Aristocrat Killer

Gaslight

Gatekeep

Girlboss

FAR CRY 5 REPLAY; region liberation

| daughter of kyne break my curse. | oh hamah, daughter of song, drown out the whispers of the beast with your voice, lest it speak to our dreams |

witches

fulls  ↓ ↓ ↓

Genuinely, I don’t think many books have slammed me so hard as Bill Denbrough listening to his parents grieve for Georgie in completely separate rooms, and wondering why they were crying so far apart. Or in The Outsider, the listlessness in Ollie after his brother’s death and the robotic numbness in how he performs his chores because the world keeps moving even when you feel like yours has stopped. Or later when he gets a moment’s quiet to himself, and realizes with a clinical kind of detachment that he’s not eaten in a while and is hungry. How even that simple need feels wrong in the wake of so much loss.

I can’t include the passages because they’d be too long, and they don’t quite have the same oomph without context, but, man.

Grief is often hard to put into words when you’re feeling it. But King describes it so clearly and realistically that you can feel the distance yawning between Bill and his parents, you can feel his isolation and the effects of his parents’ neglect. The Denbroughs mourn like they’ve lost all their children, but Bill is still there, and he needs them, but he’s no better than a ghost. And Ollie? Losing his brother and then his mother? Ugh. The way King captures the dissociative feeling that can come with loss is so dead-on. The way Ollie, still just a child himself, bravely takes on the role of caretaker and stays strong for his dad, because that’s what good sons do, because if he isn’t strong, who will be, and goes through the motions of tidying house or whatever is needed in such an automatic, mechanical fashion is heartbreaking and so, so, so freaking real.