#it’s time to bring in the Heelers

[theanonymousninja247]

*comes in and excitedly kicks down door* So please don’t mind that I literally woke up from the dead of sleep with this friggin idea, but HOLY HONK YALL!

Tell me that these two, tired, wise cracking, dramatic, blue fathers would not just be the best of friends?!?!*

*grabs you but the collar* LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME I’M WRONG

[gallusrostromegalus]

hi i see that you have much smart dog experience. i may have accidentally purchased such a dog. she's only 10 weeks, and ive had her 1, and she's already outmatched every puzzle feeder i got or have made. to the point that she is morosely disappointed when her food comes in an actual food bowl. do you know where i can find like. "heres 100 enrichment toys you can make out of free trash so your dog stops eating fucking rocks for enrichment" lists. i only have so many paper towel tubes XD

Herschel now just disassembles puzzle feeders, so I've been focusing on "Toys that, even if he already knows how to operate them, will still take TIME for him to collect the treat from" to give him something to fuss with.

Herschel eats all his meals out of a Kong Wobbler, because he will otherwise eat so fast he will literally inhale and choke on his kibble and I do not need him developing pneumonia from aspiration. Even though it's a "Simple" toy it slows him down and he does have to think a bit to tip it in the most efficient manner possible. Kong's "Flipz", "Gyro" and "Rewards Wally" are also really good "dog needs to think/carefully manipulate the toy for food" toys that act as both mental stimulation and exercise and "give human a break for up to twelve minutes" toys.

I highly reccomend KONG as a brand- they're local to Denver and have an impeccable saftey record and all of the toys I have gotten from them have held up extremely well vs. the ravages of three entirely too smart and strong-jawed dogs at once.

Some more thoughts:

If she's not prone to shredding rubber, the kind of treat toys she has to chew are also good stimulation.

If you don't want to give her That Many treats, my vet said that dogs can have as many green beans as they want. Just make sure that the beans haven't had salt added to them- canned usually does, but frozen green beans usually don't, but always check the label.

You can make nearly any toy last longer, or make a cheap long-puzzle by freezing the treats so they take longer to eat AND provides hydration. Herschel's most favorite treat of all time is literally a wad of sliced green beans in a dixie cup, filled with water and frozen. Just peel off the cup and hand him the chunk of ice and he's good for up to half an hour and more chill afterwards.

You can also freeze lick mats

If your girl is like Charlie and doesn't like greenbeans, you can also try freezing paper cups of: Canned pumpkin, apple slices in water, putting some ice cubes in the bottom of the cup, a gob of peanut butter in the middle and then fill it with water to make a peanutbutter filled ice cube.

If your girl is REALLY like charlie who has figured out how to use labor negotiation and strike tactics for better treats: boiled chicken chunks frozen in some of the water you boiled them in.

Walkies are as much mental stimulation as they are physical exercise. Take her out and let her sniff to her heart's content.

Also Puppies in particular need like, SO MUCH exercise.

Let her participate in activities with you. Herschel and charlie sit in the kitchen and I narrate cooking dinner to them, which seems to interest them, even if I don't have spare veggie ends to give them. I also frequently bring them along in the car if I'm running errands when it's cold enough to do that, so they have something new to look at, and get to participate. I also am more likely to stop at a new park and give myself some exercise and mental stimulation.

Training her to do tasks is GREAT Smart Dog enrichment- esp if she's a herding or heeler, they LOVE being helpful. I taught the dogs they get a small treat if they come in from the yard without me having to go chase them down, which saved me a lot of hassle, and now I'm working on teaching herschel to pick things up off the floor for me if I drop them and alert for chickpeas, which my housemate is allergic to.

A lot of dogs like cat-type toys. Tie a stick or some fleece to some paracord and drag or flycast it around for her to chase/play tug with when she catches it. Toys that bounce unexpectedly were also a huge hit. or just wave the string around the cat and the corgi both like that.

If you live in farm country or know other people with pets, you can grab something with the scent of another animal on it and bring it home for her to smell. Charlie and Herschel spent the better part of three days investigating the wad of horse undercoat I brought home and put in the spare wobbler for them to smell.

[lxvvie]

Idk if you’ve ever watched Bluey but I feel like Simon would be like the dad from the show

omg.

Simon's kids love Bluey and he's roped into watching the show all. the. bloody. time.

Now he likes the show (and will deny it if you bring it up). He likes it a hell of a lot more than Frozen because Princess Daddy can only wear so many tiaras and attend so many tea parties.

But now he's known as Bandit Princess Daddy Heeler. Okay, then. Anything for his babies.

He'll roll his eyes if you call him Bandit Princess Daddy Heeler though, 'cause he knows you're taking the piss out of him lmao.

[serpentsillusion]

My random thoughts on the HL character boy's attributes. ✨💖

──✧❅✦❅✧───❅••❅───✧❅✦❅✧──

GARRETH: Plays baseball. Carries his keys on a lanyard in his pocket. Wears sunglasses on top of a hat. Doesn't go shopping, instead orders all his stuff off the brand websites. Drives a jeep Wrangler. Has a blue heeler naked Duke. Listens to bands like Black Label Society, Godsmack, Chevelle. Is an absolute gentleman to MC, but occasionally rips savage comebacks at them.

SEBASTIAN: Wears hoodies and basketball shorts with socks and slides. Always has his hands in his pockets. Definitely had a tinder at one point. Has been in handcuffs at one point. Smokes weed. Visits hole in the wall food joints and coffee shops. Drives a Mazda hatchback. Listens to Kings of Leon, Artic Monkey's, Billy Idol. Buys MC "sexy presents." Plays the PlayStation. Dances with MC in the kitchen.

OMINIS: Wears soft clothing and sweatpants most of the time when he's at home. Buys Craft coffee and Tea. Occasionally brings MC fancy gifts. Likes wearing expensive clothes when he takes MC out on a date to a fancy place. Enjoys a nice glass of brandy on occasion. Wears expensive colonge. If he could drive he'd own a black Bentley. Enjoys audio books. Listens to Angus & Julia Stone, Lofi, The Lumineers. Likes watching (listening to) Movies on the couch with MC.

LEANDER: Talks shit about Sebastian's clothes but buys the same thing in a different color. Likes going to music festivals. Loves Pie. Likes taking MC to the theater, but laughs and chews the popcorn with his mouth open. Hardly ever compliments the other boys. Likes English tea only and won't drink it sweet. Likes his coffee with foam. Likes beer on tap. Plays Rugby. Listens to Macklemore, Beatles, Linkin Park. Drives a Mustang. Likes going to popular restaurants.

AMIT: Wears polo's and Khaki's. Doesn't like crowds. Always hits MC with random scientific facts. Drinks black iced coffee. Likes EDM music. Listens to David Guetta, Yellow Claw, Akon. Takes MC over to his parents house frequently to eat dinner. Compliments MC everyday, even if they look like shit. Likes watching reaction videos on YouTube. Has a pet bird named Chidiya. Teaches MC how to make his cultural food. Drives a Kia Soul. Won't be "sexy" with MC until he's married.

[blurban-form]

Future Brisbane

So, at the end of “Surprise”, we get to see future-Brisbane, maybe 25-30 years in the future? A grown-up Bluey brings her child to visit her parents’ house, so her kid can blast Dad with tennis balls like she did.

Compare future Brisbane with current Brisbane

First of all, nice to see the house hasn’t fallen down, Dad and Mum have kept it in good repair (thanks Hammerbarn) and it now has solar panels, as do a number of other homes.

Many things have changed:

An incredible increase in land use density; multiple medium and tall towers (like in downtown) now are common in the suburban area. Assuming this means much more multifamily housing.

Roads much less dominant/conspicuous in the hills

Look how the trees have grown.

The communications towers on the hilltops are less conspicuous.

Three waste/recycling bins (addressing the green waste recycling issue)

Drone transport (for deliveries?)

Some things haven’t changed:

Sky is blue. That’s good.

The whole area hasn’t flooded from rising sea levels…

Adult Bluey drives, or at least is using a private vehicle, rather than something like an on-demand transit service. (Maybe the drone deliveries mean less congestion on the roads but traffic has never been a big issue in Bluey-Brisbane 😉)

Inside the house is not crazy-futuristic, some electronic gadgets, like a Roomba. (I was expecting more high-tech like a Mr. Fusion from “Back to the Future” but that’d probably be by the kitchen or by the garbage wheelie-bins.)

I know my parents still have the same stereo they had 30+ years ago, and much of the same furniture.

Note that 30 years of progress has not improved how Roombas dock with their charging stations.

Some other new tech in the front hall:

Electronic digital picture frames with weird floating connections to the wall.

Wifi router thing on ceiling

Spherical thing (maybe something like an Alexa?)

New comfy chair, replacing the red one.

Density Increase

The increase in land use density in the Brisbane suburbs where the Heelers live is one of those dreams of land use planners; more density in already developed areas is generally considered a plus, assuming the infrastructure can accommodate it. Higher density means more people in a given area making public transit more efficient and reducing costs to serve the homes with utilities.

Is that kind of growth possible in only a few decades? Yes, here’s a North American example… this is where I grew up, in the early 1980s it looked like this in Mississauga, ON around the Square One shopping centre…

…and now it looks like this in the 2020s.

So that’s growth over about 30-40 years, which is a little longer than how much time has apparently elapsed in “Bluey”, but not a lot. It’s possible, and this kind of thing can snowball / accelerate once initial projects get underway.

Public opposition (NIMBY) can prevent this kind of thing from occurring in many cities.

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force• ch 2

Chapter 2- DARK ENIGMA

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

Words: 12.4k

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

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

Cheatham County, Tennessee

Five days later

Y/N

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

December 29, 2030

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ANYWAYS. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t, Paps.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that, they’ve never shared before. 

“Gran!” I exclaim, truly surprised.

“Now Jane!” Paps barks from his place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Paps…” I murmur, almost whining.

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

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

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

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

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

“How many?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, I love you both…”

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great minds.

“Under the willow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JAKE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A door. 

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

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

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

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

There is a long pause. 

“I said quiet, Jacob,” it repeats. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, fuck, I’m listening,” I say.

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

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

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

“Know what?” I ask, confused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Josh’s dreams. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, Josh has. Apparently.

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

“What other reason?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bingo,” the second clicks his tongue. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re all we’ve got, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

Next year isn’t even promised. 

Over half of my family is gone. 

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?! Run?? We can’t run! 

“Paps, but the house! We’re alread–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, the house is untouched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay sweetheart, you okay?”

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

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

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

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

“Is that deer?” I ask Paps. 

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s Jake fucking Kiszka.

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

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

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

No? Is he telling me no?

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

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

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

[soaps-mohawk]

Hi love! First of, how are you feeling? How was your day?

Secondly, oh my god!!! The Sims build of how everything looked!! Rory, you're amazing. It all looks so good! Pretty close to how I imagined it. Thank you so much for putting even more time and effort into this story 🧡

I hope you don't mind me asking, but I was really curious. Do you have any pets? I know some of us had sent you asks with their pets, and it got me thinking if you have any.

Sending you lots of love along with a picture of my cat 🧡🧡

This is late, and it's being answered at like 8 AM but my day yesterday was alright. Had to stay late at work but whatever. Money lmao. I'm feeling alright. It's been cooler for a little bit which has been nice, but also it's going to get hot again next week so that's fun. (Not really, I hate it).

Aaah thank you!! I'm glad you liked it!! I love building in the Sims so it's been fun to do all the builds and bring the settings of the story to life.

I do! I have a dog. She's my old baby. I'd post a photo but I'm on my laptop. She's a red heeler and she's 12 years old, and her name is Honey Badger (yes named after that video).

Aaaah I love them so much 😍 give some scritches for me!!!

[siempre-bucky]

ex-friends till the end

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Jake 'Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Bradley and Jake's son asks them innocently "Are you friends?" It sends Jake into a spiral and Bradley saves the day.

wc: 1.2k

a/n: @mothdruid and i agree that FOB and Bang the Doldrums is hangster coded. Enjoy the fluff ♡

Jake was treading lightly in the darkened living room, dimly illuminated by the golden lights from the upstairs hallway. 

His green eyes focused on the mahogany wood flooring in front of him as his arms cradled a sleeping boy, the orange heeler plushie tapping his back with every step. The soft snores and puffs of warm breath against his neck almost deterred him from not making a sound. Did he say it was that panel? He thought as he carefully stepped over a board his husband swore he was going to fix. Husband, he let out a quiet scoff at the title Bradley Bradshaw held. After all this time he couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

Making it to the stairs, he clutched on tighter to the boy in the airplane pajamas. Before he could take a step, the stuffed animal slipped from the 5-year-olds hand and collided with the floor. The boy twitched followed by a soft whine. Perhaps he could leave it there till morning? “Bingo,” he whined, calling out for the toy. 

Jake rolled his eyes, “Hold on, Nicky,” he grunted, turning to bend over and pick up the beloved toy. “Let’s get to bed.” 

Nick nuzzled his face in his father's neck and gripped tighter onto Bingo’s tail as Jake started to climb the stairs. “Is daddy gonna read me a story?” 

“I’m sure he will, son," Jake cooed, peering around the corner. His words came soft and slow as he turned into the bedroom, drawing them out for signature dramatics, "looks like it," he whispered just in time to see Bradley pull open the blanket from the once neatly made bed. 

Jake stood still a moment to take it in; Bradley's hazel eyes flashed upward, a soft smile forming on his lips. He traded in his Hawaiian shirt that night for a dark gray Henley, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The blond's heart stopped for the briefest of moments as the yellow stars from Nick's night light danced across his husband's tanned skin. 

He wanted to make some snarky comment about all his Hawaiian shirts being dirty and earn a cold look from the older man. But he didn't, the want of savoring this moment outweighed any remark; he put it on file in his mind to bring out later. 

"How are you still awake?" Bradley sighed, smirking as he stood to full height. Nick turned in his dad's arms and shrugged before being sat down. "You're just like your dad," he remarked, covering Nick's legs with the blanket and pressing a scratchy kiss to his temple. 

"Seresin resilience," Jake winked. He lowered himself beside the child, his arm splayed across the pillows while Bradley sat at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed. 

As the two men lowered their eyes at each other in trademark annoyance, Nick reached for the picture books resting on his lime green bedside table. He smiled as he flipped through them, ultimately landing one of his favorites. The book was written by a friend of his grandpa's, a vibrantly colored one all about unlikely friendships and how to work as a team. 

Nick looked up from the cover, his hazel eyes shifting between his two fathers. They did this a lot; staring at each other not knowing if tense words were going to be exchanged or a long slow kiss. He held the book against his chest as fell back against the pillows, rolling into Jake's side. "Dad…" the men broke out of their trance and immediately diverted their gaze, "Are you and daddy friends?" 

Friends. 

There was a small pause, the men’s faces slightly scrunching as they processed the question. “Well we’re married, son,” Jake avoided the answer. He didn’t really know the answer, he just hoped it was enough for the five-year-old; it was never enough for Nick, he was the type of kid who needed a solid yes or no answer, no highway option. 

The boy pouted and sunk lower into Jake’s side, “Well,” he sighed impatiently, “Rebecca's parents are married and she told me on the swings that they hate each other."

"We don't hate each other, Nicky," Bradley entered the conversation. 

"So are you friends?" Nick tilted his chin upward at Jake.

The world felt sour on Jake’s tongue. Friends. Were they friends? They’d known each other most of their adult lives and carried several titles in their relationship, Jake could even count most of them. Friends seemed like a gray area. 

The moment their eyes locked back in flight school, they were off. Flying after each other faster on the ground than in the air. Jake could remember him back then, thin and bare upper-lipped; he could vaguely remember how smooth it felt when Bradley kissed his neck. Were the late night rendezvous to watch television and make out sessions behind the planes enough to consider them friends? Lovers maybe? Lovers from the start. 

 But maybe they were friends at some point in their history somewhere in between quickies and long nights spent in messed up sheets. After training, most days, they'd sit in the bed of Jake's truck, limbs innocently tangled up in each other and looking up at the planes zooming past them thousands of feet in the air. Jake shared the stories of growing up in Texas, knee deep in old money he'd never receive a cent of. 

Bradley kept tight lipped about his past until a training detachment in San Diego when he nearly lost it. Tears threatened to fall from a young Bradley Bradshaw when his toes hit the sand of the beach his father took him as a child. The two men sat in the middle of the sand, Bradley's head on Jake's shoulder while he poured his heart out to him. Because that's what friends did. 

Jake snorted at the thought of them as "ex-friends", that was a better definition of their relationship. The fallout was bitter with scathing words they didn't mean and wounded prides. Bradley slammed the door so hard it came loose off the hinges while Jake opened it forcefully enough to rip it clean off chasing after him. Took years off their relationship; near death took them apart but it also put them back together. 

It was better that way. Easier for his brain to compute. Jake looked down at Nick who was looking up at him with wide hopeful eyes. He opened his mouth, prepared to fumble a sentence that would go right over the child's head. 

"Best friends," Bradley intercepted. Jake tried to hold onto a straight face, but the shock and awe of his face journey made his husband laugh. 

Nick smiled brightly and that was enough for his parents. He snuggled against Jake and held his plushie close to his chest, prompting the stunned blond to read. 

He was asleep by the third page. 

"So," Jake started as he closed the bedroom door behind him, taking one last look at their son before looking at Bradley with a signature cocky smirk, "Best friends, huh?" 

Bradley looked unimpressed, his lips dipped downward into an annoyed scowl. "You want a friendship bracelet or something?" He asked sarcastically as they walked down the hallway, his hand finding purchase on Jake's lower back. 

Jake playfully slapped Bradley's chest, "Yeah if fact I do. Yellow and red, like your helmet," he answered, taunting him. 

A week later, on his desk, Jake came back to his office to see a handmade friendship bracelet. And a week after that, a black and green one showed up on Roosters. 

[appleflavoredkitkats]

why bluey’s “sleepytime” is the only episode Ever

no guys u don't understand. bluey's sleepytime episode is the bluey episode. THE episode. it's such a wonderful and profound showcase of the tight-knit and unconditional love this family has for each other and it will always bring tears to my eyes whenever i watch it. so anyways here’s a 2k word analysis of the entire episode and its meanings and symbolisms

the episode starts off with chilli reading bingo a story about a chick hatching from its egg. after hatching, the chick immediately sees its mother and snuggles up to her so she can fall asleep. that already sets the perfect precedent for what to expect. bluey and bandit come in, but i will talk about them later. chilli finishes reading bingo her story. bingo suddenly gets worried about floppy being missing, but chilli finds floppy and returns it to bingo. after, chilli bids bingo good night, and bingo tells her she wants to do a "big girl sleep". 

one small detail i enjoyed is that, in response, chilli tells bingo to do her best, saying she's always there if bingo needs assistance. this entire scene is very heartwarming because chilli does not set up high expectations for bingo to solve her predicament. sometimes, getting the hang of something is difficult, and some parents would pressure their children into finding the solution instead of consoling them and assuring them that they'll be there throughout the journey. here, chilli does not set high expectations for bingo, nor does she leave bingo alone— she tells bingo that, okay, i am here with you no matter what, whether you solve your problem or not. i will be here for you, because i believe in you and love you conditionally—THIS introduces the theme of the episode.

an important detail i want to highlight is that, floppy was given to bingo by chilli right before chilli says this. i'll expound more later, but i believe that floppy is meant to represent chilli's unconditional love for bingo. even if chilli isn't there, her love still persists, and in this episode, we see it through floppy being bingo's guardian in her dream.

then, the dream itself occurs— one of the most beautifully animated and well-composed sequences in any piece of animation, really. what i like about it is that bingo hatches from the earth just like a chick. at the same time, floppy hatches from the moon, and they both hug. in astrology, the moon represents one’s emotions and desires. again, i’m going to expound on floppy later, but understand that i believe floppy represents the love the family shares for one another. if the moon represents inner desires, then bingo’s inner desire is to showcase her love for her family as much as they do with her.

then, they see the sun, who we all know represents chilli. it's the same story— a baby chick, bingo, hatches and the first thing they see is their mom, chilli, the sun. the story of the chick ends with it sleeping with their mom, and here, we know that bingo wants to overcome their sleepwalking issues. so, bingo's inclination towards the sun is meant to represent how she feels like she can overcome her problems with the warmth of the sun, her mom.

i want to say that, because chilli is represented by the sun, it would suggest that all of the heeler family is represented by something as well. here, bingo is earth. in astronomy, earth symbolizes honesty, groundedness, and reliability. these are definitely pretty profound descriptions for bingo, but it checks out— in bluey, bingo is seen as less rambunctious than her sister. she's pretty emotionally intelligent and compassionate to others, and a lot of episodes focus on her honesty about boundaries, and what makes her feel hurt.

eventually, bingo and floppy pass a hatched planet that seems to be mercury. right after, we see bluey ask her mom to fetch her a glass of water. this heavily implies that bluey, in this situation, is mercury. in astrology, mercury is meant to resemble outward expression at its finest, curious about the wonders of life. mercury tends to be connected to wit and rationalization. again, big words to describe someone like bluey, but bluey definitely is the more outgoing, curious, and smart person between her and her sister. she's always the one asking questions, knowing how to rationalize her decisions to ensure what she's doing is what she thinks is right. she's also very intricate about the inner workings of her games, and tends to be a little rebellious when it comes to following rules outside of games. in this way, both her and her sister somewhat contrast, but we know they're a perfect balance with each other.

anyway, chilli brings bluey the water that she doesn't even drink. chilli then retreats to bluey's bed instead of disturbing her from her sleep. i think the untouched glass of water is another discreet symbol of the love chilli provides for her children. her love is there, even if you don't see it. even bluey snugs up into chilli’s spot on the bed, sleeping soundly. 

after chilli sneaks into bluey’s bed, we see bingo sleepwalk into her parents’ bedroom and sleep in between bluey and bandit. at the same time, we see bingo approach what seems to be like neptune in her dream. in neptune, she plays around, rolling across is lands as bingo rolls around the blanket in real life. what’s interesting is that, in astrology, neptune is meant to represent inspiration, ideals, and creativity, ignoring every sense of limitation life throws at you. i think this is a perfect way to encapsulate bluey, bingo, and bandit’s dynamic, as these three are the ones who thoroughly commit to the bit of their games. together, these three aren’t limited by anything, and it makes them happy.

afterwards, we see bingo approach jupiter, which is supposed to represent bandit. in astrology, jupiter is described as expansive, ensuring growth at whatever adventure you pursue. in a way, jupiter is like a guardian angel, which embodies bandit extremely well. bandit’s entire schtick is ensuring that his daughters’ childhood whimsy never dies while also keeping track of how they develop as their own persons. i think this is also emphasized by how both bluey and bingo, in the dream, are seen playing and having fun on jupiter, to bandit’s expense. it heavily mirrors these three’s playing style with each other in general.

i think the most beautiful part of it all, though, is bingo and floppy descending into the core of jupiter. it’s such an overlooked scene. jupiter’s core is described to be filled with pressure and heat. the weight of the pressure within jupiter’s core is said to be equal to 160,000 cars. and yet, bingo finds comfort in it, hugging it dearly. if bandit is meant to be jupiter, then bingo hugging the core is meant to represent bingo’s adoration of bandit as her father and as a good person. bandit never withholds anything from the girls, showcasing his love for them through complex games and lighthearted roughhousing. i also think that’s what the storms surrounding the core represent. bingo recognizes the love that her father gives her through EVERYTHING that he is, just like how chilli shows that she loves her children unconditionally. 

we see bandit bring bingo back into her room. before returning to his room, he helps bluey take a dump, singing her the song he sang to bluey when she was a baby. and, can i just mention how “dad can you sing to me” is genuinely one of the funniest scenes in bluey? like, not only is this show emotionally compelling, but it’s hilarious, and i love how this episode showcases both in harmony.

when both bluey and bandit return to bandit’s bedroom, we see that bingo is there, sleeping in bandit’s spot comfortably. bluey sneaks into her mom’s spot, and bandit sleeps on the floor. bingo falls into the floor, sleeping next to bandit. bingo then begins sleepwalking again, returning to her bedroom. in her dream, she comes across saturn whose rings are a bunch of floppies circling around. in astrology, saturn is meant to represent discipline, karma, and structure, often meant to teach us about what our obligations and responsibilities in life are.

i find this scene interesting, especially if you consider that floppy is meant to represent love. floppy insists they want to join the other floppies, and despite bingo’s hesitation, she lets them. i think what this means, especially when considering that floppy and their peers returned to bingo later on, is to show that it’s integral for bingo to give out love as much as the love she receives. she recognizes the importance of chilli giving bingo comfort and care. despite the fact that it’s difficult for bingo to let go of floppy, she recognizes that floppy wants this, and so bingo lets them go, because bingo wants to return the love she felt from floppy. through this, we also see that she values the love her family gives her, and she wants them to know she loves them back. that is why the moon represents floppy, because again, bingo’s inner desire is to share the love she experiences with her family.

and then, this scene. bingo zooms through space, moving directly towards the sun. and as we know, the sun represents chilli. upon seeing the sun, bingo gets a hold of her tears and tells the sun that she has to go [to bed] because she’s a big girl now. here we return to the initial problem at hand and bingo’s arc of getting there. obviously, the journey there was not perfect- she sleepwalked a lot that night, and cried when she lost floppy. but, that’s okay. the sun, chilli, recognizes her efforts in trying, and ensures bingo that she’ll be here with her through the entire journey of making her way there. and even if chilli didn’t explicitly tell bingo that she loved her, the sun tells bingo she loves her because bingo knows her mom loves her. she even wags her tail to it! in real life, chilli snuggles up to her like the mother hen and the chick from the story, and we see later that bingo was able to fall asleep, aka solve her problem, because her mom supported her wholeheartedly.

and i think that’s another beautiful thing about sleepytime. the fact that this happens in bingo’s head showcases that this is how she thinks of herself and her family. bluey, as mercury, is outgoing, adventurous, and curious, because bingo knows this and loves her for it. bandit, as jupiter, is a playful guardian angel, showing his love through fun and being himself, because bingo knows this and loves him for it. chilli is filled with warmth and unconditional love for her family, similar to how far the sun’s light can reach, because bingo knows this and loves her for it. bingo’s dream reveals her deep appreciation for her family, because she knows that they all love her.

and eventually, bingo returns to her earth, putting its pieces together. here we see floppy and their friends return to help bingo. to harken back to the saturn symbolism, not only does saturn depict responsibility but it also represents good karma, believing good things will occur if you commit to your responsibilities. and here, we know how much bingo loves other people like her family and floppy. because of her good deed towards floppy, the floppies return to help her because they love her too. it reflects how chilli returns floppy to bingo. this is the second time in the episode that bingo receives floppy from her mother. if we apply the same logic and consider floppy as a symbol of love, chilli returns floppy to bingo because she is giving back the love that bingo provides to her. chilli knows how much bingo loves her, the same way bingo knows how much her mom loves her. the love within the heeler family is cyclical, because every single one of them love each other so, so much.

and then we are brought back to reality as the music swells. we see the many instances of love wafting through the walls of their home. the bathroom where bandit stayed to support bluey, the glass of water chilli got for bluey, bluey and bandit snuggled up on the floor comfortably, chilli enjoying the warmth of the bed the entire family slept on at some point, bingo’s storybooks, and eventually, the sun making its way to bingo’s window. it’s all love. the entire household basks in the glow of unconditional love for each other. 

all in all, sleepytime is such a beautiful episode showcasing how love within families should exist within everything they do, no matter how “mundane” it seemingly is. THAT’S what a family is supposed to be. i would also, obviously, like to compliment the stunning animation, background designs, comedy, and score, because it really heightens the impact of the entire episode. genuinely, if you want to introduce bluey to somebody who hasn’t watched it, THIS is the episode. anyway i ignored my homework for this, just go stream bluey!!!!!!

(ps if the planets are wrong, like if neptune was actually uranus and if mercury was actually mars, then uhhh just dont talk abt it LOL. tbh i googled them to just to make sure and it provides similar insights anyway!!!)

[iambittythings]

For Furnal Equinox in two weeks (yikes!), a little Blue Heeler who may look familiar to you. :) The second time I've used Bluey's coat pattern, but the first I've made her truly blue.

I've only ever seen clips of the show, but they were always sweet, and I love how much happiness it seems to bring people. :) The World can always use a little more joy.

If you'd like a beast, please check out Bittythings and Beasts.

[bestmombracket]

BEST MOM BRACKET; ROUND 5

Propaganda for Chili 💚; Very supportive and sweet, makes a lot of time in her day to play with her daughters, and teaches them valuable life lesson along the way. Which keep in mind, she has a career and is shown to have others hobbies, friends, etc. She's not a stay at home mom whose life revolves around her kids 24/7. Also suffered a miscarriage between having her two daughters.

Propaganda for Yor 💚; Badass assassin lady, generally nice otherwise. Basically, adopts Anya, trains her to protect herself, compliments her endlessly, would literally kill for her daughter, and saves her from getting kidnapped. Thinks she is a bad mom but genuinely tries her best and wants to be good for Anya.

Propaganda should be used to bring your side up, not the other side down! Please be respectful! The moms are watching 💚

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

Just watched the new Bluey episode Ghostbasket. It was a typical episode. The girls play a game with Bandit and Chili, same old.

But then those last couple of seconds happen....and it's bittersweet.

Putting spoilers under the cut

The game has concluded, we pan out of the house, and we see THIS!

(Had to take a picture since the website won't allow you to screenshot it 😒)

THE HEELERS ARE PUTTING THEIR HOUSE UP FOR SALE, THEY ARE SELLING THE HOUSE.

To which I remember hearing rumors about WAY back last year that they could be selling the house, but this officially confirms it.

It kinda brings up the question of why is it exactly they are selling the house? We don't even get a answer for the within the episode itself.

Mostly, it's a way the parents are letting the girls using this as a way to cope with them leaving the house they were practically born in, with Badnit allowing them to chase potential buyers, who Chili was playing, away so they can keep the house.

But we hear Badnit say, "But look, I can't do this every time", as we're shown the For Sale sign, further hammering in the factor that even though they want to keep the house, they can't force everyone who wants to buy it away.

The girls are growing up, along with facing new experiences, like moving to a brand new place.

Such an iconic house too, wonder who will end up getting it 🤔

[bananachipfantasy]

Hello, today I show you the drawing I made of my doorwoman, she is my OC, well, as I said, she is the one who supervises at TNMN.

Some fun facts about her.

She's 31.

She's lesbian and asexual (In secret).

She's very serious about her job, but in her free time she likes to talk with the neighbors.

She has a good memory for names and phone numbers, but sometimes misses facial details easily.

If it weren't for the clothes, she wouldn't know who is Elenois and who is Selenne.

Sometimes she buys bottles of milk from Francis if she sees that he didn't sell well at work.

Her best friends are Mia, Margarette, Nacha and Gloria. In general she's on good terms with everyone, she just doesn't talk much to some neighbors.

She's argentinian, especially from Misiones, she has a very strong accent sometimes.

She loves apple incense, sometimes she turns them on while she works.

She has a blue heeler puppy.

When it rains, she brings torta fritas to the work and drinks mate.

She never knows how to answer Chester, so she just says "good morning" and waits for him to leave.

She doesn't know how to cook, she only knows how to make torta fritas, that's why she usually order from Nacha.

Before working as a doorwoman, she was a math teacher, that's why she gets along so well with Mia. For personal reasons she left her old job.

[small-sinclair]

Can you do a Dogs of Ambrose?

Dogs of Ambrose

Jonesy. You know her. You love her. The Sinclair Brothers worship her. She is the pack leader and the mayor of this town. If she doesn’t like the dog that comes to town or is attacked by another dog, the Sinclairs will get rid of it. No questions asked.

Indiana Bones (Indy). He’s a brown and white pit bull with the biggest heart ever! Vincent and Lester came up with that name and Bo loves it! He loves digging and digging and digging and digging and digging. He comes home with bones like deer bones and skulls. Indy and Jonesy are married.

Bo-utiful. She’s a white and black hound dog that sits in Bo’s shop. She hangs out with Bo all day either by playing, sleeping, or just being there with him. She’s the sweetest doggie ever.

Beaver. This light brown lab-German Shepard mix was found by Lester while he was beaver hunting up north. He decided to bring him home after Beaver jumped into his truck and barked at him.

Peach. She’s brown, grey, and black mut that always brings a smile to anyone. Bo’s having a bad day? She’ll do a little dance. Vincent is sad? She gets him to smile. Lester having a bad day? She’ll run and bring the biggest stick every! A tourist taking their last breaths and scared? She’ll lay next to them and put her head on their chest, staying until the heartbeat fades.

Sunny. He’s a sweet little golden retriever that Lester found in the kill pit. Shy at first but will love you until the end. Will steal your food.

Alaska. She’s a red husky that Vincent adopted after he killed her owner for tying it outside in the heat (it was 102 that day). He takes her on walks and lets her sleep next to him between Jonesy and him.

Canon. Just as the name implies, he’s a canon. He’s Bo’s hunting beagle, and he’s good at bird and gator hunting. He runs fast, kills fast, and eats fast. Play fetch with him! He loves it!

Pepper Flaks. Vicncent’s not a fan of little dogs, but this grey and gold Chihuahua won his heart after she did a little dance. Her favorite food is pepper jack cheese, grilled green pepper, red peppers, bell peppers, pepper flacks— if it has peppers in it, she’ll eat it.

Cyclone. The oldest sausage dog you’ll ever see. He’s been alive longer than the twins, so that should say something. He hardly walks or moves around, but moves just enough to show he’s alive. Survived 3 heart attacks, a broken rib, 4 coyote fights (he’s won all 4), and has killed snakes. His back legs don’t work, going blind, and he can’t hear well, but he’s a happy boy, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t outlive the Sinclairs. 

Bluey. She’s a blue and grey puppy heeler :3 . Lester found her and is forever happy with this little girl. She loves going on adventures with her sister and hanging out with Jonesy.

Bingo. She’s a golden and orange heeler. She is sisters to Bluey. She loves running in circles and “singing” with Indy.

Now, the strangeness of the 3 Black German Shepherds and how they were found:

Demon. This one-eye black German Shepard is silent and scares everyone. Vincent found him curled in the back of the church under a destroyed cross, sleeping under the Virgin Mary statue. He stays near Vincent most of the time and attacks victims if they fight Vincent. (If you squint real hard, the dog looks like Vincent.) No one knows where he came from or how he got into the locked church.

Devil. Looks exactly like Demon, but has all of its eyes. He’s loud and friend, but don’t get him mad or in a corner; he will bite. Bo took him in as his own. Devil walks along side Bo and only answers to him and no one else. (If you squint, Bo and him are the same). Again, no one knows how or when these pups got in the church or how the cross got burned. But does anyone know why the Virgin Mary statue had water coming from her eyes?

Saint. A black German Shepherd with a little white cross on his head. Lester found her on the same day when Demon and Devil were found, but Lester didn’t know about it. He learned about them when he brought Saint over a day after. Lester woke up, made coffee, and and looked in his living room. Underneath the ram skull on his wall, Saint laid asleep. The doors were locked and there was no way Saint could’ve just came in. Saint is the sweetest, happiest, cutes puppy every! He loves people and being around Lester. Enjoys the roadkill pit, too.

[hozaloza]

I'm forcing everyone to look at my Cranes pet/animal hcs Jasmine has a dog, cat and snake.

Thomas has a cat

Jasmine forced Thomas to make their cats have a play date. it was a success in Jasmine's words.

Thomas's cat is an orange and white tabby named Daisy.

Jasmine's pet names are: Dog- Mushu Cat- Meowvrick (He's a black cat with long fur, she had to name him after her boss <:sobbingBoss:1183934764386898000> ) Snake- Mr. Snoodle (She let her friend Jenifer pick this name. She regrets it afterwards 💀)

Jasmine used to have a big fluffy dog when she was a little kid. She was old but still energetic. She absolutely loved her. Sadly one day while on a walk, an unleashed dog tried attacking little Jasmine. Luckily her dog was there and defended her. Unfortunately, while her dog won, she was left heavily injured. She carried her back home (with struggle) and tried to help her, but it was too late. It took a lot of years after to get a new dog since she was heart broken

Jasmine kept a lot of centipedes in a little bucket and gave them names. They would always die and she cried every time (she was like 9) ((also she held funerals for them and completely forgot about them afterwords))

In 7th grade she went over to Thomas's house and saw that he had a pet bird. She loved spending her time with Cracker (Thomas named him 💀)

Oh yeah, Thomas had a pet bird named Cracker. He named him when he was 10.

Thomas would always bring home the most scrungkliest feral cats, and his parents would force him to let them back outside (he always cried bc he loved them a lot, even if they scratched his face up)

Jasmine and Ryan would always help him capture these cats. Mainly Ryan bc he knew what he was doing.

Ryan had a pet horse who he still visits to this day (horse was a baby when he got him)

Ryan is scared of every dog except his tiny little dachshund who he named Snake (he grew out of this fear eventually)

Ryan loved turtles as a kid. He had a pet turtle named Hank (they were kids ok--)

Ryan didn't like Thomas's bird as a kid (he bit his finger) Every time Ryan went to his cousin's house, he would immediately hide from their heeler dog (they lived on a ranch) Once while on the trampoline, his cousin's dog got on and Ryan started freaking out, struggling to get away since he was laying down.

He hates the rooster on his cousin's family ranch

Ryan took horse riding lessons

Maverick has a black axolotl who he named Latte (haha reference)

When Maverick was little, he was constantly surrounded by birds and other rain forestly type animals. He took care of 2 Scarlet Macaws that frequently visited his childhood home, a pet Capybara named Stinkle, and an Iguana named Chico

Maverick loves animals, give him a cat to play with and he melts immediately "Awhhh, aren't you a stinky little thing?? Yeah you don't like me, but I don't care. No one likes me either way!!" "Boss, we have to give the cat back" "No, she's mine now." "Boss--" "Ryan, can't you see we're bonding??" He says as the furious little kitten is biting him

Maverick is scared of horses (a horse licked him when he was little)

He LOVES cranes. He absolutely loves them. It's been his dream to have one as a pet, but sadly the only cranes that lives in the states is the sandhill crane and whooping crane, and they're illegal to own as pets. (He'll get one eventually)

When he got to see a crane up close once, his fixiation started HARD. Bring up a crane in discussion and he'll list off all the facts about them from the top of his head.

The crane trio gave him the axolotl for his birthday. Maverick didn't like aquatic type animals, so he was sorta pissed at first. But when he saw the axolotl was black, he fell in love. "You got me a fish…?" "Well, not really, it's an axolotl!" "…Whatever it is, I don't want that disgusting--" Sees it's black "….You're my baby now. I'm naming you Latte. I'll build an entire ecosystem for you, and we'll talk about cranes together." "…Told you he'll love it."

Alex is scared of cats (he got chased by an orange kitten when he was little)

He really likes Cheetahs, their swiftness intrigue him

He really wants a pet dog, but never found the time to make room for one (his job 💔 )

When Ryan and Alex move in together after this hell, Ryan got him a Golden Shepard breed, and Alex loved her (he cried when he held her in his arms)

Alex and Ryan are dog parents

They got a Doberman after

Crows are fairly fond of Alex, they constantly bring him little shiny jewels since he feeds them

------------------------

That's all I have for now </3

[nerdwithabirb]

In Praise of Bluey

I haven’t been on Tumblr in a hot minute because life marches on and I forget about some of my socials for a while.

Anyway, today I’m doing something a little different in the form of a longass rambling post so if you read to the end, you’re great and I hope all of the dogs you meet want you to pet them. (If you’re not a fan of dogs, insert whatever your favourite animal is.)

I’m not a parent. I will most likely never be a parent. I got my tubes removed almost two years ago now, by choice, because of medical issues that would impact a pregnancy, and sociopolitical issues I don’t want to bring a kid into. If I decide I want children, I will adopt them. But for now, my nephew is enough to get my fix of hanging out with kids.

With that said, I adore Bluey. It’s a masterpiece of animation, especially as far as modern kids’ shows are concerned.

Conflict Resolution and Realistic Characters

I find that many modern children’s shows are, for lack of a better word, sterilized. They don’t seem to like to show any sort of conflict. Bluey shows conflict. The Heeler sisters get frustrated with each other, with their friends, with their other family members. Bluey herself can be bossy and vindictive at times, occasionally bullying her sister Bingo, her cousins Muffin and Socks, and her classmates. Bingo is shy and sensitive and has a love of nature, but she runs into problems standing up for herself. 3 (later 4)-year-old Muffin behaves like an average toddler: absolute chaos, but not trying to be bad on purpose. Chilli and Bandit aren’t perfect parents - they get frustrated and sometimes hurt their girls’ feelings as a result. But they all learn from their mistakes, and they’re not afraid to admit when they’ve done something wrong — even the adults.

I grew up with an emotionally abusive father who was always too afraid (or too many beers deep) to form a meaningful connection with me. He’d belittle me for being interested in the arts and actively bullied me when I passed my driving test instead of congratulating me at all. He’s never apologised for any of it. Bandit is the dad I never got to have: he’s entirely devoted to his wife and daughters, even when it humiliates him. He’s not afraid to own up to his mistakes and learn from them.

Chilli reminds me of my own mother in a lot of ways: witty and sarcastic on the outside, completely losing her marbles on the inside because she’s afraid she’s not a good enough mom. Like my own mom, Chilli has a passion for drawing and encourages her daughters to keep practicing. She’s warm and welcoming and gives great hugs. She’s got both jokes and sage advice. And she sets out to right all the wrongs - my mom apologises to me all the time for stuff that happened years ago. (I love you, Mom!)

Tackling Serious Subjects and Different Family Dynamics

Another thing Bluey does absolutely spot-on is addressing serious subjects tactfully and in a way kids can understand. In the episode “Copycat,” Bluey starts her morning annoying the hell out of Bandit by copying everything he does. Things take a turn for the serious when the pup finds an injured budgie and rushes to the vet with her dad. The little bird doesn’t make it, which crushes Bluey. To cope, she plays out the events of the day in a game, but budgie-Bingo doesn’t get the memo and acts all better. Bluey realises that, like the budgie dying, Bingo derailing the game is out of her hands, and she comes to accept it.

In “Dance Mode,” Bandit steals Bingo’s last French fry. She’s given three chances to activate Dance Mode on her family, but gets all of those taken from her as well. Poor little Bingo is absolutely heartbroken when Chilli asks her an important question: “Does your outside voice sometimes say yes, when your inside voice is saying no?” As an (at the time undiagnosed) autistic kid who often struggled with speaking up and asserting myself growing up, this hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Early Baby” tackles premature birth with Bluey’s classmate Indy, “The Show” nods to Chilli having had a miscarriage, “Grandad” emphasizes that aging parents still need to take care of themselves for their adult children.

“Flat Pack” is an allegory for evolution, faith, getting older, and the struggle that is putting together flat pack furniture.

“Sleepytime” and “Baby Race” show some of the more everyday aspects of growing up, like sleeping independently and learning how to walk, all set to beautiful arrangements of classical pieces (Gustav Holst’s “Jupiter” from The Planets and Bach’s “Prelude in C Major,” respectively). And I won’t lie, as a nightmare-prone kid who was super attached to my mom, both of these episodes hit me hard too. I can’t watch either of them without getting a little misty-eyed.

In a more general sense, and regarding different family structures and dynamics, secondary characters like Judo, Winton, and the Terrier brothers are all shown with single parents. Rusty’s dad is in the army and, as a result, away on deployment for long stretches of time. But none of these things are made out to be a show or a spectacle or something bizarre, just a fact of life: different kids come from different backgrounds. I can guarantee that if a same-sex couple were to be introduced, it would be in a way that feels natural, like one of Bluey’s or Bingo’s classmates saying “My mums/dads are here to pick me up!”

Humour and Art-Related Ramblings

The character designs are simple and memorable. They have extremely expressive faces and movements despite being made of basic shapes like rectangles and ovals. The animation is smooth and fluid while embracing the “cartoony-ness” of being a cartoon. Everything is colourful but not to the point where it feels like a rainbow exploded on your screen. The backgrounds are simple, but not TOO simple, and many settings are nods to actual places in and around Brisbane.

Joff Bush and anyone he collaborates with on the soundtrack can convey everything from the beauty of nature to a boring workday via music alone, whether through arrangements of classical and folk music or original pieces. Bush isn’t afraid to use a variety of instruments, from a delicate music box in “Charades” and “Mount Mumandad” to a rambling banjo in “Grandad” and everything in between.

The humour is amazing, especially for children’s media. There are a few jokes that are clearly aimed at the adults in the room, like Bandit’s Polaroid camera going off in “Bob Bilby” when Chilli arrives with her tandem bike, or his discussion with Fido about getting a vasectomy/neutered in the original cut of “Perfect.” Bingo innocently asks Bandit questions about where babies come from in “Takeaway” and “Daddy Putdown,” though he always dodges the questions. “Dad Baby” is all about the struggles of pregnancy from the perspective of Bandit carrying Bingo in an old baby harness and it’s frankly hilarious; despite not being a parent myself, I have a nephew and I’m in that magical spot in my twenties where several of my former classmates are having kids left and right. There are well-timed fart jokes (“Daddy Robot,” “Fairies”) and slapstick moments (“Dad Baby,” “Born Yesterday”).

Conclusion

Bluey is a show that people of all ages can watch and learn from. It has heart, humour, and lovable characters. Its natural conflict resolution teaches its audience to be better people through showing rather than telling. It’s a beautiful show and I’m unashamed to watch it as a childfree adult.