#i am pretty anxious and paranoid and miserable while alone

[raspberrybluejeans]

😬

[foxtophat]

hahah well here i am back on my 10k word bullshit

promise the next chapter is way shorter, john is just so fucking over the top that i spend so much time just trying to organize his thoughts for you guys lmfao. what a chad, right?????

anyway, i hope you guys enjoy nick and john bitching at each other, because that’s pretty much the theme of this chapter.  i really enjoyed writing it, which should tell you everything you need to know about how bad a day john is about to have

as usual, i hope that you enjoy! if you do, please consider throwing me a bone in the form of a kudos, comment or reblog -- i eat those up like turkish delight, nom nom nom

also as usual, i got the fic text beneath a readmore for my friends who like to stay on one page.   no matter what your reading experience, i will try to accommodate for you!!!

i hope you guys are all having a good day and that it continues to be good even after i’m done giving you fic to read!! that’s... all that’s all i got

John had known offering his help was a mistake as soon as he'd done it. Suggesting that he knew where hidden supplies might be was obviously setting himself up for colossal failure, but he'd had to think on his feet. He hadn't wanted to build up Kim's hopes, or encourage her to talk to Nick about it. All he'd wanted was for her to go back upstairs so he could sneak outside without her haranguing him for it. Then he'd seen how much it had reassured her, and the obligation to follow through had set in. Now, no matter how obvious a failure the endeavor may become, he has no choice but to push forward with the plan.

That's why John doesn't protest when Nick suggests they go sooner than later. He probably should, because it's been too hot to dig for the past week already, but the sooner he disappoints Kim, the less disappointment he'll incur. None of them will have time to blow things out of proportion. The cache he has in mind had been buried by Jacob a little under a mile outside of town, in some unused patch of farmland. They'll be back before sundown, and the sting of returning empty-handed won't last too unbearably long.

Of course, when the morning comes to go look for the cache, John can barely manage to drag himself out of bed. If he'd thought yesterday's heat was unbearable, then he doesn't know what he'd call today. The sun has barely risen and it's already baked his room, leaving him tangled up in sweaty sheets. Summer has always been John's least favorite month, even before the Collapse, but there has to be something wrong for them to be going through a second week of a heatwave. At least blaming the nuclear apocalypse for their shitty weather makes him feel slightly better.

He can't tell if he managed to sleep, but from the way his head aches as he slowly rises, John is willing to bed he failed that task yet again. God, what he wouldn't give for some fucking Ambien. Even a good, stiff drink would help, but John's shot tolerance hasn't recovered from his last encounter for post-apocalyptic liquor, so that's out of the question. Just his luck — he's going to have to suffer a whole day around Nick without much keeping him upright.

Even in the relatively cool shade downstairs, John finds himself blinking sweat out of his eyes. It's a struggle for him to focus on anything besides how miserable he is. If only he could blame it on trauma — but no, he's just never handled prolonged heat well. Montana might not have Georgia's overwhelming humidity, but the temperature climbs twenty degrees higher, and summer out here never seems to fucking end . That, combined with his pitiful heat tolerance, is probably why he's running on maybe two hours of sleep.

There are a handful of raw carrots on his plate, next to a few strips of old jerky that even Nick is leaving for last. It's going to be a long, long day, and he's not going to be getting much else until dinner, but John can't scrounge up any sort of appetite. He hasn't been hungry for what feels like days now, and his stomach barely tolerates anything more than water.

"Hey," Carmina asks, leaning into John's peripheral vision, "Can I have that?"

John doesn't know which part of his meal she's eying, but he slides the plate her way regardless. Kim watches him do it, openly frowning at him because she's also seen him picking around his food at every meal. So far, she hasn't said anything to him about it. Why would she? His lack of an appetite means that Carmina gets to have more. She can't possibly complain about that.

Nick is more vocal about his concern, furrowing his brow as he asks for the second time this morning, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," John replies once again. He's too tired to be exasperated, but he wishes Nick would knock it the fuck off, at least until after they leave. The last thing he needs right now is for Kim to hold some sort of intervention. Just in case, he qualifies his yes , choosing the most honest excuse he can this early in the morning. "I'm exhausted," he says. "I didn't get much sleep."

"Do you really wanna do this today, then? I mean, you said this thing was buried, and I don't wanna get stuck digging it out myself."

"I won't be any better rested tomorrow," John sighs, suppressing the yawn that tries to follow.

Nick doesn't look pleased, but he relents with a shrug. It isn't like they're going somewhere particularly dangerous, and even if they do happen to run into trouble, Fall's End will be within eyesight. The wildlife won't be much of a problem, and drifters are more common in the eastern part of the county, moving in from the 94 and occasionally trying to bully their way through. John's confident that they won't run into any trouble, even if he winds up passing out mid-dig.

John lets the rest of breakfast wash around him as he counts the minutes until they leave. He feels distinctly separated from the moment, the Rye family nothing more than white noise going in one ear and out the other. Silently dissociating around their idyllic family unit is still the norm, of course, but at least today he can blame it on too much heat and not enough sleep. Maybe he'll be able to get some rest in the truck, assuming Nick doesn't decide to test the suspension over every goddamn pothole.

Nick reluctantly says goodbye to Kim after breakfast, repeating it two or three times as Kim and Carmina see him off from the porch. John doesn't remember Nick as an anxious person; he doesn't know if there had always been long, uneasy goodbyes on the porch before work. The Collapse has turned most everybody into a paranoid mess, but maybe John just never knew Nick very well to begin with. He doesn't want to ask.

"Okay," Nick says once they're both buckled in, the windows cranked down. "You said we're looking for a silo outside of town?"

John waits until the truck lurches into drive to respond. "The silo was a convenient marker, but I doubt it's still there. I know where to look, though — assuming the landscape hasn't changed too dramatically."

"Well, let's hope so. I don't want to dig around for nothing."

"We both know who's going to be doing the digging."

"I thought it was gonna be you, until you nearly passed out at breakfast. Probably gonna leave me with the hard work like the selfish prick you are."

"I'll be fine," John replies, yawning unabashedly. He rests his head next to the open window, closing his eyes against the hot wind. "I've done more with less energy."

"Yeah, sure," Nick says, rolling his eyes hard enough that John can hear it in his voice. He waits a few beats for John to return the gentle banter, but John can't muster up the energy. He needs to save it all for the dig. It's going to be hard enough on Nick, who manages to sleep at night. John isn't expecting to have much left for anything else once this is all over. It'll be a miracle if he makes it back home.

Quickly figuring out that John isn't in the mood to talk, Nick falls quiet. There isn't a radio station to listen to, so he hums under his breath occasionally, gently swerving along the cracked asphalt to avoid potholes. He's usually happy to bounce through them, but John knows better than to think it's for his sake.

John opens his eyes briefly, just in time to see the washed out turn that once led towards the Ranch. He hasn't been back yet. He doesn't think he could bear asking the Ryes for permission, let alone see the place rotting in a field. Despite repeated assurances to Joseph that he didn't care about his stronghold, he had hand-picked the furniture, the paint, the bedding — all of it — and he had spared little expense. Now, all of his pride and poorly spent money has been abandoned, probably picked clean by scavengers over the harshest years. After all, the security systems he had dropped thousands of dollars into hadn't been able to stop a cop wielding a shotgun — he doubts they would do much to deter anybody now.

He should have listened to Jacob when he'd said it was a waste of time. Of course, John hadn't paid much attention to anything Jacob said unless it was directly related to the Project. Part of him wishes he'd made more of an effort to connect with his oldest brother, but he doubts that he would have made it to this side of the Collapse if he had.

Once he starts thinking about Jacob, it's hard to stop. It's not much of a surprise that his oldest brother is on his mind, considering how often his dreams are haunted by Jacob's presence. Thankfully, with the sun in the sky and the wind on his face, John's more inclined to remember him for who he was, instead of imagining him as the specter of his nightmares. There are no dark corners for him to lurk in, and for once John imagines him as the quiet, withdrawn man he was.

It might have been almost ten years ago, but John can still remember riding along in Jacob's truck, listening to him hum along with the radio. The heat had broken late in August that year, so while the heat had been awful when Jacob had picked him up, it hadn't wiped John completely out. Not that it would have mattered — Jacob had no patience for John's distaste of heat, and he would have forced the issue regardless.

He'd gotten a brisk call fifteen minutes before Jacob showed up at the Ranch, telling him to be ready. John hadn't known what to be ready for, but he'd stopped asking questions by this point — when Joseph or Jacob arrived unannounced, he would only follow after them and do whatever they asked. As long as he did that, they would mostly leave him to his own devices. It had been more freedom than John had ever had in his life.

"You're positive nobody saw them," Jacob reiterates from the driver's seat. The memory of his voice bounces like an echo in John's skull.

"Of course I am," John remembers saying. He remembers being exasperated. Frustrated that even Jacob didn't trust him with menial tasks anymore. He had understood Joseph's distrust, had it explained plainly to him, but Jacob wouldn't even give him the chance to earn back the trust he'd somehow managed to lose. "Not that it matters," he remembers adding. "What can they do? It's our property. We could bury a plane there and they wouldn't be able to stop us."

Jacob's heavy sigh belies his irritation. "That's not always going to be the case. We don't know how the Reaping will go. Or the Collapse. You don't know what will be the last straw."

He'd been stressed. In two weeks, the Reaping would begin, but for now, Jacob's only concern is maintaining a steady flow of willing and able soldiers. He'd been irritable all the time, ever since he and Eli had fallen out, getting short with everybody, even Joseph, who allowed Jacob to be openly insubordinate even while punishing John for the same crime. The main problem in the weeks before the Reaping had been the slowing influx of soldiers making it through the trials. Lots of people had made it through at first. Nowadays, the conversion rate has dipped significantly. Jacob says it's because the people aren't strong enough, but John has a suspicion that it might have something to do with the Bliss, which has become more potent and arguably more toxic since Rachel's arrival as Faith. John hasn't brought up his concerns yet, because nobody has bothered to ask for his opinion. He will never get the chance to find out if he was right.

"John," Jacob's voice calls from the far away driver's seat. He sounds deeply, strangely concerned. "I'm trying to save you."

The words aren't right at all. John's body feels heavy in his seat, the hot air scratching at his face through the window. Where is he? They're on their way, but where?

The next thing Jacob says is achingly familiar, down to his tired inflection. "Joseph is worried about you," he says. "He still worries about your commitment."

It had been a warning, clear as day, and at the time it had filled John with a deep dread. But now, John feels nothing. Let Joseph be disappointed in him. Let him regret ever bringing John back into his life. John hopes it's a bitter pill he chokes on.

John had been on the defensive that day, scoffing loudly and snapping, "And yet, I'm the one converting the faithless." But the defensiveness is missing in the words. The people he'd been using like points against his brother are all dead now, and bragging about the things he'd done only roils his stomach.

"I don't think it's about converting people." Jacob reaches for the rear-view mirror, checking it for the umpteenth time as the truck trundles towards the distant silo. "Forget the religious bullshit for a minute. What we're doing, what's going to happen — we can't afford mistakes. We have to be prepared for every possibility. You understand that, don't you?"

"Nobody saw them," John sighs. "I promise ."

"Good," Jacob mutters. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out.

"Honestly, though. There are caches all over the county. I don't remember you being so particular about the last dozen drop points I organized."

At first, Jacob hadn't responded. John had thought at the time that it was because he was tired of having to explain his every move to someone as soft and short-sighted as John. He'd figured, as he always had, that Jacob saw him as nothing but the PR arm of the Project, kept around out of blood loyalty and nothing else. He would grimace whenever John mentioned atonement, mentioned his hard work, and John had suspected he thought it was beneath him.

But now John wonders if that's all there was to it.

"I'm trying to cover for every possibility," Jacob says. "That's all. It'd be good if you could help me."

"I did help," John retorts. "I do help. I do everything Joseph asks me to, and I don't complain about it. I don't complain when you order my men and me around, either, even though that was never part of the deal."

Jacob clicks his tongue against his teeth. He's checking the mirrors again, all of them. John remembers him checking the glove-box during their conversation, but he doesn't do that now. It hadn't mattered — there hadn't been anything in there — but John remembers it being very, very strange. The glove-box hangs open for a moment in his memory, as he looks through the windshield and spots the tall, bright red silo down the road.

"I wish you would plan ahead for yourself," Jacob says at last. "Stop taking orders and start taking initiative."

John huffs. "You've seen how well Joseph responds to that."

"Yeah," Jacob replies. John had been too arrogant to realize at the time that Jacob was commiserating with him, leaving him feeling deeply guilty now.

"He's convinced that the Reaping is going to begin any time now," John continues, ignoring Jacob's visible-in-hindsight unease. "Do we really have time to be burying barrels of ammunition? Or is this your newest plan to stick it to Eli?"

"It's for after the Reaping," Jacob says.

"A whole lot of good it does us this far from the bunkers."

Jacob had a real response for John, once. It had even satisfied him, at least enough to stop his complaining. But John doesn't remember what Jacob's reasoning had been; all he has is his exhausted brain struggling to stitch together the memory.

"There's so much you don't know. That you'll never find out." Jacob reaches out, his hand resting on John's shoulder, but there's no physical connection. John can't feel the weight of his hand, and for a dizzying moment the world around him turns smudged and blurry. There's a distinct melancholy in the words that Jacob never exhibited. "You know that I didn't believe any of it."

The weight on his shoulder comes out of nowhere, startling John awake as Nick calls his name. He kicks the dashboard as he jolts upright, and Nick leans back as he flings his hands out to steady himself.

"Shit," he gasps, grabbing the door handle. One disorienting glance is all John needs to realize where he is; Nick has pulled up just past the church, and the late summer heat of the apocalyptic landscape reasserts itself as reality once more.

"Sorry," Nick says. "I just, uh... need some directions from here."

"Yes," John replies. The urge to bolt from the truck is overwhelming, but John clings to the door and manages to stay in his seat. "Of course."

They sit for a minute before Nick awkwardly prompts, "Uh... Well?"

John desperately attempts to reorient himself, still stuck in the fog of his dream. "There should be a left turn up ahead. The silo was in a field on the right side of the road, just before the turnout before Larry Parker's house."

"God, talk about whack-jobs," Nick mutters as he pulls ahead. The intersection is mostly washed out now, barely distinguishable from the dunes that have formed over the fields, but Nick has a local's muscle memory. "I mean, I believe in aliens as much as the next guy, but Jesus . You hear what happened to him?"

"Not specifically. I assumed he was killed in the Reaping or the Collapse." Despite himself, John finds his curiosity piqued. "Why? Was I wrong?"

"I mean... I guess it's up to your interpretation." Nick doesn't bother to ease around the potholes now that John is awake, bumping them down along the cracked asphalt. "So, the way Dep told me, they went to go check up on Larry, y'know, make sure he's okay. Larry's got his weird-ass machines going, and he's talkin' about aliens and shit, as he usually is, and Dep keeps going, 'Larry, there's no time for aliens, there are cultists coming for you!' But, of course Larry pushes the point until Dep caves, like, 'Fine, let's fix the generator first, then we can run from the cult.'

"Except the cult rolled up right on top of them before they could patch everything up. Of course, Dep manages to clear them out, and Larry gets his machine working in the meantime. He says, 'help me get to Mars, Deputy!' and they figure, 'hey, might as well humor him.' I mean, what else can you do when the guy you're trying to evacuate insists he's got a fast pass to outer space?"

"Is this honestly what the Deputy was dealing with while we were in the middle of seizing the Valley and its resources?" John asks. He probably shouldn't be surprised, but really . Larry Parker's life couldn't possibly have been worth all the effort involved.

"I guess," Nick shrugs. "People were asking them to do all sorts of weird shit. So, anyway, Larry says so long to Dep and to Earth, and tells Dep to flip the switch. Dep decides that the sooner Larry realizes this isn't going to work, the better, so they turn the machine on the way Larry told them to, and, well, long story short, I guess the thing vaporized the poor guy."

However the story was supposed to end, that hadn't been what John expected. His disbelief is momentarily overwhelming, and he can't help but choke out, " Excuse me?"

Nick shrugs. "I mean, that's what Dep told me later. They were real bummed out about it, too. I guess that makes sense, since they felt responsible. But, at the same time... he said it was a teleporter, right? So maybe he wasn't vaporized at all. Maybe he really did get zapped to Mars."

"The choices are 'vaporized' or 'teleported to Mars'? Are you serious?"

"I guess Dep could have been bullshitting me, but it fits with what I remember about the guy."

John frowns. "I suppose either option is better than what happened to the rest of us," he says, "Although realistically, the man was one paranoid delusion away from assassinating a government official. I don't think he was nearly as technologically savvy as he professed himself to be."

"He wasn't that bad," Nick says as he shakes his head. "He was just some kook who believed in aliens more than people. And, well... I mean, if he really did make it to Mars, then we probably look like a bunch of assholes from wherever he's sitting." He sighs, then admits, "I wish I could've gone to Mars. I bet Kim would like it there."

" Why ?"

"I dunno, she always wanted to go on foreign trips and stuff. Can't get much more foreign than outer space." He hums thoughtfully, then says, "I guess she would've been pregnant, though, and if you can't fly with a pregnant lady, I bet you can't vaporize them either."

John takes a deep breath through his nose before he responds, reminding himself that he owes Nick his life. "That's a logical assumption," he manages to say, proud of his nearly-neutral delivery.

"Oh, shut up," Nick snaps, although he doesn't seem particularly upset by John's back-talk. "I'm just saying, if that's what would happen. It's not like I'm gonna go hot-wire the thing and test it out now ."

"I certainly hope not. There's no way I'm explaining that to the bloodthirsty mob that comes for me after you've disintegrated."

They've nearly reached the end of the road. John can see the T-shaped intersection coming up ahead, but he doesn't immediately recognize the right-hand field. A copse of pine trees have put down roots, and although John can see the skeletal framework of the hay storage, there's no sign of the silo that once marked the spot. John doesn't know if it was destroyed during the Reaping or in the Collapse. It doesn't really matter — everything it held has long since rotted away.

"Here?" Nick asks as they roll to the end of the road. John remembers Jacob slowing along the empty field; he had barely come to a stop to investigate the location. It had been around here that Jacob had checked the tilled soil for any hint at what lay underneath. He'd seemed content with how John's people had handled it, leaving the field as unassuming and untouched as they had found it.

If there had been any hint left behind in the silo or the hay storage, it's been wiped from the face of the planet. Long, sun-bleached panels of what used to be a silo lay scattered across the ground, weather-beaten past their use. Some pieces are pinned in place by the nine-year tree growth, never to be moved again. It's a struggle for John to envision the spot as it used to be, but there's no doubt that this is the right place.

"Yes," John says. "This is it."

Nick puts the truck in park and climbs out of the cab. John waits a moment longer, hoping to spot some hidden bump or curve that would indicate where to dig, but of course nothing reveals itself. He should have paid more attention. At the very least, he should have paid more attention to Jacob's diatribes about preparedness. Maybe he would be able to determine exactly where to start if he had.

John's nerves ease as he steps out of the car and stands at the edge of the worn-out road. It doesn't matter if he doesn't remember the exact spot — there's always been an element of gut instinct in understanding Jacob's methods, and John has plenty of that to rely on in lieu of real information. If he has to waste his time out here, then he might as well try to waste it productively.

He meanders a bit along the shoulder, then takes ten paces onto the field. Instinct has him go another twenty steps, until he's halfway between the truck and the hay storage. "Here, I think," he calls out to Nick, who's wandered ahead to explore the wreckage.

"Are you sure?" Nick asks as he passes John, returning to the truck for the shovels. "I don't wanna be digging holes all day like some kind of Stanley Yelnats."

" I'll be the one digging," John replies tepidly. "I don't need your help."

"What else am I gonna do, sit around and watch you all day? C'mon, let's get to work."

Really, John had expected as much. Nick can't leave things alone, and he can't resist giving whatever help he can. Long ago, John had figured it was a sign of Nick's obsessive need for control, something dark to be manipulated hidden under a folksy veneer. He had never considered that Nick's stubborn helpfulness had really been a coping mechanism for some long-standing anxiety. Even now, knowing full well that Nick's biggest worry is seeming unhelpful, John struggles to accept it. It still rubs him the wrong way when Nick insists on giving him a hand on some menial task that he ordered John to do in the first place.

Digging a three-foot hole is easier with two people, though, so of course John doesn't argue. The two of them hit a rhythm pretty quickly, although John's lack of sleep is slowing him down. Normally, the beat of manual labor is the only thing that helps empty out his mind, getting him as close to meditation as possible these days. For the first few months with the Ryes, it had been the only tangible comfort he had. He could disengage mentally while performing simple tasks with visible results, then ascribe to them penance for any one of his crimes. Even now, John can't help but wonder which sin he's paying for as he buries the spade into the ground.

They dig three feet down before John calls it. "Okay, fine ," he hisses through gritted teeth. "It's close to here. Maybe..."

John ignores Nick's theatrical sigh as he takes a few paces to the left and begins all over again. Of course, it doesn't take long before Nick joins back in.

"Maybe we should hunt down a metal detector," Nick suggests when the second hole reveals nothing.

"Sure, Nick," John snaps, "Add that to the other rational shit on your wife's shopping list."

"Jesus, it was just a joke."

John is far too hot, tired and sweaty to handle any jokes right now, much less from somebody he's trying to help. If Nick thinks John is digging around under the blazing sun just for his own enjoyment, then he can go fuck himself.

Even with John's attitude tanking rapidly, Nick continues to help him dig another hole and a half. His help only makes the defeat sting worse when John has finally had enough. He has no energy left, which makes flopping down on the dirt as easy as giving up. He buries his sweaty, sunburned face into his dirty hands, unable to hold back a groan.

"God damn it."

"What, that's it?" Nick huffs, pushing his hat back to wipe at his sweating forehead. He's using his shovel as a prop, and no amount of bravado can hide how much John's wild goose chase has worn him down. "You're just giving up?"

" No ," John spits, despite that being exactly what he's doing. "I just need a fucking break ."

There was a time when Nick would have punched him for being so miserable, but he doesn't even comment on it today. Somehow, it manages to make John feel worse, as though Nick's pity is fueling his fiery self-loathing. Nothing helps, especially not when Nick jabs his shovel into the dirt and offers John an excuse. "Probably need something to eat," he says. "Some water, or something. Look... just stay there, okay? I got a canteen in the truck, it'll just take a second."

The most response John can offer up is an affirmative grunt. He drops his hands from his face, watching Nick retreat to the truck before turning his eyes on the derelict storage in the opposite direction. He should have known better. He should have known that it would be impossible to find the cache without Jacob's help. Other than a set of probably mis-remembered coordinates and a gut sensation of being so close , John is flying completely blind. Why the hell hadn't he known any better? He could have saved them the time, gas and disappointment, if only he'd just kept his stupid mouth shut.

He guesses it must be progress that he's blaming himself and not Kim, whose insomnia kicked this whole thing off. It doesn't feel like much to show.

The wind changes direction, finally sending the few clouds in the sky drifting past the sun. The breeze picks up, sending a ripple of noise through the young pines. Pink-flowered vines creep through the roots of the trees and up the metal legs of the shed, twisting and choking the rest of the weeds just like they do everywhere else. Despite them being a mysterious, invasive species, they soften the landscape, lending a pink sugar-coating to the wasteland. John watches the blossoms bob in the breeze and thinks that Joseph might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he hadn't been too far off in declaring Hope County a promising garden.

The flowers look so much like the ones that had decorated the hem of Faith's dress that it's impossible not to think about her. John remembers the silk blossoms stitched onto lace, trying to conceal the ripped hem. There had been a dozen women who had tried to take on the mantle left behind by Joseph's wife, but now the only one John can imagine is Rachel, dancing in the sunlight. Even now he sees her swaying along with the wind, although he only has to blink for the vision to fade. A dozen women hadn't made the same impression that Rachel had. They hadn't been as proactive as her when it came to the Path, and they couldn't hold a candle to her wide-eyed understanding of the Bliss. None of them had adopted themselves as a sister into the family, turning quickly into the golden child that Joseph could praise over all others. They'd tried to fill the shoes of a dead woman that they couldn't hold a candle to. Rachel had been much, much smarter than that.

After all, none of those women haunt the landscape the way Rachel does. John, tired as he is, can almost hear her playfully humming on the breeze. She would sing in his bunker, vibrant and full-throated hymns written by dead followers, but now he only ever imagines the quietest tunes. Faith always seemed to be everywhere at once, thanks to the Bliss, but now she only seems to exist where John's memory allows.

Although the music fades as quickly as it came, John feels it echoing inside him. He closes his eyes against the bright afternoon light, but that doesn't do much to ease the pounding headache that's swiftly developing. He can feel his pulse against the hard-packed dirt when he drops his hands to the ground. Faith's laughter in his mind is quiet and playfully condescending as he's overwhelmed by the urge to stagger to the safety of the trees.

Nick abruptly appears in front of John, his worried face hidden under his hat. "Let's get you into the shade," he says, his voice warped by the blood rushing through John's ears. Nothing improves as Nick helps him to his feet and drags him under the shady pines. His head pounds as he collapses against one of the trees; when Nick puts the canteen in his hands, he takes a few grateful pulls of warm water until the headache begins to recede.

"Goddamn it, John," Nick says. "You have got to knock this shit off. You can't keep pushing yourself until you get sick. What am I supposed to do if you get heatstroke? Do you think we have unlimited supplies to keep dealing with your bullshit? I can't keep taking care of you."

"Whatever," John croaks. "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"You can't seriously think I'm going to let you keep going. You must be delirious."

Taking one more long drink of water, John finally drops the canteen into his lap. "You don't understand," he rasps. "I'm not — it's here. I know it is, I just..."

Nick waits a beat before he takes up where John trails off. " You need to rest. You think Kim and I don't notice you're not eating or sleeping again? Hell, even Carmina notices, and she doesn't give a shit about you. How exactly are you supposed to be any use to us if you're like this all the time?"

John scowls, but he doesn't respond. How can he? Nick is right.

When all he gets is silence, Nick finally heaves a tired sigh and crouches down to John's level. "Look, we'll compromise, okay?" he suggests, with a tone he usually reserves for Carmina. "You're gonna rest here for me, and I'm gonna go dig another hole for you. If I don't find anything, we'll go back home and try again once you're better prepared."

He should resent Nick for treating him like a child, but John can only surrender with a weary nod. "I promise it's here," he says, hating how audible his misery is. "I know it is."

Nick scratches his brow. "I believe you," he says, although John doubts his sincerity. "We're gonna find it — maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we'll do it. You, uh, want me to keep digging where we were, or..."

John sighs, slumping against the tree. "Yeah," he rasps. "Sure."

It's a miserable feeling, knowing that he's sending Nick on a wild goose chase, but John doesn't stop the other man from heading back out into the sun. He watches Nick pick a spot at seemingly random, drifting in and out as he waits for Nick to give up. He wouldn't even have to dig a full three feet before writing the whole thing off as one of John's delusions. John wishes Nick were that kind of man.

There's nothing there. That much is obvious when Nick finally stops digging, knee-deep in the hole and scrubbing furiously at his forehead. John knows just enough about Nick to suspect he'd genuinely hoped to find it — which just makes the defeat that much worse. John is used to disappointing himself, but letting Nick down stings.

"It's fine," John rasps when Nick returns, not waiting for platitudes or empty reassurances. "Let's just go."

Nick helps John to his feet again, and to make things worse, he keeps making suggestions. "Maybe we can find a tractor that still works. I bet there's probably a back-hoe somewhere in the county we could fix up. That might make it easier, right?"

They cut through the trees to reach the road, and John covers his eyes as they move back into the bright light. He turns back to look at the empty holes they've left behind — and for just a second, he can clearly see the bright red silo where it once stood. It's only a fleeting glimpse of the past, but it's as clear as if he were staring at it from Jacob's truck, enjoying the air conditioning while ignoring Jacob as he says, "So long as we're prepared, we can always start again."

"Wait," John says. "Hold on."

"Come on," Nick groans loudly, "It's hot, I'm tired, and this is getting depressing ."

John rolls his eyes, grabbing one of the shovels from the truck before Nick can stop him. "Fine," he says, "Go home, then."

"For God's sake..."

John ignores Nick as he takes five quick paces forward, turning and staring at the nonexistent silo. It hadn't been here, it had been...

The spot is mostly random, but as John drives the shovel into the dirt, he feels suddenly vindicated . He'd been thrown off by the trees, and it's hard to see just where the road ends these days, and of course he doesn't have the silo's long shadow to guide him. But now he knows better, and he isn't going to make the same mistakes again.

Nick pitches in, because of course he does. Even worse, he does it without complaint. Still, John needs the help; his burst of adrenaline has faded, leaving him to rapidly flag behind until Nick is picking up his slack. They don't talk as they dig, even as time wears on without any indication of them being in the right place. John doesn't think he has the energy to chat, and Nick probably just wants to yell at him, so silence is their best option. This hole could be as pointless as every other one they've dug today, but blind faith pushes John on to dig just a little deeper, just a little longer.

They hit three feet without finding anything. John twists the shovel between his palms, the tip churning the dirt.

"Okay, now are you satisfied?" Nick asks, flopping to the ground beside their latest waste of time. "Are you ready to wrap it up for today, or...?"

John shakes his head, not even realizing he's doing it. He doesn't even know what he's rejecting — the idea of giving up, or the idea that they might come back out here? Why the hell should they? Just because John thinks he might remember a cache of weapons Jacob buried a decade ago? What good would it even do, finding it now? Kim's already made it clear that they don't want more weapons. They want food, they want peace of mind, they want things to be the way they were . There is nothing that Eden's Gate could possibly give them that could help.

Nick slides closer, brow furrowed. "John," he says."

"I know ," John snaps, "I'm sorry . This was a waste of time. Forget it."

Picking up his abandoned shovel, Nick jabs the scoop into the hole, aiming for the wall beneath John's feet, and the motion is met with a metallic thunk . As John steps around for a better look, Nick taps the shovel upwards, until the scoop slides between the flash of half-hidden metal and the undisturbed earth above it. There's no mistaking the green enamel barrel that's revealed as the dirt falls away.

Dropping into the hole, John takes Nick's shovel and begins to heave the dirt away, scraping the scoop along the sides of the metal container until it's half-exposed in the ground. John can't help a triumphant shout as he reveals it, like a paleontologist discovering an unknown species.

Nick grabs the second shovel and pitches in, making short work of the dirt John can't reach. The steel drum is two feet tall and a foot or so wide, and John recognizes it from the Bliss packaging plant. Thankfully, it doesn't have a tight-head lid that implies the cannister is full of drugs. It looks utterly untouched, save for a few scratches from their shovels; the rubber sealant sprayed around the lid hasn't even cracked.

"Well, shit," Nick says, staring down at the barrel in open disbelief.

"I told you," John pants, vindicated. "I told you."

"Yeah, you sure did," Nick agrees, bobbing his head. "So... uh, what now? Do we open it up here, or take it home?"

John runs a hand over the glossy paint. As much as he wants to open it now, he can't help but remember Jacob's paranoia, reminded momentarily of how he had checked over and over for any spies or tails they might've gained while driving.

"It might be best to take it somewhere... less open," John points out. "We have no idea what's inside."

"Oh. Yeah, you're probably right."

It takes some finessing, but the two of them manage to wrestle the barrel out of the hole and, eventually, into the truck bed. Nick cranks the air conditioning as soon as he turns on the car, and John thankfully slumps into his seat as the cold air washes over him. After making a loose U-turn that narrowly misses the hole, Nick shakes the canteen in John's direction.

"Kim's gonna be pissed if she finds out I left you out in the sun like that," he says. "Try to get a hold of yourself before we get back, okay?"

Nick is terrible at sounding callous, but John isn't going to tell him as much. "Don't worry," he sighs. "I don't want her to know any more than you."

The drive back is mostly free of potholes, thanks to Nick's careful driving. John can't help but reaffirm the cache's existence every few minutes, checking the rear-view mirror to ensure it hasn't fallen out or disappeared like so many figments of his imagination have. He wonders what's inside. Certainly ammunition and weapons, but what else? Jacob had always been prepared for disasters, so it could have emergency kits or expired food rations. There will probably be money, too, although that won't help them now.

If Nick is also wondering, he keeps it to himself. He's relaxed in his seat, one arm hanging out his window, fingers occasionally tapping aimlessly against the door. He'll probably be satisfied no matter what Jacob decided to squirrel away, so long as it's not rotten food and Project propaganda. If that turns out to be the case, John will burn the contents himself.

The sun has half-set by the time they return to the Rye homestead. Nobody is waiting anxiously for their return, but it doesn't take long for Kim to come around the side of the house. She whistles appreciatively as the two men maneuver the barrel out of the bed.

"You guys actually found it!" she exclaims. "I thought it would take at least a few days."

"We got lucky," Nick replies. He doesn't mention how many holes they had to dig, or how rough the going had gotten near the end. John hopes that he looks better than he feels, at least to keep Kim from lecturing them.

Even though the cache is only about eighty or ninety pounds, it takes some careful footwork for the two men to carry it inside without dropping it. By the time they set the barrel down next to the table, Carmina has claimed one of the chairs, standing on it for a better look. Nick doubles back to the truck and returns with a crowbar, which will hopefully be enough to pry off the lid.

"What's inside?" Carmina asks, grabbing the back of the chair as she cranes forward.

"Well, hold on," Nick sighs, "Let me figure this out."

Unlike the barrels John remembers, this one isn't sealed with a tight-head valve at the top. Instead, it looks as though the lid had been hammered down into place, and then sprayed with rubber sealant to prevent gaps. It takes Nick a few tries to bury the crowbar's teeth under the lid, but he's rewarded by a satisfying groan of metal. The seal finally gives as part of the lid warps under the force.

Nick peels the lid back and John's heart leaps into his throat. Part of him expects a cloud of Bliss, or some kind of bomb, or a countdown to a new Armageddon. But there's no bomb, no Mist, no doomsday clock. Instead, John finds himself looking down at a bundle of nondescript green canvas, packed tightly alongside a cylindrical nylon bag.

" Well ?" Carmina asks.

John glances at Kim and Nick, only to find them staring back at him. It's as much an order as a request for help, and John steels himself before reaching in and grabbing the fabric. He recognizes the generic duffel bag as soon as he pulls it out — they had been ordered in bulk for the Project before they'd even reached Montana. While it isn't full, it definitely carries most of the cache's weight, and John has to adjust his grip as he sets it out on the table.

With the pack out of the way, Nick is less cautious about poking around in the remaining supplies. He takes the nylon bag out next, rattling the contents thoughtfully. "I think we've got a tent, here," he says, pulling open the drawstring to check. "Yeah, poles, stakes and everything."

There are two cardboard boxes inside, and Kim pulls out one at a time. "I think these are... rations?" she suggests, setting the boxes down next to the unopened bag. "That's what the packaging says, anyway. And this one, the heavier one? It's completely taped up."

"Could be dangerous," Nick suggests as Kim goes back to check for any remaining contents.

John stares at the duffel bag, his fingers feeling clumsy on the zipper tab. None of this feels right. Just how many times had he seen Jacob take bags like this one to his truck? How many of those had been full of supplies for a back-up plan he had never been made aware of? There's no sign of the Project so far, but John can't imagine that will last. What is he going to do when he reveals a bag full of propaganda in front of Carmina? There's no way Kim and Nick will believe he didn't know.

Careful not to rip the fabric, John steels himself with a breath and yanks on the zipper. He expects guns and ammunition, or copies of Joseph's book, or intel that would have been vital for rebuilding after the Collapse. Instead, John finds silver mylar bags, packed nearly to bursting, each one labeled in permanent marker. One reads "RICE (3LB, KEEP)," while another says "POTATO (.5LB, KEEP)" — and still another bag, this one with one clear side, has two cartons of instant coffee sealed inside.

There are guns, too, although not nearly enough. John is careful as he sets out the two .45 pistols tucked into the canvas, along with two boxes of matching ammunition and a few more boxes of miscellaneous shells that might come in handy. He inspects every box for any sign of the Project, but everything is utterly nondescript. Jacob might as well have picked these supplies up at a sporting goods store.

He keeps pulling things out until the bag is empty and the items are laid out across the table for the Ryes to see. Not only does John find more food, but he also finds a crank flashlight and a pair of binoculars, two bundles of paracord, a roll of unused duct tape, two sealed cartons of cigarettes, two pristine hunting knives and a deck of playing cards. The biggest surprise is the fact that Jacob risked packing away two bottles of unlabeled alcohol in a dry cache, but then again, Jacob had always had a soft spot for liquor. They'd been wrapped in plastic wrap and taped up tight, so if they leaked, it hasn't affected the other supplies.

There's more food than ammunition, John realizes. Rice, sugar, instant coffee, dry beef stock, not to mention the miscellaneous array of military rations that have been packed into every nook and cranny. It's hardly a cache. It's more like a squirrel's stockpile for a long winter.

"Did you guys see this?" Kim asks, leaning over Carmina to lay a small nylon pack on the table. She opens it carefully, revealing a tri-folded emergency pack stuffed with medical supplies. One use antiseptic wipes, gauze, bandages and more, all still in its factory packaging. John remembers seeing them stocked at Lorna's ages ago. It's the kind of emergency kit that tourists would buy once they realized just how unprepared they were for rural Montana.

"I thought this was supposed to be for the cult," Nick says, frowning at the supplies spread out on the table. "But most of this is stuff you'd get at the store. There's not even one of those fake Bibles in here or anything ."

"That's what he told me it was," John replies, although it feels uneasily close to a lie. "...At least, that's what I assumed. He had my people handle it, he shared its location with me... It had to be for the Project." Saying it aloud doesn't make him feel any more certain, but he can't imagine what else Jacob could have been planning. "What does it matter?" he quickly deflects, gesturing towards the eighty-some pounds of supplies. "Who cares what he was planning. It's yours now."

Unlike her parents, Carmina doesn't need to be told twice. She immediately drags the box of military rations closer to her chair, eager to devour any new literature, even if it's nutritional information and website reviews. Nick takes one of the knives and uses it to slice open the heavily taped box that they still haven't investigated. John can't imagine that it could be anything dangerous, given the rest of the cache's contents, but that doesn't mean he's any less on edge.

"Uh... huh," Nick says once he finally cracks the box open. "It's just more of the same. 'Two pounds rice, barter.' 'Two pounds sugar, barter.' But didn't he already pack some rice in the bag?"

Carmina points her finger at the offending bag. "It says 'keep' on it."

"I thought you guys were going to be the only survivors," Nick wonders, frowning heavily at John. "I mean, those weirdos have been keeping to themselves since they came back. And I got the impression that you weren't gonna be friendly neighbors ."

"There weren't supposed to be neighbors," John replies. "Anyone outside of the Project who survived were our enemies. This should have been..." He gestures helplessly, unable to figure out what Jacob should have squirreled away for the end of the world. "It should have been weapons. Project intelligence. None of this would have mattered if things had gone the way they were meant to. I don't — I don't know what he was planning with this."

Or maybe, he hadn't been listening when Jacob had talked about starting over.

"This... is too much," Kim says, tearing John away from that horrible thought before it can take hold. "Right? This is too much for us. We can't possibly keep it all."

"Excuse me?" John asks, unable to mask how deeply the comment offends him. "You're joking . I went through all of this for you ." He points at the sugar, the salt, and says accusingly, "These were on your list!"

"That's not what I mean, John."

John is getting sick and tired of being treated like a child today, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it when Nick takes the opposite route. "Don't be a baby," he groans. "You know what she meant."

"We'll keep what we need," Kim offers, "But we can't keep everything . It wouldn't be fair."

"And it'll look bad if we're the only ones who benefit," Nick adds. "They'll know it's because of you, and the cult, and they'll get the wrong idea. They might've shut up for now, but we don't know how long that'll last."

It's hard to fight the urge to run from the conversation, if only to keep himself from saying something stupid, but John manages to stay rooted to the spot. They're right, after all. They can't expect other people to turn a blind eye to anything beneficial John provides. Hell, he has no doubt somebody noticed them driving today. Somebody had to have seen them out in the dirt. It would only take a quick trip to find the holes they'd left behind.

"Yes," he mutters at last. It comes as a relief, followed immediately by his own admission. "You're both right. I know that."

Nick clearly expected more of a fight, if his relieved expression is anything to go by. "Good. Okay." He grabs one of the mylar bags as he sits, which holds two cartons of instant coffee. For a moment, he only stares at the red plastic through the clear side of the bag, and then he sighs. "Of course, now I wanna keep it all."

"We can keep the coffee," Kim says. "Or, well... we can keep some of it. We should probably give the rest up..."

It seems that doing the right thing in this situation has left the Ryes at a loss. Really, it shouldn't be a surprise. Even for a small cache, these are a lot of supplies, and there are no clear benefits to divvying it up in any particular way. On top of that, there had never been much structure to the Valley's resistance — unlike the Whitetails, people in the valley had relied on guerrilla tactics and appropriating the cult's infrastructure for their own use. The fight here had been over before they'd had time to organize.

"Well, I guess we give away whatever says 'barter' on it," Nick finally says. "And... I dunno. I mean, Jacob was meticulous as hell, right? Wouldn't he have known what to keep? Why did he only want to trade this stuff?"

"I don't know ," John snaps. "It isn't as though he planned for this. I have no idea what he would have done. I don't know why he thought to bury this shit in a field! If this was going to be a backup plan, then there should be money, passports, blackmail — something to help him get out of trouble. Not — not cooking supplies and playing cards . This isn't what he was supposed to be doing with his time!"

The realization that John had never really known Jacob cuts deeper than he'll ever admit. John breathes hard through his nose, trying desperately to grab hold of his ballooning anger. He'd known Jacob hadn't taken the religious aspect of the Project seriously, but that hadn't meant he didn't believe in the Project's end goal. He'd been more integral to their success than John, for God's sake! The bunkers had been his idea!

But Jacob had been pragmatic. If he had felt even a twinge of doubt, he would have made plans to account for it. But if that were the case, why would he have shown his hand to John like he had, when John had been so deeply entrenched? Why risk Joseph finding out? Why not play this as close to his chest as John had played all of his own secret betrayals?

"I don't know what he would do," John manages to say. There's a tangled knot of emotion balled up inside his chest, but like so many other things, he forcibly sidelines it. "It doesn't matter what he wanted. He's dead now. All of it is yours."

Kim hears his voice catch, it's clear from her expression, but she thankfully doesn't comment on it. "Well, let's think about it logically," she says. "For one, I think Grace could use some of the ammunition. She might appreciate some coffee, too, Nick."

"Yeah, I guess," Nick says mournfully. "There are two boxes, after all."

Kim chews thoughtfully on her lip, then pivots towards John. "You had to deal with directing resources, right?" she asks. "I remember all of the deliveries coming in and out of the Ranch."

"They won't trust any decisions I make," John replies, trying to cut the suggestion off at the head.

"I'm sure they wouldn't, but I'm not asking for you to make a decision. Just... You know more about this than we do, and I want your input."

John frowns, looking towards Nick for an objection. Unfortunately, Nick doesn't have one, although he doesn't look happy about Kim's request.

Sighing, John considers the groups they need to satisfy. Between Grace, the town, the trailer park and themselves, it's unlikely they'll have much to store, but a surplus would be ideal in case they need to bargain with people coming in from the west. John doesn't like the idea of giving the weapons away, but they would be an easy way to ingratiate the Ryes to anyone still upset at them for taking him in. He wants nothing more than to keep the alcohol and cigarettes, but those would be better as bargaining chips.

He starts by breaking the ammunition up, followed by the mylar bags, until the random array on the tabletop begins to separate out into four distinct piles. Seeing the resources shift in real time is the easiest way to ensure things are balanced, but John remains fully aware of the three sets of eyes on him as he begins to take over the table. While Kim and Carmina move to give John more space, Nick remains seated the entire time, his arms crossed and his eyes on the food that John is moving from one pile to another. He's clearly worried that the family will wind up with too little. He probably feels guilty that he wants to take more from others who could use the supplies.

When he's mostly finished, John has five piles organized across the table — one for each group, plus one comprised of larger bags they'll need to separate. Hopefully, they won't comment on how much he's chosen to keep for them — if they disagree with his decisions, they can wait until he escapes for the night to argue about it.

Kim had been right, though. John had been the one to schedule deliveries, redirect supplies and organize Reaping trucks; hopefully they can appreciate his choices, even if they decide not to listen to him.

"Here's what we have," he says. "The ammunition is split between everyone, as well as the rations. Given the town's location and size, they'll be better off with basic ingredients. They already have hunting equipment and usable cookware. We haven't seen the trailer park, but it's in hostile territory, and I don't think they dedicate time to cooking, so we give them more rations to make up for it. The cigarettes will be a gesture of goodwill, and they can use the sugar more than any one group. At the very least, it means they won't be ingesting straight ethanol for a few days."

Nick sniffs loudly, but neither he nor Kim interrupt, so John pushes forward. "You keep the components," he explains, "But give Grace the knives and whatever ammunition she needs. We can split the rice evenly, but it won't be very much. It would be better to keep it for ourselves, or else give it to one group alone."

"Still seems like a lot is left for us," Kim points out.

"Then you give the rest of it away," John says through gritted teeth. "I did what you asked me to do. This is what makes sense."

Kim nods. "You did, and I appreciate it."

John wishes she would appreciate what Jacob did instead, but he holds the comment back. It's his exhaustion talking, or the long day, or the lingering headache from the heat. None of those things are worth risking the shred of goodwill he's garnered with the Ryes. And the longer he hangs around here, the more likely it is that Nick or Kim will do something to really upset him.

"If that's everything, then it's been a long day. I need some..." Space , he wants to say, but he can only tiredly commit to, "I need some air."

"Sure," Kim says. She tries to mask her pity, but there's no hiding it. "Just don't go too far. Dinner's almost ready."

As if John is going to eat anything. But he keeps that comment to himself as well, knowing that it'll just start a fight that he's too tired to win. Besides, watching the Ryes go through Jacob's supplies and divvy them out the way they'd prefer might be too much for him to handle right now. He needs to put some distance between himself and his brother, even if it's only the short walk to the front porch.

[wwounu]

“Mingyu… Mingyu where are you…”

The phone in your hand, you try calling him again only to end the call because it wouldn’t be any use, checking the 25 minutes you had remaining. You needed to find Mingyu quickly.

So best believe when you ran into the campus garden, although it being a lengthy walk to get there, you were more than relieved to find Mingyu with his back facing you, kneeled on the rocky floor. It almost looked like a painting of bittersweetness.

“Mingyu,” you break, scared at his state.

“Go away.” Mingyu demands. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to do that, I’m not going to go away.”

“Stop saying that — I want — I you to go.”

You’re stepping closer, slowly but surely, ignoring all of Mingyu’s warnings.

“Mingyu…” You call out gently.

“No, stop it,” almost broken, he says, “I don’t need you — or anyone-“

But when your fingers touch his shoulder and he turns around, you can’t help but break at the tears streaming down the drummer’s face as he gasps for air, hands gripped onto the fabric of his pants.

You fall and manoeuvre your way to him so that he can hide his face in your shoulder before sobbing even more. It’ll leave a wet patch, but the feeling of Mingyu with you was worth it. It was the only way to keep you sane; nothing else.

You shush him through petting his hair, almost cradling him as he hiccups between cries.

“I’m scared. I’m so scared,”

Mingyu manages to mumble out like a mantra, the words sticking to your mind. What went wrong?

“It’s okay now, I’m here.” You assure him. You want to play it safe but it was important to know what was wrong. Mingyu, in your many years of watching his narcissistic ways, confident smile and stupid pride, watching his walls break down felt unsettling. “What’s going on Mingyu?”

“I’m scared.” He can only repeat the chosen words, making it harder to understand him. You decide to pry him open a little more, hoping he can escalate.

“Of me?”

You feel a shift on your shoulder — he’s responding — he partially nods, but shakes his head after a pause.

“The audience?”

A hesitated shake.

“… Performing?”

And Mingyu takes a while to respond. In fact, he doesn’t respond at all, meaning you had to say something to ease him. But before you do, his croaky, raw voice beats you to it.

“That day — when I messed up in front of my entire high school — I didn’t trip. Jun pushed me.” Mingyu holds onto you a bit tighter and you feel his hands shake violently, holding onto you like he was your last lifeline. “The whole school laughed — until the end of that year, the band wanted me dead for something I didn’t mean to do — Junhui had the nerve to laugh to my face when he didn’t know what he did. I remember — I remember going home that day — and my family was so disappointed in me,” laughs Mingyu in pity, “their son ran away after being an embarrassment, I ruined a day for the whole school and became the laughing stock, and I had to keep it in for hours until I got home and never left my room — all I wanted was for someone to tell me it’s okay, it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault Y/N, it’s not my fault, I didn’t mean to-” He repeats in a mantra, breaking down into another set of sobs.

He continues with slight ease despite the fumbling over words.

“And when I entered the office the next day to apologise for my actions, I… I suddenly couldn’t do it. Everything went tense and my throat went dry, it was either that I breathed too much or didn’t breathe at all. I couldn’t do something as simple as apologise. Then — fuck — and… And ever since then — I couldn’t go on a stage. Full or empty. It makes me so anxious seeing the stage lights and thinking back to that time, paranoid that someone might do that to me again and I hate it,”

A few more hot tears reach your shoulder before he adds on.

“So what did I do? I learned to live with that fucking demon in my head. I couldn’t mope about it so — so I fought back. I kept fighting back with anyone who dared to taunt me over that concert. Eventually — it worked. Everyone was convinced over this new Mingyu — fake Mingyu. As for Junhui — I hated him the most — I hated him for acting so fine when I carried his consequence,” Mingyu repeats that bitter laughs, “stupid right? Always acting like a drama queen because I don’t want to back down, because I don’t want to fall vulnerable over anyone and everyone — and now — and now I hate him even more.”

“Why?” You slip out under a whisper.

“Because-“ Mingyu lets go of you, head still bowed as his fingers move to grip his hair, starting to cry in frustration. He was tired. He was hurt. He was scared.

He was in love.

“Because I think I’m in love you!”

“Huh?” Caught off guard, a tug in your heart.

He picks up the pace in speaking, “And it isn’t easy to cope with at all — I’m an asshole and you forgive me every time, when you said you wanted to forget about the kiss my heart fucking hurt because I fell in too deep by then, when I see you I want to stay with you, when you speak I suddenly get happy and your smile makes my day — fuck, what am I saying?”

“Mingyu…”

“And — and I get so nervous around you because I’m scared to mess up but I know I can’t fix things because I’ve caused you so much pain from be being nothing but a arrogant jerk to you — when you’re with Jun, I can’t help but hate it — you’re so different with him and it’s like I’m helping the person I hate the most, fuck, I am helping the person I hate the most! And he’s so much more of a man than I am because he confessed to you first — can I do anything right?”

“Mingyu.”

Mingyu keeps on rambling, stuttering and chocking on his words. You could tell the drummer had a lot to say, but you had to get the male’s attention first because you didn’t have a lot of time left. Although the volume of your voice kept increasing, it didn’t stop Mingyu. Mingyu overlapped with incoherent words and curses.

“Mingyu!”

You force, having enough at this point. He whimpers, lifting up his head for the moonlight to shine on him, beautiful just as heart-wrenching at the same time.

“Listen…” Although your eyes wanted to look at the stones, you needed to keep your focus on Mingyu, “Jun never confessed to me…”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” painfully smiles Mingyu through the tears, “he was calling you all sort of things. Things that I can’t bring myself to say…”

He heard us? Is this what triggered it? You process, shocked at how miserable Mingyu must’ve felt.

“Mingyu. Jun doesn’t like me — he never would — he... He likes someone else.”

“Someone... Else?” Croaks Mingyu, tilting his head.

“Yeah. It’s complicated.”

This time, you gaze at Mingyu’s wet eyes, taking in the appearance. This was a first for you, but to him, this was one out of a million.

“Oh…” Mingyu blinks. “Oh,” he repeats, louder once in realisation.

“Yeah,” you nod, “but besides that… This is some serious stage fright and anxiousness in you Mingyu, why did you keep it in for so long?”

Mingyu shrugs. “I thought I would be ok. Ends up, it totally went a different direction. I don’t like people seeing me like this, why would I show this side of me when I can show another?”

“It’s unhealthy Mingyu… You can’t show it to everyone, but to no one? That won’t do. Someone needs to be there for you.”

“Then who?”

“I’ll be there for you.”

Mingyu’s features soften, just like a child about to cry over a scratch on the knee, eyes formulating tears.

“Y/N, I…”

“We’ll talk about this later,” you cut, hoping Mingyu would understand why, “we have a performance in seven minutes. Y’know, Jun was the one who told me you were gone, he seemed pretty panicked about it.” You nudge him, smiling slightly. Wiping the stray tear from Mingyu’s cheek, you say, “My, my… You look so ugly Kim Mingyu, what happened to the narcissist I used to know?”

Mingyu breaks out into a blissful giggle, the type that would make you want to keep Mingyu forever.

Theres a few moments of silence as you wipe Mingyu’s stained tears off his face, running a thumb across his cheek. “There you go. All handsome now.”

Mingyu feels his cheeks and ears heat up. His eyes speak something else, ones with adoration behind them. “Uh, yeah,” the drummer says with a stutter, “we should go.”

Before Mingyu stands, you take a hold of his sleeve and look at him straight in the eye so neither of you could break eye contact.

“Wait — Did you just say you… Like me?”

Although the younger semi-goes into panic mode, he interrupts himself with a rather rough, calmed huff and shuts his eyes, accepting the rejection that’s bound to come.

Shyly, he utters, “Yes?”

But instead, he’s met with a light giggle, followed by the pressure of soft lips on his cheek before your voice meets his ear.

“Sweet, I like you too.”

With new found confidence, you reach for Mingyu’s hand, running back to the concert hall where you and him might possibly get in trouble for cueing late. It was anything but a worry, as you and Mingyu find a grin taking shape on your faces, interlacing each other’s fingers when you laugh.

You didn’t look the neatest, neither didn’t Mingyu, but that was the audience’s question to speculate why you were like that, hoping that they would wonder what happened to them? or why are their clothes damaged? not knowing a story of love, miscommunication, and a fish inside a drum that led to this moment.

No one knew because it was yours and Mingyu’s story, a story that can be translated into words as well as musical notes and harmonies, full of layers and a clash of instruments.

Mingyu stares at the bright light, feeling tense by the grasp of his hand. You look at him, bringing him to his senses by the light squeeze. “Everything alright?”

Mingyu holds in a breath, jaw clenching, before he nods. He was going to do this. It’s a big step. “Everything’s-“

“Focus on me.”

He doesn’t realise how tense he is just until he crosses his eyes on you, all worries washed away and your presence shining through. You can see him physically relax in his eyes. 

You send a smile, a soft one, “Better?” It’s quiet but to Mingyu it’s louder that he could ever hear.

“Very,” he slips a stammer, walking on that empty, polished stage with you.

Remedies don’t cure in one night, but wherever you would be, as long as it was with Mingyu, he’s pretty sure he would be fine.

OPPOSITES ATTRACT PART SIXTEEN — Drummer!Mingyu x Violinist!Reader

is it safe to say theyre official? and i hope you understand mingyus side now

one • two • three • four • five • six • seven • eight • eight ½ • nine • ten • ten ½ • eleven • eleven ½ • twelve • thirteen • thirteen ½ • fourteen • fifteen • sixteen • sixteen ½

masterlist

[ariesfm-blog]

            hi ! my name is link ! i go by he / they pronouns , am 21+ & live in the cst timezone ! i’m an obnoxious aries & this is my idiot , max , who also happens to be an obnoxious aries because i believe in writing what i know JHGKFDLHLF . i’m really excited to be here , because plotless slice of life rps are my thing & i’m excited to get to know all of you & write with you !!! under the cut you’ll find misc. info & some wanted connections , but here are links to his stats page & his pinterest board , which hopefully will give you some extra insight . feel free to like this if you’d like to plot .but if you wanna plot on d*scord ( which is easier for me ) you can add me @ demogorgon ramsay#0039 !

( johnny seo, cismale, he/him ) who is that ? oh, it’s just MAXWELL “MAX” BAE the TWENTY-FOUR year old has been in beauhart for HIS WHOLE LIFE and is currently a BARTENDER. i’ve heard they can be CONFIDENT and HONEST, but also IMPATIENT and BRASH. maybe that’s why their anthem is SANCTUARY by JOJI and CAFFEINE JITTERS, DIRTY CONVERSE PAIRED WITH ALIEN SOCKS, PHONE NUMBERS WRITTEN ON NAPKINS makes me think of them.

misc. info : ( cw : mentions of death & drug use )

his mother died giving birth to him. though he doesn’t remember her ( obviously ) he still holds a bit of guilt & think it’s his fault that she died. but his dad is always quick to snuff that line of thought & holds absolutely no ill will towards max about it

all he’s ever heard is good things about her so he loves her or the idea of her really. he likes to imagine himself in the stories people tell him about her & it’s a comfort to him. it makes him feel like he kind of grew up with her even though he never got to meet her

his dad is a sweet person. full of laughs & kindness. also bad jokes ( this is where max gets his own humor from ). he’s the kind of dad that people wish for. he’s always been supportive of max no matter what & he listens to him whenever he needs it

when they were little they played catch & watched yu-gi-oh together. max still has all his yu-gi-oh cards stuffed in his closet somewhere. now they’re more likely to sit on his dad’s front porch & drink together while listening to music

his dad has never dated or remarried after his wife died because that was his soulmate & he doesn’t want to settle for anyone else & his dad has always told max to find that one person for him

max was miserable in school. he wasn’t good at it & none of it made any sense to him. so he struggled in graduating high school. & he tried college but he couldn’t stand it so he dropped out thankfully with no negative feedback from his dad

he’s kind of anxious & fidgety so it’s hard for him to pay attention ( anxiety & adhd nation make some noise !!! ) but if he gets focused on a project he’ll ignore his need to eat or anything else to work on it

he picked up making drinks from his dad at a young age ( imagine a twelve year old making cocktails that’s basically how it was ) & is really good at it so naturally he became a bartender. it’s not his dream job per se but he enjoys it a lot & makes good tips from it so he has no complaints about it

basically he’s pretty happy-go-lucky but he’s also an idiot & annoying about it. he can seem friendly enough at first but once you get close to him he’ll turn up that aries personality & get on your nerves ( but he’s also like a leech & will stick to you )

he’s really into aliens. he even has a ufo tattoo ! he will fight with anyone who doesn’t believe in them ( or cryptids or the supernatural in general ). the x-files is his favorite show & he wishes to be fox mulder every day of his life. he’s also a diehard boogara

he’s a big conspiracy theorist. he believes in lizard people, the illuminati & that queen elizabeth is a cannibal & that’s how she’s stayed alive for so long. he’s very paranoid about stuff. he’s one of those people who read the terms & conditions on everything so that he doesn’t agree to some company stealing his dna & selling it on the dark web. he also refuses to pick up the phone because he thinks the government is listening in on them ( he only makes calls when he’s high & out of it )

& he loves true crime. he’s always listening to true crime podcasts & watching true crime docs

he loves energy drinks & coffee. he drinks them so much that he’s shaking about 75% of the day but he never listens when people tell him he’s gonna get a heart attack

he’s messy. his apartment is messy. his hair is messy. his entire energy is just messy. but he thinks his personality makes up for it

he can kinda cook but honestly he’s lazy & just prefers to order in food 95% of the time. also he has a bad habit of forgetting stuff like he’ll turn the oven on then get distracted then wonder what the weird smell in his place is

for the most part he’s nice but he does participate in “friendly” dragging. if you’re friends he will clown you & sometimes he can hurt someone’s feelings even when he doesn’t mean to ( more than likely he will not apologize for it he’ll just ignore it til the other person gets over it hopefully )

always losing his headphones. he settles for those crappy $5 earbuds that you find at dollar stores so he won’t feel bad for losing them anymore. honestly he loses everything. who knows how many sets of keys he’s gone through

he’s super clumsy. always tripping, always running into stuff. he’s broken a million glasses at the bar

he’s pretty flirty, pretty charming. he uses it to his advantage at the bar, draws in customers in order to get tips & phone numbers

he’s a soft thot. he’s easy to sleep with but he’s kind & caring about all his partners

he’s a really good boyfriend & he falls in love easily,  but he’s forgetful & accidentally negligent sometimes. like he’ll go days without responding to texts or checking up on people. he doesn’t mean to he just does

he loves pins, patches & colorful socks. everything he wears is covered in them. most of the things he wears aren’t even related to his interests because people just give them random things & he wears them anyway

he can never open jars his beefy arms are useless

a fan of punny humor. he’s the king of dad jokes

he’s that person who puts his legs up on the dash of the car or hangs them out the window

wishes he knew how to skateboard but doesn’t even know how to ride a bike

takes in random cats & dogs he finds on the street. sometimes he tries to find their owners & sometimes he doesn’t but it’s fine

he’s addicted to those edited audios that are like “( song ) but you’re listening to it in the bathroom at a party & you’re crying because you’re alone” & he’s obsessed with joji so of course those are his favorite 

he’s one of those pansexuals who call themselves gay constantly 

uses uwu in texts to be ironic & annoying. most of his words have w replacing certain letters to sound like a smol

he gets stoned at like three am & tries to call people & ask them stupid high people questions like “if two vegans fight is it still called beef”

he’s also never left beauheart or gone too far away. just a few cities at most. he has a bit of a stoner paranoia about it. like if he leaves the state something bad will happen to him or his dad or loved ones

he’s terrified of horror movies. especially ones with clowns. he refuses to watch them because he’s convinced that he’ll accidentally summon a demon or a ghost through osmosis or something JHGDLFKGHD

wanted connections :

rooommates ( one or two )

exes ( any gender. it can be messy or friendly. i’m willing to have max be the issue though with him it’ll always be baby issues since he’s nice & a tryhard JGHKFDHFKGFD )

hookups / fwbs ( any gender. singular experiences or regular type things )

childhood plots for those who’ve lived in beauheart ( childhood friends, first kisses / crushes, all that good stuff )

high school sweethearts

flirtationships that don’t go anywhere

one-sided crushes ( don’t mind who has the feelings ! )

mutual pining but they’re both idiots & have no idea

party buddies. conspiracy theory buddies. true crime buddies. any of these can be combined

tinder date ( it can go well or not )

frequent customers ( better yet, frequent customers that he flirts with. give me the cliche phone number on napkins plot)

maybe you don’t tip him for whatever reason & he’s had a bad day & he’s like “bro wtf”

teach him how to ride a bike KJFDHSLGJF

maybe you try to get him to leave beauheart & you have to deal with his crybaby ramblings about how something bad will happen

beef with him over the existence of supernatural things

be the person he calls at three am after eating too many edibles & deal with his stoned questions

try to make him watch a horror movie

for someone newer to town: be that person who makes a “your mom” joke & have to deal with that awkward “my mom’s dead” conversation

maybe he “accidentally” stole your cat or dog & you try to get it back but he doesn’t believe that it’s yours even though you clearly have proof

maybe you’re the person who always ends up finding the stuff he loses & you’re stuck in this constant act of returning & you’re tired of it

literally anything you can think of i’m probably down for it

[ontheedgeofrecovery]

What was different?

Hang tight, this is going to be a long one. I hope it is worth your time to read. Also, I put a hell of a lot of time into writing this, so I really hope it is helpful for someone (anyone!) out there.  

So, I was messaging with a friend the other night (and by the other night I mean a few weeks ago because this took me forever to write) who I met a long time ago in treatment (you know who you are and I miss you and love you!). As we were talking about how hard it is to be in treatment, I started thinking about my own last experience in treatment. What made it stick? Why was it that time that I was able to stop the cycle of going in and out of the hospital? I have struggled with anorexia and restrictive eating since about the age of 7. It didn't turn into a full-blown eating disorder until I was 13, but the seeds were there around 7ish when I started to become very rigid about what and when I would eat. Anyway, it's been a long struggle. And then from 13 to 31 I cycled in and out of treatment. I literally have lost count of how many times I have been admitted - I don't say this to brag (I have noticed this is a thing in treatment), but rather to emphasize that clearly something was not clicking for a long time. In the summer of 2014 my treatment recommended palliative care and to stop trying to get better in the hospital. Basically, let nature take its course. 

I pretty much accepted that the only thing left to do was die, but then decided to give it one last go and embarked upon one of my longest stays in treatment ever (October 20, 2014 to August 22, 2015). Although to be fair, I "left" many times. Usually for a day or two and then I would come back and resume my stay. I am so lucky I found a place and a treatment team that was willing to put up with my flight impulses and always accepted me back. I went from inpatient to PHP to residential to PHP to inpatient to PHP, and then finally IOP. I really hung in there and allowed myself to get to about 90% of my ideal before I discharged. Which I don't think I had done since being 15 and being at Remuda. While I clearly think this is one of the bigger players in how I got myself stable, there are others. 

What was different? How did I allow myself to stay that long in treatment and sit through the discomfort of gaining almost double my body weight?

Well, there is no one simple answer, but I have been mulling it over in my head the past few days and I thought I would jot down my thoughts 1) because I feel stuck where I am at in recovery and maybe this will be motivation and 2) I don't have many readers, but for those of you who are out there maybe this will be helpful? So here they are in somewhat of a particular order (though these have changed over time in how they contribute and maintain my "recovery" (I hate using that word, because I still struggle a lot with food, but I am so much better than where I was and maybe this is what recovery looks like for me?).

Anyway.

1) Cannabis -  This is kind of what kick-started the whole journey. I was 31 and had NEVER been high. Not edibles (well, obviously), not smoking. Nothing. I was absolutely terrified of getting high. I had heard so many stories of people getting paranoid and having panic attacks. I am already so anxious that the thought of something making me more anxious was an absolute no go. In addition to that, I am a rule follower and smoking weed was definitely against the rules. 

My brother came to visit in March of 2014. I was not in a great space. This gets confusing because my brother and my ex are both named Nick, but we called my brother Nicky growing up so that is what I will call him here in order to differentiate. Nick had been trying to convince me to try smoking for years, pretty much since we started dating in 2008. I was steadfast in saying it was a no-go. However, Nicky made a compelling argument that I had tried everything else and was dying anyway so why not try it as a last-ditch effort to save myself. Or at the very least make the time I had left enjoyable.  

I did and it opened my world in so many ways. It made me feel more connected to a greater whole. It made me realize that I am not alone in this world and I felt less isolated. Coming to terms with this made me realize how insignificant I really am in the overall scheme of things. This really helped me put into perspective the amount of time and energy I was putting into something that was not contributing at all to the betterment of society, my relationships, and I was not okay with this. 

It also reduced my rigidity. Things just seemed clearer when I smoked. It was kind of like a veil lifted. I had more room for flexibility. Smoking also fills me with a feeling of hope (similar to my feelings of connectedness). Things just don't seem so dire and pointless when I am high. It seems like things could be different, that I can choose a different reality. 

And finally (I don't know why this is, but I would LOVE to do research on this someday), I saw myself somewhat accurately when I smoked. For some reason when I am high I am able to see myself more realistically. My distortion doesn't completely go away, but how I see myself is definitely closer to what is real. I would look down and see my body and be like, "oh shit, this is really bad”. This even happened to me tonight when I smoked. All day long I was feeling really uncomfortable in my body and seeing myself way bigger than I actually am. I hate to say "fat," because I don't see myself as fat, I just see myself as a little above average - which everyone tells me is not true. Tonight though, I looked down and was like, yeah, I am at a normal weight, but I am on the low side of normal and I could see it for a little while after I smoked. 

I don't know if that makes sense, but basically starting to use cannabis made me see things from an entirely different perspective. Throughout the summer of 2014 I gradually began to believe that things could be different. That maybe the amazing clarity I had when I smoked was how things were supposed to be. Maybe if I could get to a better place I would feel the happiness and hope I felt when I was high. Maybe if I gained weight things would get better. And for the first time in a long time, I believed it. 

2) My (now ex) husband drew a hard line in the sand - This was a huge influence as well. I started my treatment journey at Princeton (which I chose because I had never been there before - I also knew they had private rooms and that was a huge draw. Also, to be totally honest, I had been essentially banned from a number of other treatment centers for being a repeat customer and always leaving before I was ready). However, I signed myself out after a month.I had a million reasons - I was the oldest one there, they were making me gain weight too fast, I knew everything they were teaching me, it was depressing, I was sick of being on bedrest, it wasn’t fair, the staff sucked... on and on. 

Nick was PISSED. He had finally reached a point where he couldn't do it anymore. He told me I was not allowed to come home. He said if I came home he would either move out or that he would file for divorce. 

I was devastated. Nick had never done this before, he was never thrilled when I left treatment, but he also was a little happy to have me home and doing marginally better. I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I knew there was no escape, I had to go back to treatment. I chose a place near my family so I would a) have the support and b) if I stepped down I would have a place to stay. Nick made it clear I was not allowed home until I had put on a significant amount of weight and my treatment was onboard with a discharge from care. 

I knew if I was going to save my marriage and get home, I had to at least stay long enough to be appropriately discharged. There was no escaping it. Also, this didn't happen until a little while after, but when Nick did ask for a divorce, it hit me that I had become my dad. My father has a lot of mental health issues and my mom stuck by him through the years. But at some point, he stopped being an active participant in his own care and health. My mom couldn't do it anymore and she left him. The quote, “watching someone drown in a puddle and all they need to do is stand up” comes to mind. She just couldn’t watch him refuse to stand up anymore. 

It completely devastated him. I have always been afraid of becoming chronically mentally ill like my father and losing everyone in my life. By continuing to go in and out of treatment and cycle in and out of doing well enough to maintain relationships I was going to follow in the exact footsteps as my father. I see how miserable his life is and I continue to use that image to push to not listen to everything the eating disorder tells me. 

3) I wanted my dogs back/needed to get out of where I was living - In May of 2015 (when I was in PHP and living at my mom's boyfriend's - his name is Don - house) Nick asked for a divorce. I was doing pretty well in treatment, still struggling and being non-compliant at times, but continuing to attend every day and slowly weight restore. I still don't know entirely when the scales (no pun intended) tipped, but they did. I don't know if Nick realized how much more peaceful his life was without the eating disorder or if he just didn't believe things would change. Regardless, he said he was going to file for divorce. 

I went from "staying at Don's house" to living at Don's house in one phone call. To say I was devastated is an understatement. In fact, I am still devastated. I saw my parent's marriage end because my dad couldn't get sober and now I had done the same thing in my own marriage. I lost the person I was closest with because of the eating disorder. I guess, in a way, this was part of what kept me at treatment as well - the hope that I would get well and Nick would take me back. I still hope this will happen, but I know it won't. Anyhow, I digress.

Living at Don's house sucked. I was living with my mom again at age 32. I felt like such a failure. It wasn't even my mom's house I was staying at, it was her boyfriend's. It was not comfortable living there, it was awkward. It was awkward sharing a space with Don and his son who has a lot of anger issues. My bedroom was uncomfortable. I slept on a twin bed for the first time since I was a teenager and it was lopsided. It was out in rural NH and I hated that all my friends and anything to do was a quite a drive away. Everyone in the house smoked cigarettes and I hate the smell. But what I hated most was I was not allowed to have my dogs. 

My dogs are the most important thing in the world to me. I love those little beasts so fucking much it hurts at times. And I hadn't seen them in 7 months. I absolutely needed to get myself out of that house and get my dogs back. However, I could not do this without a job. And I could not get a job while I was still struggling so much with eating and reliant upon the structured schedule PHP was providing for me. I made it my mission to get to a point where I could hold a job and get my own apartment. If I was going to stay well long term and not have to be re-hospitalized, I knew I had to give myself more cushion room in terms of weight gain than I ever have before. 

4) Yoga - Yoga has become really trendy lately and with good reason. There are so many benefits to yoga that go far beyond the physical. For me, the primary thing I learned in yoga is that if you stay persistent, the uncomfortable gets more comfortable. And things that seem impossible become possible. 

I have a very special relationship with avoidance and perfectionistic behaviors. I tend to avoid things I am not good at or not even try at all. I hate being uncomfortable. Like, no one likes being uncomfortable, but I have a particularly difficult time with it. Not being good at something and building the skills you need to get better is often very uncomfortable. I pretty much have always shied away from things that challenge me to the point of being uncomfortable. This is for a couple of reasons 1) I hate not being good at things 2) It doesn't seem worth my time if I suck 3) Getting better at things requires being uncomfortable at some point and I don't like it. 

I often do not stick with things that I am not good at or require discomfort on my part. I will try to pick up a hobby and not be good at it and quit. Or I will try to get myself in better shape by trying to lift weights or run and it makes me feel discomfort, so I quit. Although I go to the gym every day, I will not do anything beyond walking because pushing myself physically is uncomfortable (though I will walk 7 miles in a go, I hate breaking a sweat). I don't like to eat because I have a nauseous stomach and that is uncomfortable. I don't like to try new things because the unknown is scary, so I avoid it. Basically, what I am saying is I never stick with anything long enough to see the discomfort dissipate and the rewards of tolerating the discomfort come through. i.e. weight restoration, facing fear foods, sitting with the feeling of food in my stomach, making choices about what to eat, physical activity, anything I am not immediately good at. 

Yoga at first seemed like a thing to get into because I wasn't allowed to really exercise and at least it was some physical movement. I was so desperate to be able to move more that I didn't care that I wasn't very good at it. Also, I went to a gentle yoga studio and everyone there was so accepting and welcoming to people who were just getting into yoga. I kept going to yoga and I actually started to get better at it. I didn't feel any pressure to be getting better, but I began to see it happen anyway.

I started taking harder classes. I started to learn to breathe through the uncomfortable poses. That they would end and that next time I did them they would be easier. A friend of mine sent me a yoga sequence and it was hard. Like, an hour long with a million chaturangas (when you lower yourself like a pushup, into up dog and go back into downward dog). The first couple times I did it I couldn't do all the chaturangas, so I skipped a lot of them. But as I did it everyday, I was able to do more and more. Eventually, I could do the whole sequence and even the jump back from crow into chaturanga! 

Committing to doing yoga every day was the first time I really stuck with something through the uncomfortable learning period and allowed myself to see the benefits of my practice. It started t make sense to me that other areas of my life could be similar to yoga - that if I didn't focus so much on the discomfort in the moment and rather on the fact that it would pass and I would be better for tolerating it that I would gain skills. I finally got that part of growing and evolving involves a certain amount of discomfort and acceptance that you won't see results right away. Yoga has taught me so much. To accept my limitations and also to push them, to breathe through discomfort, to not be so hard on myself, and that I am capable of growth and change. 

Here is a great little blurb on Reddit about discomfort and yoga: https://www.reddit.com/r/yoga/comments/5hc0b2/yoga_has_taught_me_to_welcome_discomfort_into_my/ 5) I agreed to medications - I have always had a not so great relationship with medications. I have a ton of side effects and I just really don't like taking them. Over the years I have gone on and off medications so many times. I will take them for a while, go off them, fall apart, go back on them, not really get better, have side effects, go off them - you get the idea. Even when I found something that helped I would frequently go off it after a time because I really didn't want to be on meds. 

I finally got desperate enough that I thought, hey, it improves my quality of life, fuck it. Even if the medications shorten my lifespan (worst-case scenario) then at least I had some years with decreased mental health issues. I started to really talk to a psychiatrist about finding something that worked. It was trial and error and took a little bit of time to find the right meds that a) helped and b) didn't cause horrible side effects. The two medications I am on certainly do not get rid of the obsessive thoughts or the anxiety, but they certainly make it way more manageable. 

I don't feel as much like a prisoner of my brain or that my brain is a prison - either or. And I have remained compliant instead of being like, "oh things are better, I don't need these!" Because I do need them. I have a brain-based illness and I wouldn't turn down medications if I had any other disease of the body, so really this is no different. 

6) I went slowly but surely - I stayed in treatment for a loooonnngggg time and took weight restoration pretty slowly. It sucked and I so wanted to get back to life, but every time I have done weight restoration the quick and dirty way in the past, it didn't stick. I would either leave treatment early because it was happening too fast and I was too uncomfortable. Or I would leave treatment and be unable to adjust to my new body and rapidly relapse. I knew I had to do things differently. I was very lucky I had good insurance and a treatment that was willing to work with me. Also, not lucky, but I have comorbid mental health issues (anxiety and OCD) that helped keep insurance covering me. 

7) I gave up trying to eat intuitively - This is a big one too. I always thought that recovery looked like eating normally. For me, it doesn't look like what most people would classify as normal. It is very regimented and I eat a lot of very safe foods. And I used to think that meant I wasn't in recovery and why keep trying. I might as well go back to listening to what my brain tells me and not eat. I mean, if I couldn't eat normally, why even bother?

I decided to try something different than what is encouraged in treatment. I began to eat the same thing every day. The same exact thing at the same exact times. No matter how I felt. This helped me for many reasons 1) I got used to the foods I was eating and desensitized myself a little 2) It took the overwhelming choice of what to eat out of the equation. Deciding what to eat is really stressful for me and so I often avoid it. Eating the same thing every day meant I didn't have to make decisions 3) I could stop counting calories. If I eat the same exact thing every day there is no reason to count calories. I did at first but eventually seeing the same number every day seemed like a waste of time and unnecessary. 4) I am super routine, so once I get in the groove of something, I stick with it. Now even when I feel nauseous or I had a rough day and don't feel like eating or I am having an uncomfortable body image day I still eat at my scheduled times, because, well, routine. It is more uncomfortable for me to break my routine at this point than it is just to eat what I have eaten every day for 3 years. 

I am not saying this is a great long term solution, but for people with chronic and severe anorexia, it is better than anything else I have found in managing a healthy weight. Like I said, maybe this is what recovery looks like for me right now. I hope it gets better in the future, but I am just happy to be participating in life.

8) I eliminated almost everyone I was in treatment with from my social media - Well, not everyone, but other people who were cycling in and out of treatment like I was. It just wasn’t healthy for me to see their posts. People would post how they were going back into treatment or pictures of them that were incredibly triggering. So, I didn’t want to see that anymore. It made me feel like there was no hope when I would see someone doing well no longer doing well. Or to see the constant treatment posts. Some people glorified being sick or seemed to take pride in how sick they would get or how much weight they had lost. It was just a world I needed to step back from. For me, I experienced a lot of competitive and self-destructive feelings when I would see people thinner/sicker than me. I would feel either a) I wasn’t really sick enough to need help and b) jealous they were thinner than me (I hate this part of the eating disorder and I am kind of ashamed to admit this here). 

I also needed to build a community that wasn’t treatment based so I wouldn’t miss it. I grew strong relationships in treatment that I had a hard time finding in the real world. Treatment and the community within it didn’t consciously keep me ill, but when I wasn’t there and I would see group pictures. It made me feel as though I needed to go back to the safety and community of treatment. Again, I just needed to focus on something other than anorexia to escape the cyclical pattern I was in. 

I certainly kept in touch with some people who continue to struggle, but these are the people I regularly talk to and have authentic, real friendships with - not people I just followed because we spent time in treatment together. It was sad to unfriend these people, but I just needed to build a life outside of treatment and to focus on my friendships that had nothing to do with eating disorders. It helped me regain an identity outside of anorexia. I needed to be exposed to normalcy around eating after being surrounded by people who struggled with food/weight/body image. I needed to start to have conversations outside of my obsession and dysfunctional relationship with food. 

Anyway, that was long, but I hope there were some nuggets in there that helps someone. Thanks for sticking with me through to the end if you read this! 

[sophieyouneedtogetbetter]

Journal entries

December 11th 2018

I see no point in anything anymore, i am so lonely and sad. No one likes me and no one cares for me. I get myself into situations that i can't get out out of. I act out on the ones who love me, they shouldn't forgive me, but they do anyways.. 

I am just a big problem and i am misunderstood. No one knows how i feel half the time, it's so hard to describe. I feel like I couldn't be fixed even if i tired. 

I am so unmotivated and lazy, i try to get things done but i get to distracted and pulled into a cold spiral of depression or anxiety. It's hard to do anything now, i am so scared that i will never be good enough or i wont get into college or even get through this year alone.

I need to stop going to others for my own happiness and find it myself. I need to stop getting into relationships just to not feel lonely.  

My grades are dropping and i will never get anywhere, all my teachers and friends are disappointed in me and they also think i wont get anywhere either. 

Everyone is always worried about me because they think i will cut myself again or try and kill myself. I don't want to die i just want to be happy and be normal. 

I’m sick and tired of being so problematic and always sad or tired. But i am always sad and tired and i don't know what to do about it. 

I am always so paranoid and it's scary because sometimes i dont know whats real and whats not, sometimes i feel like i'm almost lucid dreaming or in a movie or something. I feel like i'm drifting and something is pulling me back and they won't let go. My mind gets all blurry and i can't focus, i feel like still things are moving on their own. 

I feel exhausted on days where i've had a good night's rest, i just dont want to feel like this anymore, it's a living hell. I want to be free from this feeling.. 

February 27th 2019

it’s a new year.. i thought things would get better but they have gotten worse. i’ve got a new therapist and she’s not helping. i’ve been cutting a lot lately and i’m very scared. sunday i cut very deep, there was a lot of blood. i felt nauseous and sick and the thing that scares me the most is that i thought i was done, i thought that i was gonna bleed out and hours later when it was about dinner time my parents would find me dead. but that didn’t happen i’m here and i’m alive. something that makes me terrified is that the one thing that i go to for release isn’t giving me that adrenaline and satisfaction that i’ve felt before and now i sit here and ask myself what am i gonna go to next, and i’m gonna go to hard drugs or even worse.. suicide.. i don’t want to die but the thing is that i black out when i cut and what if i was to cut to deep and actually bleed out and die. i don’t want that to happen.

while i type this i’m very scared and anxious, i’ve never thought that it would get like this. i would never think i would find myself in my room scared and out of control of my actions with harming myself. just one little accident and it would be all over. i could do it now but i don’t want to. i don’t want to ever die. i need to get my shit together, i know what i need to do to feel happy again but i don’t want to. saddens has consumed me and it’s so damn comfortable. i need to get my shit together, maybe tomorrow maybe in five years but i guess for now i will fake it.

2021 January 13th

I don't wanna do this anymore. I'm in such a deep depression I'm so tired and so exhausted and miserable. The only good thing I have going is my relationship and friends which I good but I want my home life to be okay. I could give a fuck less about school or anything really just so I can feel at home again so I can be happy. Its sucks because I  Rely so much on other people's emotions for my own. I can't be happy if everyone else isn't and i wanna fix it I wanna fix the way I feel but how do I do that when no body is listening. I'm 17, I don't have my license or a job, how am I suppose to find tools without having other tools. I need a therapist but they are so backed up even if I do put in an application for one ill be at the bottom of the list and it'll be probably a good month before I get one. I don't know what to do anymore.

February 22 2021 

I get it not everything is resolved around me, but what's it going to take for someone to notice I am so fucking alone, that I am constantly fighting with myself constantly fighting to stay alive, always wondering what I'm doing wrong always thinking everyone hates me. It fuckinh exhausting I am so fucking tired I let everyone walk all over me always taking advantage of my empathy. What is wrong with me what am I doing wrong for people to not like me, I hate the fake excuses to not talk to me, I hate the snarky comments and all the glares. I feel like im sinking and everyone else around me is swimming everyone else is floating along while I'm drowning I'm trying to hard to stay up above the water what I know how easy it would be to sink, I want to sink. But what's going to happen if I do sink, will I swim with the fish or will I be eaten up by the sharks. Will this ever end, will I ever stay afloat. Will I ever find the confidence or the strength or the tools to stay alive. 

April 11th 2021 

Yesterday you expressed to me that your not sure if you want to be with me and how I am pretty to much for you and your not sure if you want a relationship, we laid down and after a couple minutes I told you that 2 years ago today you first told me you loved me which was kinda ironic considering the circumstances. We then had sex, which I insisted only because I knew it would make everything better. You wanted me to go to a party that I really didn't wanna go to but I went because I knew if I didn't I had really lost you. You said so many different things that night how you know  you love me and how you care about me but how your mindset tells you otherwise and how you're not attached to me as much as I am to you. You left this morning and I texted you and asked how your day was and ypu ignored me. You said you are going to take me out to eat tonight but I just have this gut feeling that either 1 it's not going to happen or 2 it will and it'll be the last time I see you. I don't know if I can get past this, it hurts way to much. You're my best friend my person love I don't want to lose you I don't want to be alone I don't want to see you with other people. It's Hurts so much and I try and say it's my fault that it hurts so much because I overthink so much and that I just can't except love but I can but I say it's my fault so you won't leave. What else am I going to justify so you won't leave. I can't keep doing this. Maybe its just right person wrong timing, or maybe im just too fucked up to be loved by anyone. And the sad thing is If thinking about you and replaying our memories in my head is the closest thing to having you then I’ll do it no matter what . I’d drop everything to spend time with you but you wouldn’t do the same for me.

June 21st 2021 

God what has happened. I've repressed to my old feelings, old playlist, old memories etc.. suicide has been heavy on my brain the past few days, same with self harm and just leaving everything behind and leaving. I feel so lost and helpless and confused into why I am feeling like this again. I cried the other day, the same kind of cry a baby cries when it misses its mother. I have this thought in my head running back and forth of wether I'm okay or I'm not. I'm constantly catching myself spacing off into old memories, like 8th grade. The feeling of being so numb and so tired that nothing could ever fix this feeling like I am so comfortable and so certain that I'm going to feel like this forever. I feel like a zombie. I feel bored. I feel useless. I feel tired, not the sleep tired. Just tired. Tired of pushing and pulling. My brain feels like mush. My body feels heavy and weightless at the same time. My chest feels tight and my eyes feel heavy. I feel comfortably miserable. I miss when I never had to give a shit about anything like school and work and dissipating people. I've done so good lately and held my shit together so well and it's so surprising because deep down I am screaming and begging for a break for someone to say it's okay to feel like shit and have them not be disappointed in me for falling apart. I think about the day I'll let someone read these entries, I think about the day that I'm completely giving up and I release these all over social media. I know that sounds desperate but maybe someone would read these and think maybe there not alone. I feel like I would scare everyone if they knew how I felt. I wonder what I'm feeling is valid of bullshit or maybe its just my hormones or seasonal depression. Or maybe it's just my day to day life. Something I'm going to have to deal with for the rest of my life. (Keyword maybe means yes it's your everyday life) 

June 22nd 2021 

We're on a "break". I don't even know how to feel, I should be crying right now begging you to not leave and to love me and to just change. But I'm not, I'm so calm and unbothered and just numb. I'm so fucking numb. It's like I don't even care it's like im already over it. I guess I wasn't surprised. I don't really have much to say. But I can say this is going to hit me like a train. One little thing, and I think I'm going to snap. 

September 8th 2021

I don't think I can keep doing this anymore, I don't think I can keep fighting. I don't want to, I don't want to deal with these feelings. I can't remember the last time I actually felt okay. I want to feel normal again. I am losing myself. I am losing my mind and I am trying so fucking hard to hold on. I feel like a prop in some shitty movie. I feel like I'm just a background character, if that makes any sense. I am constantly scared, I am constantly having these thoughts of hurting myself. I keep dreaming of better days but everyday is just a nightmare. I  think of admitting myself somewhere, like sending myself away. Somewhere where I don't have to worry about this shit. Somewhere safe, somewhere there are people like me and understand me.

September 15 2021

I  find myself thinking about sending myself away, not because i need to just because i want to. I guess you could say “ need in one hand and want in the other and see which one fills up faster” but i honestly have come to the point where nothing feels real anymore, nothing feels good anymore. Everything hurts everything is scary and everything is unfair. Life is so unfair. Its even worse that i continuously have shitty things happen to me. I have so much untreated trauma that i think im coming to the point where i dont care anymore. I dont care about anything. I don't feel like existing, trying, dealing or fuckinh anything. I can't feel anything, I am so numb. Numb to my core. I am so desperate to feel better. I am going to feel like this forever, I am always going to be a broken person with a broken heart with a broken mindset. 

[thenightisland]

you know the drill:

this is becoming like its own series but idk how else to explain this awful year i don’t even feeling like properly linking so here’s just the URLs of the other ones in the series: 1. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/161087786689/explanationsupdates-under-the-cutmore-i 2. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/161920216354/additional-updatesexplanations-under-the-cut 3. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/163767959805/updates-under-the-cutmore-post-one-post-two-on 4. http://thenightisland.tumblr.com/post/164398486219/on-the-fourth-edition-of-what-the-fuck-is

one of the assessors got jumped a while back. she was just walking past a pt in the main assessment dept and he jumped up, punched her in the back of the head, took her to the ground and beat the fuck out of her. she was out for weeks and weeks and had broken facial bones. i can’t believe she didn’t quit.

our nurse executive quit though. not like, went prn or gave two weeks notice, like just straight up was like I’M DONE and walked out which honestly is the closest i’ve ever come to respecting him.

while having more psychologically unstable pts isn’t new, having more medically unstable pts has been a problem lately. like our crash cart is not like a medical hospital’s crash cart it’s like. an ambu bag some iv supplies and a stethoscope no lifesaving medications. when a pt has a medical issue we send them out to a medical hospital because obv we don’t have the resources to treat complex medical issues where we work. which didn’t used to be an issue because you’d used to see maybe two medical codes a year on my unit. we’ve had /ten/ since my last update post /just on my shift/. two of which weren’t even “pt is going downhill fast” codes they were “pt has no heartbeat and isn’t breathing” like we had to fucking bring two people back from the goddamn dead /within ten minutes of each other/. we’re all like we’re psych nurses man if we wanted to do this shit we’d work er. [and the er we’re required to send these pts to is awful like they sent us back a guy who had almost died twice in three days who had an /untreated brain tumor/ bc obv he’s totally fine]. or we’ve been doing mash unit style medicine like the suicidal kid with partial thickness burns all over his chest and neck that literally no one was doing anything about. we were debriding burns with a mixture of different PO IM and SQ drugs to achieve the same effect as IV morphine because debriding is extremely painful but not doing it will just make things worse and no one else seemed to care so we just fucking did it. like we’ve done so much medical nursing lately. like the one with the uncontrolled severe seizures that led to the medical hospital labeling her first break schizophrenia despite no family history of mental illness but /five different medical issues that all cause psychosis/. or the one they let on the unit despite being on the do not readmit who has untreated hiv that he actively tries to give to other people and /active tuberculosis/. or the one with the aneurysm. or the one with severe CHF. and on and on and on. and remember: we’re not the most medically unstable unit in the hospital because we have a 40 bed /geriatric psych unit/ so you can imagine the kind of pts /they’re/ getting. on the plus side, all of our ten odd codes lived.

my personal life is still a goddamn mess, of course, but that’s a given. don’t even know where to begin with all that. and i can’t talk about a lot of it which makes it that much more fun.

i had an entire crisis about the odyssey [which tbh is still kind of going on even after /weeks/] because i’m getting so cagey in memphis because i fucking hate this town. and i just got back from new orleans which is the closest thing i have to an ithaca at the moment and it killed me to come back to this fucking city.

i’m also really paranoid right now because after i come back from vacations, something terrible always happens and i’m not exaggerating it’s like clockwork to the point that the bad things have all happened between friday and sunday after i’ve returned from my vacation, each time, without fail. well that would be this weekend so i am just waiting to see what great horrors await me this goddamn time. [last time, it was the whole coworker killed in vehicular homicide thing]. but i guess paranoia isn’t the right word. you’re only paranoid if you’re wrong, and my life has already set the precedent. so i guess anxious is the better word.

the anxiety is increased given that my mother has been out of work all week because they’ve had trouble regulating her blood sugar and so she’s been really sick and even said so herself she’ll probably end up in the er over the weekend because she doesn’t think she can make it till her next doc appt because she’s miserable, and she’s already been in the er once when this weird shit started happening a month or so ago so the Vacation Curse has me even more concerned than usual, which is saying something. 

there’s a new psych doc working now and everyone is really unsettled by him and we’re pretty sure he’s a genuine psychopath like completely without exaggeration and he’s already done a lot of really creepy things to/with staff members and one nurse said in passing “i’ve known a lot of doctors like him he’ll end up fucking a pt at some point” which we initially left to hyperbole but he’s been doing shit like transporting female pts to other units without the staff’s consent in his own car which is like all kinds of not allowed, and the way he talks to some of the staff is just downright rapey honestly. and so we had a rough case this summer who, through the combined efforts of my squad, we got her from a diagnosis of intellectual disability with schizophrenia, nonverbal, self harming all the time, history of physical and sexual abuse, constantly in restraints and on a 1:1 obs level to a new diagnosis of autism spec with ptsd because her “hallucinations” were /flashbacks/ and she ended up very social and verbose and like fucking read william blake for fun and had a great sense of humor and was off all special observations and had a transfer to another facility pending so she could get more 1:1 long term therapy, and the creepy doctor was covering her case while her actual doc was out of town and he rode all the way to the other hospital with her which is another thing you do not do, and we found out from a coworker that she is now a /2:1/ [two staff members within arm’s reach 24/7], self harming again, in full shutdown/meltdown mode, and nonverbal. and it was such a rapid deterioration that all of us lost sleep over the possibility that this creepy doctor might have done something because even after she was at the other hospital and therefore no longer our pt, /he kept going to see her/. which fucked us up a lot because we were the ones who worked so hard for so long with her. like even the thought of it.

recently had 25th birthday so naturally had a crisis about that because i’d always said my goal was to be out of memphis by 25 and yet here we are. 

another of our fave pts, esp one of /my/ fave pts, died out of literally nowhere. the day before my birthday. so that was great.

also felt really surreal to see the news about the convictions in the holly bobo case, which i found out about when one of my coworkers was reading the news on his phone during a lull one night i forgot that to him and everyone else it’s a national news story [hell it even has its own wikpedia page] but to me it’s just /holly/ because she was /in the class above me in our nursing program/. my first semester in college i remember seeing her face on missing posters on every building on campus. so it was really a weird moment of dissociation for me. glad the motherfucker was found guilty on all charges, obv. 

the tech of mine who got his skull slammed into the floor, the one who’s been out with what can only be called severe psychological trauma, is supposed to be coming back the third week in october. which i just. i mean i’m glad because he’s one of our best guys, but i’m also like /why the fuck would he come back/ because he could be a fucking english professor again. motherfucker spent part of his youth growing up in italy and montreal, lived on the west coast for years, /was/ a college professor, did time as a script doctor in LA, and was a fucking thriller novelist who just gone girled himself for whatever reason and ended up working with us. there’s literally a reddit thread asking if anyone knows what happened to him and i want to be like don’t worry it’s fine he works with me. but so we’re like why would you come back to this place after what happened to you when you have so many other options available to you????? what are you running from that makes you so desperate to keep centering your life around a locked acute psych ward???? why did you gone girl yourself to begin with??? like he was screwed up enough there for a while that he wasn’t even answering his calls or texts and our boss had to send the police to do welfare checks on him because he lives alone so it’s like man why not go back to the life you had before and /get away from all of this/ it’s not like my situation where i’d rather be living a different life but have never done so, he already has the foundation because he’s already lived a different life he has an in that i don’t have and i can’t for the life of me figure out why he thinks working as an acute pysch tech is the better option. 

but i mean. we /do/ call our unit the hotel california for a reason.

[drstrangejuice]

fat post about toy story 4 and MAH FEELS

OK, I came home today after seeing Toy Story 4 feeling all warm and fuzzy inside (it was kind of bittersweet, but still overall happy...) and came to tumblr seeking cute fanart, but damn y’all had to go and make me feel sad all over again... Woody leaving Buzz and the rest of his pals behind - yeah, O U C H, that did hurt a lot....but I for one was really happy to see him reunited with Bo. I think we can all agree he’s going to have a better life out of Bonnie’s closet for YEARS where she eventually would have put him and forgotten about him and - like Andy - probably have discovered him even more long years later only to go on to donate him to someone else. Alternatively, even worse, she could end up just throwing him away. Anyway, it’s pretty likely that a sad fate would have awaited him if he returned home in the RV. Yes, he would have been among his friends, but he would never have been able to play with them and Bonnie at the same time. Of course, this assumes that Bonnie would have continued to forget him and leave him behind in the closet. You never know, perhaps her interest in the cowboy could have returned, and things wouldn't have been so doom and gloom. Yet I think it’s safe to assume her interest in him was waning, and the sadder fate would have lain in wait for Woody. Instead, however, Woody decided to stay with Bo. Let’s ignore the emotional stuff for a sec about saying goodbye to Buzz and co. and just focus on how much of a nicer life this is for Woody, even if this means parting with his friends. He is free, he is going to live a life satisfying new children and enriching their lives! Also, he’s gonna live...in the wild...and just? gatecrash various playgrounds??? Yo, idk about you but I have never been to a playground with so many cool toys in it at once. If I was one of those kids who jumped off the bus and into that playground and discovered TOYS in it as well???? My mind would have been blown and I would have been having the time of my life. Anyway, so instead of wasting away in the closet, or in a box, or on a shelf, Playground Party City is Woody’s new life. Hell yeah??? Compare that to living your life IGNORED for YEARS and just having to be shut away in a closet or a box or somewhere similar miserable and lonely. Honestly, in a way Toy Story is a terrible franchise because as a kid it gave me horrible anxiety/sadness/grief/GUILT to imagine (or, maybe even partially believe...lol...) that my toys were actually alive and in reality I was sentencing them to a life of misery when I put them away in a box. L m a o. HOWEVER, Bonnie doesn’t live in a world where there’s a movie franchise that might give her the idea that her toys are FUCKING SENTIENT AND PERHAPS THEY HAVE FEELINGS TOO???!!!!?? In Bonnie’s world, that is an actual reality. Except she doesn’t know it, and never will. Toys ARE actually alive, but no one knows, and the toys do an incredible job of never being discovered........ok except for the emotional trauma they inflicted on the villain kid in the first movie but he’s probably gonna grow up banning that memory from his brain and if it ever surfaces he has to tell himself that it was a delusion or a nightmare so he can continue to function without being paranoid that inanimate objects actually are watching him AT ALL TIMES. Err, anyway, where was I going with this...OK so Woody’s new life. Yes, having to say goodbye to his friends was tough, but like Buzz said...Bonnie will be OK. Woody did his best to make sure Bonnie was alright, but he knows the rest of his pals are gonna continue to love her and be there for her, and it’s OK if he’s not a part of it. I mean, yes, it’s also gotta hurt on some level for him that - ouch - Bonnie doesn’t love me anymore, and that’s sad, but at the end of the day I did my job and I gave her plenty of happy memories and also she is happy without me. I know it hurts to be forgotten, but Bonnie doesn’t share that hurt or sadness, because she is just a little girl, and it is completely normal for her to change her mind about which toys are her favourite, which ones she wants to play with, which ones she’s most emotionally attached to. Woody was looking out for her emotional needs while also taking care of his own. It doesn’t matter if Bonnie loses me because she isn’t going to care (cough cough blunt but true). However, if Bonnie loses Forky she is going to be upset!!!! It’s kind of funny, but Woody was also the one that ultimately brought Forky to life. Woody recognised that she needed a friend at kindergarten -- he was looking out for her!!!!! He did a better fucking job of it than her goddamn teacher, mind you! Can we talk about what a crap teacher that was, by the way? ? “Aw hi sweaty, it’s ok come inside and put your backpack down, everything is gonna be just fine I promise (: (: (: “ *proceeds to completely ignore child that she just left alone and is now sitting at a massive table all by herself scared and anxious on her first day of school* I mean, god, pay attention and at least get her to come sit at the bigger table with more kids - make sure she has a buddy. MAKE SURE SHE EVEN HAS SOME GODDAMN CRAFT SUPPLIES.....YOU JUST INSTRUCTED THE CLASS TO START DOING CRAFT AND THEN DID NOTHING WHEN ONE OF THE CHILDREN WAS SITTING ALONE AT A TABLE AND SOME BLONDE FUCKO WITH AN APPLE WALTZES UP AND STEALS HER COLOURED PENCILS. OH AND ALSO SHE STARTED CRYING. WHAT THE HELL, PLEASE SOMEONE IN THE ROOM WHO ISN’T A TOY PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THIS POOR LITTLE GIRL OH MY GOD  .......ok this post is going nowhere now, basically I just wanted to share a few thoughts and got kind of sidetracked without saying anything particularly meaningful. Basically, tl;dr I came into the tag expecting everyone to have enjoyed the movie but was surprised when it seems some of you didn’t. I agree, yes, it wasn’t as good as the third movie and probably didn’t need to be made, as the third movie had a happy, complete ending. I will also agree it was disappointing that the original gang got basically no screen-time. This was especially sad for Jessie, I thought. Even Buzz, too, despite the fact he did get decent-ish screen-time compared to the rest of the gang. At the end of the day, the movie made me happy because even as a kid I shipped Bo and Woody. They established in the very first movie that those two had a crush on each other, and I think they are very sweet and cute together. The other movies also established that Buzz had a crush on Jessie. At the moment I can’t quite recall if that was ever shown to be reciprocated because honestly I’m not sure Jessie ever even thinks about romance; ADVENTURE is definitely more of a priority and thing she would think about. Also, if Buzz ever flirted with her I’m pretty sure she would likely be oblivious, lol. Anyways, I also got a surprise when I came into the tag and found y’all shipping Woody and Buzz. Surprised, but also not surprised? I mean, I totally get it. However, I personally am just not gonna jump on that bandwagon because if you asked me what was going inside their plastic little heads I doubt either one would ever want to smooch the other. Yes, they are bros for life and their friendship is a beautiful wonderful thing that is a joy to watch in the other movies....however I can’t imagine that they wanna smooch. Anyway, I’m not sure how even Bo Peep is gonna be able to smooch Woody with that massive pointy nose of his, lmao! At the end of the movie when they were both staring lovingly into each others eyes I had to wonder “are the gonna kiss”. They didn’t, and that’s probably a good thing because it most likely would have looked awkward with Woody’s big nose in the way and also the fact that his head is like a billion times larger than Bo’s, lmao. ...that’s a weird sentence to end this post on, but I think I’m (almost) done now, lol. So, in conclusion, Toy Story 4 was an odd “conclusion” to the franchise. The third movie felt a lot more satisfying as a conclusion, and I guess I am kind of sad that #4 ended the way it did, separating Woody from his lifelong pals. However, if you consider how long certain pals have been in his life and how recent they were; Bo and Woody were a lot closer in their beginnings as toys for Andy and Molly, compared to Buzz and Jessie’s arrivals. Woody went on to have many years together with his new friends in these two - however somewhere along the way Bo was put in a box and taken away from him and everyone else she loved. The fact he got to see an old friend (and crush, heh) again and know that she had been getting by OK in the big bad world for the many years since they’d last seen each other......ugh!! MY HEART!!!!! Also, while staying with Bo meant betraying his loyalty to his owner, ultimately he knew that that was going to be OK because sometimes people simply just naturally grow apart (Bonnie and Woody), and that’s OK. And then sometimes even if it’s not a natural progression, sometimes you have to say goodbye and farewell to old friends if it means you’re making that decision to better your own life (Woody choosing life as a free toy rather than a toy banished to a closet). Ugh idk I guess I’m trying to find some meaning in the separation part, but at the end of the day I think all of the toys will be sad at Woody leaving, but they’ll know he’s happy and that even though he was leaving them he still loved them all and treasured his memories with them. It was both a sad and happy goodbye and..........and I’m crying again now, great. OK this post is officially over as I’m off to bed to go cry myself to sleep I guess lmfao