#and remember how to do the appalachian accent i was using

[multifandom-trysten]

As an Appalachian and West Virginian, the most important thing in the Hunger Games series is the fact that Lucy Gray is a mystery.

Already, the series is almost completely accurate to Appalachian culture and strays from the harmful "hillbilly" stereotypes presented in modern media. (I could rant on and on about how and why that stereotype came to be, the classist and racist implications behind it, etc.) Particularly, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes highlights the culture and way of life of Appalachia while placing it in a dystopian fantasy world.

Now, to my point, the mystery of Lucy Gray.

I understand the curiosity behind her completely, even the fan theories about her grave site in Sunrise on the Reaping (which I have yet to read, so no spoilers! I'm waiting on my local library to get a copy, lol.) I am vehemently against any confirmation of Lucy Gray's ending because she is an unsung symbol of resistance and the unyielding, never dying spirit of Appalachia.

In Appalachia, our history has been stolen and our people left intentionally uneducated and exploited. We do not know most of our history, but the culture is still there. With Lucy Gray, she represents the fact that we don't know where our way of life comes from but we are still resilient.

Lucy Gray is a coal miner singing as he gets crushed by a mine shaft and the greed filled companies erase his name to prevent liability. Lucy Gray is a quilt sewed by a MeeMaw, one day your babies and their babies wont remember her name, but that old quilt will still warm them. Lucy Gray is a loving mama who may not be educated herself but will get those babies on a school bus because they have to do better than her. Lucy Gray is a kid fresh out of school, scrubbing their accent from their vocal chords in an effort to sound more educated at their new university.

Lucy Gray has to be a forgotten and erased piece of history because SHE is the Appalachian spirit. She is everything that the United States has exploited and stolen from us and everything Panem stole from 12. Lucy Gray is the spirit of a mountain song, you don't know the artist or even where it came from, but you sing it. Just look at the music and lyrics in the film. "Nothing you can take was ever worth keeping," or You Can't Catch Me Now shows that you can take HER and she'll still slip out of your fingers.

If we know her ending, we know that they finally got their hands on her. Lucy Gray doesn't die, she doesn't live, she's everywhere all at once.

[pluviatrix]

helloooo do you have any tips for writing a character with a southern accent? i don't really have a specific area in mind but i Am asking because i'm writing the hero of twilight lol. is there any general slang or word variations i should use in his dialogue?

YES !!!!!!!!!

(prepare for yapping)

i have been WAITING for this one. sat up in my chair and rubbed my hands together like a fly. so often i have read things where people have clearly never been in two feet of a cow or a fried oreo and i will do everthing in my power to avoid that. letsgo

FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS: what kind of southern accent are we considering here?

southern accents and dialects are incredibly diverse along geographic, ethnic, and socioeconomic lines. but, in my anecdotal experience, there are two accent 'types:' a drawl, and a twang. i don't personally hear a drawl a lot where i'm from so i can't totally advise on this one.

a twang is, well, twangy. it's quicker and sharper. IMHO my accent (which is not strictly southern but very very related to appalachian accents) falls in here, and since I give twi an appalachian accent, that's what i'm gonna be referencing lol

(there are some broader characteristics to a character's speech that will flag them as southern, but some of these are specific to me)

a lot of people do not like accents written out phonetically (like, for example, see the points two points below) so that might be something to consider.

i am an editor by trade but just on instinct i find myself struggling with (standard english) verb-noun agreement. i catch myself writing stuff like "they was" and "we was". I don't tend to see "i were" i think that's more an across-the-pond thing, but correct me if i'm wrong anyone.

words will mash together so easy. there's stuff like: jeet (did you eat). wouldna (wouldn't have.) gonna. hafta. wanna. it's about efficiency.

i cannot remember the last time i said the final consonant of contractions or -ing verbs. i am allergic to g's and i am allergic to t's. don. walkin. doin. talkin. some people put apostrophes where the missing letters are and personally that drives me crazy but it's honestly just a matter of taste.

i see people changing and to an'. yes that's how it sounds. i sometimes turn 'of' into 'a' in dialogue so i'm not immune. keep in mind just how much abbreviating you're doing cuz sometimes i gotta decode dialogue between all the abbreviations. it's written, not heard.

ain't, naturally. runner-up: cain't.

someone's gonna tell you that y'all is the be-all end-all of the southern/appalachian plural you. WRONG. consider her sister: the appalachian yunz/yinz, underappreciated, ignored, so sad.

double negatives. TRIPLE NEGATIVES. "You ain't never"

this is more of a twang-type accent characteristic. (note: 'of' is often ommited in phrases like 'more of a.') z-sounds like "wasn't" turn into "wudn't," but for those who don't like writing dialectic speech phonetically this is not necessary

another characteristic of this accent i write twi with is that sometimes words just fully get dropped. certain constructions of verbal clauses using present perfect tense drop the modal completely. i call this the have-drop just in my own head cuz it happens the most with "have been" sentences, where "have" is just removed.

same with above, the standard english sentence is, "The car needs to be washed." i have never said that ever in my life. It's "The car needs washed." It's a holdover from Scots-Irish english.

VERY IMPORTANT: even with all of this, if you don't get the word choice right, or the melody, or the sayings, it's not gonna sound right. I can't really summarize this so I'm gonna use examples from my own writing for clarity.

"i seen" and "they got" and "em"

not sure if this is a southernism. but certain verbs -- something keeps, someone is wallerin all over you (like. smothering you and in your business and not leaving you alone. children and dogs do this) -- kind of ping the sensor imho.

"bubba," "i done told you," "don't be ugly," "have a conniption," "bless your heart," "ornery," that's kind of what i'm talking about. honestly i'm pulling a blank on wild appalachianisms my family say but like, inserting any of these is gonna make your dialogue sound real ... real.

my grandma's told me she's "down in her back," i've missed something so close to my face "if it were a snake it woulda bit me," we "love her to death, but..", we're "praying for him," my mother's nose is upturned so she's "gonna drown in the rain". they can get real fun and real silly.

important bits:

christ if i hear one more time that bless your heart is an insult i'm gonna have a conniption (lol). it is NOT. it certainly can be. it can be passive aggressive. but that's like, one use. it's pity, it's sympathy, it's humor, it's commiserating. if a kid has a big bruise and his mother's telling you that he fell down some stairs at school you gasp and say bless his heart. that's what i mean. and also you can use it to insult somebody with the art of the implied insult of course.

don't be ugly doesn't mean you're ugly. it means you're making a scene or you're being cruel or you're not obeying your mother.

it's about being emphatic !!

it can also be dependent on who you're around. people's accents can be thicker back home and around family and friends and stuff and sometimes it can just be a little twist on a vowel or two!

lastly: have fun. these are not hard and fast. these are silly. this is just my experience. i fully encourage anybody from anywhere else in the south or in the appalachians or her sister regions to weigh in as well.

[vide0-nasties]

THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME EMILY @lemon-bats 🥰🥰

1. Were you named after anyone?

To the best of my knowledge no, at least for my real name! My internet name, Rags, I actually just ended up snagging from one of my OCs - a washed up rockstar named Cosimo Ragatz, who was a recovering drug addict that founded an indie record label with his wife.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Oh god, it was some time last week?? So much real life stuff had piled up and I think it was honestly some kind of mini-break or smth, god only knows. But I’m feeling better now lol.

3. Do you have kids?

ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NOT LMAO. My mom passed when I was young and I raised my younger siblings, I’ve done my time in the child rearing mines and I’m never doing it again.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

For a really long time I rode horses and I was a really good three day eventer. I also really loved archery and swimming. I also rode dirt bikes too, and I’d love to get back into it!! 🥰🥰

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yes indeed!! But I’m not sure that I use it as much as I used to. Not for any particular reason, I don’t think dgheh.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I’m boring and predictable and I pretty much always notice height first 😂😂 I do also notice face shapes and noses, though!!

7. What’s your eye color?

Dark brown that leans pretty close to black dfhjd.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Each have their own benefits and negatives!! A time and a place for everything 👏👏

9. Any talents?

I’m a good writer, and I’m pretty good at accents! I also like to think I’m the funniest asshole in any given room at any time 😂😅

10. Where were you born?

Commonwealth of Virginia babeyyyyy 🦩 there aren’t cardinal emojis, but I’m still barely south enough to be southern lol.

11. What are your hobbies?

I like posting video games, writing, playing dnd, a lil bit of digital art. Painting my nails. Dfhjd. Running outta stuff here, uhhhh. Panicking trying to remember my meds, but that’s more a full time occupation lol.

12. Do you have any pets?

Four dogs (a cocker spaniel, a border collie, a pit bull, and a boxer lab 🥰🥰), some barn cats, and a little grade paint horse named Rooster who’s a complete ASSHOLE.

13. How tall are you?

5’6” or 5’7”, it depends on how tall I want to feel that day dghjd

14. Favorite subject in school?

History and English!!! I really wanted to be a historical researcher for a career when I was in school and I still think about it. I would’ve liked to study Appalachian history from pre-Civil War to present.

15. Dream job?

LOL 😂😂 historical researcher, possibly an author, or a rare and antique jewelry shop owner siiigh. I really fell in love with fine jewelry at my last job, and I would DIE to be able to do it again, but in a much more niche fashion.

No Pressure tags: @smoggyfogbottom @brilliantblasphemer @dotcie @kastlequill @skinnyazn @snail-eggs @lunarvicar @siriusleee 💖💖

[intheholler]

I'm finding myself having less and less patience with people who make fun of Southerners and Appalachians (and rural people in general, though I do find it interesting how they always use our accents to mock all rural Americans...)

I follow a few Appalachian creators on tiktok who post recipes and the comments on their videos are always full of people making fun of their accents. "Um, where can I find 'oll'? I went to the store and all they had was oil 😂" or "'Worsh' must be some new technique I've never heard of!" Or even just basic insinuation that the creator isn't smart and that the food looks gross. It's annoying. I always wanna shake these people and make them remember that making fun of someone's culture is shitty! Just because they've been taught not to respect our culture doesn't mean it's not one.

I do also see lots of comments from the other side, though! Things like "You sound like my mamaw! 🥰" or "As soon as I heard you say 'cast iron' like that I knew the recipe was gonna be good' or "Ooh, nobody can make cabbage taste good like someone from the holler!"

I love seeing the kind of pride that comes from leftists like me who grew up there. I love living outside of Appalachia and making the people around me hear my accent and eating my recipes. I love thinking about the gifts that our home has given to people all over the world: foods, technology, music, inventions.

Basically, thanks for your blog. I love the perspective you bring to Tumblr

"as soon as i heard you say 'cast iron' like that i knew the recipe was gonna be good" YES that's what we wanna see when it comes to comments on our accent 🤩

speaking of, i maintain that the best way to change minds is doin exactly what you yourself are doin--sharing the food, culture & the overall beauty of appalachia complete with its inherently leftist ideals... in a thick ol fuckin accent.

dizzy em with cognitive dissonance until they have no choice but to accept they may actually be wrong! back when my accent was virtually undetectable, i used to love dropping the "oh btw, im from the south" bomb on em after they got to know me and respect me

but unfortunately, yeah, it's too easy for those kinds to just keep being ugly. takes far less effort to crack stale jokes, speak ill of us and call us stupid at every opportunity than, idk, confronting bias and growing as a person. i wonder if we'll ever stop being the butt of their jokes. probably not. fuck em.

anyway, amen to all you said. i have exactly zero patience for it now honestly, especially after getting to know yall and having this little community that has cropped up around my humble lil blog. i feel more protective of our home than ever before and i been gettin loud about it

thanks for sharing your thoughts and for being here <33

[thefandommind]

Audible is fucking me over so for now I don't have the ability to listen to the Spirit War and Spirit End audiobooks, but here are some notes I have from the first three.

They are narrated by Luke Daniels, and he does a relatively alright job aside from strange voice actor choices, and differences in pronunciation to what I've been doing the last nine years.

- Eli Monpress, mister Daniels puts the emphasis on Mon like mOn-press, it's like saying Jean with a French accent-BUT he only does it some times, other times he just says it normal like one cohesive word.

- Josef Liechten, I thought it was probably Joseph Like-ten essentially. Like I knew the rest of his name is German leaning, Eisenlowe being right up there. Daniels goes full German with it, and pronounces it Yosef Leak tin. I find this creative decision interesting-I'll circle back to this later.

- Renaud was pronounced Renowd, didn't like that.

-Etmon was pronounced how I thought it would be. Banage was not. For 9 years I thought Banage rhymed with damage, Daniels makes it rhyme with Nicki Minaj.

- again, audible fucked me, so I haven't listened to the last book, but I know from the preview, he pronounces Eli like Eli. I thought Eliton was pronounced Eli-ton. This man pronounces it Ellie Ton. In my honest opinion, I can't get behind that decision to make his name sound like Ellieton Binaj. Not saying my way is more correct, I just ain't changing my ways for that.

- I've pronounced the hime in Benehime to rhyme with lime, Daniels pronounces it heem. That one is interesting to me, again I never claim to be correct with any of my pronunciations cus I'm well aware they are hanging on from an eleven year old reading them in her head. But it's interesting

- whenever he reads Mellinor's lines he talks with a hand over his mouth and it sounds muffled, don't fully understand why.

-he growls every line for Gin, it's kinda funny.

-Coriano has a Spanish accent, I think this is a good choice, makes me think of Inigo Montoya.

- Henrith sounds like an anime boy, very himbo it's cute.

- sometimes Daniels will get animated for a bit of dialogue but it's like he doesn't read ahead? So like Eli will say something, and you can tell from what he's saying that he's angry or snappish right, and then it will say "Eli snapped," and then he says another thing, and only the second thing will be in a snappish voice. So it's like "Be quiet,😋" Eli snapped, "do you want to get us caught?😡" And it's kinda silly.

- Sted has a cockney accent, this is completely correct, I stand by this, however I think Daniels remembered randomly he could do a cockney accent because like a chapter after Sted is introduced he gave a random wheel spirit a cockney accent and no spirits up until then or in book one had accents. And then it was just that one wheel.

- Similar note, all the bandits in the third book had vaguely southern accents, I think he was trying for an Appalachian accent cus of the mountains. This included Tesset. In my head Tesset had a sort of colorful Mexican accent, don't know why, so it was off-putting for him to have a deadtoned Appalachian accent.

- SPARROW HAD JUST A POSH ACCENT not quite British, not quite Trans Atlantic, he sounded like a dandy villain in a Barbie movie and he rolled his Rs and chance he got and said Hwat instead of what. Very dramatic.

- Sara sounded like a bitch, 10/10 no notes.

-and on the topic of accents, I will circle back to the creative decision to go full tilt into Josef's German name. THE SHAPERS have German accents. ONLY SOME OF THEM. Slorn, his father, Pele. Okay so it's a family. Nivel too. Okay the Shapers? no! Random lady who sews Alric up in the prologue to book three? American! Etgar the Shaper who makes Nico's bounty? NAH. Just some Shapers. Which is strange because it's seemingly a completely closed culture. Why are there different accents who knows. Nico didn't get one. Josef also didn't get one, he's just got the most German fucking name.

- Giuseppe Monpress got an Italian accent, couldn't agree more. Its already in the name. That's an Italian man.

-Gents, how are we pronouncing Gaol? When I first read it I had my Kindle voice read it out. So I was (to my understanding) mispronouncing it as Goal, also rhymes with coal. I then found out that Gaol is the old English spelling of jail, and was pronouncing it as such (even if Eli getting caught and tortured in the city of Jail was funny). And for years I've pronounced it this new way. What I also assumed is that the other dutchy Aol, was pronounced like Gaol but without the G, whether that was rhyming with Goal or Jail. Gents, Luke Daniels pronounced it as Gowl rhyming cowl, and then went on to pronounce Aol as E-Owl. I was completely flabbergasted.

- Ending this for now on the city of Goin. Where the trio visit a broker and first hear news of the Duke's citadel. I've been pronouncing it like coin, mister Daniels pronounced it like Owen. ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

This is all in good fun, I try to base this blog in the idea that everyone is allowed their own interpretation with really no wrong ideas, and if anyone sees this and just adored the audiobooks, that's completely fine. I got the first one while I was crying sewing my Miranda cosplay and just listening to my favorite book made me feel better. Even with all this happening haha

If y'all have different pronunciations I'd love to hear about them.

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

At last... progress.

I will elaborate.

My name is Bernard Sims. I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States.

So! The trip to Bedelia's nursing home was... eventful. I initially suspected all we'd need to do is speak to Bedelia, have her point us in the direction of the book, and be on our way, but such was not the case. My compatriots floated the idea of a stealthy entry, but I waved off the idea. After all, this was the haven of the ostensible Prince of Atlanta! Surely with enough ceremony and gladhanding, an easy resolution could be found!

How very wrong I was.

Even before entering the site, we found a ghastly statue outside the entrance of Bedelia's son Benison. I'm not terribly good at spiritual matters, but I have a bit of insight; that said, it was new information for me when I was told it was acting as a feta fetter, chaining down a number of spirits which circled overhead. We never addressed that; too happy to be gone, once events were done. We sadly may need to leave that little chunk of slavery be... for now.

Upon entry, we were invited in by distressing, disembodied voices behind us, beckoning us in and welcoming us. A note for the Prince - that may invite someone in in the literal sense, but it is INTENSELY offputting. We introduced ourselves to the nurse at the front desk as family (which in the strictest sense is somewhat true), but apparently I was not initially believed (which is strange; family should transcend all boundaries! Why can't Miss Bedelia have a strange British nephew or somesuch stop by to greet her? Ridiculous). Thankfully, Dorcas was on hand to smooth things over; I suspect a local accent helped sell the ruse. So... off to the Scarlet Room with us.

The room was your standard affair for an elderly Malkavian... filled with the dead and defaced portraits of her contemporaries. She, of course, was wishing to waste our time, so, we played bridge. I'm only familiar with whist, so I struggled through, but she decided to tip the scales in our favour (cheat) and link my eyes to hers and hers to mine.

This will be relevant.

Once our game was complete, we retired to her room of horrors, and that was when things... soured. Please believe me when I say I did all I could to reach a peaceable solution, but the situation escalated out of my control. When we inquired about the situation, she retrieved a book labeled Memories or somesuch from her chair (her ass, her ass, I must be firm with this, IT WAS UNDER HER FUCKING ASS) and started to reminisce about the good old days of her being a racist old bitch landowner from the time of America's infancy, as if looking over old pictures from days of yore.

But the connection between our eyes was still intact, so I saw what was in the pages.

It was the Codex.

The damnable Codex was under her WRINKLED MALKAVIAN ASS CHEEKS THIS ENTIRE TIME.

I, of course, asked if we acquire (temporary!) access to the tome to resolve the situation, but she refused, screaming "The Codex is mine!" like a spoiled child and setting her minions on us. Thankfully, the minions were a human manservant, an animated corpse, and a middle aged nurse, so it wasn't the most difficult encounter, but the fact that at least I wished to end things without bloodshed likely complicated matters, as I was hesitant to take violent action. But things did end peaceably, as desired, but in a fully frustrating way (how shocking).

Now, I admit that I am behind the times when it comes to technology. Every new piece of equipment developed past my siring seems to never find purchase in my mind. But just prior to that, I remember a device called a mimeograph that was used to make copies of printed pages. I remember working one briefly to assist the London sheriff at the time with a task dealing with our unembraced colleagues.

Apparently the home had a new version of that device that could copy books. Silas brought up the device (a Zur-Oks? Seer Ox?) and Bedelia was fine with us making it.

All that battle and all we had to do is make a trip to her office. Unbelievable. At least her manservant is embraced now after we had to put him down. I'm not sure why Bedelia didn't do that earlier.

In any event, after the Seer Ox was done making the copies (and after Bedelia twisted the knife by having us assist with the mess caused by the melee), we made haste to Mr. D's manse to deliver the paper, and he was more than happy to accept the miserable pile of pulp, as Lorenzo would be incensed at the slight, and an incensed Lorenzo (I remembered his name. It can be done!) is a controllable Lorenzo. I did inform him surreptitiously that it was plain that the ghoul was jockeying for power, but he was understandably aware. That said, it may not have been an entirely hollow gesture; if it was obvious to an outsider, perhaps that means patience is thin and prudence is necessary.

As long as they don't start a war before I leave.

At long last, though, we have our invite to Mr. Willow's court! ... which grants us passage through the north... so we can FINALLY deal with the anarch threat, whatever form that may take.

Bloody hell, nothing is simple here.

Signed,

Bernard Sims

[guyinireland]

I’ve been going for a lot of walks lately.

Today, I walk in the late-day sun with a handful of cherry tomatoes picked from the garden that my dad and I grow in the front yard. The air is cool, for August, in the mid 70s; much more pleasant than usual for this time of year.

The city I’m from, Knoxville, exists in a strange limbo. As you wander through it, it seems as though you weave in and out of the South. There’s a man with chewing tobacco in his mouth using a Mountain Dew bottle as a spitoon, a stand on the side of the road selling boiled peanuts. You can’t hear your thoughts for the cicadas. The roots of Appalachia spread under us, too, though we’re nestled in the valley; we aren’t quite hill people ourselves, but they’re our neighbors. Many people who live here have Appalachian blood, you can tell by the way their grandmothers read Tarot and make spell jars in the name of Jesus Christ.

Sometimes, it seems like Knoxville just wants to be Nashville. For every baccy-spittin’ old man, there’s a 27-year-old in cowboy boots and Carhartt who’s never so much as mowed a lawn. He passes you, and he doesn’t smile or nod, and you think, he must be one of those newcomers from California. But, for all you know, he could have been born and raised here. Just not in Karns, or Halls, or even Bearden.

I didn’t think I belonged here, growing up. It’s strange to see people desperately posing as a culture you tried to rid yourself of for most of your life. But I do get it, now. The appeal of the working-class southern aesthetic. Only, it isn’t something you can adopt intentionally. You can wear a cowboy hat, but cowboys aren’t from Tennessee. Being a Southerner, or Appalachian, whichever I am, seems to just happen upon you, even if you don’t want it to. You simply wake up one day and find that your cupboard is full of mismatched mason jars and tupperware with spaghetti stains, and walk outside to see that the fender of your car has been duct taped back on. You start to like the way that the words tumble out of your mouth with a twang sometimes, and smiling at strangers doesn’t seem so weird anymore. You eat grits and greens and chicken fried steak and think, wow, why doesn’t the rest of the world drink sweet tea?

And then, if you’re me, you leave.

I’m leaving for Ireland in six days. I’ll be going to school there. I’ll come home for Christmas and summer, but, for most of the year, I’ll be away.

I think it’s why I’ve been taking so many walks. I need to remember the sound of cicadas, feel the hot asphalt on the soles of my feet. It isn’t like I’ll never be back, but I’m terrified to leave the place that I only just started seeing as home. I keep asking myself why I would leave, how I was meant to ever find myself fitting in somewhere else. I don’t know. But I find a little bit of comfort in carrying Tennessee with me, knowing that people will hear my accent and clock me immediately as foreign. I can have both homes at once, maybe. I hope so.

I walk back inside and up to my kitchen, where my mother is standing in her denim shorts, trying to get a worm out of a hole in a tomato. Another one from the garden. I always miss the tomatoes when summer ends.

[riality-check]

I have GOT to know more about your Eddie wip (Born to Run) 👀

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING because I have SO MUCH TO SAY!!

So far I’ve drafted:

How Eddie learns to love reading

How Eddie learns to love metal

Books as a constant in Eddie’s life while he moves around

Eddie getting to Wayne’s

Eddie realizing he likes boys

Eddie’s one and only try at dating a boy in Hawkins (pre-canon) and his coming out to Wayne

How Eddie gets the nickname of “The Freak” (spoiler alert: Steve gives it to him)

Eddie’s reaction to him needing to do senior year for a third time

I have the following planned but I need to write it:

Eddie’s reaction to him needing to do senior year a second time

Eddie’s tattoos over the years

How Corroded Coffin starts and continues

How Eddie gets into drug dealing (featuring Reefer Rick as an actual character lmao)

How Eddie gets into D&D (also featuring Rick)

Eddie in choir before he dropped it for drama freshman year

More on Eddie’s parents and growing up with them

How Eddie starts hanging out at Thatcher Tire (featuring an OC that I’m so excited to share!!)

Eddie hiding his Appalachian accent in Hawkins

Lots more that I can’t think of right now!!

I’m thinking I’m gonna split it up by location/year, and I’m thinking it’s gonna end up 8 chapters. It’s massive, for me. I’m 8k words in and it doesn’t look like I’m stopping anytime soon.

And I’m gonna sign off with a short snippet:

Mama and Pa are fighting again.

Eddie’s on his mattress in a room on the other side of the house, door closed, and he can still hear them. It’s not as loud and scary like this, but it’s still loud and scary.

It’s the end of summer, and it’s starting to get colder at night, so Eddie knows they’re moving again soon. He thinks they’re gonna find another house like this, a big one with lots of rooms and new people who have the same little baggies as Mama and Pa, but they could be staying in a motel again. He isn’t really sure.

His parents are still fighting. Eddie thinks he hears the word “rent” from Pa and his name from Mama.

He turns over and covers his ears. It’s a shame that school starts next week and not today.

Then, something makes a loud crash. Mama screams, and Pa starts shouting loud enough for Eddie to make out his words, even though he doesn’t want to.

“I know he starts school soon, but I can find a place and a job by then!”

“What if I can’t?” Mama shouts back. “We can’t afford to live anywhere without both of us working.”

“I guess you better find a job, then.”

“Oh, because that’ll be so easy-”

Another crash cuts Mama off, and then both of them are screaming made-up words, words Pa taught Eddie and Mama told Eddie not to repeat.

Eddie rolls off his mattress and onto the floor - it’s not a long drop, the mattress is on the floor - and races to the beat up stereo on a table in the corner of the room. He turns it on and starts flipping through the stations that don’t have static, trying to find the loudest one. He flips the tune dial one more time and lands on it.

It is drums so loud they crash in Eddie’s head. It is bass that thumps the stereo so hard the table it’s on squeaks. It is a voice screaming about life and love and other things Eddie can’t understand. It is music.

It is a dazzling guitar, shifting from one note to the next so fast Eddie has to race to hear it.

He listens to this station for the rest of the day, tapping his feet to the beat and playing air guitar during the solos. He listens to the DJs during the breaks and makes sure to remember the names of the bands: Black Sabbath, KISS, Judas Priest, Rush.

He listens to this station and itches for a guitar to run his hands over, for a microphone he can scream into. He listens to this station and can’t hear if Mama and Pa are fighting anymore until Pa comes into the room, unsteady on his feet, and turns the stereo down halfway.

“Just a little quieter, Ed, I got a headache and people are trying to sleep,” Pa says. His words are unsteady, too.

When he leaves, Eddie sits closer to the stereo so his head is full of nothing but music.

[notquitecanon]

Ohhhh or maybe one where the reader just makes jasper talk for a while just cuz she adores his accent 🥺

Jasper could feel your bad mood from outside your house- he was always so attuned you you. If his abilities were anymore developed he would probably be able to see your mood like a dark storm cloud hovering outside of your bedroom. Alice had a vision in the middle of their hunt of how your day would go, but with the sunny weather and the face they were already in the Canadian wilderness- he could do nothing but hope it wasn’t too bad. After stopping by his house to change clothes, he made a beeline to the tree line that surrounded your yard like a natural property line. He’d seen your silhouette in your window starting at five pm, but couldn’t make a move until the sun had gone down. The last thing his family needed was Chief Swan getting called because your neighbor caught him climbing into your window. The moment the sun dipped below the tree line, he raced up and into your bedroom.

You had been wallowing in self pity: already showered, in pajamas, and lying face down in bed with your computer playing some of your music quietly. The moment he crossed into your room, you felt his presence like a calming wave washing over you. Eyes fluttering shut as some of the tension left your body, you muttered, “Jasper.”

“Evenin’ Darlin.” His voice was like honey-warm, sweeter than sugar, slow, and sticky. Drawing you into his words and keeping you there while he lingered on the edge of your room. Ever the gentleman, waiting for your invitation. Prying your head out of your pillow, you faced him.

While you observed his freshly glowing golden eyes, slightly disheveled blonde hair, statuesque posture, and heavenly face- he did the same, taking in your tense muscles, dark under eye bags, flushed cheeks, and the general feeling of resignation and annoyance in your emotional map. He didn’t fail to notice you’d been crying- you didn’t fail to notice that he noticed. You were the first to break the silence, adjusting yourself to meet his eyes easier, “Good hunt?”

Jasper breathed a quiet laugh, such an abnormal question asked so nonchalantly, but entertained the notion nonetheless, “Most of us went up into Canada, into the mountains. Emmet took on a pretty big grizzly so he’s in a particularly good mood. I got a Moose and a couple deer.”

You didn’t know what truly constituted a “good hunt” but his thirst seemed appeased so you nodded. The head ache that came after a long day hadn’t put you in a particularly chatty mood. Jasper filled the silence, “Alice told me you had a bad day- well, told me you would have a bad day. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, doll.”

Shaking your head, you brought your knees up to your chest before wrapping your arms around them, “Not your fault, Jazz, bad days happen.”

There was a beat of silence as the two of you stared at each other, him trying to dissect every emotion you were feeling and you mentally begging him to just drop it. Finally, you just patted the spot beside you, motioning for him to join you. Talking waant something you wanted to do, but just having him close would be a big step towards feeling better.

As always, the vampire had a hard time saying no to you. So with the mattress dipping beside you, he easily slid beside you- staying perfectly still until you were situated. As usual, you bunched up a blanket where you cheek would rest against his chest- thick enough to cushion against his stone chest but thin enough to be close enough to smell the comforting scent he always had on him. Cologne, cedar, leather, something woodsy, and a sweet scent you could never quite put a finger on. After letting you settle, he looked down to you, “Wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He felt you shake you head before you nestled closer to him, so he just wrapped his arm around you alternating between tracing patterns up you arm and running cold, graceful fingers through your hair. One of your arms flopped across him just to have more phsyical contact, and Jasper frowned out of your sight. Besides truly changing your emotions (which felt invasive), he didn’t know how else to help. So for the moment, he just let you curl into him. Golden eyes raked across the room before landing on a book on your nightstand so without jostling you, he easily snatched it up.

Not bothering to read the synopsis, he began flipping through the first chapter- quickly becoming amused at the scandalous historical fiction set during the Civil War in Mississippi. Now that he thought about it, he remembered Angela passing it off to you during third period. He chuckled at a particularly inaccurate and racy part. His laughter was deep and reverberated through his hard chest which roused you, at your movement, he tried to quiet himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. This book is just so terrible.”

His amusement made it hard not to smile as you tried to snatch the book out of his hands, the racy novel had been on lend from Angela and after the second chapter had been collecting dust on your nightstand. He easily kept it out of your reach, amusement growing at your protest (and quiet proud that he’d got you laughing again, he could already feel your mood lightening up). Listening to his laughter made you long to hear him talk in the smooth southern accent, about anything (anything other than that awful book), “Well, if the book isn’t up to par, how about you tell me what it was really like?”

As his chuckling was dying off, he thought about it before tossing the book back on the nightstand. It wasn’t that his past was an off limits topic, there was just a lot of it and he preferred to live in the moment with you. But you were staring up at him with hopeful eyes, and he could feel the remnants of sadness and frustration so he just nodded. “Well, first of all Mississippi didn’t see battle until The Spring of 1862, and union soldiers didn’t make any head way until a year later. So the notion that a this woman met a union soldier celebrating victroy in New Albany is just wrong. Even if it was true, she wouldn’t be so eager to fall into any soldiers tent considering Conderate troops would of torched her father’s plantation for being a sympathizer or vice versa.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed in response to the history lesson, before he continued going back and forth between learned history and personal experience until he hit where he was changed. You’d heard this story, traced the silvery scars on his arms, so once he went quiet you didn’t press any further. “So where were you at the turn of the century?”

“I was still with Maria, we were going back and forth across the border in Texas and New Mexico, I honestly didn’t now it was the new century until 1905, but we were the cause of the Austin Dam failure.” He mused, thinking pack, “I left shortly after the start of the First World War, to search for my friend Peter and because I was tired of fighting Maria’s battles- she starting to lose trust in me and me in her.”

You’d heard him talk about Peter and Charlotte, the only two he ever let escape, “Did you find him?”

“No, not until the late 1930’s, so I mostly just wandered around the South and the West as a nomad. The roaring twenties were fun between Chicago and Mexico City, I’d like to go back to New Mexico someday.” He thought aloud, cold lips ghosting on the crown of your head as his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. The hand laid over him searched for his so you could intertwine you fingers with him. He squeezed for a moment before detaching just to play with you fingers, burning hot compared to his cold touch.

“Where’d you go next?” You asked, letting him gently tug and curl your fingers with his. Jasper laughed bringing your knuckles up to his lips. When he had just fed, it was so much easier to be so close- which is where he preferred to be.

“You’re mighty full of question tonight, ma’am.” He teased, dropping you hand in favor of lightly digging his fingers into your side. The quiet squeal, laughter, and weak attempts at fighting him off was so delightfully human that he couldn’t help but do it every now and then. Jasper gave you a moment to calm down before continuing, “I spent some time in Tennessee and then Kentucky, the Great Depression hit those areas pretty hard, but it was better than being involved in a territory war.”

“Peter and Charlotte ran into me in the Appalachian mountains- that would be the late 30’s- it was easier to hunt without gaining attention up there.” He paused to gauge you reaction, carefully checking for any fear. Finding none, he sighed in relief before continuing, “They told me about Coven’s in the North, how there weren’t many territory disputes and how in some areas they could even go out in day light...”

You let your eyes slip closed, tension melting as you listened to his honeyed words, and his fingers toyed with your hair. Jasper kept going, talking about traveling with Peter and Charlotte through the Midwest and Northern states before breaking off from them too. Then it was the Fifties, going into a diner and meeting Alice. You’d always envied Alice a bit for her closeness to Jasper, even though you knew neither of them felt that way for each other, but you were also incredibly grateful to her- who knows where Jasper would be without her.

“I remember she said that I’d kept her waiting long enough and I thought to myself I’ve never seen this woman in my life, but I sat down with her regardless and she told me about ‘vegetarianism’ and our future family. I could feel her excitement but I thought she was crazy.” He laughed to himself, a beautiful sound. You’d heard this story a few times from him and Alice. “I was about to go on my way, leave Alice in the wind when she told me something I couldn’t ignore.”

You perked up, neither of them had ever mentioned this part of the story. Craning you’re neck up, you saw he was watching you expectantly with a soft smile tugging those perfect lips up- waiting for a reaction, “She told me that she’d seen me with my soulmate and her future family. She couldn’t tell me when, or where, or how, but she’s seen it and I had to trust her. She felt so sincere and I’d been lonely for so long that I left with her that very afternoon.”

You sat up very suddenly, blood rushing to your cheeks ass you turned around to him, “Jasper, you’ve never told me that before! What are you doing with me then?”

Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the flash of indignation and feisty anger, but quickly frowned when it morphed to hurt. His movement was much faster and infinitely more graceful than yours as you took your face in his hands, “You were the girl in the vision, (Y/N), you’re what I’ve been waiting for.”

It was like someone pulled a plug on your negative emotions as they drained out to be replaced by jittery happiness, and he didn’t need his brother’s telepathy to see the wheel’s turning in your head, “Oh.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out the appropriate reaction to being told your someone’s soulmate. You’d never really imagined life without Jasper, you’d long since admitted to yourself that he was the love of your life, “Well, I’m glad you believed her otherwise I could be with Mike Newton right now.”

It was a bad joke, but he laughed nonetheless and pulled you back down with him, now wrapping both arms around you-effectively trapping you to his chest, but you had no reason to be afraid or even attempt to break free. There was a long pause of silence, him sending off soothing vibes, (it was getting pretty late) listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it slowed, and waiting for you to doze off. It did surprise him when you spoke back up.

“Where’d you go next?” It was quiet, sleepy, but a request he wouldn’t deny. He’d pay you back by asking a hundred inane question about your childhood tomorrow.

Pulling your comforter over the two of you, he adjusted you to what would be a more comfortable sleeping position. He continued, “Well, in took a few years but eventually we met Carlisle who welcomed us to the family with open arms. It took a bit to adjust to the new life of going to highschools and colleges, being around humans. Alice would occasionally drop little hints about you, your hair color, eye color, things you would do in her visions, and that was enough to encourage me to stay with it.”

You only hummed in response, turning over a bit as you let him nudge you towards sleep. Jasper was more than surprised when you made it to the mid-seventies without falling asleep, but was satisfied that he could no longer read any anger or frustration on you. Brushing a lock of hair out of your sleeping face, he silently laughed at your unconscious reaction to his cold touch. Yes, he had waited nearly sixty years for you.

“Good night, darlin’. I love you.”

Bad moods and all, he’d wait a hundred years more for moments like these.

[tsurangaconundrum]

When ppl use transitioning outside the context of gender… girl buy a dictionary!!

Speaking of dictionary, did you know homophone is pronounced hom-ah-phone? I didnt! Homo phone :(

I like when the angels supernatural are literally all siblings. This show rlly IS about brothers! So. Many. Brothers. Its like one of those movies where the people have too many kids. 21 angels and counting yknow? Like are they literally siblings in canon?? Thats how i took it but then im pretty sure some of the angels make out with each other which ig doesnt mean theyre NOT literal siblings but it would usually suggest as much. Theyre like the weird big religious families! The blueprint… i mean theyre angels right they must celebrate christmas do u think they make christmas cards? The pic is just blank white and the list of names takes up several extra sheets of paper. Who would they even send them to. Yknow how some people do like a summary of their year in christmas cards and its literally never any of the interesting stuff that happened. Like boo we wanna hear about ur afair mrs cuttle!! Anyway. I think it would be like a patch update. >removed lucifer >removed free will >trueform is no longer visible to nonmembers etcetc. Or like best ofs in heavenly battles. Like how ppl write about how their son is super good a soccer and stuff.

Um. LOVE people who pronounce burry as berry. Its so fun! Like whos berry ily. Accents r so fun just in general, you talk different than me!!! You sound funny!!! I love it!!!!!!!!!!!!! Like my grampa is hoh (since birth) so some things just end up having different names entirely because the pronunciation is so different and actually if a word could sound like home it would be that. PLUS hes country so like. Please tell me about how u went down to the crick!! I love hearing you talk!! And when people say appalachian as appuh-lay-chin??? :) you ever realize that british folk and country folk use innint? This one trips me up a little because theyre the same but. Different. I think british ppl just have more of a high inflection. But actually british and country have a lot more in common than one might think! Imo at least, but i think its cuz they both combine a lotta words, or leave bits out. My cousin is from up north and she thinks the way i talk is real funny. I really like the way i talk, even if its kinda unproper. Like idc if its ‘dont have’ is right, ‘dont got’ sounds better in my mouth. But if you think about it too long you forget how you talk and it feels like youre doin a fake accent no matter how ur talkin. Imagine growing up all over the country. How would u talk then???? Ik that i totally mirror accents when theres not another person who talks like me so like. I like when people talk! It makes me so happy that language is a thing, like even if you cant hear it, the way written language varies is so frickin delightful!! I love alphabets!! I love character based languages!!!!! I love those stupid syllables that i can’t pronounce seriously how do you do that with ur r s im so lost here . People should just talk to each other yknow??? Does cas just have the same accent as jimmy novak. Where did he learn to talk from. Does he have a heaven accent?? Does that mean heavens in like. kansas or whatever????? The hell would an enochian accent sound like?? Its like hes saying normal stuff but with razor blades instead of sound waves id imagine. Personally i think it would be funny if he had a wildly out of place accent, like geographically. I mean thats not even jimmys voice! Is cas being all batman part of it??? Idk i wanna hear him say yall. DO SAM AND DEAN SAY YALL. I CANT FIGURE IT OUT. I dont remember them doing so but i coulda missed it?? Would they?? I think they’re more of ‘you guys’ or ‘guys’ or ‘hey’ people but idk like. Traveling and stuff!! Where is bobbys accent from. Idjits. Wait thats actually like how my grampa talks hold on. I mean he says idiots like id-uh-yits but how idjits is kinda its own word meanin the same as- you get it. He has those for a buncha words. Charlies got a weird accent. Idk where its from but its unfamiliar to me. Actually the tv ppl all talk pretty different from me, not too different, but still, different. I do think that sam and dean would say ‘pop’ and not ‘soda’ tho. Idk what do they say in kansas or wherever john grew up ive never been across the mississippi . Anyway when people spell things more phonetically to show accent <3. While were talking about this fuckin so to folks learnin different languages. fuck yeah man!!!!!!!! I dont even remember learning english i just knew it and ur tellin me u could only speak one language and u fuckin upgraded????? Plus ppl who speak two from birth like uve got two whole languages rattlin around up there!!!!! Ur actually the most intelligent person ive ever met. Like even if ur ‘bad’ at it, dude thats a whole other language!!!!!!!! God im just typing here tonight like. Wow… isnt is crazy how we all talk different… how come we dont talk the same,… this is fuckin wild dude .idk u got any words pronounced differently in ur accent or opinions on regional words (pop/soda, firefly/lightening bug, etc)?

My typin is kinda different than my talking sometimes so just make sure to read this in MY accent :)

hard agree on the bilingual people thing and being amazed at linguistic differences based on like location it is very interesting to me. also jensen *slight texas accent* ackles does say yall in the show and like turns it up for dean, and sam speaks fairly like Proper English-y most of the time. i have thought about this a lot. i will be sure to read all of ur mssgs w a southern ish accent now.

[unusualbill]

Nothing For Us

@goblincxnt it’s here 👀

Warnings: Compulsive behaviors, mentions of death

Last exit in Pennsylvania

The words repeated in Roman’s mind. The sign was a warning telling him this is your last chance, turn back now.

He glanced at Peter, who was busy timing for their exit. He caught the wolf’s eye, who in turn flashed him a warm smile.

How did he end up here? Driving down the interstate with the boy who broke his heart. Left for hours in an aching silence, save for the stereo.

He couldn’t bear to say a word, not yet, not until they were somewhere where they could truly be alone. As Roman traced mindless circles on the upholstery, Peter took one last look at him before making their exit, offering one final chance to leave and go back home. Roman attempted to speak, the words catching in his throat and leaving him breathless for a moment.

It was too late.

Gentle drops of rain began to fall as they made their way down the highway, picking up soon after Peter took one last exit through small town, West Virginia.

“You hungry?” The wolf asked, breaking the lasting silence.

Roman nearly didn’t recognize that he was being spoken to, lost in thought about the day’s beginning.

“Hmm? Yeah, I could eat.” He answered, his voice hoarse from lack of use. 

Peter pulled into the parking lot of a local burger joint, smiling softly at his traveling companion. He clicked off the radio, leaving them in silence once more.

Roman braced himself for the frigid rain as he stepped out of the car. The cold air burned his lungs as he took a breath, stretching his legs. As he looked at Peter, his mind drifted back to the night before.

“We should go,” The wolf’s voice echoed the heartache of many moons ago “There’s nothing for us here”

“Go where?”

The wolf cracked a smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wherever the wind takes us.”

“You coming inside?”

Roman snapped back to reality, standing in the freezing rain next to a littered french fry carton.

“Yeah,” He nodded “Yeah…”

He followed Peter into the restaurant, a silver bell on the door jingling behind them. He glanced around at the sea of shabby tables before finding a spot that was vaguely clean.

The restaurant appeared to have been nice looking once, 30 years ago, though it was styled after a 1950’s diner. Done up in over-the-top cherry red, and black and white checkerboards.

Roman mindlessly ripped apart a discarded straw wrapper as he watched Peter give their order, his leg bouncing. He thought about asking to turn around or hitchhiking back home, but Peter returned to the table with their food and a smile. Damn that smile. Roman decided he’d stay, for now.

“You alright man?” Peter asked, settling in at the seat across from Roman “You’ve been quiet the whole ride up here.”

“Yeah, just thinkin’.”

The upir picked at his fries, silently refusing to look at Peter.

“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to, you know.” Peter said, watching Roman closely “You could’ve stayed.”

Roman shook his head

“Nah...It’s just that—” he chewed his lip for a moment “I’ve never really been this far from home before, y’know?” 

Before Peter could answer, he was interrupted by a stout redheaded waitress, —whose name tag read Louise— arriving at their table, coffee pot in hand

“Can I top y’all off?” She asked, gum popping and fake southern accent layering heavy over her New England own. “Fresh cuppa coffee?” Her cherry red press-on nails tapped against the stale coffee pot.

“Uh, water. Thanks.” Roman replied, gesturing to his half-empty glass.

“Cherry Coke.” Peter smiled, taking the last sip before passing his glass over, along with his half empty coffee mug.

Roman looked around the restaurant, watching the other patrons and reading the road sign decor before his eyes finally landed on the wall beside him, which was covered in grayscale photos of people looking both miserable and triumphant.

“That’s our hall of fame” Louise beamed “If you order the Appalachian Avalanche apple pie and eat the whole thing in under fifteen minutes, your meal’s free! Y’all wanna try it?”

Roman eyed Peter, and then their waitress, shaking his head. He wasn’t in the mood for something sweet.

“Nah, not this time.”

As their waitress left his gaze returned to the wall, gravitating towards a specific picture. It was Norman, in his younger years, looking as though he was about to lose his lunch. Roman wasn’t surprised by this, surely he had a life before Roman was born. It was the hand on his shoulder that caught his eye, the smiling face next to his sickly looking uncle.

It was J.R., he looked to be around Roman’s age, and was smiling brighter than in any picture Roman had seen of him before.

“Y’know, my cousin actually finished one of these things before,” Peter said, interrupting Roman’s train of thought.

“I was about seven or eight, and my cousin Tommy—Scrawny little guy, no meat on him at all—had gone with us to this little hole in the wall down south. And there was this huge burger, bigger than your head-” Peter paused to pantomime just how large the burger had been, taking some creative liberties, of course “And Tommy- Tommy always thought he was hot shit, so he orders this thing and they set a timer on the table. Twenty minutes.” 

Roman watched as his companion told his story with great passion, laughing and smiling as he spoke. He found himself lost in that smile, the rest of the world tuning out.

“So now he’s one bite away and looking a bit green in the gills, one bite. He’s only got forty-five seconds left. So we’re all banging on the table and screaming ‘Come one Tommy! You got this! One more bite!’ and the rest of the joint joins in and he got it down with two seconds to spare! Two!”

Roman sipped his coffee “He get his picture on the wall?”

“The whole family did!” Peter beamed “There’s a hall of fame for people who can keep it down for at least thirty minutes afterwards. Tommy didn’t make it to that one…”

Roman snorted, popping a french fry into his mouth.

“It’s still hanging there, I’ll have to show you when we make it down that way.”

The last fleeting thought Roman had about turning around vanished with that proposition. 

“I asked Nic if I would ever have to do that and he told me only if I was the kind of man who needed an ego stroke. He said ‘The bigger the ego, the smaller the courage.’”

Nicolae’s words of wisdom hung in the air before Peter started laughing upon realizing what his grandfather had meant.

“I’ve known some guys with some pretty small courage then” Roman quipped.

“Oh, like you don’t have the biggest ego.” Peter teased

Roman rolled his eyes.

“Let’s just get going, alright?”

Roman began to pull out his credit card when Peter grabbed his wrist. He tensed up at the feeling of the wolf’s calloused hand on his own.

“You said your mom was gonna try and find you right? She can track that.” Peter said, referencing a conversation they had the night prior. 

“Sheeit,” Said Roman “You’re right.”

Roman counted the cash in his wallet, only a couple thousand.

“How far will this get us?” He whispered, flashing his cash.

“Further if you quit waving it around.”

He tucked it back into his wallet, scanning the restaurant to see if anyone had noticed. The patrons seemed to be unbothered by his wealth, caught up in their own conversations.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Peter pulled out a wad of crumpled cash, counting out enough for their bill and leaving it on the table next to their trash.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Peter reached into the ashtray and pulled out a quarter, handing it to Roman.

“What’s this for?” The upir asked

“Flip it. Heads Carolina, tails California.”

Roman raised a brow, unaware of what his friend was referencing. 

“Just flip it so I can pick which direction I’m going.”

Roman ran his thumb across the embossed face of the coin before flicking it into the air. Heads.

“Alright, we’re headed south.”

As miles of open road stretched out before them, the radio began to fade. Pop songs turned to garbled static as the town grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

Peter fiddled with the knob, switching to the cassette tape that was inside the stereo. A song from the eighties began to play.

The car was somewhat of a family heirloom, passed around to whichever family member needed it at the moment. Most recently it had been Destiny’s. Peter had made arrangements to borrow it in case Roman had wanted to come with him.

Although its pale brown color and faux-wood paneling were enough to nauseate the average man, Peter had fond memories of him and his mother traveling across the states in the beat up old station wagon. 

Roman stared out the window, watching as trees turned to blurs of green as they drove. 

“Horses.” Peter pointed to a nearby field of horses and goats.

“What about them?”

“I dunno man, that’s just what you say when you pass horses. They’re pretty or some shit.”

“Oh…” Roman looked back at the horses in question. Peter was right, they were pretty.

Roman’s eyes threatened to close as he stared at the open road. The sun was beginning to set, and the upir had been awake since the previous night. He had intended to sleep that morning but his nerves had gotten the better of him.

“If you’re tired you can sleep in the backseat,” Peter offered “Just let me find somewhere to pull over first.”

Roman nodded, trying to stay awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fallen asleep on a car ride.

“There should be a blanket back there somewhere,” Peter said, slowing to a stop on the side of the road.

The backseat was cluttered with soda cans and other gas station garbage. Roman swept it onto the floorboards, stretching out on the velour seat covers. 

The seats had gone years without a deep clean and thus were slightly crunchy to the touch.

Roman traced his finger along a small hole in the fabric, left there by a cigarette butt many years ago. The feeling of melted plastic was oddly calming to him.

The blanket was thin and rough, and the edges were frayed from years of use. It was once a gift, made with love, but had long since lost its luster. Roman thought it impossible to find a comfortable position with the scratchy mess.

He was asleep before Peter even hit the highway.

When Roman awoke it was dark. The rhythm of the windshield wipers brought him back to reality.

“What time is it?”

“About three o’clock”

“Sheeit.”

Roman sat up slowly, shaking the remaining sleep from his head. He rested his head against the window and watched the rain fall.

“I just realized there’s a few things I need to get, you wanna come in with me?” Peter asked, gesturing to the sign for a nearby supermarket.

“Yeah, sure. I need to get a pack of smokes while we’re at it.”

“What state are we in?” Roman asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

“West Virginia still, we’ve still got a while ahead of us.”

Roman checked his hair in the rearview mirror before stepping out of the car. He covered his head with his blazer and waited for Peter to join him in the freezing rain.

Peter locked the car doors and tucked the key into his pocket.

“After this, I figured we should get a motel, the storm is only going to get worse and I don’t think we should drive in that.”

Roman nodded and walked with Peter into the smalltown supermarket.

The air conditioning hit Roman’s wet skin and sent a shiver down his spine. The air smelled like stale bread and lemon cleaner. Roman found himself wondering where the employees were.

Peter grabbed a shopping cart and placed his wet jacket inside. After a moment, Roman did the same.

“So, what do we need?”

“Food, stuff we can eat in the car.”

“Beer?” Roman asked

“Nah, not here. Too expensive and we’ll need to get some new IDs.” Peter’s fake ID only said he was 18, since his mother was usually the one buying alcohol for him.

“Right.”

Peter pushed the cart towards the snack aisles, one wheel spinning loosely on its own accord.

The sound of wet footsteps on the linoleum floor felt like little knives inside Roman’s brain. The squelching was enough to make his eye twitch.

“You okay man?” Peter asked, looking up from the potato chip shelf.

“Yeah, yeah. Tired.” the upir lied. Truthfully he felt as though he could feel every sound in the universe through his teeth, the fluorescent lights assaulting his eyes.

Peter studied two bags of chips carefully before shrugging and throwing both in the cart.

Roman stared at the checkered floor tiles, making a conscious effort to only step on the white ones. He didn’t know why, all he knew was that the idea of stepping on a green tile filled him with a deep sense of dread.

“Playing hopscotch?” Peter asked, moving on to the aisle that contained beef jerky.

Roman shook his head.

“No, I just have a bad feeling about the green ones I guess.” He said, feeling rather silly for admitting it. But despite his rationality, he knew deep inside that the danger was all too real.

“Ah, Okay.” Peter looked across the aisles “The deli doesn’t have any green ones, wanna get us some sandwiches while I ask someone to get one of those coolers down for us?” He gestured to a row of coolers that sat atop the freezer aisle.

Roman nodded and began walking carefully in the direction of the deli.

“What kind do you want?”

“Nothing fancy, anything with meat so none of that veggie crap.” 

Roman held his breath as he skipped over the green tiles until he arrived at the deli, its flooring a solid mustard yellow, it appeared to be either faded or incredibly dirty, Roman wondered if that was intentional.

He smiled at the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She did not smile back. She had a vacant stare and her nametag was falling off.

Brenda, Roman read.

He waved awkwardly before putting his hands in his pockets and looking over the prepackaged sandwiches instead.

Each sandwich was wrapped in white paper with a date stamped across it. Roman grabbed two at random, checking to make sure neither was vegetarian, before heading off to find Peter.

Peter was talking to a store manager and trying to fit the cooler into their cart.

Roman started towards him but stopped in his tracks as the mustard yellow tile ended, a sea of checkers before him. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself but he also didn’t feel safe stepping on the green tiles.

He took slow careful strides towards Peter, trying his hardest to nonchalantly avoid those evil squares.

Peter saw him and ended the conversation with the clerk, meeting Roman halfway.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t come find you. You okay?” Peter placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Roman looked at his shoes and the white tiles underneath them “The whole thing is pretty stupid anyway.”

He offered Peter the sandwich in his hands, Peter took it and inspected it before placing it in the cart next to a 12 pack of orange soda. 

“No, it’s not. Not if it makes you feel safer.”

Roman opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. He was so used to his mother telling him that his actions were nonsensical and embarrassing that he had never thought that they could be anything else.

“C’mon, let’s go check out. We need to make it to the motel before this storm gets any worse.” 

Peter stood near the open trunk of his station wagon, pouring the remainder of a bag of ice into their new cooler. Roman was sitting on the bars of the cart return smoking a cigarette. The rain had let up for a moment, the pavement still freshly wet under Peter’s feet.

Roman flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby puddle and grabbed a soda from where Peter was stocking the cooler.

“Man, c’mon! It’s not even cold yet.”

Roman shrugged and cracked it open, taking a sip. He eyed the orange label, wishing he had grabbed a Cherry Coke instead. By the third sip, it began to grow on him.

Peter finished stocking the cooler, setting it in the corner and closing the trunk. 

Roman slid into the passenger’s seat, waiting for Peter to start the car. As he shut the door the rain began to fall once more, starting softly but quickly picking up.

“Shit,” Peter started the car, turning on the windshield wipers

“I saw a sign for a motel back that way” Roman gestured helpfully.

Peter nodded and put the car in gear.

Roman watched out the window as the city lights turned to watercolor blurs in front of his eyes. He’d never seen so much rain in one night.

Peter followed the main road until they arrived at a motel whose sign proudly boasted that they had color TV. He put the car in park, counting out enough money for two rooms. He instructed Roman to stay in the car and watch their stuff while he went to the front desk and got their keys.

Roman closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the rain against the windows. The steady rhythm of the windshield wipers and the low rumble of the engine was almost enough to put him to sleep again.

He had almost drifted off when Peter knocked on the window, gesturing for him to get out.

“They were down to one room,” He yelled over the heavy rain “You don’t mind sharing do you?”

Roman weighed his options: sleep in the same room as another man, or sleep in the parking lot of a seedy motel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The upir answered with a shrug, grabbing his bag from the backseat and taking the key from Peter’s hand.

“Are you going to help carry stuff in?” the wolf asked.

Roman was already on his way to the motel room.

As Roman opened the door to room 227, he noticed a smell. A foul, sour smell. He turned away in disgust, gagging before he covered his nose with his shirt sleeve and trudged forward. He was almost afraid to touch anything in fear of locating the source of the stench.

As he set his bag down, he forced himself to take a breath, and in doing so he realized that he knew that smell.

It was the smell of death.

[deathlygristly]

I read so much on here about identity, so I was thinking....what’s my identity?

After this year, I’m not so sure that I’d put “writer” in there. Maybe in the future, because that’s how things go and the words will come back, but at least this year “writer” is not part of my identity.

“Cat caretaker” always has been and always will be part of it. I love cats and they are so important and good and perfect, and it’s my job to take care of them and keep them happy and safe.

Part of it is being with the spousal person, but not in like a “wife” or “partner” sense? Like I don’t have any forms in my thoughts for a “wife” social role? I just really like being near the spousal person and hugging him and trying to be nice and supportive to him and things. I didn’t marry him because of some weird social stuff that I’ve never understood, but just because I like him a lot and I want to be around him always for the rest of my life.

For some reason most of the people I like the most on here are trans and/or nonbinary, so I read their stuff about gender, but I...I don’t really get it. Like I’ve said a couple of times before, I just don’t think there’s much of a gender button in my brain. I like having my hair long, but just because that’s what I’m used to. I haven’t changed my hairstyle...ever, lol. And I just wear clothes that are comfortable and affordable and that I think look passably okay, and I don’t care about clothes beyond that. I also stopped wearing even basic foundation a few years ago. My body doesn’t make me any kind of -phoric.

As for how I want to be perceived by others - I don’t? Like the spousal person can perceive me, and close friends can perceive me, but other than that I don’t want people noticing me or thinking about me at all. When strangers notice you it’s usually because they’re going to start/participate in a hate campaign against you, so no, I don’t want that.

I remembered a time I had feelings about my body! During the ulcer, the nine weeks of the worst pain I have ever experienced, I wanted to not be trapped in it. Once that was all over and I was home with the IV and blood drawing bruises on my arms and I had survived, I felt more like, hey, we made it through that together, didn’t we, and it was sort of like I made peace with my body.

At the moment we are kind of struggling again due to it not being safe to go to the gym for so long, but the last couple of weeks I’ve been trying some basic casual beginner yoga routines with an app I downloaded, and it’s been interesting. I definitely feel better after the yoga.

Also it is very important to be a lap for kitties to sit on. Midnight is sitting in my lap right now, and it is good and right that I can provide a nice warm comfy lap for her.

I reckon being from where I grew up is another part of my identity that I value. I like my accent and I like the values I learned from my culture, and I do get kind of mad when I see people being nasty prejudiced assholes based on what bit of land someone was born on, and in the US it’s popular to hate on people born in the region of land where I was born.

So maybe my identity is “Southern Appalachian working class cat caretaker and life partner.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

One of the poorest, most desperate regions in Appalachia is experiencing an economic miracle thanks to fiber run by a New Deal-era co-op

Kentucky's Peoples Rural Telephone Cooperative came out of a local electrification co-op set up during the New Deal, and in 1949 it was expanded into a telephone co-op with more federal infrastructure money. Today, the PRTC has used Obama FCC funding to expand into public broadband delivery, wiring up all of Jackson and Owsley Counties, some of the poorest places in America, using a mule called "Old Bub" to haul fiber through inaccessible mountain passes and other extremely isolated places.

Fiber buildout has created an economic miracle for the people served by the PRTC; working with the nonprofit Teleworks USA (which trains people for remote work, especially tech support and customer service), the coop has created high-paying, sustainable jobs in the counties, taking local unemployment from 12-16% to below 5.5%. People work doing customer service and tech support for "Hilton Hotels, Cabela’s, U-Haul, Harry & David, and Apple," and some people get paid to tutor wealthy Chinese children in conversational English ("We joke that there are going to be all these kids in China with Southern accents").

The fiber buildout cost $50k/mile, a price-tag that reflects the coop's commitment to serving every person in its region, no matter how remote. The result wasn't just hundreds of good jobs paying much higher than the counties' median wage, but also a closure of the regional "homework gap."

The region's blazing fast broadband has made it a desirable place for siting all kinds of businesses, bringing in both call-centers and a helicopter rotor factory. Cheap land and a trained workforce, combined with amazing internet have turned the county around.

The grant money and loans for the broadband service came in large part from Obama's Connect America Fund, which Trump FCC chairman Ajit Pai renamed the Rural Digital Opportunity Fund, riddling it with loopholes that allow the big cable and telcoms companies to reap massive federal subsidies by connected as few as one household in the regions targeted by the plan.

The region is still saddled with the long-term effects of poverty, especially opioid-related effects, thanks to aggressive targeting by opioid manufacturers like the Sackler family's Purdue Pharma. In Owsley county, the school superintendent says more than a third of his students are not being raised by their parents, who are either "in jail, addicted or dead." Teleworks has been able to alleviate some of this, helping those incarcerated over opioids get work with call-centers that do not require background checks.

Sue Halpern's longread for the New Yorker is the kind of Appalachian coverage that I'd love to see more of: portraits of good people, hard done by, figuring it out through a combination of solidarity and smart federal spending targeting improved infrastructure, rather than subsidizing for-profit monopolies to do work we know they'll skimp on, or cheat their way out of altogether.

Remember that preventing government provision of broadband is priority #1 for the Republican Party, from Red State legislatures that have banned cities from creating fiber networks to Trump's FCC, which has blocked cities and states from creating broadband solutions to the nation's deplorable, failing, overpriced network infrastructure, a creature of monopolists who would rather spend billions on stock buybacks than fiber.

Monopolists opposed electrification under the New Deal, just as today's broadband monopolists would have spent lavishly to defend their right to starve the country of broadband. But fiber is the 21st Century's copper, and it is a public utility, and monopolists will never deliver it.

Bernie Sanders has pledged $150b for universal high-speed for all. I am a donor to both Sanders' and Warren's campaigns.

https://boingboing.net/2019/12/08/opiods-vs-fiber.html

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Occasionally, when I travel to England I have a hard time understanding a person's accent.  Granted, I speak Californian, but I was wondering do you ever have a difficult time understanding a person with an American accent ? Thanks

Actually I don’t for the simple reason of how deeply embedded American popular culture is through the film and television shows that one can’t avoid. But speaking for myself I am well traveled and I have been in quite a few parts of the United States for work or vacation reasons - genuinely admire the genius of the American Founders (they were educated as English gentlemen and some were even educated as Classicists) and the landscapes are breath taking.

I love the cosmopolitan flavours of New York and the down to earth humour of New Yorkers themselves; I am charmed by the preservation of civility and manners of the South; I respect the indivudual and community frontier spirit of those in the Mid West. But I have to confess California remains a mystery to me. I know not everyone speaks like a stoned Keanu Reeves but I find it far too laid back for my tastes. That is not to say I don’t understand the way they speak because I do by virtue of having friends from there. The only time I had difficulty understanding anyone was in Boston when I went to give an academic paper there at Harvard. I just found the Boston accent terribly hard to follow.

This is ironic when you really think about the issue of English and the origin of American English began in New England.

The first English people to colonise the land that would become the United States came over in 1607, and they brought the English language (and accent) with them to New England. So most of us can picture the idea of the original Pilgrims talking like Benedict Cumberbatch only to have their future descendants talk like Keanu Reeves.

Except it’s not true.

Afew years ago I had a friend who was a Shakespearian scholar at Cambridge where we both studied and he surprised me once over dinner. He told me that the modern American accent is a lot closer to how English used to be spoken than the British accent is.

The main difference between the British accent and the American one is rhoticity, or how a language pronounces its "Rs." What you might think of as standard American (or "newscaster voice") is a rhotic accent, which basically means "R" is enunciated, while the non-rhotic, stereotypical English accent drops the "R" pronunciation in words like "butter" and "corgi".

Of course, there are a few American accents that drop the "R," too — Bostonians "pahking the cah in Hahvahd Yahd," for example, or a waitress in the South who calls you "Suga.'" And some accents in Northern England, Ireland, and Scotland retain their "Rs" as well.

But Americans didn't find a treasure trove of Rs in their new country.

Instead, British speakers willingly lost theirs. This is where it gets interesting.

Around the time of the Industrial Revolution, many formerly lower-class British people began to find themselves with a great deal of money, but a voice that instantly marked them as a commoner. In order to distinguish themselves from their lowlier roots, this new class of English gentlemen developed their own posh way of speaking. And eventually, it caught on throughout the country.

It's called "received pronunciation," and it even influenced the speech patterns of many other English dialects — the Cockney accent, for example, is just as non-rhotic but a lot less hoity-toity.

Meanwhile, English-speakers in the United States, for the most part, did not change with the times and kept the Rs in their speech.

Although pronunciation has changed on both sides of the Atlantic, some Americans began claiming that their particular regional dialect is actually the original English pronunciation, preserved for all time in a remote pocket of the country. Unfortunately, most of these claims don't really pan out. Indeed sholars now believe many have tis idiosyncratic speech as a result of isolation instead. One popular candidate is the Appalachian accent, which is distinguished by some archaic words such as "afeared," but otherwise doesn't seem to have much connection to the language of Shakespeare.

But on the topic of English speakers making a conscious choice to drop their Rs, there was an interesting blip in linguistic history around the time that radio became popular.

Like received pronunciation, the ‘Mid-Atlantic or Transatlantic Accent’ was deliberately invented to serve a purpose. You almost certainly don't know anybody who speaks it, but you've definitely heard it before. It's the voice of Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, and Pierce Brosnan (Bahnd, James Bahnd).

In the Transatlantic accent the Rs are dropped, the Ts are articulated, the vowels all softened to an erudite drawl. It's also an ambiguous combination of the British and American accents.

Taken together, all of the factors made it the perfect voice for broadcasting at the time. The unique pronunciation was easy to understand even on early audio equipment with poor bass frequencies and could appeal to listeners in multiple English-speaking countries. But it fell out of favor after World War II, and one of the first accents to be immortalised on audio recording was consigned to another piece of wartime nostalgia. Today it’s confined to British film stars who make their living in the US.

As an aside when I was a small child growing up in India my parents insisted we enunciated properly and spoke clearly that was the Queen’s English. And that is indeed how I speak to this day but I was helped by the surrounding Indian culture because they also spoke the Queen’s English. This was simply because they retained the English language textbooks from the days of the British Empire (even to this day). 

The rich irony wasn’t lost on me when I had a hard time going back to England because - outside of my boarding school environment and social circles - I just couldn’t always understand the many commoner regional accents in England that were now coming back in vogue. It’s everywhere now especially on the BBC. So in effect it is Indians (and Pakistanis) who are preserving what we have been burying for some decades now. I remember how shocked my well educated friends from India or Pakistan who came to study at Cambridge or Oxford to find the way they spoke naturally with the Queen’s English was now considered a quaint anachronism in this Age of championing regional diversity.

I think the erosion of the Queen’s English is a travesty as well as a tragedy. To speak ‘proper’ English is considered elitist and privileged. To me it’s just a sign of civilised discourse. Of course there is a place for regional accents and they should be preserved because it is part of the tapestry of our culture but I fear it has been at the expense of clarity of speech and the coherence of thought.

Thanks for your question.

[curious-minx]

Hollywood Hillbillies, The Ballad of the Boomers.

This image turned Norman Rockwell into a socialist. 

Hollywood fed and bred celebrities are finally starting to wane much like franchise family restaurants, simple no-frills shotgun weddings, Budweiser,  and egg-based mayonnaise, and for the most part, most American lives are probably not feeling impacted by this loss. In a world of Amy Adams and Glenn Closes two women in make believe professions whose biggest hurdle remains whether or not they will reap the Industry awards they so richly deserve,  and seeing as real life underdogs give you fleas you might as well root for these Queens. For starters, one of these talented performers has BIG EYES, while the other is elegant and old, but not too old, and they are both perfectly fine at what they do. One thing millennials and mineral-based Americans are not kidding around about are award shows, because we’re all stabbing and shaving ourselves with all of the trophies that line the walls of each and every day spent doing our best. Egad, Josh Gad will one day get an Egot and a new species of animal is eradicated each and every day. 

Wait I thought that the new Dark Crystal series was cancelled? 

The trailer for the Ron Howard picture Hillbilly Elegy is coming in hot off the tepid and apathetic trails of a Star Wars film more forgotten than the Life Day special, Ron Howard also feels like a man awarded more and more opportunities for simply doing his best. Come gather around the Battle of the Boomers! In Netflix’s corner is a conservative personal parable of someone born and raised in Ohio warding off the festering influences of his parents Appalachian Kentuckian upbringing. According to the great powerful Wiki the book is concerned something of a conservative doggrel beating the same wife beater wearing fiction about the horrors of the Welfare Queen.  As someone who recently became a welfare queen himself, as well as someone overcoming substance abuse issues I feel like a venture capitalist from Ohio and Okie’s golden son Ron fucking Howard are really going to get down to the real truth about poverty and substance abuse. 

There are three types of Terminators in the World: Neutral Terminators, Good Terminators, and Bad Terminators. I’m Glenn Close. 

Netflix and friends are the only buffet any of us without a death wish can frequent in the 21st century. As of the date of this writing Netflix has already released 85  a total Netflix Productions (not counting documentaries). This noticeable leap in quantity benefits from the amount of international non-English language movies spanning languages from Akan to,  Netflix has gone from releasing only 2 movies to its name in 2015 up to 105 movies by the end of 2020.  How many  of these exercises in funny accents, prosthetic transformations, Horse Girls, Lost Girls, Tall Girls, Sweet Girls and The Girls I’ve Been can we claim to be really moved by?  Will you remember me come next Girlfriend’s Day? You could keep stringing Netflix titles along and find some meaning or come up with nothing but a Bird Box. Nobody but Netflix has been releasing a movie or two or three a week, and that’s because Netflix dueling CEOs Ted Sarandos and Reed Hastings are cut throat dynamos of Men of industry who dared to ask, “What if movies, but on TV?” 

Oh the Caucasity!

////////

Whereas, HBO asks no questions, stands completely nude (as ordained by HBO’s Ministry of Nudity) , and proud.  HBO does not need to ask any questions, because they are the answer. HBO is the movies (as of 1982). HBO has been quietly churning out direct to TV movies in the years where the cineplex was becoming strictly for the Haus of Mouse and the Captain Reboot was dealing with his worst bout of necrophilia yet! This other movie I am discussing isn’t an HBO movie though, but an HBO Max feature. The first of a strange new breed. The  other trailer in question to drop this week is by yet another historically Hollywood director is Bobby Zemeckis, who let’s be very clear is not directing the upcoming Roald Dahl Witches adaption he is only humbly re-imagining the material. So if this movie tanks like Marwen don’t blame Zemeckis, because he only re-imagined this one. As someone who has no soft spot in my skull for Dahl I am not coming to this project with anything but cautious fascination. 

The look people give me when I tell that my favorite movie of all time is Alice Through The Looking Glass 

Anne Hathaway and Amy Adams both talented actors that get under a lot of people’s skins in the way peculiar to successful women. I will say that Hathaway looks like she is having a lot more fun these days. At the very beginning of the year I had watched one of her more recent leading lady vehicles Colossal an indie movie dealing with alcoholism through emotional kaijus, a big foolish swing. Hathaway really succeeds for me whenever she is in Rachel Getting Married fuck up mode , and it looks like here on the Witches she’s back at being an actor having fun getting themselves dirty for the sake of expression. This looks like a performance built around a silly accent and prosthetics, but Hathaway is too startling a screen presence to be drownedout. Maybe I am actually really hyped for this frivolous dark family fantasy comedy? Or maybe I’m just really into horrifying animal transformations which the trailer doubles down on, which makes me believe that this is just the tip of the green screen abominations! 

So if you’re am embittered actor out there that feels spent and drained of all naturalistic energy as the horizon of live performance fades further and further out of view. I implore these thespians to reach down into their silliest accent cabinet, for God’s sake make sure you’ve gotten rid of your racist silly accent drawer, and most importantly be very pretty so that the process of uglifying you is more of a process. Accomplish both of these grand feats, and maybe you too could be working alongside the classic American directors and studio wizards keeping the Dream alive by slathering their dolls and action figures in enough digital magic to close the circle. Movies are Dead! And the coroner is sorting through her wigs. 

[docplop]

I have bipolar type 2, so I think that may have had something to do with it. The delusions were severe. It started with thinking I was being group stalked. I worked for a local taxi company and I thought people who worked for Uber were following me and deliberately making my life a living hell. It's difficult for me to remember the exact reasons I believed this, but it was a belief I had for a pretty long time. One day after this delusion had developed quite a bit, I started believing that the people following me were omniscient. I ran away from my city, I drove to my dad's house which is about 3 hours away. While there, I felt like my dad was initiating me into a secret society that could use magic to do almost anything. We were watching the Daily Show and I believed I had a conversation with Jon Stewart through the TV. I couldn't find the cameras on my end so I thought it was more of the magic that I was being introduced to. After a while I went to the guest bedroom where when I looked out the window, I thought of a thunderstorm, and then suddenly lightning started but striking pretty rapidly. I believed I created the storm from my anxiety. I lay down, closed my eyes and tossed and turned all night with. no sleep. The next morning, I got up before my dad, talked to my grandma, who also lived there, and left to go back to my home city. But when I left, I got side tracked. I had the radio tuned to A.M. talk stations and I believed that the radio was communicating directly to me. I got the wind idea to just start driving aimlessly, believing it would take me somewhere meaningful. I heard songs on the radio from some of my favorite artists from the 90s, but they were versions I had never heard with lyrics that spoke to me like never before. I believed it was Jesus talking to me. I decided to drive to California (from Virginia), and started heading west. I saw a sign outside of a farm house that said "Longview", and having been a huge Greenday fan as a kid, I thought I should stop there. I pulled up to this big house on a beautiful property, and thought, "I'm home!" Or rather it would be my home some day. The grass had recently been mowed. I took off my shoes and walked around the property in pure Bliss longing for this house to be my home. I picked a peach off of a tree out front and to this day it was the best peach I've ever had. The house had a pool with a cabana next to it. On either side of the pool, there were three rubber snakes on each side. I had all kinds of crazy theories about the snakes. I walked over to the cabana, and inside was full of relics from my childhood. It dawned on me that I hadn't earned my stay at such a beautiful sanctuary, so I got my shoes and walked back to my car. I looked up at the sky which had turned gold and purple and all kinds of colors in between. I saw planes overhead, and thought, "the only thing keeping me from being able to fly like those planes is my belief in gravity. Someday I'll fly.".

As I drove, I saw numerous lights in the sky that I believed were alien space crafts abducting people all over the map. I started following signs that had seemingly significant names and numbers on them. I passed under a giant overpass, and when I say giant, I mean like it was an overpass for humongous cars driven by 30 foot tall giants. Suddenly I thought I had passed through a dimensional gate and was going to meet these giant people. I found a row of normal sized townhouses and decided to ask where I was ( my phone lost all service, including GPS). There was a chair next to the road that was the size off a small house. I knocked on a few doors, but nobody answered. So I decided to press on.

Being in giant land, I thought that maybe I belonged there, so I started driving down wooded roads looking for my new home. It was night time by this point, and the radio was sending me messages more than ever. I thought the late Dave Brocky of Gwar fame was telling me to find his house. I drove up to a house that had a light on in the upstairs room. I parked, and when I got out of my car, a spotlight shined down on me. I looked over too my right, and a light came on under a newly finished porch. I walked over to it, and when I got there a green light turned on by a staircase, so I decided to climb the stairs. Another light came on at the top of the stairs over by a door to what looked like someone's living room. I called out, "Dave?" As I knocked on the screen door. A thin man with no hair walked out from behind a counter carrying a glass of red wine and in a polite English accent said, "I think you have the wrong house, mate.".

I apologized for the disturbance and ran back to my car and drove away.

After that the memories are a little fuzzy, but I spent most of the night driving aimlessly through George Washington National Forest. I parked at one point and decided I wanted to sleep under the stars. I grabbed a jacket from my trunk and some clothes I fashioned into a pillow and lay down in the grass and started stargazing. I remember seeing two sets of three stars in triangular formation moving around in the sky. I was pretty sure they were two triangular UFOs floating silently above me. The sky was beautiful, but I felt vulnerable, so I got back in my car and continued driving aimlessly.

After a few more hours and a few more attempts at finding Dave Brocky (who, again, was already dead at the time, and it's not like I knew him personally) I was extremely thirsty, and was looking for some water. I found a quaint little church, and thought, "Perfect! I bet they have a spickett somewhere outside.". When I got out of the car, I heard what sounded like huge amounts of water flowing through what I imagined to be a giant organism. I wondered if I had been abducted by one of the UFOs that I saw and was on some kind of holodeck. I walked over to the church and sure enough found a spickett. I had a beer mug in my backseat that someone had given me, so I grabbed it and filled it with water from the spickett. The water was warm and it tasted like how I imagined female ejaculant to taste. It was salty, cloudy and viscous. I spit it out and yelled," What the fuck?!"

I got back in my car and drove without any kind of destination in mind until the sun started to rise. Having no idea where I was, I started looking for a gas station so I could get some gas and a drink. I ended up in a small mountain town and found a gas station who's sign read "Liberty". I wanted to get a beer to calm my nerves and hope for some sleep, but they wouldn't sell it to me. I asked for a cup for some water, and filled it up at a sink by the coffee maker. The water that came out was cloudy, salty, and viscous just like the water from the church spickett. At this point I was sure I was on an alien space craft, and was in some kind of simulation. Everyone I saw seemed to be both staring at me, and evading eye contact at the same time. I left the gas station and continued my aimless drive.

As the sun rose above the horizon, I marvelled at the beauty of the Appalachian mountains. I found my way to Rte 66 and started seeing signs for towns that sounded familiar. I got off rte 66 at a stop where I found a Starbucks. Still thinking I was in a simulation on an alien ship, I thought everyone I saw was a lizard person in disguise. Terrified, I ordered a cup of tea that was supposed to be infused with peach. The tea tasted like it was the same salty, viscous water as before but with some other flavors. I pulled the tea bag out and thought I saw little pieces of meat in it and assumed it was human meat. Trying to not react, I looked at my phone and finally started to get service again. I called my girlfriend and told her what had been happening to me. I was terrified. I was sure that there were people or aliens or something monitoring my every move. The only option I had was to trust that I was actually talking to my girlfriend. There were many phonecalls made between my girlfriend and one of her friends that we figured out lived near where I had ended up.

I want to wrap up this story now.

My girlfriend figured out my location. She told me to stay put and that she'd come get me. Miraculously she found me a few hours later and took me to her friend's house. When we got there, her friend told me I could sit in her kids' backyard tent while they figured out what to do. Before getting in the tent, I looked into the front window and thought I saw one of my ex girlfriends inside talking to my girlfriend and her friend. This scared the shit out of me, because that ex was a sociopath and couldn't figure why she'd be there. I got in the tent, and after a few minutes I started hearing some kind of liquid being thrown onto the tent. I assumed it was my ex throwing gasoline on the tent and that she was going to burn me alive in the tent. I freaked out and broke the zipper to the front flap while trying to escape. When I got out there was nobody there. My girlfriend and her friend invited me in for dinner and an Ativan. This calmed me down and we spent the night there. The whole time I was there, though, I heard that rushing water that I first started hearing by the church. I still thought I was on an alien ship. The following morning I was driven to a hospital where I was admitted to a psych ward for several days. The whole time I was there, I believed I was being kept away from Earth where there was a global Holocaust being perpetrated by the aliens. I believed they were replacing everyone on Earth. I probably should have spent a lot more time in the psych ward, but was released about a week later with a new prescription for anti psychotics. I've been taking them ever since. For probably a year after this, I was still unsure about everything in my reality, and to this day (6 years later) I still have fleeting doubts. I have wanted to write this experience into a book ever since, but haven't had the motivation or focus to do so, as my ADHD is still bad, and haven't been able to structure what needs to be told. This is probably the longest version I've written thus far, and still feel like I'm not doing the experience justice. Thanks for reading, if you've made it this far. Feel free to ask me any questions.