAISY: Not everyone was on board with me having a hand in the band's success, I knew that. But I had a place at the Marmont that had a pool. And back then, that was all it took to be okay in Y/n's book.

―

[The following is a transcription from an interview with Rolling Stone. On June 2, 1975, Jonah Berg sat down with Y/n L/n to discuss the band's recent success and life on the road.]

JONAH: Where do you think you'd be right now? If you weren't in a band, I mean?

Y/N: [Pauses. Smiles] Somewhere in the ocean.

JONAH: No thoughts as to a career?

Y/N: You didn't ask about a career. You asked what I'd be doing right now. And that's it ― I'd be in the ocean. And I'd be in whatever career got me there.

[This marks the end of the transcript.]

―

WARREN: The girl is a fucking fish.

DAISY: She'd go under for as long as she could, come up for a single breath, and go back under again. Over and over and over. You can't get a single word in that girl's ears when she's in the water.

KAREN: Y/n had a habit of getting...obsessed. With people, with music, whatever it was that caught her interest and held it. And Daisy...[pauses] Daisy did that.

EDDIE: I'm not so sure it was a great thing that Daisy and Y/n became friends when they did.

In Laurel Canyon, Y/n was often the first to come home. In fact, whenever another band member stumbled in, they could most likely count on the fact that if they shouted, "Y/n, I'm home!" they'd hear her yell "Good. Go to sleep!" in response. But that night, it was not the case.

After all the band members had returned for the night, Y/n was still at the Marmont with Daisy. Her hair and clothes were still drying from when she had jumped in the pool an hour previous ― well, she either jumped or she was pushed. She couldn't quite remember now.

Dozens of people had crowded around the pool, drinking and doing whatever drugs came their way. More than once, Daisy and Y/n would stop their stroll to knock back some pills passed their way or do a line off a pool table. Y/n started to wonder what time she had to get home when she noticed Oh, the sun is coming up. Has the sun always been that purple?

"Daisy, what time is it?" she asked, looking to her left. But Daisy had disappeared. There was a splash, and suddenly Daisy was floating in the pool with her nicest Caftan dress billowing around her. She looked like some kind of mystical sea nymph, or so Y/n thought.

"DJ!" Y/n yelled at her, catching her attention. "I need to go home."

Daisy, of course, wouldn't hear of it. Parties didn't end until she thought they were over. "No, no come on! Just stay a little longer!"

"I can't, I...we have rehearsal in the morning."

Daisy sighed, splashing somewhat disappointedly. "Mkay. Fine," she sighed, swimming over to the edge, "can you at least help me out?"

She held a hand out, which Y/n took. Stupid decision, of course. Daisy just pulled her into the pool, causing an eruption of cheers around them.

As she hit the water, Y/n briefly thought that she had some reason to be upset with Daisy, but she couldn't quite remember why. Within a moment, all discomfort had disappeared, completely forgotten, and she was perfectly ready to stay as long as Daisy wanted.

That was, until she came up for air and saw Billy standing there at the edge of the pool.

For a moment, Y/n just stared up at him blankly. Then, she splashed water on him. He looked at her in confusion and she explained, "I had to make sure you were really there and I wasn't just making you up."

"Y/n, it's time to go." he said.

"Oooookay," she said slowly. "I'll get a taxi in a little bit."

"No, this isn't some kind of courtesy call. It's time to go now."

Y/n huffed in response, swimming over to the side. She was too tired (or doped up) to argue. Really, Billy's presence reminded her that she had a house with her own bed. And she realized right then how much she really, really wanted to be in bed.

"Who told you I was here?" she said as she attempted to hoist herself out of the pool.

"Eddie did," Billy replied, helping her out. "Something about you not knocking."

"That son of a bitch," she muttered. "Where is he?"

"Back at the house. Asleep."

"I want Eddie. Get him here."

"You'll see him in the morning."

Y/n, not satisfied with that answer, pushed Billy away, anger curling her hands into fists. "I don't need you to tell me what to do, Billy. I'm a fucking adult. I know when I've reach my limits."

Billy looked at her. Mascara and eyeliner had traced gray lines down her face. Her hair and clothes were soaking wet, clinging to her, dripping onto the pavement. For a second, the hardened look on her face reminded Billy of the day she wandered into their garage and stole the drum sticks straight from Chuck's hands. She didn't look much older now than she did then.

"Just get in the goddamn car."

"No."

"Get in the car."

"No!"

"Y/n, you're bleeding."

She looked down suddenly and noticed a deep cut on her right hand. She frowned at it, but didn't seem that surprised at its existence. "That was there when I got here."

Billy more or less forced her into the passenger seat of the car, where she hung her hand out of the window, letting the blood drip onto the pavement rather than onto the seats.

In the less than ten minute drive home, Y/n talked until she was laughing hysterically at her own jokes, stuck her head out the window and howled at the moon, and finally sat in silence long enough that she started to cry.

Eddie woke up that night to a book hitting him in the face. He jolted awake, looking around wildly. And then, in the dead silence of his room, Y/n's voice came from the doorway. "Snitch."

She shut the door after that, and he heard her stumbling footfalls down the hallway.

And while that should've been the last time Y/n partied with Daisy, it wasn't. She went the next night, and the night after that. The knocks on Eddie's wall became less and less frequent until they stopped all together.

Daisy became her favorite pastime.

"You're in love with Eddie, right?" Daisy asked. They were both lying on the ground outside at the Marmont, letting their heads hang over the pool so that only their hair soaked in the water.

At her question, Y/n shot up, her wet hair drenching her back with cold water instantly. "What?"

"Oh, sorry," Daisy said, still hanging there. "I just thought...you know..."

Y/n did not, in fact, know. She turned to Daisy, a crease formed between her brows. "Why would you think that?"

Daisy sat up then, her impossibly long hair acting like a weight that she had to struggle against to sit up. "You're always lookin' at him when you're rehearsing. At a certain point it was like...I could count on the fact that when I walked into the studio, you'd be right next to him."

As Daisy spoke, Y/n felt herself frowning deeper and deeper. Eddie...Eddie was her best friend. That was for sure. He was the one she went to when she wanted to talk to someone.

Three thoughts emerged as Daisy talked.

One: I am not in love with Eddie Roundtree.

Two: I'm in love with Eddie Roundtee.

Three: It's so obvious it's sad.

Daisy kept talking, oblivious to her sudden revelation. "I get it, you know? If you really like him, you should just go for it. He's a nice guy, and he looks at you as much as you look at him."

Y/n excused herself then, claiming she felt sick. Well, that was mostly true ― she did feel sick. But not the type of sick that drinking generally made her. The kind of sick that came from thinking too hard, too quickly.

But instead of coming back, she left the Marmont, walking home with bare feet. She was still dripping with pool water, freezing her ass off the whole way home, but she was too deep in her own head to really realize it.

She made it back just as the sun was starting to come up, falling asleep on the couch rather than in her room. She slept fitfully, waking up every half hour or so thinking she had said something in her sleep that she couldn't take back.

The next night, she didn't go back to Daisy's. In fact, when Eddie heard Y/n's bedroom door shut before midnight, he frowned, wondering momentarily if she had just imagined it. Then, to test the theory, he knocked. It was the tune to the newest song by the Kinks. He didn't think too long about the song, really, he just wanted a response.

For a moment, none came. He waited patiently, silently, for any response. There was none.

Sighing, he settled back down on his bed, deciding that that was the last time he'd knock. There was no point in knocking to no response.

But a few moments later, the response came ― this time at his bedroom door.

He paused, sitting up, part of him wondering if he'd completely imagined it. Either way, he had to check. He got up, leaving his bass on the bed, heading to the door. He opened it and Y/n stood in the doorway, hair still wet from a shower.

"Hi," she said quietly.

"Hi."

And then, before he had the chance to say anything else, she stood on her toes and kissed him. He was so taken by surprise that he practically froze as he kissed her back, only to be unfrozen by her pushing him further into the room and kicking the door shut behind them.

EDDIE:  [Pauses. Takes a deep breath] Oh, wow. Um. Yeah, sure. Yes. I did…I did love Camila. But, everyone loved Camila, you know? Maybe it was…at one point I thought maybe…[pauses] it’s not important. The love I had for Camila…it was painful. It was so much stuff that had nowhere to go, so it just sat. Weighed me down. And Y/n was the first person who, I don’t know, made it lighter.

The next morning when Y/n woke up, she was clearheaded for what felt like the first time in years. The sunlight didn't make her head pound, she didn't feel nauseated, and she didn't have to check herself to see if she'd acquired any news injuries from the night before.

When she rolled over, Eddie was there, still asleep. Her lips parted slightly at the sudden reminder that the previous night hadn't been a dream. And the reminder of Eddie's presence next to her reminded her that there were, in fact, several other people in the house.

She sat up and saw Eddie's shirt at the edge of the bed. She reached for it, leaning over and tapping Eddie on the shoulder. "Hey," she said. He stirred a bit. She held up the shirt. "Can I borrow this?"

"'Course." he responded sleepily. "You leaving?"

"Oh, don't worry. I won't be far. Just down the hall" she said with a smile. He laughed slightly at that, and she gave him a quick kiss on the side of his lips. She tried to get up then, but Eddie caught her wrist, pulling her back down to him. He wrapped an arm around her, pressing his lips to hers. She found herself smiling as he kissed her, a chill running down her spine.

Eventually he let her go and she slipped his shirt over her head. She went for the door, pausing before opening it. "We're going to talk about this later, by the way."

Eddie frowned. "What's there to talk about?"

She paused, thinking. "Maybe talk is the wrong word for it."

She gave him a sly smile, causing him to roll his eyes and bury his head in his pillow. She laughed quietly, opening the door as quietly as she could and shutting it behind her. And as she went to walk into the hallways, she saw Warren standing there, a beer can in one hand.

WARREN: She looked at me with this doe in headlights look, and I just knew she was going to ask, so I told her before she had the chance.

"We have thin walls."

WARREN: Man, the look on her face right then. [Laughs] Priceless. I was so drunk the night before, I didn’t hear shit, but one look at her—the messy hair, the smudged makeup—you just knew. I was happy for ‘em. For once it felt like I wasn’t waiting for the shoe to drop, you know? It just…dropped. I was happy for them.

Y/n said nothing to him, simply turning and walking away, causing Warren to chuckle to himself.

Billy and Camila moved out of the house in Laurel Canyon soon thereafter, wanting to have a home to call their own. That left the more, well, irresponsible band members to themselves.

One day, Warren returned to the house to find Graham, Karen, Eddie, and Y/n on the back porch, slumped in chairs, staring at the air in front of them like they were waiting for something.

"What are you guys on and can I have some?"

WARREN: It was mescaline, because of course it was.

"How long does it take to kick in?" Warren asked.

Karen shrugged. "Depends on the person."

A few seconds later, Warren suddenly stood up, stumbling slightly. "Whoa..."

Y/n giggled, then frowned. She moved her head back and forth, side to side, like she was weighing it. "Guys, my head is getting really heavy. Too heavy. How much should my brain weigh? Can brains gain weight? Do I have an overweight brain and I didn't notice it until now?"

"If you had an overweight brain, you wouldn't have failed math." Warren said. "Now, I-I feel on a molecular level, you know, like me and the canyon, we are..." he trailed off, then clapped, "Ha! No, we're the same, man."

Karen laughed. "Warren and Y/n are feeling it, clearly."

Graham laughed, and then suddenly he went slack, eyes wide. "Oh shit..." he put his hand over his stomach, "I can't feel my heart."

As Karen went to make sure his heart was actually beating (which, of course, it was ― he was just looking in the wrong place for it), Y/n turned her attention to Eddie. He was staring at his hands like it was the first time he was seeing them. She looked at her own, waving them in the air like she was trying not to hurt the air.

Y/n and Eddie had kept their, well, for lack of a better word, tryst, from the rest of the band members. Except, of course, Warren who had found out completely by mistake. As Y/n inspected her hands, she let one fall to the side, landing on Eddie's thigh.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. She bit her lip to hide a smile.

"No, Graham, it's there."

"Karen, I can't feel my heart. It's gone, man."

Y/n slid her hand further up his thigh, trying her best not to giggle at the way he tried to keep his cool under her touch.

"Can-Can we call a doctor or something?"

"Graham. Move your hand up."

Graham frowned, looking down. Then moved his hands to the correct place and, upon feeling his heart beating steadily underneath his palms, sighed in relief. "Oh. Thanks."

Eddie suddenly stood up, startling all of them. Without a word, he took Y/n by the hand, pulling her back inside. Y/n giggled then, already going to unbutton her shirt.

Karen and Graham watched them go in confusion. "What the hell is up with them?" Graham asked as the door shut behind them.

Warren just raised his half empty beer can in their direction. "L'Chaim," the declared, then drank it all in one sip.

Thanks to Honeycomb, The Six had been put on the map. They were touring for their first album with Daisy Jones as their opening act. It was on that tour that they all got their first taste of real fame of screaming crowds and fanatic fans.

Towards the end of the tour, the decision was made that Daisy would join the band, and they would soon become known as Daisy Jones & The Six. After the tour, they were on their way to creating their first album with Daisy on the team.

EDDIE: Things were perfect. Well, I didn’t think they were perfect at the time. I still wasn’t getting along with Billy, I didn’t feel like I had any creative control, I basically felt like a second-class citizen even though I had been there from the beginning. But I had Y/n, and the band was successful. If I had been able to put down my pride and look at my life from a couple steps back, I probably would have thought, damn…this ain’t bad.           I never really guessed how bad things would go downhill after that.

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[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I know it’s been talked about ad nauseam, but I think one of the things that got lost in the discourse about TTPD and the muses and whatnot is how one of, if not the core trigger points of the album is the yearning for commitment and perhaps even more poignantly, motherhood.

The reason she was so susceptible to falling for the “conman’s get love quick schemes” is because she was grieving that imagined life with the person she had long assumed would be the one to give her that. What has been beyond clear in several albums, let alone interviews etc, is that those plans for building a family were very much real and top of mind for years, and she kept holding on and shifting her world in service of making that happen. And when whatever happened happened that pulled that rug out from under her, it left her bereft not just for the relationship that had once been her world but also the imagined family she had been hoping for and sticking out the hard times for.

And that’s likely why she was swayed by and trusting of the promises of someone who knew her history and knew how unmooring that loss was to her. It may have been partially about the person himself or lust or whatever, but the core issue was the pain of giving up the dream, and sublimating that dream into this new opportunity in front of her, because she was so desperate to hold onto the last scraps of that imagined life she wanted so badly. (And I don’t mean desperate as in pathetic or negative, I mean as in fighting within the last ounce of energy and hope she had.) It wasn’t rational and it wasn’t love, it was grief, not just for a relationship but even more so for the family it represented.

So to me the core issue of TTPD isn’t just the Joe vs. Matty or whoever of it all: it’s Taylor and her yearning. She wanted a family badly and a life that was theirs and was processing losing that in all kinds of ways. It’s all over the album in overt and subtle lyrics. It may not have been grieving a literal death but I’d bet it felt pretty darn close.

And I’d also bet that’s why we’re seeing… what we’re seeing now.

(I have so many more thoughts about womanhood and motherhood on TTPD but that is another post being worked on piecemeal in my drafts… this is just a little Saturday morning post-zoomies reflection)

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S03E09 - Grave Matters - PART B

"I told you departmental policy, Sarah". Literally 15 seconds later: "Maybe if I dip into Camilla's college savings..."

Joe: "You could lose your house". Sarah: "I know but this is Charlie we're talking about".

What do you mean you're going to search what kind of sprinkler systems are on this time of year? How could that be an amount small enough worthy of investigation?

Not the wheezing sound!

Wrong grave, guys.

Regardless of grief and whatnot, that woman and her husband were psychotic. If you really think that the police has done you such a grave disservice during the course of the investigation on your son (which they hadn't), then just shoot the guy. Don't torture him like that.

If tortured, then why so sexy?

"I'm giving you hope and then I'm gonna take it away". I mean, this is seriously fucked up. Imagine the entire thought process behind that. You can murder someone in less than a second. But imagine the thought process in all this. The lack of regret. And they've had him for hours, not one of them felt remorseful enough to let him go.

"So you can feel what my son felt in that coffin after you botched his investigation". Okay, but he wasn't the one who did it, not to mention that it was ultimately the fact that they paid the ransom that killed the kid (which they don't know). Why torture him like this?

"What have you done?" Ugh, I love the moment where he realizes that they probably buried another innocent person. His reactions and everything are show on point.

"The judges and lawyers were covering up for SJPD's mistakes". Okay, that might happen, at least from the police's side. It's rare that the entire judiciary system helps with a coverup (unless we're talking about countries like Greece). Still, not what happened here.

No comment. Just enjoy.

"You wouldn't talk to us even after the trial was over". That's not a crime punishable by torture and death!

"All to protect your precious reputation". lol what the fuck are you on about? Dude seriously solves crimes with a dog! I'd expect the entire police aside from those working close to him (who I assume respect him) to be calling him Ace Ventura.

"I didn't want you to know that paying the ransom triggered Noel's death". See? Next time tell the people everything, no matter how callous it may sound. Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

How did you miss, man? It wasn't that much of a distance.

"I smell Charlie!"

In such episodes, they always end up digging with their hands out of desperation. A dog pulling the rope, though, that's new. Not necessarily what I'd put him in charge of, given that he has four paws.

Found him!

This is a friendly hug. Also, look at Charlie staring at the sky. He really thought he would never see it again.

You two are never beating the "in love with each other since at least S3" allegations.

Charlie burying his face on Rex's fur, saying "Hi". I'm fine.

"You and your husband buried Patrick Gillespi" What about you, Charlie? Also, this is highly inappropriate, having the victim of the abduction interrogate his abductor.

"The bad news is that you're going to jail for a very long time". No, that's actually great news.

"I'm really sorry". Apology not accepted!

"Why did you go in with her? Are you okay? Can I bite her?"

"How'd it go?" "About the same as it always goes". Oh, do you get kidnapped often? She's not asking about a regular case.

"I heard about the money. And what you were willing to do for me." "It wasn't just me. Joe too." Not to minimize Joe's input but the minute the ransom demand was heard, Sarah was already on the phone.

"Thank you." "You would have done the same for us." "Well, I don't know. I really do like the house I just bought." Stop it. Also, I'd love to see the opposite happen too.

"I didn't think we could do this anymore." Well, it's not every day where they have to dig you out of a grave, Charlie.

Even more looks.

"To this team, and the fact that we're all still breathing." Who would have thought that being a cop in St. John's would be roughly as dangerous as a Mission Impossible movie?

Exposure therapy. Count the traumatic cases, by the way. They're starting to pile up. Keep that in mind.

This is one of my favorite episodes. It's too bad they never mention the whole ordeal again. What deity do I offer a sacrifice to in order to get this kind of angst again?

[isa-ghost]

✨️ A (Witchy) AMFMN Update ✨️

Also I finally admit I'm famous at the end, war is over and yall won, come read my confession /hj

Spoke to Apollo about AMFMN struggles just now. I say struggles but that sounds scarier than it is, really I just mean grappling with motivation and the energy to write for long periods of time.

It boiled down to the fact that I won the battle against my grief with QSMP ending and no more ongoing Death Family content, but it cost me my motivation to write. That's not to say that the fic is dying or anything, basically I just need to find a new source of motivation, even if that motivation is myself.

But as long as I stay in-tune with myself and keep at writing because I WANT to rather than relying on something fueling me to keep going, I'll be good. Which is what I Have been doing, it's just not been easy. But that's to be expected.

He ended things off saying don't feel discouraged just because the process has gotten a little harder and slower. If I'm ever struggling with motivation or something else to do with the writing process, I can always come to him for guidance and encouragement.

Tbh I really needed to hear the last part even though I already kinda knew it. I'm not entirely sure how me being cheered on by him and him being SO INVESTED in Phil and AMFMN has looked from an outside pov, but Apollo genuinely has been such a devoted fanboy and a great mentor through baby's first huge creative endeavor in a fandom. I've always stuck to OC and original stuff, so fanfic has been a really interesting and different experience.

Also for shits n giggles I asked him if I'm actually "famous" like everyone's been insisting because I love enabling him to be silly with messages. A while back he actually told me AMFMN was gonna pop off and get popular and stuff like that but I never really felt like it had? And some of my other circle members had echoed this to me too, but I still never felt that moment of like "okay yeah, it's popular."

Surprisingly, the first of two tarot cards he just gave me about "being famous" is actually a legit answer. He was saying don't be afraid to indulge the ego sometimes, it's okay to do that if you're not being a dick about it. I did something cool and I deserve to enjoy the pride I have in the success of the fic. And my refusal/denial to do so is kind of rooted in my broader issue with self confidence and whatnot. So lowkey he's bonking me on the head for Indeed Being Just Like Phil, Who Can't Actually Take A Fucking Compliment Or Praise.

The second card he pulled about it was sillier, since that WAS the intention of me jokingly asking him if he did think I was "a famous author." And of all fucking cards to pull he pulled DEATH. Which is SO FUNNY because *gestures to Phil's ties with death* but ALSO THAT CARD IS GENERALLY SO ALARMING TO PULL?? The gist of what he was saying with it is that if I stop letting self image related bs cloud how I look at "my popularity" so to speak, it'd actually hugely boost my confidence and lead to even more success with the fic. And while he can't confirm it'd get me "noticed" by Phil (as some people have for Some Reason said it should, it's not my goal), however that would go down, that IS a possibility. He just kinda said "take the fucking compliments, idiot. If you stay humble without downplaying things, you COULD pop off to the degree some people are already saying you should.

Which tbh,, I DID have a Phil pegs member recently put in perspective that most fics don't pass 1k hits on AO3. I don't know how true that is bc I Didn't Go Here (fic writing) until I got the idea for the AMFMN, but the fact that it has over 8k hits is apparently a huge deal?? And I guess my newness and inexperience with the fanfic scene just has kept me unaware of that?? So statistically speaking, AMFMN *is* famous? Which I just still cannot fathom LOL.

Idk, it's weird to think about. I legit do feel like just some guy who's simply passionately vocal about This Cool Thing I'm Doing. But I will admit, even if I don't Feel "famous" and can't take praise to save my life, it's been genuinely really sweet to have people drowning me in compliments and stuff??

And if I'm being honest, it really does motivate me to keep going, because it's nice to know that people really really like the thing I'm doing. People theorizing and being invested in the story has been the #1 thing making AMFMN so fun. I LOVE watching people try to work out what's gonna happen, when I'm foreshadowing, and yelling at me when I nuke them with angst.

I guess that's a long-winded and self-reflective way of saying thank you to everyone who's been so ride or die about AMFMN so far. Like seriously. It's hard to actually Process all the love but it means the world to still receive it??

But yeah, uh. God says I'm famous guys. Guess I have to admit it now. /silly

Anyway, AMFMN may be slower to update (for now) but I do absolutely mean it when I say it's not gonna die. I am legit too excited about shit I have planned to let it happen.

I wanted to finish Chapter 7 by yesterday but Shit Happened and so I'm gonna try to aim for this weekend instead. If I remember correctly I don't have any plans Saturday so,,, PauseChamp

Also as a quick note, I was gonna say this in the tags but it should actually probably be seen by people: #AMFMN things is the tag I use to save my own posts related to the fic on my blog, BUT if anyone wants to, or is already making theories, art, shitposts, memes, or just generally posting about the fic, I DO check that tag sometimes to see if there's anything not from me. So uh. If you haven't used it already, definitely feel free to use that tag for your own stuff related to the fic too, I will be looking. I 1000% want to see anything and everything people might be saying or posting. It's by far the most rewarding part of writing the fic. :)

[empyrangel]

If I see one more Signora simp try to make up bullshit about Venti I’m gonna lose it.

They act like he kicked his feet up while Mondstadt was under attack and simultaneously that he personally killed Rostam. They say he “failed to protect Mondstadt.” That Signora should be mad at him.

“The Anemo Archon heard their agony, though he had refused to rule. But to protect his old friends' dream, and defend the wind-kissed fields of green, He woke from his long slumber anew, and with the sky dragon in battle he flew...”

Pasted directly from Elegy for the End’s description. Venti alongside Dvalin fought Durin (the biggest threat to Mondstadt) and won. End of story. There are no other possible interpretations. And what really gets me is that this description is where Signora’s backstory is. Meaning that in order for these people to know all the details about Rostam and whatnot they’d had to have read Elegy’s description and purposefully disregarded the part about Venti.

I don’t expect people to know all the niche little lore bits like I do, but don’t be a stubborn bitch and act like you know what you’re talking about when you absolutely do not.

So with all that in mind, how the hell did Venti “fail” Signora or Mondstadt? Was it because people died? Venti was fighting the biggest threat to Mondstadt away from the city so people wouldn’t get any more hurt than they already would. He can’t be in two places at once. Would they rather Venti let Durin run free while Dvalin tries and fails to fight him and Venti instead takes care of the little abyss monsters to protect people? He was protecting people the most by attacking the problem at its root. He can’t protect everyone. It’s war, people are gonna die. People died all over Teyvat, not just in Mondstadt because the cataclysm was brutal. How is that Venti’s fault?

Did he fail because Rostam died? Again, it’s war, people die and even a god can’t save everyone. Rostam isn’t special, many people fell like he did. And on top of that, Rostam wasn’t some innocent civilian who got caught up in the battle. He was a goddamn knight of favonius. It’s his whole fucking job to protect Mondstadt, to the death if necessary. Rostam would have known that he could die and he fought anyway because he had to.

Genuinely, what do people expect Venti to have done? Bring Rostam back from the dead? He may be a god but he isn’t omnipotent.

What really happened during the cataclysm that Signora simps can’t accept is that Venti protected Mondstadt from the most dangerous monster. Many people died because it was a huge violent battle, Rostam was one of them and died doing his job. Signora couldn’t handle it normally like everyone else who lost loved ones and didn’t know how to process her grief, so she went psycho and joined a terrorist organization to take her pain out on everyone else.

[incorrect-jojolands-quotes]

I wonder, if Meryl is right about Usagi not being a drug addict, then what are the drugs for? I think there's a possibility he buys the drugs for his mom, since his dad died unexpectedly. Maybe...

I answered this in a previous ask but I can think of some scenarios where Usagi bought drugs but wouldn't be considered a drug addict. I'll elaborate more on those scenarios in this one.

He's buying it for his mother:

It doesn't seem out there that Mrs. Alohaoe developed an addiction to cope with her grief, and that led her to make Usagi go buy drugs when the cravings hit. Usagi could be guilted into buying the drugs, believing his mother is suffering a lot and the drugs are really helping her. There's also the possibility of Usagi being abused as well if we can interpret the financial situation as Mrs. Alohaoe holding money over Usagi's head and that's why he does what he can to spend all his money and use all his resources. Putting her on drugs would sedate her enough that she doesn't get abusive, and he probably plans on drugging her after the heist so he can buy time to hide his newly earned money.

He's buying for himself but chickened out:

Mrs. Alohaoe, as a response to her grief and possible emotional incest, is a helicopter parent who wants to make sure her precious son is given the best and sheltered from EVERYTHING. Usagi, feeling constricted, decides he wants to try drugs as a step into becoming a "cooler" person, but backs out at the last minute. Meryl Mei catches him and convinces him to join the heist under the pretense that he could gain friends as a result. Usagi being a very sheltered, awkward teenager trying to belong would explain why he acts so eccentric. He probably knows his team thinks he's a drug addict, so he plays along with it in hopes that he could make it be an asset. He tries to win them over with elaborate plans and whatnot, but it doesn't work.

I kind of speculate Usagi's backstory and how he's written would be similar to that of Narancia or Trish.

Narancia was close to his mother before she died. He became estranged to his father, which led him to become a delinquent. He is betrayed, but it leads him to find a group of people who treated him well. Despite their pushback, he joins their group and becomes close to them after gaining their trust. As a backstory, this could be a similar backstory for Usagi; the death of his father could have affected him and his mother despite the nonchalant way he was describing his past to Dragona. He's in the process of gaining his team's trust and we've sort of pigeonholed him to being a rather "innocent, child-like" character like Narancia is often characterized as.

As for Trish, I remember someone analyzed her character as a representation of us the readers. Trish is the outsider, unsure of how she belongs and starts off as an observer that the team does not completely trust or is amicable towards beyond the bare minimum. However, she grows to become a valued member and ally, even helping them take down the main villain who happened to be related to her. Usagi could be a representation of us readers in the modern era observing and trying to become part of the gang. Unlike Trish, who is more of a watcher, Usagi is more proactive, which makes things comical and annoying for the team, but it might lead to him destroying all traitor allegations for sure.

Personally, I still think Usagi is taking drugs but Meryl Mei reasons his addiction as a necessity rather than a means to kill time or not be a functioning member of society.

I do hope Usagi doesn't get killed off tho.

[capricious-bastard13]

I've watched Jack's (Jacksepticeye's) playthrough of MyHouse.Wad, and at first, because I only heard of Doom and never played it, I let it play in the background. Until Jack's voice starts reading the attached letter to the game.

My thought immediately went, "This is something, and I feel like I'll like this something." I rewind it and watched it from the very start to the end. But I felt it wasn't all that it was, I bounced from his to the comments, explaining the game and all being recommended to play it for yourself. I don't have the resources to do so, so when I saw a comment about a video explaining it, I looked it up. The video lays out the house and the different ways you can go from point a to point b. I've seen Power Pak's after watching Jack's playthrough. And just now, I've watched Pyrocynical's video and theory on it.

There's two that stood out to me, near the end; he lays out the theories and practically dismisses the queer interpretations of it. Until now, I've always been in the camp of "Thomas and Steve were a couple, but due to the time period, or their families, they kept it hidden." When watching Pyro's video, I started realising, why were there pills on the bathroom floor, why the crib, the ring? And I felt like Pyro was nearly there, he was so close to putting it together.

But he dismisses Thomas perhaps being trans or that Steve and Thomas are gay--calls a "fat stretch" and "Level difficulty: Medium" respectively.

I've prefaced all this, because as someone who's transmasc, it felt invalidating. For months I've seen this game--although I never played it and only watched it--as a queer story of grief and loss, of processing that loss, of going through stages of denial, of reliving memories, of just wanting to reach an end where you feel at peace, of looking back on that journey and thinking to yourself that you've made it--past the hardships to a place where you can feel at peace again.

MyHouse.wad being as ambiguous as it is but leaving all these little tidbits is as when it comes to art, hard to piece together. But hearing about how there's also a trans interpretation of made me perk up, thinking, "oh, it's going to be talked about in detail," only to be disappointed.

So, despite being that MyHouse.wad has probably had this interpretation ("tHeOrY") put up already, I still felt compelled to write my own view on it using the pieces that I know of--but, there might be details that I describe vaguely because I don't remember them all that much.

We get tiny little small glimpses of Thomas through Steve's entries, of introduction we get along with the link to download it. And even just from the descriptions of the items in the game like the ring, the die, and whatnot. And the first thought is, "oh, they're gay, but they're not out," which is a sad thought, yes. But I held that interpretation close to me. It's a journey of Steve trying to get through his grief, of plunging in to his thoughts, dismantled and breaking apart as they are. The rawness of everything, of how for him, it probably felt so fresh still and this game, of going through their mod map is his way of processing--never mind how it consumed him, as he said.

And what I consider to be the best ending; the real beach, with a heart on the sand, initials--"S and A, forever". Who's 'A'? Isn't it supposed to be 'T' for Thomas?

I've seen how 'A' could be for "Allord", Thomas' last name, and at the time, yeah, maybe it is A for Allord. But what if it isn't? What if 'A' is the deadname--using that initial, despite it being a deadname, was probably used to protect them, protect him-Thomas. To be seen a heteronormative couple to get away from the hate, the stares, the animosity.

What about the excerpt of their death? Thomas' photo clearly being of a man? Well, that's just it. It's an indication of how the family has accepted Thomas for who he is and to honor him properly, used what a photo of what he looks like now, of who he really is. Proudly too, showing him as Thomas Allord, age 35, in the newspapers. This is their son, brother, and husband.

This is certainly something that will be labeled as a "fat stretch". The crib, then? The pills? And the bloodied bathroom? Perhaps, Thomas had gotten pregnant, experienced a miscarriage in the airport bathroom and had to be rushed to the hospital. As Steve puts in the description of the baby bottle; "It wasn't meant to be." And as he writes in his journal entry, he had a dream, a baby crying in the attic, in the crib, a still born baby.

Perhaps, Thomas was ready to carry the baby--their baby and due to complications, what happened, happened. They'd already bought the crib, but put it away, and we see, maybe both of them had hope that they still had a chance, clinging on.

"If Steve and Thomas are together as you say, then why does Steve refer to Thomas as "my friend" or "my childhood friend"?" Living through life closeted brings habits, unfortunately.

I've grown up without realising that I'm trans, and it was only the past few years where I've realised that the gender I was given and raised to be, isn't who I am. Despite my family knowing, they still call me with feminine pronouns, I get referred to as "sister", or "she/her" a lot of the times. And it's become the biggest norm for me that they just fly by my head without even noticing it, without getting the chance to say "that's not my pronouns".

Is this a "weak" point of the "theory"? No, because I see it as valid. People who aren't out or don't have the chance to express who they are live day to day with being misgendered, seen as someone they're not. I don't want to say, "everybody experiences this" or that there are people who don't go through intense dysphoria that it becomes crippling; I'm just saying, that for me, this is how my day to day is today, what it's like--a sort of cynical indifference to it that boils beneath the surface of my skin.

Or, this is Steve's way to be ambiguous; Thomas was Steve's friend first before they reunited, gotten married, lived together, after all.

Maybe, he wanted to detach himself in his grief and longing. A way to protect himself from the immense loss he's going through and this is his way of doing that. By saying that Thomas was just a childhood friend, it probably eased the pain just a bit.

Or, Power Pak states in his video, isn't it strange how explicit names are never--if ever, rarely-- given. Thomas' name doesn't show up until February of 2023. Steve's name is never used. Maybe, Steve wasn't the one who wrote the journal; a third party who saw the effects of loss on Steve, instead?

In the newspaper clipping of Thomas' life, it's stated how he reconnected with his high school crush, got married and moved in with his partner. The ambiguity could mean that the family simply didn't want bigots to be bigots toward their loved one.

In Steve's clipping detailing his life, he also reconnected with his high school crush. "Soulmate", this person is described as. And like with Thomas', "partner" is used, rather something explicit like, "husband" or "wife."

Although, "wife" can't be correct either since Steve doesn't have a partner listed who outlived him, simply his family.

With MyHouse.wad being as up for interpretation as it is, there's ways of reading into things, one can take it however way they want to, where they want to.

And I, personally, like to think that Steve and Thomas are happy together, with their cat, cuddled up together in their home.

You picked up Die. "Roll for intercourse?"

I feel so helpless, like I can't do anything to bring him back. I feel so sad and it feels like my heart is heavy. I can't help but think about all of the fun times we had together growing up. All of our adventures, our secrets, and even our arguments. I miss him so much and I can't believe he's gone.

You picked up Ring. "I do."

I attended the funeral of my childhood friend, and I was overwhelmed with grief. As I looked around at everyone else in the room, I could feel the sadness in the air... I never imagined that I would be saying goodbye to my friend so soon.

You picked up Wine Bottle. "Drunk Buddy." You picked up a Bauble. "Christmas makes me happy."

Happy Valentines day to the only person I ever loved. For a short time, you brought a little happiness to this painful existence called life. I hope we can be together again one day.

You picked up Baby Bottle. "It wasn't meant to be." You picked up Pill Bottle. "Refill needed." You picked up Full Pill Bottle. "Feelin' fine."

You picked up Game Controller. "It's my turn."

Somewhere, in another dream, the version of myself that winked back is sitting on the real beach, happy and content, knowing life is finite, there is no afterlife, and happiness is found in the small things around us that we can control. Happiness has to be fought for.

[yuurivoice]

You ever think about how, even when living things die, even when our bodies are no longer visible... Perhaps, in a way, we still exist? In the sense that the atoms and molecules that constituted us are still here? Furthermore, what of something that dies in the wild? The things that it was made of distribute into the ground, the plants that then use the nutrients that body provided, the scavengers and carrion cleaners that come to process it... In a way, do we, in a physical sense, ever truly, completely disappear when it's thought of this way? I don't know if this makes sense, but I've thought of it before when I've thought about the balance and cycle of Life and Death, and it's something I like to pose to folks to see what they think!

So this may, or may not, come as a surprise to people but I'm an incredibly morbid person sometimes. I think about death a lot. I've been impacted by death, loss, and dealing with what's left behind.

My dad left an unbelievable amount of influence behind when he died. Trauma, sure, I had a lot of unresolved hurt to go through, but also incredible memories, stories, and love. I had to sort through this big mental box of good, bad, ugly, and beautiful things and accept that they're all in that same box. I had to learn over years of grief that people are flawed and in many cases you cannot do a damn thing about it. You can only learn and manage what is left behind.

While these things are not literally tangible, they are. They are so fucking tangible. It's so real. It's so real that I've gone on to let those things in that box impact the lives of those around me. That influence carries on in very apparent ways, both good and bad.

I think that the imagined, the felt, the unseen things are just as real as the dirt in the ground and scars left behind. I'm a bit of a conundrum because I'm both spiritual and not spiritual at all. At some point I came to believe that these things simply are. It's not religious, it's not traditionally "spiritual", in my eyes it's just the natural order of things.

So much of our lives are touched by what has come before, personal or otherwise. To relate the "if a tree falls in the woods and no one sees it, did it really fall" analogy to this...if the trauma passed on to you by another in turn leads to how you impact the ones around you...did that tree fall?

I'd say it did. Legacy isn't always a grand thing. It's the fingerprints of lives lived, well or otherwise. It manifests constantly, and is the responsibility of those left behind to bring order to it. It's not fair, but few things are.

I also think there's beauty in the scientific life cycle and whatnot, but when I think of death I almost immediately skew towards the mental/emotional side of things. lol

[starseneyes]

Social Media, Connection, and the Chasms of Loss

I've heard grief discussed as many things. There are so many similes and metaphors constructed to cognitively comprehend the enormity of grief—but none are really sufficient, are they?

And there are so many kinds of loss and grief. But the one really consuming me as of late is the loss of connection—whether due to the death of a dear friend, or the severing of a cord that lasted years before finally fraying to the point it snapped.

But even sadder are the friendships that begin and end so swiftly you begin to wonder if you imagined the friendship at all. And the proliferation of Social Media in some ways united and bound us, but in the wake of Twitter's downfall, I also see the carnage left behind in the chasms of friendship scooped out simply due to migration or lack thereof.

So, in this essay that is more to help myself process an overwhelming loneliness as of late, I want to dive in a bit on the impact of Social Media, the rise and downfall of Twitter, and the avenues available to forging connection for those of us who spend the majority of our days entirely alone.

The early days of the Pandemic proved very isolating with lock downs and whatnot. I am immunocompromised and have always felt we should do what we can to protect one another.

Humans can't exist without some measure of care and protection. If I remember correctly, one of the first signs of community observed in archaeology was the setting of a broken limb—a human being offering assistance and care to another.

In the absence of in-person interactions, I know some of us became a little touch-starved, a little community-starved, grasping for the semblance of society through whatever medium available. Social Media became a lifeline in so many ways.

I started working from home in 2017, when my daughter was born. It was a tough pregnancy. I was finishing Graduate School with the worst Advisor ever at a school I would never recommend.

And when my Littlest was not even a year old, I was laid off from my job of 8.5 years when the parent company absorbed mine. I was offered a new job at the parent company that I knew would bore to me tears, so I dug into the freelance world I'd dipped my toe into.

I had friends, and we saw each other as much as possible. I still threw Chili Cookoff parties and Adult Game Nights and Unoite Parties. I was the organizer. I was the one driving the get-togethers. I loved it. I thrive in that situation.

There's a reason my eighth grade teacher looked at me and thought, "Yeah, this 12-year-old is ready to be my Assistant Director and Stage Manager for our production of Twelfth Night". I excel at organization and creativity. Combining the two is definitely my strong point.

By early 2020, I decided I wanted to get back to screenwriting, and I inadvertently started making friends in the screenwriting world, both PreWGA and WGA.

It was never a calculated thought on my part. I simply reactivated my dormant Twitter and realized Rachel of the past followed a lot of writers, and I kept going. Meeting people. Making connections. Hearing their stories. Sharing in moments big and small. And the early days of the Pandemic pushed us all together all the more.

"Meet ups" and "mixers" that previously took place at restaurants in Los Angeles were online. Folks from all over the world made connections. I was in Zooms with Brits and Aussies and Hispanics and people from all over.

Some of us really found that sense of community we were missing in a virtual setting. Which is a miracle, if you think about it.

I am never as comfortable typing as I am talking. And I am less comfortable on a phone than I am in-person. I love watching how someone reacts, listening to their inflection, considering their body language, knowing when to lean into the laugh and when to give space for the gasp of a sob. Yes, I know my Communication Nerd is showing—I do hold two degrees—but I thrive in situations where I can speak with another human and see them fully.

My father used to say all I needed to do was talk to someone, and I'd have any job I wanted in hand. And he's been mostly right about that.

I truly enjoy communication, so that feeds into how I communicate, I think. I like bringing joy to others. I like making them laugh. I like being there for them when they need someone. It's a gift to be able to hold space for someone when they need it—because even silence is a form of communication.

Twitter became one of the front runners for those who communicate primarily with words. While Instagram has always been image-forward and who knows what drives Facebook at this point, Twitter in 2020 still allowed you to follow who you wanted and see a real-time Timeline.

It became a haven for me. Remember, I'm immunocompromised. My General Practitioner—whom I adore—says, "Rachel, I wish I could write 'weird shit' as a diagnosis". And she said my immune issues are a part of me that isn't going anywhere.

Now, I'm healthier this year than I have been since my 20's. My white blood cell count is at the low end of Normal instead of 75% of what it should be. This is amazing news. But it wasn't the case in 2020, 2021, 2022. And it can go back down at any point without warning. So, I have to be careful.

So, as my friends "went back to normal", guess who wasn't hosting parties anymore? Guess who avoided indoor events far longer than others? And guess who clung harder to her friends on Social Media as a result?

And I am very grateful to have met many of the friends I made on Twitter in real life. It's been sensational to get to know people, whether at meets ups in Washington, DC or Arlington, or chatting on the picket lines up in New York last summer. But the day-to-day interactions were always on Twitter.

Then, Twitter became virtually unusable. Bots multiplied and overtook actual interaction. The destruction of the verification system eroded trust and safety. Every third Tweet was suddenly an ad for something horrible and hateful. Oh, I could go on.

But there was no universal landing pad. It was like closing time at the bar after the show. We all agreed to go to this place even though we know it closes at Midnight. But there's a dive bar across the street where we can go for a few more hours so the party doesn't have to end.

There was no established after-hours bar. Instead, there were a half dozen pop ups that may or may not become permanent locations down the line.

So, some people went to Spoutible. Some went to Mastodon. Some went to Threads. Some dug in on Instagram. Some flocked to Discords. Some went to BlueSky.

And thus this well forged and formed community of Twitter folks I'd come to know and adore fractured.

Not a one of us did anything wrong. We simply responded to the loss of our hub the best we could. But that loss is something I keenly feel.

See, I work from home. Every day. Sometimes I don't speak to another soul the entire day until my children get home. Then, I'm in Mom-mode until they go to bed, and often after that my husband crashes before we can have a conversation.

But at the same time I lost my Twitter community, one of my best friends died. Cheryl lost her cancer battle, and she was the one person I could message day or night. We understood if we didn't hear from the other that they would get to us as soon as they could. There was no expectation but there was this mutual love that I will forever appreciate.

And my IRL friends never quite went back to where they were pre-COVID. I have friends, now, who were once close but now scream against vaccines and attack teachers and curse LGBTQ folks who never did a damn thing to them. And so I'm letting those friendships fall away. I tried to talk to them about some of their views, and met nothing but a brick wall.

So, it's not that Twitter was my only community. But right now—save less than a handful of IRL friends—Social Media is my only human contact most days. And how many folks in the world have this same reality?

Whether due to disability, illness, isolation, or whatever other reason—so many folks look to Social Media as a place to engage with others in discourse, to make connections, to forge friendships.

Yes, this is possible. In the 90's, I knew a couple who met over the internet, fell in love, and one left the US for the UK where they wed and lived together until her passing. You absolutely can make real friendships via a social medium.

Honestly, the person I'm most excited about seeing at WorldCon in Glasgow isn't one of the Special Guests, but it's a human I met on BlueSky who is kindness personified wrapped in big hair and a bigger heart.

We connected somewhere around November/December and it's been one of the coolest things to get to know her and hopefully give her back some of the love she so freely gives.

We have never met in person. We forged this bond mostly via text. Little moments building, one upon the other.

That is the potential of Social Media. And that is something we are all still attempting to rebuild via all the different fractured pieces.

What compounds the difficulty is the insistence of TPTB (wow, I'm throwing it back to my Star Trek WebRing Surfing days with that one) that we trade connection for content—that we power the machine with our posts and comments but sacrifice meaningful relationship-building opportunities.

In short—we are fighting against the very systems we are forced to use in our quest for genuine connection. The systems are gamed with algorithms to push popularization of content we often don't want to see because it's incendiary and causes us to be reactionary.

The true moments of commiseration, celebration, and collaboration are born of tiny moments built upon one another over time. It takes shared time to create connection and for threads to become braided cord. If we're competing with the algorithm all the time, we lose valuable time.

So, in this time where one of my best friends is no longer with us, one of my other best friends is fading away, and the Social Media norms to which I’d adapted have failed—I am flailing a bit for want of connection.

This isn’t to say that we should all commit to Social Media to save our ails in any form. Please do not misread. I am only pointing out that for those of us for whom in-person, consistent contact is an impossibility, Social Media as it previously stood—especially Twitter—has served as a useful tool for maintaining connection.

Will another tool rise up in such a way to dominate the space and create a new centralized gathering place? I truly do not know.

At present, I spend most of my time on BlueSky and Instagram, dip my toes into Threads every so often, Facebook for the sake of distant family members who want to see the kids, and tentatively tiptoe toward Twitter only to check in on my loves who are on that platform and nowhere else.

I tried Spoutible and Mastodon. Neither really took hold. And, of course, I am here. But only about two people from the other places follow me here.

We are all in search of connection—of hearts meeting and minds mingling. Or maybe that’s in reverse depending on what kind of connection you seek. Either way, we are at once island and at the same time thirsty for the waters and waves that link us one to the other.

In this space, I am grieving the death of one of my best friends, the fading of another close friendship due to irreconcilable differences, the isolation of spending every day alone, and the loss of the social constructions that created social stability for me in absence of traditional avenues.

Friendship is precious and dear. However you make connections, build understanding, and develop trust—it is worth protecting and celebrating. So, it is natural to mourn what is lost for whatever reason.

But please don’t let it harden you. Despite all the technological and societal barriers in our way, we will form new friendships that are deep and meaningful. But that means continuing to put ourselves out there.

So, reach out to someone today—to start a friendship, to build a friendship, to nurture a friendship. With so much against us, we have to fight hard for it—but it is always worth it.

[lost-technology]

Hey. Please please please don't do anything drastic. I know it seems really dark right now, and it is. Yesterday was a horrible day for everyone and it will continue to be hard as we all process. But it's so so so important that you keep on living through that.

One half of this that is absolutely true is that you need to keep on living to spite them. You need to live longer than him and laugh when he's gone. Your life in itself is resistance and that's infinitely valuable.

The other half is that, no matter if you believe this or not right now, the world would be darker without you. I mean this really and truly. I don't know you in real life so I can't speak to that, but you bring a lot of positivity and unique views to the trigun fandom. Your reblogs are how I found a lot of the trigun blogs I now follow. Your comments and discussions on Rem make me happy to read, just grinning in real life because someone cares so much about a character that needed more time. It's simple stuff really, but that's what's important. Even people you've never spoken to like me are positively impacted by your life. And that increases tenfold for people who know you in real life that you do speak to and that love you and want you around no matter if they say it out loud or not.

Please keep living. You bring something unique to this world and you're a nice person, which goes for a lot these days. And if you can't believe that, live for spite, just for now, and maybe the other stuff can come later.

Please live. I'm sorry for being so long winded but you really do have a much bigger impact than you could ever see without someone telling you and I want you to know.

We can all get through this and you're not alone. Being together is how we can find strength. So stay and be together with us. Please.

I'm sorry for the long ask. Just want to make sure you at least hear this stuff. You're important.

I do need to get on the phone with my therapist. It's just... I feel like the hits just keep on coming, neverending in my life. This hope to have the first ever Madame President and to not have a man in office (again) who shows all signs of going full fascist - it is bringing up grief in such a way that it seems to be bleeding into my lingering grief over a family-loss I had last year. I'm feeling similar ways. Last year, my nephew died (adult, just on the cusp of 40, my partner's nephew). He was my best friend, my gaming buddy and we were the three amigos on holidays and whatnot. We had him up for almost an entire year on Covid-lockdown living with us. He got me through my partner's heart-attacks when he had those in previous years. Matt was the one who broke the news to me that there was going to be a new Trigun anime because he knew I basically lived and breathed Trigun back in the day and still counted Vash as my personal hero. And then, in January '23, he was gone - cause of death unknown, probably his heart giving out - because he had some health issues. I basically had to go through that. I've been feeling like I've just gotten to pulling myself out of the muck of that, was just starting to feel better (with some random meloncholy still hitting me), and now I'm running into yet another big thing that's making me think "What is life even for?" - There's no justice here. I have no power. There is no rhyme or reason. I also lost a couple of aunts during Covid times, both eldery - one to the disease itself, another through something unrelated, both in 2021. I wasn't as close to them anymore, but it hurt. I had to go into inpatient psychiatric in 2021 because some misunderstandings, a huge fight, a dogpiling (of me) and a public tumblr callout post in one small niche area of the She-Ra fandom just made me lose it. I was accused of plagerism (not true. There was a misunderstanding with someone regarding idea-exchange and what I was allowed use in roleplays on a small roleplay discord. I did legit read things wrong, but it's not like I ganked someone's ideas for a publically available fanfic or was trying to "steal their characters" like they whined to everyone in the fandom about), but because anyone accuses of that, immedately everyone else will side with them and not even look further into it, I was suddenly losing friends - I freaked out, myself and got to harassing some people in a defensive snarl - and then some asshole had to take it off the discords and make it public, which meant I was shunned by an entire fandom and was basically told that I was human garbage and believed it. I did something untoward to myself and had a little hospital stay. The person who intervened to save my life was that now-deceased nephew. And so, I've just been going through hit after hit, some of it being hangover from "We all got crazy under Trump and under Trump's attempts to get back into power" and now... that's a thing again... I am also on Social Security / Disability and am worried about my future. I worked very hard to get it and it might go away. My partner was on the cusp of getting it until they raised the retirement age and who knows he might not get it. We might die freezing under a bridge, I don't know. There is always the question of "Well, now or later?" that looms in the mind. "Murdered by the State or go on my own terms?" I want to be brave like Vash and Rem, but they are fiction and I don't know if I am capable of their strength of heart. Thank you for talking to me.

[captawesomesauce]

Thoughts on Loss at 230pm...

As some of you know, I was engaged before. Sally and I were together for a long time and had an amazing life exploring the world together. She was with the Australian Fed Police as a Paramedic, and I was with CALFire at the time. I'd go there for fire season, she'd come here for work assignments and it was incredible.

When she got sick, we were told not to worry. Medicine had come along way and she'd still live a long time. A year later she was gone.

I cannot even put into words how angry at the world I was. How badly I hurt and seethed and raged.

Just like when Mystic died, I had a lot of people tell me to look toward religion to find my salvation, to find peace, to stop the hurt.

I looked at so many different offshoots, sects, and groups ... because I wanted to know what they said.

So many were just absolute fucking bullshit. If you give yourself to xyz, you will find peace. You just need to pray and give all of your money and time and whatnot to xyz... do it more... harder... give more!!!! You're hurting because you fail to love xyz!!!!!!

Fuck that noise.

Judaism was the only one who said it's ok to sit and hurt and for an entire year, everyone should just give you space to grieve, take care of you so you can grieve, and instead of you giving everything to god, while you grieve, god should just go easy on you.

It was the only one that acknowledged there was no easy answer, no quick fix, and nothing you do really helps except to just hurt and let the process play out.

That first year is the worst, the 2nd year isn't much better, but time does help lessen the sharpness of the feelings.

I didn't sit for shiva or do any of the stuff, but I just want to acknowledge that it was the ONLY one that really handled grief in a way that cared for the griever instead of just trying to push it's own stupid dogma bullshit.

Cause let me be honest - I wasn't going to find love or peace anywhere, any way. It was YEARS before I felt anything but anger and loss and sadness.... and that's just the way it has to be sometimes.