#I had a truly awful day yesterday and actually getting myself up and doing things did help

[hyperfocusthusly]

Showered, tidied my room, did a clothes and bedding wash, swapped my summer/winter clothes, emptied the bins and cleaned the kitchen all this and nobody threw me a well done party, sick and twisted

[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

[silenzahra]

First of all, thanks a lot to @megamagimugi @itsavee4117 @bberetd @keakruiser @pepperycar

@coffeecat1983 @peaches2217 @stripetkattelalala54 @multicolour-ink @vulpixfairy1985

@purely-interests-here-not-much for your comments on my latest post. I truly appreciate your support as I really needed it. Hope it's okay that I vent under the cut so you're all free to continue reading or skip this post, but I hope you all understand I'm not in the mood whatsoever to be around right now. I know you've tagged me in some stuff and I appreciate it, but I just can't enjoy it right now. It has all to do with my emotional state and nothing with the content itself. Hope that is clear.

Also, thank you to those of you who reblogged my musicians post after I fixed it. I really appreciate it. I'll make sure to give you all proper answers... I just don't know when yet.

Before I go on, let me advice you: if you're in a good mood today, maybe you shouldn't read this if you don't want it to be ruined. It's totally up to you. Just know that I'd never judge anyone for putting their mental health first.

Yesterday was the most awful day of my life. I came to the realization that the people I thought cared for me the most, the people who were supossed to always be there through thick and thin... don't actually care about me. They always put others first, no matter what my necessities and emotions are: they're always there for other people but they're never there for me. Even when it's obvious that I need them, they just don't see it and continue to help everybody else but me.

And I feel lonely. I've never had trouble with being alone as my hobbies usually require that I'm on my own to properly enjoy them, but that's one thing... and loneliness is something very different. I'm never alone, but I'm lonely. And their attitude also makes me feel so unimportant... Makes me wonder why on earth I'm here. Why my family had me if they weren't gonna care about me. Especially my emotions... No one in my family has ever made me feel like they're a safe space for me to open up. Never. So they don't even know what I'm feeling because, whenever I try to tell them something, they change the subject or simply don't pay attention. My voice doesn't matter. I literally have no one to turn to IRL. Heck, they don't even make me feel loved anymore. They make me feel like a burden they have to deal with, and I can't even move to live on my own for financial reasons.

In all honesty, I never thought I'd find myself in such a situation. I don't even know how to act anymore. I have to continue living with my family, seeing them every day, and I just don't know how to look them in the face. The feelings swirling in my chest... they hurt, and I feel that I need to let them out, but I literally have no one IRL. My friends, they all live in different cities, and have their own lives and problems, so they can't always be there for me, and I'm okay with that because I'm also busy. I'd like to get back to therapy, but it's expensive as hell where I live, and I have just started working for the first time after a few months, so I don't have the means for that.

In all honesty, this morning I took the day off from work and went for a walk with my dog. This may sound weird, especially to people who don't have any animals, but I'm not exaggerating when I say my dog Baloo was the only one (in my immediate surroundings I mean) who noticed yesterday that I wasn't feeling good. He has a great emotional intelligence and was there for me when I needed him, and I'm glad I could walk with him this morning because it really did wonders to us both.

Still, shortly after I got home... everything went bad again. I'd dare to say even worse than yesterday. And I'm so tired and drained.

I don't even know why I'm in this world anymore. It's just suffering and suffering, one bad thing after another, and I sincerely can take it no longer. I've had enough. I don't even find joy in the SMB franchise anymore... Yes, it's that bad. I've hit rock bottom and all that's left for me is drowning.

Thank you if you've read everything and sorry if I bored you or made you feel bad. I just hope you understand that I don't feel like being around whatsoever. I love you and your content, but I can't enjoy it right now, so I'd rather not see it until I'm fine... if I ever get to be fine again. This is the worst bad streak I've experienced in a very long time and I sincerely cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel. Heck, I can't even feel excited about seeing my favorite band live again next week... Can't even look forward to that right now.

Of course, you're all free to continue to tag me in stuff if you'd like, but I hope you know I'm not gonna see it now. As I said, I can't enjoy anything in general. I've lost the spark of joy and I don't know how to get it back.

Sorry to sound so depressed, but it's just how I'm feeling right now.

Of course, all of this applies to the people around me in real life. I'm grateful I met each and every one of you, and I'm lucky and blessed that you offered me your support and you're there to listen. I love you all very much.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - June 30th

✨Happy (belated) Shovel Day!!!✨

“These may be the last words I ever write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me ready.”

Jonathan is pulling no punches by starting off reminding us that this may be his last day on earth. It’s telling that he woke up just before dawn came up (though I wonder how he slept at all….hmm….). I also love that while he ended his last entry on his knees in despair, he starts this entry on his knees — determined. I wonder if he was going to try to fight Dracula — futile though that may have been, but first wanted to adopt a less aggressive pose to lull him into a false sense of security. Or, perhaps, he actually was just ready for this to be over.

Once morning comes and he realizes he’s safe, he immediately runs to the great door. After all, it was unlocked yesterday, right? Alas!

“With hands that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and drew back the massive bolts.”

“But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled, and pulled, at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked after I left the Count.”

It’s not often that we see Jonathan describe himself in detail when he’s in a heightened emotional state. Before, when he found out he was imprisoned, he described his frantic state going door to door. But this time, we see the eagerness of trembling fingers turning to frantic despair. We see him shaking the door until it rattles. And it hurts more than before. Because this was truly the only easy way out. Now what is he to do?

“Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count's room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of evils.”

It’s Lizard Fashion time once again. And he doesn’t even care if he dies facing the Count! He’s willing to confront him head on because at least it’ll be a faster death and he’ll see it coming. With the sisters, he’ll have to wait until nightfall and who knows how long they’ll draw it out? No, this way is better to him, this way he has a choice. And it’s his choice, mind you, not the Count’s. Just another play on that “of your own free will thing”…

He makes his way as before, not really pausing to check his surroundings because:

“I knew now well enough where to find the monster I sought.”

I love this line and I feel it’s worth putting in here because it sounds so raw, so…viscerally angry. Yes, he’s tired of Dracula and willing to die at his hands, but he’s not going down without a fight. And he won’t go down without calling him a monster either.

“There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.”

So this is what Dracula looks like freshly fed. He must’ve fed a lot too to look this bloated and youthful from one drink. It is very likely he doesn’t have to feed as often as the women — maybe once every two months or so (which would make sense given his time with Jonathan and we haven’t seen him feed at all in that time). It’s notable too that Jonathan feels no symptoms of fatigue or sickness from this feeding — symptoms we will get to with another character. Perhaps it’s because he’s strong and healthy, or maybe he’s ignoring any noticeable symptoms because he’s running high on adrenaline (honestly the more likely option).

As he searches for the key and actually has to feel Dracula up (a horrible experience for Jonathan, I imagine), he looks at the creature to find:

“There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless. The very thought drove me mad.”

Jonathan, ever the unselfish man, is thinking of the bigger picture. He figures this box with Dracula must be going to England and then to the property Jonathan found for him so long ago when this was just a job for him: Carfax. Once again, Dracula’s talk of “your own free will” comes into play here. Unwittingly, Jonathan has given Dracula everything he needs to set up Vampire City in England of his own free will. And while he doesn’t directly say it — I don’t think he can because writing it down would make it real — Mina is in England too. They will not be near each other: Carfax is in Purfleet and Mina is in Exeter (approx. 200 miles away, so that would be about 5 hours by train), but I imagine for Jonathan, this is still too close for comfort. And it’s very likely, as Jonathan figures, that Dracula will use his army of “semi-demons” to not only drink more blood, but expand further and prey on more people. It won’t stop in just one place. And even if Mina were far away and safe from this, it still doesn’t change the fact that this creature will prey on the helpless for longer than Jonathan would ever feasibly live. I’ve noticed that Jonathan never really repeats himself in any one entry, but he’s so angry here that he starts and ends this passage with remarking how Dracula’s facial expression and these previous thoughts are driving him “mad”. He’s being driven past the point of all reason.

“A terrible desire came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above the forehead.”

Shovel time!!!!!! It’s a true testament to Jonathan’s strength that even the paralyzing power of Dracula’s stare isn’t enough to stop him completely. Yes, he can’t land a killing blow, but I wonder if anyone who has dared try something like this (I imagine the number is very few) has even managed to land a gash as he does? Judging by the lack of scars on Dracula’s face, I doubt it. But now he has one — a “deep gash” on the forehead. It’s sad that Jonathan calls it “mere” when in reality this a great feat! Though I understand when you go from trying to permanently end someone’s evil reign, only making a glancing hit on their forehead will make it seem that way in comparison. :/

The shovel falls out of his hand onto the box and as he’s picking it up, the “flange” of the shovel (aka, the wide part where you put your foot, according to this blog), catches the lid and it falls. Coincidence? Somehow, I doubt it. That’s a weird happenstance in my opinion; it’s hard for me to imagine the shovel just “happening” to catch the lid. Another trick of Dracula’s? Perhaps. The last he sees of Dracula is a malice-filled grin on a bloated face.

That’s when Jonathan hears the Szgany and the Slovaks coming once more. He runs up to the empty room, determined to try to get down to the great hall where they must be entering from as soon as possible. However, they’re not entering from the door he thought — indeed, they seem to be going down to the passage he was just in…

“I turned to run down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance; but at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the door to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closing round me more closely.”

Yet again, Jonathan’s hopes are dashed. I wonder if Dracula knew to close the door when Jonathan left the vault, or just shut all the doors when the Szgany and Slovaks got there. Either way, it’s chilling that yet another way — another hope — has been snuffed out. Jonathan isn’t talking of despair anymore, but of doom.

Then Jonathan describes hearing the people work on the great boxes and hearing them leave, going off into the distance. He even notes hearing Dracula’s box be nailed down!! It must be agonizing for him to hear not only people freely coming and going from the castle (which he doesn’t blame them for, of course), but to also hear your captor making his way out of the castle too! Not to mention the knowledge of what will happen once said captor is in England…

I suppose Jonathan could have tried to Lizard Fashion his way back to his room and search for that secret entrance they used to get to the vaults. But who’s to say Dracula didn’t find a way to lock his room as well in that time? He could’ve tried to shout for help, but we saw what happened the last time he did that. Plus, I think Jonathan is so mentally and emotionally exhausted at this point that all he can do is rest for a second and probably write what he’s hearing in the journal.

“I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of the Pit!”

Jonathan, that is such a beautiful sentiment. Love that he can’t bring up the word “woman” without thinking of his lovely Mina! And yeah, she doesn’t have anything in common with those women — he’s right. I’m sure nothing will change about that in the coming months…*insert Hbomberguy’s “foreshadowing is a literary device in which —“ bit* (I’m sorry, I had to)

He states his intentions to go out in Lizard Fashion one more time, but further, taking the gold from the Count’s room. He’s not going to remain here any longer, waiting for the women to get him. (And I do wonder now if he had been turned into a vampire: would he have had to take care of the women in Dracula’s absence, or are they just allowed to free roam now? Questions to consider…I partially remember the answer, but I won’t spoil)

If he does get out the first thing he’s doing is taking a train (I’m sure he’s not thinking of Mina when he writes that, but I kind of hope he is lol) and getting away from here — “where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!” Hardcore line and very true.

“At least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!”

Telling that he brings God up in the next line to contrast what he believes to be the devil’s influence on the land. It’s all he can cling to at this point. Even dying on a cliff is a more peaceful “sleep” than dying (or being turned) by those women. And of course, he will die as himself, not as a creature, though he imitates one with the Lizard Fashion. I wonder too if it would almost be better in his eyes to die on the cliffs; because, if he succeeds, he’s also successfully imitated the monster. But if he dies, well, it’s almost more proof he’s a man. I realize it’s a bit strange to compare these things when obviously he wants to make it back alive, but I do wonder if he struggles at all internally with how well he’s done with imitating the Count’s Lizard Fashion and perhaps he worries ��� just a tiny bit — if he’s becoming a little less human every time he does it? Irrational as that may seem, I can understand why he would have that struggle if he is indeed having it.

For the second day in a row, he ends the entry by referencing those closest to him and the last word in his diary — which he believes might forever be his last — is Mina. I wonder if he scrawled this in emotion, or wrote it very delicately, hoping for it to be forever preserved. Either way, I am not ok about this.

Good luck on your lizard fashion journey Jonathan, we love you 😭😭😭💔 thanks for gashing up the Count’s forehead before he left!

[streetkid-named-desire]

Rat, it’s a blessing that you were removed from the server because you’re STILL stirring drama proving exactly why you got booted. We made the right decision, you are a black hole void of drama and it never stops with you.

You sure are tough when you’re saying horrible things about everyone else and talking shit then you run and cry to tumblr with your “waa waa why everyone so mean to me =(“ at any minor criticism or when someone tells you to stop making them uncomfortable. Get a mirror and look at it real good because you are awful.

how am i the one still stirring up drama when i stopped posting about it on like tuesday outside of some personal reflections about social skills and being autistic lol

yesterday someone replied to a post, two days after i stopped talking about it, that i deleted and blocked the individual. today, three days later after my last post, i get this anon.

all i did was defend myself from a public accusation that i was purposefully spreading misinformation. then i get banned and blocked for something i had no idea i was doing outside of the p**ky shit because no one told me it was upsetting. and so because i couldnt defend directly and talk through whatever the fuck was going on and settle shit amicably and like mature adults i posted my reply

the only drama i take responsibility for actually starting is the shit with the flat chest lol anything else has just been me using my personal blog as a personal blog where i talk about my thoughts and feelings around the game and writing and modding and people more popular than me in modding

i really do not understand this obsession with me. is it because i refuse to back down? refuse to conform? refuse to make myself palatable? like sorry im abrasive? sorry im uncompromising? sorry i stand up to bullies and am open about my distaste in the social fabric of the modding community?

i dont think you people understand how tumblr works and how personal blogs work and what it means to vent on tumblr? maybe you should get your own outlet to also scream into the void like me so you can be normal and courteous and nice in your direct one on one interactions. you know, compartmentalize your shit and just treat each other like coworkers you dont like.

anyway, stop looking at my blog and finding things to pick at lol it doesn't matter. none of this fucking matters y'know? it's a fun hobby. just let it be a fun hobby.

something that is very painful but very good to cultivate is resisting the urge to have the last word, like you're trying to do now. it's especially hard if you're prone to rejection sensitive dysphoria but here are some cognitive behavioral skills that can help too (CBT gets a bad rap for like trauma therapy especially but it is useful when your thoughts actually aren't helpful and are irrational)

Perspective: Remind yourself it really, truly doesn't matter and is an actual waste of your time and energy. You deserve to feel good and arguing and cyberbullying and shit just makes you feel bad. I should know, I was a cyberbully in my early 20s exactly because I was so so deeply depressed. But, whatever conflict you got going on is just a blip on the radar as my mom would say.

Do you have all the facts? If you're sitting there and stressing and making assumptions about how someone feels or what they think, remind yourself that you can't read minds. There's no point in stressing if you don't have all the facts.

It's okay for people to be wrong about you: Not everyone has to like you or approve of you. It's normal to want that from your peers, but you have to learn to be comfortable with that not being the case. Again, perspective. Unless it's someone you genuinely care about and want to maintain a relationship with, it doesn't matter!

Let the emotions wash over you like a wave: This one is the absolute hardest, especially if you're autistic, because it's such a physically rotten feeling. But it will help. Put the phone away, lay down, and just cry. Don't be afraid of your feelings. Imagine you're in the sand at a beach, close to the tide, and just let the feelings wash over you and your body like a warm, soothing wave. They'll go away, you just gotta feel through them first.

idk it just sucks to see this because i've been where you are and it truly does just make you and your life so much worse. it will make you happier to just let shit go. to just move on. to accept that people are allowed to and may not like you and that's fine. they don't matter. i don't matter to you. i'm not doing anything but sitting here writing my little stories, taking my little pics, making my little mods, and just having fun. and occasionally venting!

move on with your life. i mean nothing to you anymore. i have no nefarious plans or deeds against you. that's why i blocked you on everything. because i don't care anymore.

and yet here we are with an anon message three days after i posted my last reflection about being autistic in fandom.

[mikrokoskooks]

Hey could you please do something with joon and appendicitis!! i love your works so much! <3

Of course and Ty xx I really love yours too you are so good at writing!!! :)

Tw:Emeto, hospitals mentions of vom!t

Around 2000 and something words might be my longest fic ever haha.

Namjoon's POV

"Hey, Hyung are you alright back there, you've been quiet today," Jungkook says from his seat next to me in the car.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just tired" Of course, I'm not actually tired I just don't want to worry Jungkook or the others.

I've been feeling a bit odd lately, and little things keep happening that are making me worry about my health.

Like the last couple of days, I have completely lost my appetite and had these weird cramps in my tummy that come and go. Usually, I'd be stubborn and not tell the others how I feel but something deep down's telling me to say something.

"Actually,  I-" Is all I manage to say before being cut off by Jimin,

"Guys. I don't feel very well"

Oh no.

"Why what's wrong?" Hoseok asks from the steering wheel

"I think I'm car sick" He moans placing a hand on his tummy.

I look over at Jimin and he truly looks awful he's gone all pale and his bangs are stuck to his forehead by sweat. I don't know what's up with him but it doesn't look good. "Here take this," Yoongi says passing him an emesis bag. Jimin and some of the other members get motion sick so we always have some on hand.

While Jimin is breathing heavily into the bag the pain and burning in my stomach grows quickly and I start to feel a bit queasy myself. Jimin lets out a few fairly quiet hiccups but a particularly loud one causes him to throw up quite aggressively into the blue bag.

Taehyung rubs his aching stomach while Jin and Yoongi pat his back, Soon enough Jungkook's unbuckled his seat belt and went to Jimin as well. I don't blame them cause Jimin is clearly unwell I just wish I had said I felt ill earlier so someone could look after me like that.

You know what, I don't even think Jimin's motion sick he's never gotten it this bad before it has to be something else. Like food poisoning?

~~~

When we get back to the dorm Jimin could barely stand up straight from all the vomiting he'd done. All of the others minus me had to hold him up so he didn't fall flat on his (cute) face.

I go into the kitchen and return to the living room with an empty yogurt pot. "Minnie you were eating this earlier right?"

Jimin slowly nods his head, "It's gone off I think it's given you food poisoning," Namjoon says

"It did taste kinda funny.."

"Then why'd you eat it silly, Jin asks half-jokingly before sweetly saying, it's okay anyways we'll help you get better yeah"

See, food poisoning. No motion sickness.

~~~

It's a week later and Jimin is better after he got sick the first time it took him until yesterday to get better. He really had it bad. I, surprisingly feel completely better too. I've managed to get my appetite back and my stomach cramp still come and go but less often than before.

I haven't bothered to tell the others how I felt before because it was never truly the right time with Jimin being sick and all. I was sure it would go on its own and it did so I've nothing to worry about. Plus, we've got a performance on the tonight show with Jimmy Fallon, and I'ts not like my stomach gonna randomly flare up again, is it?

I've jinxed it

As soon as we pull up at the venue I feel my stomach cramp aggressively and gurgle just like it normally does. Unfortunately, it's so much shaper and louder than usual it causes me to groan suddenly, earning me six pairs of concerned eyes staring at me. This time it radiates to his side.

"Namjoon are you okay, Was that your stomach?"

" Yeah, I don't.. feel that well" I blurt out

"Why, what's wrong namjoon-ah?" Seokjin asks me.

"My stomach.. hurts" I whine weakly leaning my head onto the window.

Since the van is now parked Seokjin unbuckles his seatbelt and rests a hand on my forehead "There's no temperature. Have you eaten anything that might be causing this?"

I shake my head, "It's alright though, I can manage" I try to say it as confidently as possible, but there's still a clear whine in my voice.

The car is silent for a minute before Hoseok speaks up, "Okay, If you're sure Joon but if it starts to hurt more tell us ok?"

"Okay"

~~~

As we enter the building the show's staff greet us with warm smiles and waves before leading us off to Jimmy Fallon. We don't have to walk too far as he's at the end of the corridor, but the journey still gets me out of breath. My stomach's probably to blame for that.

When we make it to the end of the not-so-far corridor I feel exhausted, My stomach ache has gotten ten times worse and I could feel my lunch trying to make a reappearance. I'm starting to rethink the performance tonight.

We'd been on the show before so when Jimmy turns around he's thrilled to see us again. He smiles and welcomes us back and then starts to pull everyone into a hug. That's one thing I've always liked about Jimmy he treats us like family. He doesn't just ignore us until we perform he cares about our feelings.

Speaking of feelings, before my hug, Jimmy looks at me worriedly and asks me something. "Hey are you okay buddy, you don't look so good."

"Ah yeah, I've  just got a stomach ache."

I can hear the genuine concern In Jimmy's voice.

"Oh, are you alright to perform? You can rest if you need to."

"I'll be fine I have a very strong immune system you know," Namjoon says making a muscle gesture trying to lighten the mood.

Jimmy chuckles before going over to me a pulling me into another warm gentle hug as he lets go he whispers, "I hope you feel better soon" to me. I say thank you and then we get led to our dressing room.

The first thing others do when they get in is eat some of the food the show had provided. Now despite how good all the food looked, I decide not to eat any. Instead I go to get my makeup and hair done and then go on my phone.

Now, of all the brilliant things I could look up on the internet, I'm stuck looking up pressure points for nausea. Yes, I could just a someone for an anti-nausea pill but then they'd worry and stop me from performing.

Just as I'm about to try the point Jimin comes to check up on me, "Hi hyung, how are you feeling?"

I contemplate telling him the truth but I opt not to instead "I'm fine Jimin"

"Are you sure? You really don't look well"

I tell him I'm fine again and this time he doesn't pry anymore. I glance over at the fast food the others are eating, maybe eating would make my stomach feel less like it's... slowly curdling.

As I walk over to the table a plethora of scents waft up my nose. Now on any other day, I would have loved the smell of McDonald's and KFC frolicking in my nostrils but today my body was just not having it.

Taehyung's POV

I look up to see Namjoon walking to our table, I guess he's feeling slightly better. Before I can open my mouth to ask he makes a 180-degree turn and grabbed a plastic bag from one of the chairs. At first, I thought he was going to use it as a rubbish bag or something but then I heard him gag and my mind was changed.

Normal POV

Namjoon suddenly gags into the plastic bag, his stomach is in knots and he can feel acid moving up his throat. He gags again bringing up a large wave of sick, he barely gets a break before more vomit hits the bag.

Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taehyung all make their way over to Namjoon, they pat his back and mumble sweet nothings into his ear. The vomiting continues for another 5 minutes before the vocalist's stomach lets up. The other Jin and Hoseok watch from afar while Jimin goes to get the staff.

"You okay?" Jungkook asks "Well obviously you're not but..." he trails off. Namjoon shakes his head, "I feel sick. My tummy hurts" he moans grabbing his side. You know stuff is serious when Namjoon says tummy instead of stomach. He drops down to his knees starting to puke into the bag again.

"How long has it been hurting you?" Taehyung asks patting his back. "Two days before Jimin got sick but it wasn't this bad just on and off," Namjoon says through gritted teeth. Taehyung and Jungkook look shocked "Hyung!?" They say in unison "Why didn't u say anything?"

"Didn't... feel, that bad then" he mutters. Jimin soon comes back in with the staff and the company doctor is shocked to see how namjoon looks and it's certainly not good. The doctor checks over the youngest rapper checking his breathing and his temperature.

"39 degrees" the doctor starts tutting "that's not good where abouts does it hurt?" He asks staring at namjoon with urgency.

"It was the middles but but now it's my right side" He says keeping one hand on his abdomen and the other to point. "From what I've seen and what you've told me, it looks like Appendicitis."

The members gasp and one of the staff members whispers an 'Oh my God'. Namjoon just sits there in shock and disbelief. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is a pained groan.

The doctor speaks up,"I think it would be best if you go to the hospital for surgery instantly, you can't preform tonight."

The others seem a bit sad about the news but the understand that it's definitely better for Namjoon to get surgery than to suffer. "B-but I have to perform... I" Namjoon tries to argue but stops half way swallowing thickly.

"No Namjoon." Hoseok says sternly, Jin nods and says "Your health is way more important go get your appendix out."

"Oh um okay" Namjoon says grimacing as the doctor helps him up. "What about the show" "Joon we'll be fine, we're just dancing you know, go." Yoongi comforts he himself knows the severity of appendicitis.

In the end Namjoon stops trying to find reasons to stay and gives into missing the show. He sits in the back of the doctors car and closes his eyes briefly. His stomach is really aching now and he's starting to worry.

"I won't die... will I?" The rapper mumbles. "Of course not Namjoon, don't be silly. You'll be just fine I promise" he says smiling sympatheticly. "Okay" he whispers feeling a bit more safe.

The doctor helps Joon out of the car and leads him into the ER. He explains to another doctor what's going on with Namjoon and he prepares him for surgery.

The last thing Namjoon remebes is being pushed on a gurney and then his vision goes black.

~~~

When he wakes up he's in a bright room that smells like roses and cleaning products. He tries to sit up but moans slightly at the soreness he does feels better though.

"Hi Namjoon, How u feeling?" The company doctor asks seeing he's awake "Better but also kinda sore" Namjoon replies. "That's normal to happen" Namjoon looks up at the clock the boys performance time.

"Can I go back now, I think I could make the performance" The doctor chuckles and shakes his head "No Namjoon you can't u need to rest, you can watch the show though."

The rapper nods and they turn on the room's TV. The show goes well and Namjoon smiles proudly those are his boys. Even if he can't be there with then on stage he still feels as though they're there with him in the hospital and later on they do.

Giving him hugs and hair ruffles and a Get well soon message from Jimmy Fallon. He really has the best members namjoon thinks to himself.

Sorry if the endings a bit bad my brain kinda gave up.

[lifemod17]

The sunset yesterday looked like the clouds closest to the sun were truly on fire, almost like lava. Knew I simply had to share these with you <3

Sunsets like this really do make you just stop and stare in awe. It’s always better when you can experience it with someone else though, and who better than the sunset lover herself? Wish you could be there, ladybird. I’d stand right beside you against the railing of the landing outside, watching in silence as the sun goes down and the clouds and the sky briefly come alive. You could lean your head on my shoulder as long as you wanted to, I wouldn’t mind. If anything, I’d lean my head against the top of yours in response, or softly pet your hair if you’d be comfortable with it.

Happy timezones Tonee! I hope your day treats you well, or that you can find at least a moment of respite if you need one.

Hold please, let me collect my thoughts so I'm not an incoherent blubbering mess.

Aquaaaaa!!! The pictures were amazing as it is but your message with it is so very sweet I had to restrain myself from letting the dam of tears break so early in the morning when I caught a glimpse of this earlier 🥹🥹🥹

Your sky!!! Oh I am big fan of when the setting sun sets the sky ablaze. I love how even when it's almost buried behind the buildings and trees, her presence is still captivating, that even before you part ways with miss sun, she gives you one last gift. Her own way of saying "hey, I'll be gone for a while, I hope you don't forget me. Here's one last thing to remember me by- something to hold on to, until we meet again next time!"

And that first image, looks like it's a painting!! An actual work of art!!! Like WHAT is happening with those clouds up above??!! Idk, all I know is, I am ENTRANCED by them. I will never tire of saying how lucky we are that we never get the same sunset twice, each one carefully crafted for that day only.

And honey, there is nothing I would like more than to bask in the golden hour glory with you as we sit in comfortable silence and just exist in the moment. A moment where there are no problems or worries, just you and I and the setting sun 💛

[quantum-bliss]

Day 10 of Heartbreak

Revelation. Yesterday I wasn't sober. It took being intoxicated for me to see who I was. This entire time I only side one side of things, which lets me know the truth was far from me. The truth is now closer to me than any of the other days.

Day 1 and Day 2 of heartbreak are missing from my writings, they are missing for a reason. It was my anger that made me severe our relationship and I could not possibly write what was I feeling in that state of mind. It would be evil to even put such words into the universe.

Fast forward to now, I realize how deceived I was in my initial heartbreak. I truly believed you had become this awful who cared nothing about the 5 years we spent together. I felt like you did everything just to hurt to me. Now I know I was nothing but a fool to believe such a thing.

Truth is, you triggered something in me that I havent seen in myself in a long time... vulnerability. Vulnerability can mean alot of things, but for me ill define as being in a position to be hurt.

It had been so long since I allowed anyone close enough to hurt me. Not one friend, not one lover, not one family memeber could get to me. I hid myself in plain sight, never sharing too much, never depending too much, never opening my heart too much, and never being vulnerable.

So when you finally did something that hurt me, it was as if the safe world I had spent so long building had come crashing down. I felt everything all at once. Every disappointment, every betrayal, every loss, every rejection, every pain I hid from myself came rushing in.

I had no where to run, no where to hide, no where to find safety. The wall on my heart had been compromised.

Even worse, somewhere in my mind I felt like I was waiting for you to slip up, just so that self-sabotaging voice could say 'see I told you. You cant trust anyone.' This is what I meant when I told you that you are not fully responsible for what I felt. My heart had been broken a million times before you, but so has yours.

I finally realize this why most people have such dysfunctional relationships. We are all suffering from decades of internal bleeding. Instead of addressing our wounds, we keep reaching out and hoping someone or something will heal us. But, in the end, we just end up hurting the people we love and hurting ourselves.

Now I understand the meaning of love hurts. It has nothing to do with love actually hurting, it is the fact that we are so imperfect that theres no way were not going to hurt each other when get close to another person.

You and I were both broken when we met, we were just broken in different ways. I cant judge you for your form of brokeness, nor can I judge myself. Since we know at some point we will get hurt, I guess its up to us to decide in what ways are we okay with being hurt and what ways are we not.

Anyway, today I calm. I feel confident in my future. I am not angry, sad, distracted, or numb, I just am. I thought the day my heart stops hurting would be the day I began to forgot you, but thats not true. In fact, I think I love you more now than ever. That is because, for the first time im my life I am beginning to truly heal. My heart feels healthier and more capable of loving, which means it is also more capable of forgiving.

I am beginning to forgive both your actions and my own, and even those who hurt me before you. I wish you had met this version of me, but im just glad I am meeting this version of myself.

As always life changes daily, but for the first time in this treacherous cycle of heartbreak, I can truly say im glad this happened. I hope one day you can say the same.

[itlivesproject]

hello friends! i suppose i should introduce myself now that the game is fully released: my name is sarah, but you will know me as the abel simp anon :) (also, in the q&a when you said you were desperate to find out who i am.. i actually lost my mind slightly because i admire you all so much, i couldn’t stop thinking about it😭, so thank you for being so lovely!)

i wanted to try to keep this as short as possible but i am known to ramble so hopefully that’s not too annoying! (edit: this ask is very very long, i just had so much i wanted to say, apologies in advance!)

firstly, i want to say thank you for being such a welcoming community - i’m pretty quiet and i don’t really share my interests much irl so to have this community means the world to me! i want to give the biggest thank you to you, the it lives project team, because without you guys none of this would’ve happened. i know it’s said a lot (but it’s true) how IMPRESSIVE this whole project has been from start to finish, i am honestly in awe of you all. from perfectly building upon already loved characters to creating your own, to your incredible world building and art (and i don’t even want to think about the nightmare that was programming all the many many variations), your storytelling capabilities are off the charts, seriously! i also want to quickly say that the few people who sent asks in about me made me feel so cool, like a tiny internet micro celebrity😭

i wanted to tell you a little bit about me! first of all, i’m british, so feel free to now read all of my asks in a silly little accent☕️. fun fact: i’ve followed lindsay for quite a long time and saw her original post at the very beginning asking if anyone would be interested in helping to create a third instalment… i actually almost signed up to be a writer on this project as i’m an english student and an avid it lives stan*, but i knew that with my schedule with college i wouldn’t have been able to give it the time it needed and deserved, but retrospectively i definitely couldn’t write anything as incredible as what you guys have produced, and as much as i would’ve loved to be on the team, being a fan has been the best experience i’ve had in a long long time!! *i am actually such an it lives nerd that i once made a powerpoint to tell my friend the entire plot of both ilitw and ilb, and she is eagerly awaiting for when i give her a powerpoint on the plot of ilw😭

i spent so many hours on friday unprivating all my ilw posts as, before this, my blog was completely empty of fandom posts, as like i said before i’ve always been pretty insecure about sharing my interests, and i grew pretty fond of my ~mysterious anonymity~ so feel free to see how long i’ve been secretly reblogging everyone’s posts for now that they’re public lmao

i also finally started speaking more in the discord yesterday (here’s to boosting your self-confidence!) and someone told me that’s how they figured out who i am, so i’m very interested in who that was and how they knew it was me👀

this project has seriously changed my life and i’m so sincerely grateful for everyone involved, you all have such a special place in my heart. thank you for taking care of ali, kassie, and sadie (my devon, harper, and rowan) they could not have been in safer hands🫶 (because i do not have it in me to do a disaster route, they are all ALIVE and HAPPY and abel and sadie will get married and live happily ever after)

so far i have cried 4 times in the last 2 days because i’m so devastated about this project ending, in fact i have an 8 minute long video i sent to one of my best friends just talking and crying about how much i’ll miss the game despite the fact that the community will always still be here (i’m just very dramatic and emotional in case you haven’t noticed that over the past year or so😭)

let me wrap things up because i’ve definitely overstayed my welcome in this ask😭 i don’t think i’ll truly be able to put into words how much this project has meant to me over the last year or so, and it has been an absolute honour to see you and your project grow and flourish. but most of all, it’s been a privilege to be your abel simp anon and it’s safe to say this is an experience i’ll cherish forever and never forget

-forever yours, with so so much love, sarah, aka the abel simp anon💓

(ps. this definitely won’t be the last time you hear from me, i’m clingy as hell😘)

Oh dear Abel simp anon aka Sarah ❤️❤️

First of all, we (especially I) loved getting your asks, it was always fun as hell to read a good chapter liveblog and I was always really excited to see your reaction to the Abel scenes (seriously it made my day) 🥰🥰

Also that’s crazy that you almost applied! I’m glad you enjoyed being a fan so much, we really enjoyed having you as one. And a fellow English major! That’s always so exciting to me 😂

I’m honored we had such a big impact on you and truly we’re so glad you were along for the ride with us, it’s always amazing to know someone has been a fan the entire time. Keep speaking out in the server and posting on your blog, we’d absolutely love to keep hearing from you! And don’t you worry, Abel and Sadie will be happy together forever 🥰🥰

[itsjaywalkers]

Hiii, how was your day Laurie? Soo you're one of my favorite people on here and I wanted to ask someone for a lil advice and you were the first person that popped up in my head. I've been working on a little microfic for some time and it's such a small little thing of 500 words and I want to post it but every time I try I get extremely insecure and anxious about it. I never posted anything before and I'm just like, what if what if what if..How do you get over that fear? I love writing and I want to engage more in the fandom but I'm just so scared, and also so self-conscious about my English, which is not my first language

hiii nonnie!! u sent this yesterday and yesterday was Awful, one of the worst shifts i've had in a while (it was bank holiday..). i started at 9 bc i was in the open i didn't get my break until 4:30pm??? and only bc i was about to pass out from both stress and hunger. it was Shit but it ended nicely and today should be a lot more chill!! hopefully!!

how was yours tho babe?? or how it's going so far??

please i'm blushing and smiling so hard, it's always so sweet when any of u tell me my blog or ME in general is one of ur favs in tumblr.. it's also a bit . nervewracking when u guys come to me for advice bc i feel like i'm the least qualified person in the world and i'm also scared of fucking up. but it's such an honour too!! i just hope that i can actually be of help <3

in my experience, u never truly get over that fear/anxiousness. it's been years for me atp (not in this fandom specifically), of . sharing my writing on social media . and i still get nervous and hesitant and second-guess myself every step of the way. i can't even count how many times i've posted a snippet and i've wanted to delete it right after. and with actual fics is even worse. i have this habit of always posting/updating very late at night and going straight to sleep to avoid thinking about it or seeing anyone's reactions/opinions

since this is something i can't seem to ever get rid of, my advice is to just . go for it . do it scared . which i'm aware fucking sucks and it makes the whole process a lot harder but . deep down u know u wanna share it, u want people to read it and u want to engage with the fandom as an author. focus on the side of u that is excited and happy about what u wrote!! the fear is still there, and it may always be, but it's not the emotion that actually matters here. if u still don't seem able to, ask someone to press the post button for u!! or maybe program it to post a few days later so u forget about it until u suddenly see it on ur dash!!

and i totally feel u on being extra insecure bc english isn't ur first language, i've been there and . i still am . i'm always scared i don't sound natural enough, or even right enough. i feel like all my writing is filled with . errors and mistakes . but honestly the fact that u managed to write 500 words in a language that isn't yours is already impressive enough and u should be proud of yourself!! people are gonna appreciate it more than u can imagine, and also, the way u write in english or use it is always gonna be so different from a native speaker's for obvious reasons and that's so fucking beautiful. some of my fav fanfics are written by ppl who didn't have english as a first language bc they have a way to approach it that i've never seen anywhere else and it's fucking magical

and ur english is absolutely perfect, just btw

i wish u the best of luck and i'm sending u a big hug, i can't waittttt to read that microfic (i'm hoping i'll be able to somehow)

<333

[lucy90712]

Pecco Bagnaia- I do

It feels like just yesterday that Pecco and I got engaged but in reality it's been over 6 months, the day was just perfect because Pecco had gone all out to make it a special day which he did very well. I often think back to that day and remember the twinkle in Pecco's eyes as he asked me to marry him and the smile he had on his face when I said yes and he put the ring on my finger, it's such a fond memory that I hope to never forget even as I get older. That being said since there has been a lot of stress in trying to plan our wedding because Pecco is often away so we only have limited time to actually go and look around venues and organise vendors which has meant that I've been handling most things while he's away but we always talk through FaceTime before making any final decisions.

Although it's been a lot of work the last few months things are coming together so I can do the things I'm really excited about like finding a dress. I have been to a few dress shops but none of the dresses I tried seemed right even if they were really pretty they just weren't what I had pictured in my mind for my wedding dress. Today seeing as its a Saturday and Pecco is at a race me and a few friends are all going to go dress shopping and as I'm the first friend in the group to get married everyone is very excited probably more excited than I am. They have been sending me pictures for the last week and even all woke me up incredibly early this morning by sending pictures back and forth on our group chat which I tried to ignore but I was well and truly awake so I just got up. The plan was to go in the afternoon but at just after 10am there was pounding in the door despite the fact there is a doorbell right there that scared the life out of me but when I answered it it was just my friends who practically dragged me out the door after letting me grab my keys and shoes.

When we arrived in the nearest city they dragged me through the streets until we got to a small boutique that had some incredibly fancy dresses in the window which were at all my style but they still made me go in just to look around. As soon as we entered a worker came up to us and asked me all sorts of questions about what I was looking for before showing me to a section of dresses that matched the description I gave. There was so many pretty dresses but most of them just weren't my style but there was a few I liked so I picked them out to try them on and my friends picked a few that they wanted to see me in and the worker picked one she thought would suit me.

Trying on the dresses was actually quite disappointing as all the ones I thought would look good just didn't and even the one the worker picked just didn't seem to suit me, it's frustrating because all I want is a dress that I love but all of the ones I try just look awful on me to the point that I'm starting to wonder if I'll even find a dress in time. The last dress I went to try on was one that I picked because I thought it looked nice even though I was convinced it wouldn't suit me but as soon as I looked in the mirror I fell in love. The dress itself was fitted right until my knees where it flowed into a beautiful lace train, at the top the neckline was kind of deep but not too revealing and there was little sleeves with the same lace that covered the rest of the dress which looked like leaves and flowers. Looking at myself in the mirror I almost let a few tears slip down my face as I pictured myself marrying Pecco in the dress which is how I knew it was the one. I still wanted to show my friends just to get their opinion and as soon as I walked out to where they were stood they all loved it and said it was the best one I'd tried on.

I tried the dress on with a veil and everything before getting all my measurements taken so that the dress could be altered to fit me perfectly even though it already fit quite well it just needed to be made a bit shorter. Of course I had to take a million pictures first to send to my family who have been dying to see what I picked out and to keep as memories, Pecco has also been begging me to send him pictures of the wedding dresses I try but I refuse because I want to wait until the day for him to see the dress although it is hard to keep it a secret when I usually tell him everything. Leaving the store I was overwhelmed with happiness thinking about the fact that this wedding was really going to happen and I was going to marry Pecco in the most beautiful dress I've ever seen that I almost forgot about everything else thats left to organise.

~~~~~~~~~~

Finally it's the big day after 10 months of organising things it's officially the day that me and Pecco are getting married. We spent the afternoon yesterday traveling the few hours to the venue we picked but after having dinner we haven't seen each other as I had to be up earlier to get ready and I still didn't want him to see my dress so I decided to stay with my best friend in a room together. She woke me up quite early so we could head to the venue with the rest of my bridesmaids to start getting ready and just to oversee everything even though my friend is kind of in charge of all that as she's a wedding planner but I just wanted to be there in case of an emergency. The whole car ride I was so exited to see the venue again with things set up as when me and Pecco went to look at it the place was empty but it had the exact vibes we were going for and had such potential that we had to choose it but it will be cool to see it decked out in everything we chose. As we walked through the reception area they were setting up the tables and the decorations on them which looked so much better in real life than I could have ever imagined.

Time went by so quickly and before I knew it my hair and makeup were done and it was time for me to get my dress on which I haven't seen since my last fitting which wasn't that long after I brought it so I'm quite nervous that it won't fit right as it's been a few months since then. The train if the dress was is so long that I needed 5 friends to hold it to allow me to even step in the dress then more people were needed to help do up all the buttons at the back which took a while but when it was done I felt really good as the dress felt like it fit perfectly. I had help putting my heels on before I got to look at myself in the mirror, I was shocked by my own appearance when I got a glimpse of myself because I've never looked this good in my life which I suppose it a good thing seeing as it's my wedding day. The dress fit me perfectly but wasn't tight to the point that I wouldn't be able to eat anything and my hair and makeup were done to perfection in a way that made my features really stand out in the best way possible.

Once everyone was ready we still had a few minutes before the ceremony started and even then I had a few more minutes before I had to walk down the aisle and as much as I was really excited to get married I was also really nervous for many reasons but mostly that Pecco would get cold feet and leave me at the alter. I know its stupid to think that way because we talked so much about marriage before we got engaged and Pecco has been so excited for this day for months so there is no reason that he would leave me but you never know what will happen on the day. My mind quickly went through all the negative thoughts and then straight to thinking about all the jokes me and Pecco had made about being stuck with each other once we are married but they always end with us saying how we can't wait for that day so I know he will be just as excited as I am waiting for me at the alter.

Before I knew it the time came for me to walk down the aisle and my dad came over to walk with me, he gave me a quick smile and squeezed my arm before putting his arm though mine as we walked into the building through the doors allowing me to see inside for the first time. Music was playing as I took a quick glance at all of mine and Pecco's family and friends standing as I walked in but my gaze quickly turned to Pecco himself so was stood at the alter where I had hoped he would be. The rest of the walk I stared into his eyes and the closer I got the more evident the tears coming down his face were which made me want to cry but I held off as best I could as not to ruin my makeup yet but it definitely wasn't going to last too much longer. When I got the the aisle my dad let go of my arm and Pecco took my hands for a second before letting go which I used as an opportunity to wipe his cheeks before the officiant started the ceremony officially. The ceremony itself didn't interest me too much but I followed along just waiting for it to be over and soon enough the time came where we got to say our vows and I had spent ages writing mine so I was ready to say them but Pecco was first.

"Y/n being here with you is really like a dream come true the minute we met I knew there was something special about you and by the end of our first date I knew we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together. From them I always told myself I would take care of you and love you with everything I have and now that we're getting married that isn't going to change in fact I'll do my best to love you even more and I promise that I'll me there for you whenever you need me and even when you think you don't because we're in this together now" he said struggling to say some words because he was holding back tears

"Getting married is something I've thought about since I was little and I've had an image of what that day would look like in my head for years but one thing that was never there was the person I'd be marrying that was until I met you since then it was clear to me that you were the only one I'd ever want to share this dream with. My life only feels complete when you are here to the point that I'm not myself when you are away because its like an important part of me is missing thats how much you mean to me and how much I love you Pecco. Spending the rest of our lives together is about the only way life could get any better which is why I'm over the moon to be stood here and getting to call you my husband" I said well and truly in tears after Pecco's vows

We were both in floods of tears but the time we had finished our vows and the not crying had completely gone out the window but when I saw a few other people in the audience crying too it made me feel less like a sappy mess. The ceremony continued but me and Pecco were barely paying attention as we were staring into each other's eyes as well as wiping the tears that ran down our faces.

"You may now kiss the bride" the officiant announced

Pretty much instantly his lips collided with mine in the most passionate kiss we have ever shared as his arms went around my waist and mine around his neck. After a few moments we pulled away and I quickly pecked his lips again before we walked back down the aisle and out the doors where I finally felt like I could breathe so I let out a sigh, Pecco must have felt the same as I heard him do the same which made us look at each other and laugh at how we had clearly been holding our breath more than we knew. The rest of our guests walked out as we stopped laughing along with the photographer ready to take pictures which is something I wasn't looking forward to too much as I don't really like being in front of a camera or posing but if there was any day to do it it would be today. We posed for photos with families and friends as well as the entire wedding party before we started to do pictures of just the two of us that I was convinced would be awkward but Pecco kept making me laugh and I completely forgot about the fact there was a camera in front of us.

Soon enough we were done with the staged photos and were allowed into the reception but first I put on some flat shoes as not to hurt myself by wearing heels all day. When we walked into the room it was just spectacular everything was set out perfectly and there was even things that I don't remember adding in, there were little glass bowls with little decorations in themand in mine and Pecco's places there were little heart decors with writing on that I couldn't read at a distance. Pecco had hold of my hand and led me over to our families who were talking to each other so that we could talk to them and right away they congratulated us and complimented the decor which I thanked them for but I wasn't responsible for some parts of it. We talked with them for a while before going round and talking to all the other guests to thank them for coming and just to talk to them as some we haven't seen for a long time but eventually we had made it around everyone and got to go and sit down for a moment to be together.

"You look beautiful in that dress" Pecco complimented as we sat down together

"Thank you you look great in this suit too" I said

"I can't believe how good everything looks when we were planning it I never thought it would come together like this " he commented

"I know it looks so great but I don't remember deciding on half this stuff like when did we add those flowers and the table decors?" I ask wanting to try and jog my memory or work out that we didn't plan it and that I wasn't crazy

"We didn't but I did" he replied

"What?" I questioned still very confused

"Well you were really stressed about all of the wedding planning and like getting all the big things organised so I thought I could set up some little things that you'd enjoy on the day plus it was actually really fun and I enjoyed getting everything together to surprise you" he explained

"Aww Pecco thats so sweet of you you did a wonderful job too" I said

We talked a little more before everyone sat down to eat and then people began to make toasts which I was dreading because I knew my friends would embarrass me but to my surprise they were all very sweet and talked about nice memories which I was very thankful for. Pecco's friends whoever weren't so nice and they told stories from the time before we were together when he used to do stupid things in front of me while trying to impress me which I do remember but to hear it from their point of view was funny. Me and Pecco then made toasts to each other which were a little boring as we hadn't prepared anything outside of our vows but no one seemed to notice.

The rest of the evening went by pretty quickly but we had a great time facing and talking with family although we both just wanted to get out of there towards the end so we could have some time alone. Late in the evening people began to leave and Pecco seemed to take that as our chance to get away too as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out to the car taking us back to the hotel. Once at the hotel he helped me out the car and then just picked me up over his shoulder and carried me up to our room where he put me down in the bed and grabbed his phone and began to play our favourite song. He pulled me up and put his hands on my waist while I put my arms around his neck as we swayed back and forth to the music although that didn't last too long as he started to kiss me and the music was quickly forgotten about when we got into bed to spent the night together.

[twilight-resonance]

Sea Sickness

Good gods, I'm tired. All the usual things, of course - maybe a better tired than usual, though. Yesterday was long, and preceded by a lot of work to prepare for it (Location Day, yo), and I took today for myself. Because I knew I was going to have a migraine today - and I did - and because I knew it would serve my ability to function later in the week to just take the time and the breathing room. Just a quiet, gentle kind of day babying my head and my body; adding some calories after I more or less didn't eat yesterday; and consciously working on not feeling guilty for not working. Or rather, I did work - but only when I really wanted to, not when I felt obligated to. We're doing what we can, when we can.

Dude, I am terrified of the upcoming year. I feel like I'm white-knuckling it on the prow of a ship, braced for the waves and the drop. I'm not sure what's up, exactly - there are parts of me that know, but those parts are the ones that move underneath like tectonic plates. In part, it's that I'm aware of the patterns this time and know how to read the signs - this year is set to be a year of letting go and losing some things and taking ground on new ones, in one of those bigger cycles, and I don't yet know what or why. That's the part that terrifies me. That, and it never goes easy. It's not meant for that.

Today, at least, was replenishing in some way - felt like a wound with neosporin on it as opposed to just the band-aid slapped on. There's a part of me trying to feel guilty for not answering emails or approving characters yet, and the rest of me is trying to prevent it. Mostly, like I said, I'm just surprised it's working. It usually doesn't.

Had a fun moment last night. Location Day means cooking, and in recent years that's meant cooking for 20-30 people. Players help, of course, as many as can fit in the kitchen; this year we had access to a bigger kitchen, so there were 6-8 people working it at any given time. I was doing all of the coordinating - telling people what tasks to do, how to do them, grabbing them things they needed, managing the timing of various dishes, testing things for doneness etc - and it was fun. Mostly because it was in my ZPD, I think, which few things are. It went so much more smoothly than it has before, and it was a thing of glory to ride it. It felt like being the Head Chef, which is a job I very much do not want, but it was fun to play pretend for a while.

Dude, it sucks so hard to have worked so hard to prepare all the things I did leading up to Location Day, though, and to have had so many of them fallen so flat. Activities were not what I wanted them to be; the hike was good, and that was the important point - hearing everyone's awe going into the cave, it even being not-quite a proper one - but it could have been so much better. I'll adopt one for our first workshop, I think - the important one that we didn't et to - but, sigh. I wish that the timejump had been finished rather than just drafted, I wish I had more location info ready and more to go on for character creation, and so on. It feels like it just... fell so short to everyone else, who has no idea how much goddamn work it all took to even get it that far. I wish people could see the process more. ...Maybe I should make it more visible for them. More goals for this year, I think, as well as unlearning some of my patience. And finding more spaces of creativity and fun and less responsibility. Learning to find joy, not just suffering.

(My new year is coming up soon, is part of it - winter is of course ours by calendar, but my internal year always turns over sometime in autumn. So, coming on soon.)

The more I contemplate my own existence, the more Catholic I feel. Never mind that I wasn't raised that way (nor Christian at all other than culturally), and that I don't believe in any of the actual content of that religion. But the guilt is truly Catholic levels of all-encompassing, as is the eternal feeling of suffering as if it's something deserved and intrinsic to existing in the world. I don't know where I picked that shit up from, but hoo boy, is it ever deeply ingrained and intense as the heat at high noon. Gotta get rid of that shit, somehow. It's weighing me down something fierce, and boats need their buoyancy.

Anyway, as I ever aught, I ought to go to bed. Goodnight, for now. Tomorrow, back to the sea-sickness.

[theratboiwrites]

I do this thing where I buy myself a pack of smokes everytime something earthshattering happens and it makes me want to actually die. Pall mall Bold 25's. Everytime, like clockwork.

You know, when I feel like I'm going to die from this one and I really don't care which one takes me out faster, lung cancer or that broken heart disorder. The one where your heart is suddenly under so much stress that one or more of the strings that help it continue to beat snap? That one.

I usually only socially smoke, so this pack that I buy myself lasts a pretty long time too.

But I try to limit myself to 2 or 3 a week cause you never know when you'll need one, something like a deep conversation with a loved one or after a really good sob about the reason for buying them in the first place.

They taste sweeter in those moments.

Now kids, smoking is bad for you, but I've been smoking since the day my first love died.

Which is to say, I was 17 days into being 13.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

We had this little tradition of sneaking out to the park that was between our houses at night when we couldn't sleep because it was outside of our backyards.

We'd usually be the last two to go in because, while this neighborhood was full of kids that didn't have the best home lives, his and mine were not great to say the least.. so we'd make a plan and meet after dark with comfy clothes, a blanket, some snacks and a flashlight.

I remember the last night like that with him.

It was the night before we all saw him last.

He was quiet, which was very unlike him. When I asked, he told me the truth. Part of it anyways.

His parents were fighting that afternoon and he heard some of it when he got home from school. It broke his heart and he didn't know what to do. Then he laughed, said "enough about me, how was your day?", what I now know as deflecting.

The night he died, before I said goodbye, I asked him if I'd see him later. He hugged me for the first time and told me "of course, I'll be there."

I think back on our friend group then and where his parents were that night from time to time and I always come to the same conclusion.

I was the last to see him that night.

That same night, I was waiting for him in our spot. Blanket and snacks in hand. But he didn't show. I turned around and went to bed.

I woke up to the shot, like I think we all did, and like we all did, I thought it was a firework or something else. Loud sounds in the neighborhood we lived in weren't uncommon.

I remember us all huddled together on the path semi behind his house that morning. The sirens and the lights woke us all up.

I remember seeing the gurney with the small black bag wheeling him to the ambulance. The whole world fell out from under my feet in that moment.

And I remember, for the first time in my life, wondering if anything was worth it anymore.

I stole four smokes from my mom that night and snuck back to the hill we all last saw him on.

Now, when I smoke in moments like these, I think of his face.

I think of all of us.

I think of the two of us that are no longer here, and how mad they would be if they could see me, smoking and sad.

The cigarettes are bittersweet. Nostalgic even. Reminding me of a home I once knew. Reminding me that I haven't felt like I belonged anywhere since. Reminding me of everytime I've felt like this.

And it's funny, it's funny how every big, awful, painful thing that happens, feels like this will be the one that gets you. This is as bad as it gets. Your heart cannot take anymore. You're DONE.

And some days, pack or no pack, it truly feels like that. But,

I know I'm moving on, I know I'm going to be okay, when I get down to the last smoke before my wish smoke, and they don't taste like home anymore.

-

"My wish smoke is all I have left now."

June 20th, 2024

[spirituallyyellow]

14/5/24 pt 2

I told my therapist about the conversation with my supervisor and she said, “I’m surprised you didn’t cry,” and I said, “I’m still trying to appear functional to him, I barely know him still.”

My stomach made the most ungodly sounds the whole fucking time and then she said, “I wonder if you’re having gut problems, and that’s making it harder for your brain to release serotonin.” Because of some gut science thing or whatever. I said yes, maybe that was it but in my heart I know it’s because I had two (2!) bowls of cereal yesterday and I’m lactose intolerant. I haven’t had cereal in like three years.

I knew what I was doing as well. I poured the milk and thought, “This is gonna be a pretty miserable 24 hours for my entire digestive system,” and then before the second, “I don’t actually give a shit.”

Ironic, considering the effects of me eating dairy.

I spent the entire therapy session crying. From beginning to end. And then when it was two minutes left, we booked in the next one, and I got up, walked out the door and stopped crying immediately. Walked to the bus stop as though I’d never even heard of emotions. But I know it was probably written all over my face. Those kinds of things always are.

I think I have to stop thinking of myself as someone who doesn’t cry, because I have done a very significant amount of it in the past year and a half. At a certain point it stops being an anomaly, you know?

__

I'm editing this post later to keep writing because I don't want to do three separate posts for one day. It doesn't really matter, I guess, but it matters to me.

My therapist asked me what was stopping me from reaching out, and I said I didn't want to feel like I was attention-seeking, and I didn't want to talk about how I was feeling, not really. She said I didn't have to talk about my feelings if I didn't want to, that talking to friends isn't like therapy, and also maybe I was seeking attention because I need attention.

That's the sort of thing I would say to one of my clients, but I don't really believe it myself. People don't respond that way when you reach out. Or maybe they do at first, but it stops eventually.

If I were my own therapist, I'd probably comment something like, it sounds like you don't believe your friends are actually nice people, but I think my real belief is that people have a very limited amount of love and time, and I'm not worth much of it. I just don't really believe that anyone can really love me.

N is really patient with me about this, but even he gets exasperated sometimes when he says he loves me and I ask him why. Or what does he love. We've been married for sixteen and a half years and I still don't really believe he loves me. This is irrational, and I know it, but there is even still a part of me that truly believes that he forgets I exist when he doesn't physically see me.

This was not helped when he asked me if I wanted him to leave me after he got arrested. In fact, it activated all that shitty anxious-insecure attachment bullshit, because the day before I had in fact been thinking maybe I wanted to split up, and then as soon as he suggested it, I got really, really clingy for a couple of days. I don't think he recognised it, because I was still really angry with him, but I was constantly texting, calling, asking him how he was doing and what he was thinking, all that stuff for probably about two or three days.

And then when he said he wanted to stay with me and stay together, I immediately pushed him away again. God, it was so chaotic and awful.

Anyway, my therapist said that she thinks my aversion to anything that seems like attention-seeking is trauma related. Like some kind of reaction to being passively (or actively, sometimes) taught that my needs were not important and that needing attention was especially bad because there were always more important things going on. I remember kind of being glad when I got really sick or had to go to the hospital or something because at least someone was paying attention to me and I wasn't even in trouble.

She asked me recently if I was frightened of doctors - that couldn't be further from the reality. I love doctors. I love hospitals. I have the most overwhelming sensation of calm and safety and Things Are Being Done when I'm in hospitals. I remember one time N and I were going for a short walk together in Plymouth and we saw an ambulance open, and the paramedics were loading the patient in and I said to N, "Oh, I just felt so homesick just then."

I vividly remember so many different occasions of watching Grandmother or Mom getting loaded into ambulances. Or Grandmother being brought home in one after her dialysis. At one point, we knew every single paramedic by name. I remember one time, one of them was loading Grandmother onto the gurney and she was in a lot of pain and he very gently brushed his hand over her forehead and it was such a loving gesture that I felt weird about seeing someone else love my grandmother.

When she died, a couple of the nurses from the ward she was usually admitted to saw on the computer I guess, and they came down and found my mom and dad to give them hugs. I wasn't there - me, and L and W were at home, nervously watching Friends because we knew, deep down, that something bad had happened. When Mom and Dad got home and they told us, we all just crumpled up for about three minutes before we started cleaning the house, getting ready for all the people that would drop by the next day. We started cleaning just before midnight and I have no idea when we stopped.

Years later, I was living in Stoke and I had the kids, and L was living with us while going to grad school, I had a migraine that had lasted twelve days and I finally had to call the NHS advice line and they sent an ambulance out to me. I asked my sister to look after the kids and she said of course, and I sneaked out to hide from the kids while I waited for the ambulance because I didn't want them to see me getting into it. They arrived and I was sat on my front stoop and I remember looking up at them and I said, "I'm so sorry to call you out for something like this, but I'm hurting so badly I don't know how to cope anymore," and I cried.

The older paramedic helped me up and into the ambulance, and he talked the younger guy through whatever paperwork stuff they were doing. I had my eyes closed because everything hurt so much, and then the older paramedic put his hands on my forehead. He'd had them resting against the outside of the van the whole time he'd been talking so that they would be really cold and then he put them on me to help with the pain. I just remember whispering, "thank you, thank you, thank you so much" and then throwing up because it was almost like it hurt to be cared for like that.

[grievediary]

6/7/23

23:19

Today has been a day of recovery still; just want to talk about some things I've been thinking about.

It's been a hard week. Some good things have happened recently though. I got a job for the summer (and hopefully a bit beyond, if I can manage my schedule well), and secured a place volunteering in a research lab, to start hopefully sometime in mid-July.

I got extremely sick on Monday, where I woke up with a super sore (started feeling it Sunday?) throat that got progressively worse through the day til I ended up with an excruciating headache, full body muscle aches, and intermittent nausea. I thought it was the flu but now perhaps just a viral bug, because the worst symptoms were that night and I've been getting better every day, though it was really, really awful. Last time I felt anything near that was two years ago where I got so sick I called 999 because I thought I was going to die.. hah. I remember phoning him and trying not to cry, because I just wanted a parents reassurance and felt so alone and like such a child. I felt it again that day.

I ended up sitting in the bathroom shaking, and I stuck three fingers down my throat to make myself throw up finally to try and get the nausea to go away. I vomited twice, the only meal I had that day and it was as disgusting and awful as every other time I've thrown up. Truly I think it's the worst physical experience. I ended up back in bed, feeling so cold but sweating and restless and I was waking near every 30 minutes in a state of near-delirium. Didn't think I'd be able to sleep more than an hour straight through but I think my body was so exhausted it just sort of gave up. Sore throat, headaches, no apetite still for days after, but I had a proper meal again on day three, so there's that. Eating more today too, though it's not enjoyable. Had to call out of work but hoping to make it into my shift tomorrow.

I also start moving out tomorrow. I want to say it's annoying, but ultimately I think it just saddens me. Moving itself isn't really a big deal, I think I just get tired of this impermanence, the repeated transitions and largely the reminder that I do it primarily alone, and I'm alone because he died and I have few friends. It's hard to think about.

I also had therapy yesterday. We went over an international trauma questionnaire, and I'm supposed to get some feedback on during the next session, but I did look it up after and read through the assessment criteria. I think it stands to reason that I may have CPTSD. I've suspected this for some time now, but thinking of it actually being concrete, my current reality, has been very jarring. Also quite upsetting.

I've been thinking a lot about loss again. Loss of family, friends, and thinking about past experiences that won't be repeated. People I most likely won't ever see again. Conversations that won't happen. Love that I can't make known. It's been really hard.

Being unwell meant I've been on bedrest and it's meant my mental health started to slide. I've been feeling distanced from friends, though one has been reaching out to me every day to ask how I am and if I need anything, and that's been really really nice. Still I wish I had more friends, more connections. Could feel like I'm cared for more often, because it feels so extremely rare. That people's care for me is made known, and I really feel it. I wish it wasn't like this. It's like at moments I reverted to being a child again, sick and wanting nothing more than to be nurtured, taken care of completely but the harsh reality and overarching background is that I won't ever experience that again, and I don't think I'll experience anything similar to it either.

I think I'd like to let myself be open to a soft and careful love. I'm deathly afraid that it's never ever going to happen.

I talked about being tired, in therapy, about feeling it both mentally and physically. I have felt psychologically tired for a very long time. Every day takes energy and effort that I think should be impossible for me to gather. This quote, by Anaïs Nin -

Life requires an effort I cannot make.

Yeah.

[shoutingbehindanonymity]

Grief and Imaginary Support

Yesterday was the second anniversary of my mother’s death. And it’s weird how, now, the grief is mixing with other wants and pains to create imaginary scenarios of relief.

Lately, two main sources of pain have been resulting in a nasty bout of depression, each branching and connecting to other sources. One, my seventh year of graduate school is coming to an end, which connects to my fear and pessimism of both the days leading to my potential final dissertation defense and after it. In short, for a number of reasons and to put it bluntly, whether I graduate or not, I don't see myself as suitable, competent, willing, capable, developed, or overall fit enough to live beyond April/May. And second, as mentioned prior, the winter season in general reminds me of my mother, leading to regret and thoughts of how she died, everything that went unresolved between us, and how I am realizing that I am becoming more like her all the time.

And now they are coming together in consistently wishing that I could have an honest conversation with her for once. Even though she never once demonstrated the capacity for emotional understanding and guidance that I would want, I imagine just calling her and admitting that I'm not doing well. I could tell her that I'm developing what she had: that feeling of isolation from even supposed "friends", a distrust of psychiatry and therapy leading to breaking away from both, the lack of will to do anything, the cynicism and pessimism, and seeing nothing in the future but more of the same and eventual death. How I used to try to help her with her mental issues before eventually giving up due to how those would blow up on me and now how I also feel that simultaneous desperate desire to be cared about but doubting those around me, feeling no connection, and wanting to just die alone. And to be firm with her for once and tell her to not dare mock me for seeing things her way now, but tell her that she should understand what I am going through now and that her son is hurting bad and needs help. I don't even know what kind of help, but something. Something that starts with being able to speak to someone that understands and cares, someone that would actually listen.

But that is never going to happen. She is dead, we are never going to resolve what we had going on, I am never going to get that parental support, and there is no one I trust enough to be honest with aside from the potential random stranger that might run across this.

Please don't misunderstand me. Despite the pain and flaws, I miss her a lot more than just what kind of support I would seek from her. What she went through was awful and what she became was truly unfortunate.

But fuck, man, I'm hurting.