#dont mind this too im just in a shitty mood itll pass

[paulwalltran]

Dungeons and Dragons Loneliness

Another interview with lofi music. Today was a pretty shitty day, alot on my mind. Here to unload. 

Today’s mood: Fuck it all...

It’s a mad addiction, a horrendous one. It’s all I think about, it’s all I want to talk about. Or almost anything fantasy related. I’ve recently gotten a little closer with one of my co workers. Delerner Banks, everyone calls him Del. He’s always in the tunnel, and always brings warhammer books to read and do work (whatever it is he’s working on.) We talk about fantasy related things all the time, and sometimes we bounce ideas off each other, feeling out our thoughts of settings and lore. Talking to him about some fantasy before leaving work made me feel alot better. The loneliness inside has been eating at me.

I know it’s salt, I know its jealousy, that I’m mad at my friends. They been hanging out more without me, playing cards and shit. Its not a passion of mine, its fun sometimes, but its still not me. Its what they bond over, its what they do together, and that’s what theyre into. If I had to guess, they’re okay with Dungeons and Dragons, but even my best friend said that I take it too serious. Its fallen out of their favor, it eats up a lot of time, and they each have their version of what a fun campaign would be like. In me, I said to myself, “Fine, fuck it. I’ll have to assemble another crew to play with.” Tough situation then isn’t it? Wanting to play a social game that needs bodies, during an age where social gatherings are frowned upon, because they carry a potential to spread a virus... Still, this is what I want to do. I want a group of friends, who share the same passion I do. My current friends must think ill of me, they may just want to hang out. They think that if they come hang with me, I’ll want a game of DnD without a doubt. They just want to chill and kick it, they don’t want to roll dice. But ask me once and I’ll tell you yes twice, to playing DnD. 

I love it with all my heart, all of the contents and materials are here, ready to play. No extra investments, no money needed to be spent, we can get going off of nothing like we did back then. A table top roleplaying game, we started with cardboard and lego figures, and just two books to share. But there was fun to be had, and a few heated sessions. But fun it was, the more we played the deeper i grew fond of the game. I’m even willing to experiment with other systems if I have someone to guide me. With cards, you gotta constantly update your arsenal to keep up with the meta, and let’s be real, not playing anything remotely close to meta isn’t as fun. Different formats allow different decks, and to keep current you gotta keep up. I dont have the fundings for it, I dont have the luck. I would rather buy a module that’ll last for years, versus a pack of cards. I have two books that have skyrocketed in value, cards go up and down like stocks. But thats the appeal I suppose, I don’t care for it though.

Back to the thing at hand, I’m in their group chat as they make plans. I can’t be there for all that. But fuck it, that’s all Im going to say. Fuck it, on repeat, until its engraved into my head. Pride is getting the best of me, I refused to be denied again. If it’s not something they want to do, so be it, I need to look out for me in the end.  I must muster up the courage to start playing online again, the first one wasn’t bad, but it fell apart. I need to get the courage to be social, and get over the fear that everyone expects you to be a pro player. I’m scared going into this green still, roll20 isn’t my forte. But if I want to play DnD, this seems to be my only option. It may fulfill my wish, to find friends who are just as passionate as I. My other friends, they’re over on the other side. Its fine, it truly is, they have one another, and I need to be strong. I need to find the strength in this loneliness, even though its tearing me apart. My circle becomes smaller, thats just the way of the world. Adapt to survive, be formless like water...

Dungeons and Dragons, my greatest escape. I can be anybody, and do things I normally can’t. I can clobber up bad guys, indecent folk, and finesse my way out of punishment from the law. I can save a village, a town, a kingdom, when I can hardly save myself. I can fly, cast spells, break locks, imagination is my only limit. I can hoard and amass vast amounts of riches, I myself can even become a dragon. I don’t have to be me, although a bit of me resides in everyone I’ve made before. I can never truly separate myself, from those Ive breathed life into. For hours on end, I can go anywhere, do anything, I melt into the world thats placed before me.

 Because the reality is that I’m practically shit, and nobody. The world is fucked up and jacked up and spiraling down the drain. I’m mentally fucked and my physicality is pretty much the same. I’m stuck in place when the world is demanding me to change. I lost with no real direction. No map in hand, no guide, and I’m scared out of my mind. I don’t know whether to trust the process or commit suicide. Im not sure where I’ll end up, if it’s good or bad. Im struggling, I’m suffering, and there seems to be no end. I could say I’m trying, but I would be lying, if I had to look at the brighter side. The positive things in life are so hard to identify. But my emotions are raw and hit hard, slamming against the walls in my skull. Demanding me to give them attention...and attention I give them, as they tear me up. Like being pulled at by the limbs, drawn and quartered is the method it seems like today. I was thinking that I couldn’t drink forever, my body would eventually reject. But what if I drank energy drinks on end, a heart attack to get me out of this place. I can down those all day long, so whats stopping me from taking that way out of it? Less grotesque and violent, it’ll probably be painful as hell. An organ seizing up, as the body ceases the function. I get said thinking about it sometimes, but one day, enough will be enough. But damn that lady...damn her for speaking those words... Tomorrow. If nothing is better by tomorrow, then do as you may. But sleep it off, tomorrow is another day. 

It’s not verbatim, but its the gist. Just wait for tomorrow, and hopefully things will change. The choice is still mine to make, and something in me pushes me forward, keeps me going on. Sometimes I think about who I’m leaving behind, and maybe how much it’ll hurt. The evil darkness inside me says that they’ll get over it, they have to, and time doesn’t wait. I won’t be immortalized, I’ll simply end up a statistic. That maybe itll be a few years the sadness remains fresh, but wounds always heal. Discrediting my actual existence, and any form of relations. Like I wouldn’t have made any actual impressions, people don’t weep for me now. People kind of forget I exist already, what makes me think they won’t after I’m gone? 

I think about my folks, my grandma, my girlfriend, my second family, and other close dear friends. I think about how many last will letters I would have to put out there, before I call for the curtains. Sometimes, I say I will start writing them, but they give me pause. I end up not wanting to leave this world, after pouring out my heart. Because I don’t want to leave any questions behind for people who matter, I want them to know how I felt before I passed. I want to leave with them apart of me, so they would never forget. 

Still it doesn’t change, shit is rough as of lately, work has been eating me up. I feel like Im never hundred percent, and me back on gaming is making it worst. I’ve gotten back onto Elder Scrolls Skyrim, its been my virtual version of DnD. Waiting for the Outer World Expansion, so I can get addicted to that again. All I want to do is play Dungeons and Dragons, the question is how do I make that into a living? I think being a Matthew Mercer is one in a million, I don’t think I’m that great. I’m willing to learn, grow, evolve because it is my passion, but I’m always scared of making mistakes. To be one of the greater Dungeon Masters, to be THE Wizards of the Coast Dungeon Master, it may possibly be the dream. To eat, sleep, breathe, Dee en Dee. My obsession isn’t that crazy though, I’m still behind on the lore of creatures and settings, I haven’t studied at all. But with the right drive and motivation, I would, especially with something as real as a legit group.

Enthusiastic players, who show up every week, bi weekly, once every month even, to play this fantastic game. Group of chill folks who is willing to take the Dungeon Master Mantle with I get burned out and have the desire to be in the player seat. One of those is the driving force, they make me want to plan. They make me want to make the world, the style, everything in general better, with the constructive feedback. I mean it’s been so long as I was a player in a campaign until the end, I’m beginning to think paying for a Dungeon Master wouldn’t be so bad. Once a month? A couple of hours? I mean I’m thinking like seven USD per hour? Eight isn’t bad, but after that it becomes a questionable amount. It repeats in my head, “No DnD is better than Bad DnD”, this much is probably still true. I say still because I still might want at least one session with said game, so I can at least say it was the worst after having attempt it, rolling something. Ha ha, I kid myself, I’m lying because I know the rage would be all to real and caution is my game most of the time. But I mean, I just might have to start exploring the idea, I was definitely going to ask on FaceBook if any Roll20 games was recruiting a newbie. 

Alas, today won’t be the last time I speak on the matter, Dungeons and Dragons haunt me everyday. I stare at minis, I stare at the upcoming books and modules, and I watch youtube where they tell RPG Horror Stories, Its become a huge part of my life, such as dancing once was. It almost links right into my earliest talents...writing. I love to write, just like I’m doing now. Im fairly decent at the writing game if I must say. Hey, real life failed Bard here, I should make one who always ends up playing big bro, and end up being friendzoned by all his interests. Im short, so Halfling is very true. Am I charismatic? Who knows, I can’t say for sure. But yes, I feel like this is what I need, a solid weekly game, maybe once every two weeks, hell, once every month would still be great. Something to look forward to the very least, in this life of routine and mundane. Something to look forward to for me, something that’s my own. Something I don’t need my closer friends to be apart of, since they’re not interested anyhow. I’m really talking shit because I’m hella salty, but at least I’m being upfront. Get it all out now, before the typing is done. 

It’s been a productive session, I may have to attribute it to Lofi it seems. The Lofi Hip Hop Radio on YouTube, also found on Spotify. Some tracks still strike me deep in the chest, giving me horrible flash backs and feeling in my chest. Others keep me going, forward, almost propelling. I’m currently training myself to be accustomed to the sounds, because I at first was very scared. That it would just transport me to a dark place and keep me there. I’ve been trying to confront my feelings more with this music, I think I felt better after last session like this. The more I faced myself, the better I became. Yes, I most definitely referenced Persona 4, another amazing and loved title because of the message it portrays. I always wondered what my shadow self would look like, and what they would say. But eh another time, I’m about to start rambling again. I have to conclude here, before I get off topic.

Until next time Tumblr...

[reesewestonarchive]

chapter four / rem belongs to @forlornraven / masterpost / mature content

Music pulses through Nakoa’s legs, and Jenna’s body sways against Nakoa’s, pressed against him as close as she can go. She smells like mangoes, like sweat.

Nakoa inhales against her neck, licks a long line up to her jaw, sucks against it. She shudders underneath him, and Nakoa grins as she takes his hand, presses it beneath her jeans. She turns her head, pupils blown wide, and she says, “Wanna go back to mine?”

Yes. Absolutely. Nakoa feels a buzz in his veins he hasn’t in a while at the prospect, and—”Yeah. You bet.”

He’s not sure where Rem is, but he’s been gone all day. left that morning, didn’t come back, even though the car still sits in the parking lot at the motel. At least, it did, before Nakoa took to the streets to find something to take his mind of it, off of wondering where Rem was.

Probably wasted in the back alley of some bar, still downing a bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered off of some unsuspecting bartender.

Or—maybe he’s doing exactly what Nakoa’s doing now, finding somebody to bury his dick into, get off without the mountain of complications.

It’s been three days, and between sightseeing and sleep, they’re only just west of Denver, in some shitty small town that reminds Nakoa of Withervale just a little too much, but the girls are attractive, and the guys look like they could punch Nakoa out if he stared a little too long, and Rem’s been in a bad mood since Baldie.

Nakoa’ll take his chances, he thinks, with Jenna. He asks, “Are you far?” and grins when she shudders as he touches her.

He goes home with Jenna, and tries not to think of Rem when he comes.

Jenna offers to give him a ride back to the motel, but in the aftermath Nakoa really just wants a fucking shower, to wash what feels like a layer of filth off of him, and some awkward fifteen minute drive across town isn’t going to make him feel any better.

And it’s not cold out, anyway. “I’m good,” he says, as he tugs on jeans. Jean covers herself with her sheet, cocks her head to the side.

“You okay?” Her tone is just this side of concerned; she’s being polite, but Nakoa can tell she’s not really interested in the answer.

“Yeah,” he says, then, for a reason he doesn’t know, he says, “just complicated.”

“Aw,” Jenna says, sitting at the end of her bed. “I know complicated.” She gives him a glance, then says, “You a cool guy?”

Nakoa’s a loser. Unemployed and homeless and traveling across the country without any kind of a fucking plan, in search of a better life he’s not sure he’s ever going to find. Mediocrity feels less like a shadow hunting him and more like the prize at the end of the race.

Is he running away from it, or running towards it?

“I guess.” She can’t be talking about that.

“My girlfriend and I are kind of on a break.” She shrugs. “And it’s so stupid.”

“Relationships are complicated,” Nakoa says. He pulls his shirt over his head. “My…” but the word doesn’t come. What is Rem? His best friend? It’s not untrue, but he’s reasonably sure most best friends don’t fuck.

Most.

Is there a word for something in the middle, between romantic and friendly?

As she watches him, Jenna seems to pick up what’s going through his head. “Oh,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “You got it bad.”

“I do not.”

“And I thought me and my girl were complicated.”

For some reason, that pisses Nakoa off more. “There’s no girl.”

It’s the first time he’s even come close to saying the word out loud. Nakoa knows there’s a word for who he is, but it still feels wrong when he says it, when he thinks it. Not the attraction—there’s merit in sleeping with all kinds of people—but the word. The way people see it and think disgusting. Heathen.

“Oh.” Jenna’s voice is soft, and she stands. “So. Same boat.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

They kiss before Nakoa leaves, just because Jenna enjoys it, just because she asks, and Nakoa agrees because she showed him a good time, and it’s the least he can do. He wishes her good luck with her girlfriend and stomps back to the hotel room.

Where Rem sits, outside of it, empty fifth clutched between his knees. He doesn’t hear Nakoa approach, but he does react when Nakoa touches his shoulder, jerks away like Nakoa’s burned him.

“About fucking time,” he says, and his voice is like a river, watery and rushing, tripping over itself in his eagerness to speak. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“Sorry,” Nakoa says. Doesn’t point out that Rem has a key, too. He unlocks the door. He tugs on Rem’s arm, and the whiskey bottle falls to the sidewalk, crashes and breaks. Nakoa leaves it. “Did you drink all of that?”

“It’s—” He hiccups. “Bottom shelf, don’t get hissy.”

Nakoa took… something, at the club, earlier, before he went home with Jenna. He’s awfully fucking hypocritical if he tells Rem that he can’t do this. At least he came back. At least they got away from Baldie. From Withervale.

Drunk and alive is better than the alternative.

He draws Rem into the shower, starts taking off his clothes, and Rem says, “Ooh, am I gonna fuck you over the counter?”

“Keep dreaming,” Nakoa says, as he pulls off Rem’s jeans. He’s cold, so Nakoa warms the water and shoves him under the stream. Rem yelps, but relaxes into the hot, if lacking pressure, water. His entire body goes slack as it cascades over him.

Nakoa turns away, doesn’t watch, as tempting as it is. “You get back okay?”

Rem laughs. “Please. Liquor store’s not that far away. Where’d you get off to?”

“Girl I met at the club.” Nakoa pitches his voice higher, to be heard over the water. “You have a good time?”

“Better when you’re there.”

But he didn’t ask. He’d blazed through cities, the last forty eight hours, taking small roads instead of highways, getting lost and debating over the map with Nakoa multiple times, and.

“Missed you,” Rem says, his voice quiet. Nakoa wonders if he even said it at all. If maybe he imagined it. He’s been wanting to hear Rem say it for so long. Hoping for some kind of sign.

But no.

The water shuts off, and Nakoa makes his way back out into the room, digs in Rem’s bag until he finds something suitable for bed for him. The idiot’ll pass out on the bed, if he doesn’t, and Nakoa’ll end up with none of the blanket instead.

Rem stands in the threshold to the bathroom, though, and Nakoa glances up at him, just once, before turning back to the task at hand.

“I mean it,” Rem says.

Means what? “Sure.” T-shirt, underwear. It’ll work. Someday, when Nakoa’s not counting every penny, he’ll buy Rem some new clothes, fi him back in with the style.

Nakoa, though. He needs a job, first. Something simple, something under the table. A stable place in LA, or somewhere else, because he and Rem are living off of gas station snacks and Nakoa’s stomach is protesting bite of food he eats.

But every mile between him and Withervale feels a little more like flying

He gives Rem his clothes, and before he can turn away, Rem’s fingers reach out, wrap around his wrist. His voice is soft, unlike him, when he says, “Nakoa,” and Nakoa looks up, studies the lines in Rem’s face, the curve of his cheekbones, the arch of his eyebrows.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he lifts a shoulder in a shrug and holds uncertainty deep in his chest like an old friend. Rem strokes his thumb down Nakoa’s wrist, and there’s a short glimpse of a smile before he lifts one hand, the one holding his towel, and pulls Nakoa in, forehead to forehead, whiskey strong on his breath.

Nakoa breathes it in, lets his eyes fall close as the towel unravels at Rem’s feet, as Rem closes the distance between them.

Rem tastes like whiskey, like freedom, like betrayal, but Nakoa can’t complain if he tastes like someone else. He accepts the kiss for whatever it is, and pulls back. Taps his fingers against Rem’s chest and says, “I’m pretty tired, man.”

It’s not a denial, but Rem’s different, shitfaced, whiskey heavy on his lips and in his limbs, and Nakoa likes him normal, likes him sober, likes the way he lingers. Often, Nakoa wonders if he imagines the lingering.

He doesn’t question it. But the stark difference between sober and drunk feels like night and day, and Nakoa would rather not.

If Rem asks, the answer is yes. But Nakoa prefers not giving him the opportunity to ask. It’s easier to deny him.

Sometime in the night, Rem wakes and vomits over the side of the bed. Nakoa m, eyes heavy with sleep, says nothing. Presses himself against Rem’s back when he’s done, wracking his brain for a song. Settles in on “Friday I’m in Love” after he decides The Clash might be too fast.

His forehead is sweaty against Rem’s shoulder blades. But he doesn’t pull away, keeps humming for Rem well after the song is through, continuing with Modern English and Simple Minds.

“You don't have to do this.”

Nakoa doesn’t falter in his humming, just drops a hand over Rem’s waist and tugs him in.

He pressed his mouth against Rem’s skin, not like a kiss, bur as much like one as he dares. He hums, holds Rem’s denial behind his teeth, doesn’t answer.

-

“Clutch,” Rem says, pressing on Nakoa’s left knee. “Middle is brake. Right’s gas.” He taps the gear shift. “So, driving. Ease off the gas a bit, onto the clutch, shift, off the clutch, onto the gas.”

Nakoa blinks. His heart beats, strong and steady in his chest. “And to move?”

Rem’s voice holds its tone when he speaks, walks Nakoa through the steps. The car stalls under Nakoa’s guidance the first three times, but Rem pushes him forward, encouragement heavy in his words, and Nakoa’s chest swells with pride when he can finally drive his way across the parking lot.

They traded in the junker for this piece of shit, more torn up than the last. It smells like weed and vomit and pine trees, but it gets better mileage, and the speakers aren't blown out, and Rem won fifteen hundred in a bet on the game two nights ago.

The Earth feels less like Jello beneath Nakoa's feet.

Rem grips his thigh when Nakoa turns through the parking lot, pleased as he lets out a yell, and—oh.

Nakoa kills the engine, and the car comes to a slow stop. “Fuck.”

But Rem waves it away. “It’s great! Shit, I burnt out Billi’s clutch the first time I tried—” But at the mention of his mother, Rem’s expression falls. He shoves open the door, says, “Enough for today.”

They’re in Utah. Have been for a few days, after replacing the windshield in Colorado, after Jenna.

Yesterday, Nakoa got inexplicably homesick, stared at a payphone for five minutes, and convinced himself not to call.

Barely.

They settle into each other’s seats. The beauty of this van, Nakoa realizes, is that it isn’t; an old, clunker of a beast, with the back seats torn out and a sunroof modded in. Except for showers, they don’t need motels anymore.

Their trip got a hell of a lot cheaper. And, heading into LA, Nakoa’s not sure how far their money will go.

Relieved to be out of the driver’s seat, back under Rem’s practiced hand, Nakoa reaches for the cigarettes and lights up.

His voice echoes. “Think we can find a mattress?”

“One that isn’t covered in shit or blood?” Rem shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”

They do; kind of. They definitely find the mattress. An old, stained old thing from an old woman in the city, who’s upgrading for her and her husband. She takes one look at the van, one look at Nakoa and Rem, and pats Rem’s hand with a twinkle in her eye. “I expect you boys will get plenty of use out of it.”

She winks at Nakoa, and Nakoa offers her an uncertain smile. Rem looks like his head is going to blow off if she doesn’t let go of it.

The manhandle the mattress into the back of the van after Nakoa hands over the twenty. The mattress isn’t stained, isn’t old, but it’s floral and weak and smells of mothballs, and when Nakoa shuts the door to the passenger seat, it already reeks of old perfume in the van.

Rem sits next to him, quiet and pensive. Doesn’t start the van.

Nakoa waits, but ten minutes and he’s still sitting there. “What?”

“What’d she mean by that?”

By… what? “Who?”

“Getting use out of it. That’s not fucked up to you?”

For the— “Rem, she probably meant with girls.”

“…Right.”

“You’re really worried about what some random old woman has to say about shit?” Nakoa’s not exactly out and proud, but this isn’t under his skin. Rem picks at what’s left of the polish on his nails, his body tense and unforgiving. “Rem.”

“Never mind.”

He’s ashamed, then; that’s what that means. His mothers, he has mothers, and he still feels shame. Nakoa’s own family makes jokes at the expense of people like them, has told him that if one of their children was queer they’d set them straight, and Rem’s the one sitting here worried about what this old woman thinks of them.

But it’s not anger that courses through Nakoa’s veins, thinking that. Instead, confusion muddles his brain. He tries to think of something, anything, to make him feel better, but there’s nothing. Not words, anyway. Nakoa licks his lips, he’s about to suggest that they go to a park, or an abandoned parking garage or something and they can christen the new mattress, but Rem puts the van gear and drives off.

They hit up a department store for the sheets, and Nakoa spends twenty minutes glaring at on-sale camping gear trying to find sleeping bags that don’t look like shit while Rem searches for pillows, and Nakoa feels the weight of his remaining money in his pocket like a brick.

He’s not sure how much is left. Between the van, the motels, food, Nakoa’s sure it’s dwindling. Rem says nothing, just brings home dinner, whiskey, less and less every day.

 Nakoa buys the blankets. What else are they supposed to do—go back home?

They find a place on an empty road, far from the city, that night, coyotes howling in the distance, a small campfire built out of the back end of the van. Rem hangs his legs off the van, stares up at the sky. A bottle of whiskey sits between his legs. Bowie plays softly in the background.

Nakoa’s not sure of the last time he’d been this happy. In Utah, of all places, so far from home that Withervale feels like a separate fucking planet.

In the clear night, the glow of the crackling fire, Nakoa wonders if Rem would agree. If he seems happy, or if he is happy. Rem never fucking talks to him, tells him to fuck off if Nakoa gets too close. If he missteps. He’s a jackass.

Nakoa’s afraid of how much he likes him anyway. If, once they get to LA, if Rem will enjoy it. If he’ll enjoy it too much.

He reaches for the whiskey, pleased by the noise Rem makes as he goes for it. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Rem’s laugh comes stark and surprising, echoes across the empty space, and Nakoa wants to kiss him until he feels that warmth through his entire body. “Probably the only thing I can get up right now.”

Snorting, Nakoa lifts the whiskey to his lips, savors the taste, the taste, and heat that pools in his stomach. “This is,” he says, but doesn’t know what he wants to say. Captivated by the stars, by the scenery. But Rem’s quiet, comforting presence beside him—

Nakoa wants to kiss him. Press him into the flowery, old mattress behind them and undress him, kiss down his chest and blow him, press into him until Nakoa’s name rests on his lips soft and tense. Until Rem clenches his teeth and his groan comes from his chest and.

Fuck. He wants, so much, to make Rem feel so good that he forgets what the world has done to him. 

“I’ve thought about living off the land before. Away from the city. Own a little farm or something.” An orchard. Some goats. Chickens, the modern dinosaurs they are, and Nakoa presses his finger against the ankylosaurus tattoo on his side. Thinks back to the artist that did it for him, briefly, and what he’s doing.

If he remembers Nakoa at all.

“Get the fuck away from people,” Rem says. He sounds tired, now, drunk. He hops from the van and kicks dirt over the fire. It’s dark enough that Nakoa can’t make out Rem’s features without direct light.

“Yeah.” But not Rem. “Dunno. Don’t wanna get kicked in the head, either.” Doesn’t want to give Rem up. He holds that deep inside his chest, though, locked away where he hopes Rem won’t find it, where Nakoa himself won’t be tempted to look.

When Rem says nothing, Nakoa crawls up the mattress, knees scraping the cool metal of the floor of the van. He tugs one of the sleeping bags over his body, presses his face into his pillow and sighs.

He’s not sure when Rem shuts the door and joins him, but Rem lies there, on his back, until Nakoa’s loopy with exhaustion and alcohol, and on the verge of sleep. Nakoa hears him say, “I—”

And then Nakoa passes out.

[rigginsstreet]

this got SUPER long so its going under the cut but this is the f*lice rant i was talking about lmao enjoy! (full disclosure i also end up going on a fredsythe rant because i gotta, ok. yall gonna make me sit through this stupid ass storyline when a better one is RIGHT FUCKING THERE so yeah, im mad. fp jones also likes men get over it.)

Sorry but there's literally nothing new inventive shocking or compelling about a storyline where two grown ass straight MARRIED adults are pining over each other because they had some weird romantic connection nearly 30 fucking years ago that may or may not have resulted in a fucking teenage pregnancy that im sure NOBODY wanted like yall really out here wanting me to believe what? alice cheated on her boyfriend and got knocked up by a dude who represented everything she was trying to get away from? and she told hal the kid was fps but never told fp himself? because that makes all of ZERO FUCKING SENSE! even if they wanted to throw out “well alice and hal were broken up at the time” its still SO out of character for alice like i know she had her wild child serpent days but its not something she looks back on with fondness so why the HELL does anyone think its a good idea to set her up with the fucking LEADER of the entire GANG are you all sniffing glue?? and then theyre trying to sit here and vilify hal so that we root for alice to hook up with fp in present day? the fuck outta here im not about to sit and cheer on alice’s character regression. first of all yall need to stop getting mad at 17 year old hal for not wanting to be a father and handling this situation poorly he was a TEENAGE BOY i know yall think everyone needs to be pristine angels from birth but thats not how life works and second of all he has every right to be sketched out that his daughter brought forth her long lost brother to fill in the void polly left, especially when the first time hal sees chic hes fucking BLEEDING after being attacked for god knows what reason in hals mind like... im team hal on this one he’s the only one with some self preservation alice and betty about to get themselves killed i s2g all these dumb ass decisions are being made, which in itself is bad enough, but to make it so obvious that this is all being done to eventually prop up a ship that is the very definition of fan service, is beyond ridiculous and terrible writing. like i get it. madchen and skeet are hot and have chemistry (which...btw....literally all the parents have insane chemistry with each other but no focus on the boring obvious straight pairing i guess but oh do not worry i have more to say on that later) i get it. but what is the purpose of that if you cant write an interesting story? and dont get me started on how shoehorned this recent ~connection~ is like yes i admit in s1 i got vibes from them (which, stay on this blog for 5 minutes and you will soon realize i can romantically/sexually connect pretty much any pairing amongst the parents because, like i said, they all have insane chemistry and they all say weird shit to each other). but i cannot believe yall sat here and thought the whole sexual frustration comment after fp got out of prison or the “leave him” exchange felt authentic??? like is it me? am i the one in the twilight zone? somebody help me out here. alice and fp in s1 couldnt stand each other and now shes all joking about his sex life ?? fp almost started a huge fight during that dinner with her and hal and the kids and yet im supposed to believe he’s been pining after her all these years?? like maybe id have an easier time believing this shit if i hadnt seen how he interacts with fred (oh yes. we’re going there because im tired of this HETERO NONSENSE GOING ON ALL THE TIME IN TELEVISION WHEN THEYVE LITERALLY SET UP BETTER OPPORTUNITIES FOR SAME SEX RELATIONSHIPS IM IN A MOOD SO WE’RE GOING ALL OUT) but to close off this part of my rant (oh and i didnt even touch upon how gross itd be for betty and jughead to share a sibling lmfao but that should be self explanatory): there is literally no conceivable way for this shit to go down and not make me lose respect for alice (fp i can give a slight pass to on the front of he and his wife being separate, but even then if he goes after alice while she’s still with hal....you done fucked up). first of all, going after your daughters boyfriends/ex boyfriends father is weird. second of all, if chic is in fact hals son, then they need to work on bringing the family together. hal is not a lost cause. chic is creepy as hell if anything i can see him pulling some shit that brings betty hal and alice closer together but no that makes too much sense so the writers probably wont do that! so theyre either gonna continue to push hal out so that itll be “acceptable” for alice to run to fp, or hal has to literally just fucking die and then what? alice goes to fp in her time of grief? im gonna throw up. 

and now on to the gay shit

im supposed to compare f*lice and fredsythe scenes and come out thinking alice was the one he was in love with? bitch WHERE? fp has a sordid past with both alice and fred for different reasons. we dont know the full extent of what happened with alice (if anything but for the sake of predictability that i know to expect from a cw show, lets say they do) but given how they interact with each other we can assume it was bad. and we all know fred and fps history and how dark that got for fp (like i literally wrote up a whole thing about it if you want a link i’ll send it to you) and yet no matter the past, fp had probably his most lightest moment of the show with fred. he was willing to drop everything and help fred and soon as he asked (which, btw, fred didnt even ask for help. fp knew he was in trouble and that was it. thats all he needed and he was there for fred). THAT is love, ok. THAT is a relationship worth delving into beyond 2 friggen episodes in season 1. And yes this same storyline thats been given to f*lice with this whole adultery nonsense, but with fp and Fred, would actually be interesting because two gay kids in the early 90s actually have a valid reason for not being together and not ending up together. and then you add on that fps from the south side and fred the north, and that makes things even more complicated for them because then you can have a whole scenario of fp thinking hes not good enough for fred and ending things because of his own insecurities, his way of trying to push fred towards a better life... like THAT makes sense. even if fred and fp were never a thing and you just went with fp being in love with his best friend all these years and he could never have him (which still makes sense because i mean come on, freds casanova ways in high school with the ladies? fp sitting on the sidelines trying to be a supportive best friend but dying on the inside, never telling fred how he feels?) not to mention like half the serpents are gay as hell and there would be such a great story to tell for why all these gay south side kids end up in the same gang under fps wing, because he’s making up for his own shitty upbringing, he wants these kids to know someones looking out for them like...if the writers need plots and backstory I can give you them for free it really didn't take a lot of brainpower but no by all means tell me how the two ~straight~ kids who grew up on the same side of town under virtually the same circumstances, one of whom wanted NOTHING MORE THAN TO SHED HER SERPENT IMAGE AND CREATE A BETTER LIFE FOR HERSELF, and the other who keeps going on about wanting to put his family back together, had such a tragic backstory and its not just a blatant midlife crisis on both their ends. please. by all means. enlighten me. 😒

[outsiderempire]

i swear. all my mood does now is fluctuate between intense rage and complete apathy. i’ll get super worked up over something, be it big or small, to the point that i just want to beat the shit out of something or stab myself or something just to be able to take my anger out on something. then all of a sudden itll all just completely disappear and im just left feeling empty and cold. nothing will spark my interest until i come out of it. i just sit, not thinking or feeling, until it finally passes. but it happens so frequently, like multiple times a day every fucking day and i cant even pretend to be normal sometimes. it just becomes so hard to do that. i become so fucking heartless about everything around me no matter what it is and sometimes i want to tear everything to shreds, destroy it all. idk why. feeling content or happy has become rare for me. i hate when i get into these apathetic moods because i cant bring myself to do anything during them. so i spend a lot of time each day just not being able to communicate, not being able to do the things i like to do. i just put some music on so i have something i can pay somewhat attention to but thats it. i dont even think, just listen to music.

im so conflicted about who i am and how quickly i keep changing, and not for the better either. i just keep getting worse and worse. sometimes i want to be a better person, sometimes i wish that i could relate to people more and feel more comfortable being social and all that. other times its the complete opposite end of the spectrum and i just want to spend the rest of my life alone, and i dont care if i can relate to people or not, and instead of wanting to be a good person i just want to be someone’s worst fucking nightmare because my natural instinct when im feeling bad is to want to make someone else feel how im feeling. the fucked up thing is it makes me feel good sometimes when that happens too. thats why i spend so much time interested in a lot of crime shows and stuff because learning the stories of these people who suffered so miserably makes me forget about my own suffering and instead of feeling sympathy for them, i either feel nothing at all, sometimes i feel happy (or a feeling similar to that), and other times i feel condescending towards them. a lot of the time i feel condescending. 

i say i dont know what to do anymore and the answer is pretty obvious but i feel like a larger part of me is content being the way that i am that i see no reason to change, or rarely do. and being this way presents a lot of challenges for me and sometimes leads to making my life hell, and despite that im still okay with it. because part of me also feels like when those things happen to me, that i deserve it so again theres no reason to change. i go back and forth with it often and usually it ends up coming down to my apathy and the fact that i just dont care to change or do anything about it. because thats requires a lot of fucking effort and honestly nothing good would come out of it in the long run. maybe temporarily until i break under the strain and pressure of faking my entire life just to please everyone else around me. im already dealing with enough shit that i dont need something like that happening. 

i dont know what i want. besides a job and money and getting everything i deserve to have. i know something i do really want tho and thats just to know like whats wrong with me? what is making me this way? why cant i relate to others? why cant i differentiate between right and wrong? why cant i be a genuine hyper-empathetic nice person? why am i just this shitty asshole who cant feel anything other than blinding rage? why do i feel so fucking entitled to everything and why do i have to be better than everyone all the time? why do i feel the need to inflict pain on others or get pleasure from their suffering in order to forget about my own? and why cant i stop being this way? 

i dont know. i want to know the answers to all these questions but i dont see myself getting them because i dont want help and i dont need it. im mostly curious really. some of this may sound like a cry for help sort of thing but its really not. i ask myself these questions because i just want to know the answers. i want to know what it was that caused me to become this kind of person. and why has it just continued to get worse, you know?

like i dealt with some of this stuff back in high school here and there but not nearly as often as i do now and a lot of things have happened since then so i have no idea what could really be the reason.

i think the thing that sucks the most about it is just how much of it i have to hide all the time from everyone. because there is still part of me who wants to genuinely be a good person and wants to be able to help others and stuff and i have my moments where i can feel sympathy so its not like im completely heartless but to be able to still be good means i have to hide a lot of things. not really for anyones safety or anything like that but more because if i let myself express how i truly feel then i would delude myself into thinking thats a perfectly acceptable way to be all the time when its not and it would probably ruin my life tbh. but then again maybe that would be what i deserved for being this way in the first place idk. 

i just wonder if this will get any worse from here on out and i kind of hope it doesnt honestly. i have enough self control to keep me from going down any awful paths. i still have ambitions and goals i want to reach in my lifetime and i have a whole little plan in my head of how i want my life to play out and its good, its positive, and i think even being the way i am i can live a positive life as long as i keep myself in check and i can reach some of these goals i have set. i think what makes things worse is when i have a goal in mind and it doesnt work out. i get extremely frustrated and the more frustrated i get the more it continues to fuel my anger and it becomes a lot easier to set me off. but im naturally a goal oriented person. i like to set a goal and a time frame and i like to be able to reach that goal in that time frame. when i dont i basically feel like ive completely failed at life and that id honestly be better off dead because i cant seem to do anything right. also that would mean i wouldnt have to face anymore failures or mistakes. i know these things happen to everyone its just part of life, but the side of me that wants to do everything right and be absolutely perfect does not listen to that. it’s either i do this right or im a complete and utter failure there’s no in between and that leads to a lot of frustration especially when its related to things out of my control. 

i just kinda feel like the worse my anger becomes over time the less purpose i have in my life. because being an angry person all the time is really fucking exhausting and creates so many problems and anger is one of the hardest things to control. someone telling me “just dont get angry” even over something minuscule doesnt help. in fact it makes me angrier because someone is telling me what to do and i dont like people telling me what to do. on the other hand i also do not like that my anger has so much control over me. i dont like that one bit. i want to be in control here. if i start to feel irritation towards something i want to be able to take a step back and not let that thing have any control over me. because im better than that, im superior to that and it has no right whatsoever thinking it can have an influence over me. 

its funny tho because one of the things that i see often when im looking into this stuff about how to control one’s anger is the advice to “eliminate the source of your anger,” but please tell me how im to eliminate the source of my anger when everything makes me angry? it goes a lot deeper than there being just one or two things that make me angry and i just dont know how to approach that. again it requires too much effort and most of the time i dont care enough to try to do anything about it. 

im done seeking advice about shit. ive tried and you know what i got in return for that? sources upon sources telling me that im a monster, that im a toxic person, that im abusive, that what im feeling and what im going through doesnt matter or isnt important, that i should be “dealt with” and how people can “avoid people like me,” or “get back at people like me.” thats the advice ive been given. obviously not advice geared towards helping myself, more for helping others who dont have to live with what i live with and thats kind of fucked up. so if thats what i am then fine, i guess im a monster, i guess i cant ever change, i guess if my only option is to live with myself for what i “really am” then i suppose thats what i should do, right? and while im at it why dont i take it further and see just how much worse i can become because theres no positive place for me in this world. if i cant change parts of who i am then im doomed to be excluded forever. 

thats the kind of thinking i deal with a lot and why i gave up seeking advice. because honestly its all bullshit. sometimes i let it get to me too much and thats when i start thinking irrationally, believing i should become the worst person that i can because theres nothing good waiting for me. and that thinking is what makes people do terrible things and act out and ruin their lives. funnily enough that thinking doesnt intrinsically come from the people struggling with these problems, it comes from the people who dont like these people who are struggling and can only see the negative aspects which lead to them painting these people as monsters, as subhuman. you start to believe it yourself when youre told it often enough.

idk where im going with this anymore. i just wanted to put my thoughts out there somewhere and let them kind of roam freely i suppose. i dont want anyone to think that these rants i go on are directed towards one thing specifically tho. theyre not. literally i just sat down and did this because i completely got over my anger about the job stuff and wanted to just write how i was feeling. it happens randomly and if i dont get it out it makes things worse. 

but i dont want a response to this. thats not why i write these things. i dont care if people read them or not, i just want to write it out where people can see what im feeling if they so choose but i dont want to talk about it. that never helps either. i dont want advice im done with it. i just want to leave this here for however long i wish to leave it up and go on and find something else to do while i wait to get over this apathy again.