#this comes from someone who once got so sick they woke up with nosebleeds once per night for a week

[anexistingexistence]

Sam is the type of person who always assumes he's bleeding whenever his eyes well up with tears or when he has a runny nose or when his hair touches his ears or neck weird. Car accidents and trauma are funny like that.

[aka-indulgence]

Nighttime Surprise

Not exactly a ‘usual’ stress-relief, but also.. yes? Not in the usual sense, though I may have self projected. Maybe. Something I wrote that wouldn’t strain my one month unused writing muscles... And enjoy it too

Summary: You don’t know what your relationship with (HT!)Sans is. Just that it’s close and intimate... And it’s going to get much more so when you suddenly find the guy in front of your shoebox apartment door.

It was night. You were tired. And having a heavy case of the tension headaches.

You were feeling thoroughly like a piece of garbage. You hadn’t done anything today.

You had called in sick, when you were thinking to do so many of those “adult responsibility things”. Like going to the bank before your work started, and going to to the party after the work that your colleague was having. It wasn’t a party really- just that friends had invited to go drinking at a bar. You weren’t that big of a drinker- maybe just drinking on celebratory nights or when you were invited, never looking for it on your own.

But when you woke up to feel that grogginess in your eyes, the chills and slight shivers when you shifted around in your bed, the tenderness of your muscles and the fact you felt too hot when you had the blanket over you, but started getting more chills when you took it off- You’re sure if you didn’t get proper rest, you’d get a fever, and you didn’t want that.

Forcing yourself to work won’t solve anything.

You sighed as you watched the clock tick, getting past midnight.

You groaned.

Why… Were you… Still awake?

You may have heard enough medical advice to tell you about things. You’re supposed to rest so you’d feel better the next day. But… Throughout the day, while you were just lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you thought how much more productive you could be.

But instead, you just sat there. Every time you moved, you felt like gravity had gotten twice more stronger than it should be. You had so many things you could do.

You were also a side reporter. More freelancing than an official one really. Occassionally writing up something in day to day that was worth mentioning to the public, whether it was something interesting that the average person don’t know but might get interested in- to more serious things like when an accident had happened near you.

You never had a schedule, you weren't obliged to keep writing for them every day- but you could send in a piece of your work to be published by them.

Other than that, you had actual snail-mail letters sent to you from family members that you should get to. They take time to deliver, and doing it faster, the better it’d be for them as well. Sure, you’ve all gotten smartphones and could use a messaging program, but there was something special about sending real, tangible things they could touch that needed thought before it gets sent off.

…

And you didn’t do any of that.

Or… Not exactly.

You did try something. You did try writing a report on the amazing ‘job’ a 65 year old man was doing just down the street that everyone undermines- cleaning up leaf litter and just downright litter every day on the road, without getting paid. You did try thinking of things to reply to your cousin who lived seas away from you.

… But everything you did, just seemed not as good as you thought it’d be.

So you groaned, thinking you’re just going to do it another day. But all this… waiting has gotten you stressed.

You know you shouldn’t dwell but… You just tossed and turned in bed, like some kind of annoying purgatory of wanting to do something and can’t, and getting stressed when you don’t do something and just stay lying awake, trying your best to. Fall. Asleep.

“Oh, I didn’t even take a long nap for god’s sake…” You say to yourself, putting a dramatic hand on your forehead.

On top of everything, you were so bored!

You didn’t want to look at your phone, because you worry it’s just going to keep you up. But now you’re just staring at the wall, the ceiling, back to the other wall… And your mind had gotten so numb that you’ve resorted to making weird convulsion-like movement in your bed.

You make a particularly loud groan afterwards, sounding thoroughly miserable. You didn;t do work, didn’t socialize, and even more… You didn’t actually rest, and now your brain seems to be against you in trying to make you sleep.

Just as you attempt to close your eyes again, lying on the bed with a pissed-off look to your face, you suddenly hear three, slow knocks on your door.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

… You almost screamed a ghastly scream at that, if you weren’t actually just choking yourself so you don’t make the noise.

What the hell was THAT?!

You stand up from your bed, slowly opening the door without the lock that was in front of your front apartment door- Why didn’t these have locks too, what’s the point?!- And leaning in the peephole, praying that you don’t see an eyeball peering back at you.

…

It wasn’t an eye. It was an eye socket. With an eye light inside of it. Red and big, and casting a dim light on the peephole.

“… Sans?!” You almost shout when you realize who he is. Any other human would probably shriek at the mere sight of him in the dramatic darkness of the apartment hallway. What ‘with those skeletal features that most grandparents described death, the creepy’eyelight, and the hole in his skull.’

… Someone had actually said that to you when you were out with him once.

That person had quickly gained a nosebleed from your fist.

You swung open the door to him, the soft look on his face, his smile non-present. Neutral, his eyelight dilated as he took the sight of you that was… Pretty unsightly even to yourself.

“… angel hair?” His face fell a bit at the sight of you.

“Um… Hi, Sans.” You siad simply. “Uh… Didn’t expect you to come so late tonight.”

“… you didn’t come today.”

You know he was talking about work.

You don’t quite sure know about the relationship you had with Sans, just that it was more… Intimate than what you’d call ‘friends’. Nothing explicitly romantic yet, but… Sans doesn’t talk much to people outside of his brother, and you. He doesn’t work with you, but you’d met him in a little restaurant near the building. He worked in a vegetarian restaurant his brother built- you started making small talk to him, and the rest is pretty much history.

You don’t quite know at what point you clicked with him- it just happened gradually, everyday he was talking more and more with you, as you had started going to the restaurant solely to meet him and he started to take closer steps to you… Going to your house, inviting you to his, laughing together on the sofa…

Never making a move on each other.

Just that you know… You both really, really cared about each other. Like right now.

“Sorry… I didn’t tell you.” You frown, yet again slapping yourself mentally, forgetting to tell your really close friend who brought you to work and home, hung out extensively in the your home, and had no problem giving physical affections… That may or may not last longer than they’re supposed to.

“I got sick.. Maybe.”

You didn’t have to explain much more.

He had walked in silently into your apartment flat which wasn’t anything impressive- he always gave it a disapproving stare at the walls around you. Basically only having two rooms minus the entrance ‘room’- bedroom/kitchen, and bathroom.

He had picked you up, closing the door gently before locking it, walking back to your bedroom, plopping you in your bed.

“tell me what you need, pumpkin.” He said as he opened the cabinets, turning out the small light in the ‘kitchen’ area.

“Sans…” You tried to protest.

“you’re hungry.”

… Quickly ending in failure.

You’d let him make you a simple corn soup, worried about the state of your stomach, knowing it might be sensitive. He had sat you up in your bed, helped feed you, giving encouraging waves whenever you went still for a few seconds, the sleepiness seeming to come when he was near you.

Sans being a cook, had made the corn stock soup you had tucked away in your drawer into something restaurant level. The longer you ate the more lively you felt, and as he put the small bowl away in the sink, washing quietly to himself without a word to you… You felt more comfortable just lying on the side with the soft yellow light in the corner of your room, with silent dishwashing in the other corner, than being in the dark with no sound.

The sight of him just wringing his hands and drying them in the tower… Made you smile, thinking how he had come all this way to take care of you the moment you told him you were kind of sick.

After going to the bathroom to collect warm water in a rubber bottle, he came back, placed the water bottle on top of your stomach, and…

He climbed into the bed, arms curling around you, legs wrapped around your lower half. He pressed his skull to the side of your face… A sound similar to the rev of a truck engine slowly but surely getting heard from his ribcage.

… Was that…

Purring?

Well- arguing whether Sans was actually just a big cat or just a monster skeleton- wasn’t the only thing that had made you as stiff as a board, eyes wide.

… This.. Has never happened before.

Sure, you’ve held hands, hugged him, real tight too- but Sans had never just climbed onto your bed, laid in it with you and snuggled close to you. Not that you could remember, at least.

It made your heart beat fast, and you wondered if you were feeling hot because of the warmth that was just radiating off of his body, or… You’re just really, really flushed.

Must be both.

Sans looks completely relaxed while he held you like either a big teddy bear or a body pillow… And you just couldn’t do that. Your heart wouldn’t let that, as well as your tired groginess being pushed to the back of your mind at the closeness.

“… Sans?”

“mmm…?”

Oh GOD his voice sounded really husky right now.

“…” This shouldn’t be an appropriate time but- if anything happens, you’ll just blame it on  your non-existent fever. “What are you doing?”

“snuggling you in your bed.” He says simply, as if it was the easiest question he’s ever heard that needed answering. “why?”

“… That’s what I wanted to ask you.” You say meekly… Slowly turning your body to him so you could hug him back, to which he gratefully taken a snugger hold on you. It wasn’t very comfortable with thick bones under your spine right? Not because… You wanted to get closer to the skeleton, no…

“… what do you mean?” He asks, and you see that red eyelight, looking down at you. You’ve never seen it so dilated before.

“… Uh… You came here, made me soup, helped me eat the soup, and now you’re in my bed, h-holding me like this…” Was that the ‘fever’ or your embarrassment making your cheeks burn? “… Why did you come all this way?”

Sans go silent for awhile, as he seems to be thinking.

“… a sweet little human who is gentle and kind to me, hadn’t come to get her lunch of the day… no news, asked her work, told me she called sick. didn’t get a text from her, i got worried. i don’t like not knowing what’s wrong with my little honeypot.” As his gaze seem to fall on you again, you note how fuzzy and soft they were… Radiating adoration at your face.

“when i see the exhaustion just radiating off of her… i can’t just leave her be…. gotta… gotta take care of the ones i love.” He gives you a smile, small and genuine.

“you look like you didn’t sleep.”

“… I didn’t. I couldn’t.” You quickly added, as he shushed you, petting your hair.

“you have me with you. if you need anything, just tell me. i’ll be here, sugar lump.”

… He really did just come in the middle of the night, worried how you were doing despite the fact you didn’t text him… Probably because he was contemplating whether to come to your apartment or not, since you didn’t tell him anything. It’s getting better day by day, but you know how afraid Sans could be at… Losing someone. Making them run away and fear him.

You guess you being sick just overridden all that, now with him openly purring and tucking your head under his chin, curling around you some more.

…

Your relationship just got all the more closer…

And the blooming warmth on your chest, the happy noises he was making the closer he felt he was to you, and the smile on both of yours and his faces told you it was just going to get better from now on.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 61

Okay, shorter chapter this week due to where the break fell. Please remember that this arc involves an unknown illness, so there is mention of hospitals, medical procedures, and a minor mention of blood.

Antoine eventually relented and let me flick on my datapad to keep up with the events unfolding around me, but only with a strict order not to so much as sit up straight until we knew for sure what was going on. Nonetheless, I felt helpless as I lay in a medical berth listening and watching everything that was happening around me. Simon was at least kind and cruel enough to leave a channel open to me while he assisted the Council in their decision process regarding the potential epidemic we were facing.

"We need to minimize panic," Xiomara argued.

"By isolating people in their quarters?" The snort that accompanied the question belonged to Alistair, on loan to Simon for the duration.

"It's standard protocol for isolating a contagion."

"According to what little information we have, there is no isolating this. Everyone is already infected, to various degrees," Simon pointed out.

"The delusional rambling of a sick woman? That is really what we are going off of?" Huynh's voice barked incredulously. I could hear my sister growl from across the bay where she stood reviewing my latest test results with Antoine.

Simon, however, did not back down. "Sophia Reid is not the only person to report this information. We have corroborating information from fifty others so far, some dating from as much as a week ago."

Eino's curiosity broke in. "Why are we just now hearing about this?"

"The information comes from therapeutic patient files. Nightmares have been widespread recently, and nearly all of the crew who were already assigned to companions have allowed us access to information regarding any discussions they have had regarding the content of those dreams. They were not informed why we requested it, only that we were looking for any similarities." Grey's flat, factual tone brooked no argument.

"We still have no hard evidence of the underlying cause of this," Xiomara stated. "I have absolute faith in the report you speak of, but until we are looking at the source of this, there is a chance not everyone is infected, and I think it is best we keep it that way -"

"Sophia," Tyche's voice broke in. When I glanced up, she looked more exhausted than I had seen her in months. "Turn it off for now. It sounds like Simon and Grey can handle things."

"We don't have enough space," I murmured to myself as I flicked away my datapad. When Tyche tilted her head empathically and worked an eyebrow, I realized I said it aloud. "Medical berths," I clarified. "We don't have enough. That, more than anything, will cause panic - being afraid of not getting treatment. That's why she wants people isolated to their quarters."

Medical scans of the Terrans on the Ark were showing hundreds of cases of people with similar symptoms to mine. Worst cases were immediately transported to the nearest healing bay. Our absolute worst case was found already in a life support tank - Nixe had nearly drowned when she passed out in the water with her diving weights on. Hyper-oxygenated suspension liquid and constant whole-blood transfusions were waging war to keep her alive, but it seemed a holding pattern was all that had been managed.

Miys was treating as many people as possible in their quarters, or in the quarters of others they were familiar with who were in similar shape. Derek, Sam, and Zach were all three isolated together, while I tried to avoid thinking about the three of them suffering under an unknown illness. They were halfway across the Ark, and I couldn't help them - it tore at my heart. I desperately wanted my family together through this.

"Any luck?" I asked quietly, trying to distract myself.

Antoine sighed heavily. "Very little," he admitted, running a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. His normally ramrod posture slumped under the invisible weight of the task he had undertaken.

Isolating an unknown microscopic organism within a human body turned out to be more difficult for Noah than we expected. The colonies of bacteria that lived in and on a single person prevented simple scans from isolating on just one particular outlier. It had muttered several times about how annoying human anatomy was, as it identified a particular bacteria, only to have Antoine or someone from the research labs explain it was supposed to be there.

Not long after I received a communication from Alistair that the isolation measures were agreed upon, both he and Grey come into the medical bay, relieving the most recent scientist Miys was terrorizing. Once brought up to date by Antoine - who immediately flopped into a berth with a heretofore unseen lack of dignity - Grey took a glance at Noah's most recent finding.

They sighed in resignation. "That is intestinal flora and is necessary to proper consumption of food."

"Tell me about it," Tyche grumbled next to me.

Noah's current avatar whirled in her with surprising grace. "Tyche. How many of these digestion bacteria were you missing when you came on board?" Humorously, it used it's [large hand] to mimic squinting eyelids.

It never had stopped envying the mobility of our facial muscles.

She shrugged, wincing slightly at the pain that had developed in her shoulder as her own symptoms started to show. "I dunno. Didn't you count when you were replacing them?" After a lifetime of trouble eating - even as a kid she had been extraordinarily 'picky', and we only realized in our late twenties that may have been the start of it - she caved in and let Miys fix the issue a few months after I woke up here.

The being in question flared and started rippling it's vomu. "We did not. We - may - have cloned functional organs, along with their bacteria, and replaced yours."

"May have?"

"We did?"

She rubbed her face, groaning when she triggered a nosebleed. "Great. Anyway, how did cloning my organs and bacteria fix the problem? They didn't work right to begin with."

"We never claimed we cloned your organs."

Tyche and I traded looks of concern. "Noah," I ventured slowly. "You can't just swap people's organs willy-nilly. They have to be compatible..." A horrifying thought occured to me. "You've had to clone and replace a lot of my body... Please tell me you cloned and replaced all of it from me? That could be causing this whole -"

"Peace, Wisdom. All of your cloned organs came from your own genetic material. We are aware of the possibility of rejection... Tyche, your new digestive tract was cloned from the closest possible match." It gestured at me. "Before she arrived, you repeatedly complained that your sister had what you called 'the good stomach'."

I felt slightly queasy knowing that a copy of my guts was churning along in my sister. "How certain were you that there would be no rejection issues?" I squeaked gracefully.

"We used her own organs as scaffolding. There is no chance of rejection, I assure you."

Tyche stared at her midsection. "I never had an organ transplant... I expected it to hurt more," she ruminated quietly. "So, I can seriously eat whatever I want?" She asked, louder this time.

"Within limits."

"Pretty big limits," I pointed out. I had only had heartburn once in my entire life, and it was due to an allergy to tequila, of all things.

"Unfortunately," Miys admitted. It had developed a distinct preference for requesting what I was eating before entering a room with me. "Including that plant that eats you back."

"Pineapple," the four humans in the room corrected simultaneously, sharing a smile.

"We have to fix this epidemic," Tyche announced with renewed fervor. "I just got told I can eat anything I want, up to and including foods that make most humans sick, and I have a list, people."

At least someone was getting some good news.

<< Prev  Masterlist  Next >>

[quixlebug]

Warning: unedited crack ahead

So, I didn't originally intend for my first writing piece posted on this site to be...well, this, but my friend and I wrote it together for fun and she said I could post it, so uh here you go.

Error belongs to loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to comyet

Dream and Nightmare belong to jokublog

"DREAM!" Blue yelled as he raced out of the kitchen, which had an alarming amount of smoke pouring out from every opening. "COME TRY MY NEW TACOS, THEY'RE PINEAPPLE-BACON FLAVOURED!" 

 Dream looked around frantically for somewhere to hide. Last time Blue had convinced Dream to try his new recipes, Dream had been sick for weeks. Running away was probably the best bet… But it was too late; Blue had already spotted him. 

 With a taco in each hand, Blue raced towards Dream. Before he could shove his creations down the poor guardian's throat, there was an ear-shattering crash.

"DID SOMEONE SAY TACOS???" Cross shrieked as he burst through the living room window. Before anyone could react he had grabbed both tacos and devoured them. Did he even stop to chew? Probably not, he really loved tacos. 

“Cross! Those were for Dream!” Blue exclaimed. “Oh well, good thing I made extra!” With that, the short skeleton disappeared back into the kitchen. Good thing he didn’t have lungs, because he probably would have suffocated from all that smoke.

Dream raced to the door and flung it open, hoping to leave before Blue got back. The guardian quickly tried to exit, but smacked straight into someone standing in the doorway.

It was Blue.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked slyly. “You haven’t even tried a taco yet.”

Dream looked from Blue, to the kitchen, then back to Blue.

“H-how did y-” Dream’s question was cut off by Blue shoving a taco at his face.

Dream woke up in a cold sweat. He looked around frantically, but he was safe in his bedroom. But he wasn’t alone.

Blue was there, with a taco.

The nightmare continued. Literally. Nightmare walked in and stood next to Blue. "Are you alright, brother?" he asked, his voice dripping with fake concern. "You passed out. Blue was so worried…you didn't even have a chance to try his wonderful new tacos."

Dream briefly wondered if this was actually happening or if he was trapped in some hellish dream loop or hallucination. 

"I made more tacos while you were asleep," Blue said. "Cross helped! He's a really good cook, and he has lots of ideas! Here, this one is chocolate, shrimp, and mustard! It will help wake you up.” 

That’s when Dream noticed Cross was also in the room, wearing a bright pink apron that read “Kiss the Cook Cross,” and an oversized chef’s hat that was nearly falling off his skull.

At this point Dream was desperate for any way to escape the certain death that was the taco Blue was offering him. A distraction seemed like a good idea, so he jumped out of the bed and grabbed Cross by his shirt collar and pulled him close, smashing their non-existent lips together in a kiss. 

Blue gasped and his eyes turned to stars. "I didn't know you two were dating!" he exclaimed! Nightmare looked like he wanted to throw up. 

There was the sound of a camera snapping photos, and Dream looked over at the window to see Ink, who freaked out and fell off the windowsill, disappearing from view. Dream ran to the window, leaning out to look for Ink, but the rainbow asshole had already disappeared. The only thing left was a puddle of ink. Dream would have to find him before Ink decided to send the photos to everyone they knew (and everyone they didn’t). But his attention was grabbed once more by Blue.

“...So are you going to try a taco or what?”

Dream glanced at the taco, dripping with melted chocolate and mustard. He looked at Blue's hopeful face. He looked at Nightmare, who was banging his head against the wall looking like he wanted to die, and at Cross, who was passed out on the floor with a nosebleed. And then he turned and dove out the window, falling straight into the puddle of ink. 

He wasn’t expecting anything to happen, other than maybe being covered in the black substance, and getting his clothes ruined. But Dream found himself falling much farther than he should have, and when he stopped falling, he was standing somewhere completely different.

It was the anti-void and Ink and Error were making out on the floor. Dream took the opportunity to get revenge (or in this case, perhaps it was just karma), and snapped a few photos with his phone. Ink and Error jerked away from each other as soon as they heard the click of the shutter.

"Dream!" Ink shrieked upon recognizing him. "I can't believe you've betrayed me like this!"

"Hey, you betrayed me first!" Dream shouted. "This is just revenge!"

"Yes, brother," purred Nightmare, who was suddenly standing next to him. "Let the darkness flow through you. Embrace it, let it c o n s u m e you, and together we shall rule the worlds!" 

Suddenly, the two brothers each got hit with a slipper. They looked at Error, who was now barefoot, and glitching more than usual. 

"Can you fucking leave already?!?!?" he shrieked. "Get out and leave us alone!!!!!" Error was not a happy camper. That much was certain.

"So-rry!" Dream said sarcastically, flipping his cape because he didn’t have hair to flip. “It’s not my fault I’m here. Blame Ink, if you want to get mad at someone! He left his stupid goop portal lying around.”

Nightmare gasped, offended. “Excuse me?!? Goop is my thing! He has paint, not goop!"

“I have ink, actually,” Ink corrected. “I mean, you’d think that would be obvious, given my name and all that…”

“Shut up!” Nightmare shouted.

"Yeah," Error agreed. "Shut up and kiss me." He grabbed Ink with his strings and the two fell backwards through a portal, already making out again. 

“...I’m going to go post these pictures,” Dream decided, taking his leave.

"You're all idiots," Nightmare grumbled to the emptiness around him before he left as well, heading back to the castle to make sure his gang wasn't killing each other again. 

Dream had forgotten why he'd left Underswap in the first place, and didn't remember until he walked into Blue's house and smelled burning tacos. 

"DREAM!" Blue yelled as he raced out of the kitchen, which had an alarming amount of smoke pouring out from every opening. "COME TRY MY NEW TACOS, THEY'RE PINEAPPLE-BACON FLAVOURED!" 

The End. 

*Note: If you don’t want it to end, there’s a simple fix! Scroll back up to the top. There you go*

[pisati]

I keep getting that feeling I always get when I feel like I need to write something, but it’s all played out. I’ve gone over all of it. old feelings I don’t care to rehash because they’re gone, all the bullshit with my mom, feeling like I want to leave, waiting til something happens. 

something feels blank. blanker than usual. I didn’t start the 150 XR wellbutrin until last tuesday, but I’ve been feeling pretty bad all month so far. the first week of the month was PMS week, and usually I give myself a little space because I know it’s always at least one of the moods or the cramps or the nausea that week. but it never picked back up. I did have a rough go of it last week and I feel like I’m still recovering. any little thing is enough to put me in a mood. my mood tracker has shown pretty consistently low marks the last 3 weeks and I don’t know what that’s about. I can’t correlate it to anything in particular.

the root of it comes down to fear. not an anxiety fear; a dread fear. I’m scared things won’t work out, but I’m not anxious, if that makes sense. I know something will work out one way or another, but beyond that I’m scared of never being where I want to be. never being able to do something I enjoy, never being able to earn enough, never being able to even physically feel better. I have to hope that something will improve; I don’t want to look at things as so black and white. but the concept of “never” is still a very real possibility and I can’t ignore it. I’d take even marginally better, but it’s still kind of depressing to think that I might not ever be back to the way I used to be before I “got sick”. or whatever the fuck happened to me. I don’t remember being healthy and it breaks my heart to think that I may never be able to feel it again. 

I went on a walk the other day and I came back in much more pain than when I left. I had a rough night as far as my jaw, and I took 400mg ibuprofen to stave off the headache I woke up with. I came back home after 2.5 miles to my entire face hurting. pounding headache, my nose burning and everything around it hurt. I smelled blood. I even felt a little drippy so I blew my nose (once I could pull myself off the floor), but there was no blood. I’ve never gotten a nosebleed. maybe I was mistaking the rats’ cage smell for something metallic.

I didn’t even have the energy to be upset that I came home from yet another walk and all I could do was curl up on my floor with my eyes closed. once I could open them I went to open twitter on my phone and hit a random app, only realizing it wasn’t twitter a second or two after it opened. I opened my closet and then tried to throw my tissue in the laundry hamper, because for some reason my brain confused my desire to put my clothes in the hamper with the tissue I was holding. only realized my mistake once the tissue was in midair. once I pulled myself off the floor I took another 400mg of ibuprofen, changed, and got back into bed. I hate crashing like that. I didn’t think my cognitive function got noticeably worse after exertion but apparently it does. thankfully it doesn’t last for long, but... this has never happened before. maybe in a year or two it’ll take me even longer to recover. god only knows.

that’s scary. I’m already waking up almost every day with a headache. I can’t control how much sleep I get, even when I take something for it. and nothing works for more than a few days at a time. my jaw’s been hurting for just about a year now, and that causes all kinds of head pain. when everything in my head hurts for no reason and ibuprofen doesn’t make it all go away... that alone is enough to make me hate existing.

I feel like I shouldn’t ask myself “what if I get worse?” and just focus on my day-to-day. but the fact is, it’s already gotten worse. I’m doing the best I can, though sometimes it doesn’t feel like the best I can do. I suppose instead I could ask myself “what if I plateau?” what if it stops getting worse? that’s at least semi-hopeful. but what if I never get better? I can’t just ignore that possibility. the thought that I may never be able to support myself in the kind of society we’ve created is so fucking depressing. I’m still remembering that time either last year or in 2017 when it hit me very suddenly that I also may never have someone with me and I may need to be okay alone. I don’t have a plan for the possibility that I get worse.

I used to hope one day I’d get married. I guess I still have that hope, but it’s a much more nebulous concept at this point. it almost doesn’t seem like a realistic thing for me to set as a goal. I will say it’s probably spared me a lot of anguish to essentially have written it off. if it does happen it’ll just be one of those nice things, I guess. I remember being in middle and high school, being so incredibly jealous of my best friend for always being in a relationship, all my friends who would talk to their crushes and get close enough to date them. I’d had some moments, but they never went anywhere. I’m sure I spent all those years pining over some dumb boy or another. one to the next. I remember how devastated I was when I thought this one kid in my math class might have liked me back and he asked another girl to junior prom. I didn’t even go that year. charlotte had her boyfriend, everyone else was asking everyone else. I went to senior prom just because I felt like I should at least go to one high school prom in my life, but nobody asked me. it felt like a waste of time and money anyway. I still have my dress, I don’t know what to do with it.

just... all that pain I was in. and I don’t feel any of it anymore. I’m not all that jealous of anyone. maybe it’s because I’ve since learned that being in a relationship doesn’t entail being in a good relationship. I’ve learned over and over again. from friends, from my parents. it would be nice, in theory, I think. a good one. I like going to the store with someone and actually enjoying shopping (but when was the last time I did that?). I don’t think I’d like any of the sappy stuff (have I ever?) but the idea of someone who likes me enough to even try, that’s.. wow. I haven’t even entertained those thoughts in a long time. I guess I feel it’s almost pointless to. I hurt myself enough in the past over lacking it, why keep that up? maybe I had this ideal in my head, and now I’m not even sure it’s possible. I don’t know what a secure, loving relationship is like. it’s like when people tell me I don’t know what I’m missing when they try to get me to eat some food I’ve already refused. you’re right; I don’t know. and I will never have to know if I never try it. nothing for me to be all that upset about. 

but then I think about my future. what if I don’t have anyone, ever? the incident that sparked that existential spiral was so benign. I was sitting at a stoplight and watched a van turn out of the cross-street; a woman driving and an older woman in the passenger seat. I flashed forward to my future. couldn’t picture myself having anyone to drive me around when I got old. I don’t mind being alone now, but what happens if I get older and have nobody? I couldn’t even be like my dad; he at least had me and my brother as crutches. what if I get worse and I’m alone?

I know I see things differently than I used to. I feel differently. I know I’ve been feeling blank most recently; the lows still hit pretty hard but I just feel stuck in them. rather than needing to fight myself or find a way out of them. I let them run their course. I remember feeling less skeptical of people’s intentions with me. I guess it didn’t occur to me that other people could experience attraction to me but not to me. because that’s not how I am. I remember being amazed the first time a boy went down on me. wow, he must really like me if he’s willing to do that. amazing how I’ve managed to backtrack on that idea entirely. oh god, this again. I know that look. I feel every hesitation in movement, every second too long the eyes land on any part of me. please don’t put your hand there. please don’t want me. you don’t actually. you think you do for now but you don’t. you don’t mean anything you’re doing. you want what you want and once you’ve got it that’s it. it’s got nothing to do with me and in fact you wouldn’t even be thinking like that if you knew me and on and on. do I value myself that little? or do I trust other people’s intentions that little? do I have good reason to? 

that kind of thinking contributed to the blankness. I don’t feel at all the way I used to. I’m not sure I know how to. could be that I just haven’t had the opportunity to, but it’s hard to know. sometimes I ask myself if I see it as a loss of innocence; I’m sure that’s part of it. I at least understand now that not everyone likes people for who they are and are attracted to them in that way if they like them enough. I don’t know why that should prevent me from being able to feel how I did before. why it should make me so distrustful. so stressed at the prospect of someone being interested in me. I used to want that. very much. there’s a chance that one of these days it’ll happen and it’ll be good and healthy and not painful, and yet... I don’t seem to believe that it’s possible. I put a stop to just about everything before it even starts. I can’t even begin to reason out why, besides self-defense. self-preservation. but what’s left to preserve?

bad experiences in the past might be a reason, sure, but I’ve accepted at this point that I let myself get hurt. other people don’t see things the way I do. it is what it is. I’ve honestly forgotten a lot of it; how bad it hurt. I wrote post after post about it while I was in it; paragraph after paragraph and never resolving anything. it just hurt so bad. I can barely remember it but the fear is still there. kind of like with my mom. I forgot a lot of the shit she did to me in high school. I forgot that all of that was probably the reason I don’t feel comfortable telling her anything, even now. I forgot the reason, I kept the fear. 

sometimes I like writing with no objective. it’s nice to get some of the running narrative out of my head. sometimes I get close to whatever it is I feel like I need to write about, but sometimes it’s just a feeling that doesn’t quite go away. these are things I know I’ve thought about and haven’t ever really expressed; sometimes it’s just nice to find the right words. sometimes it’s the same things, and I feel like I need to get them out over and over. 

I really do need to focus on the few good things I have coming up. I’m seeing one of my favorite bands on sunday, and maybe if I stay late I’ll get to meet them. maybe. I’m not looking forward to all the grown-ass men who are likely going to make the audience annoying at best to be in, because that’s been the case both other times I’ve seen them, but if I can get to the venue early enough and get up front hopefully I’ll be alright. 

one of my best friends is coming down next week for a show; he said he can come down wednesday and maybe stay til friday, but I reminded him there’s a book store of sorts in baltimore that we really like and they’re apparently overflowing with books; he was already aware of this and the fact that they’re only open on weekends, so he said he’d check his calendar and see if he could stick around til saturday or sunday. that’ll hopefully be nice. just getting to spend time with a friend. I don’t really have anything in mind to do for all that time, though, besides the show. we’ve always managed to figure something out. I’m not really sure how I feel about it. spending time with him used to be a really nice thing for me but ever since the latter half of 2017 I’ve been even sort of nervous about it. it’s weird to be so distant from someone you’ve been so close to; this person’s seen me naked and yet I’m a little unsure of how to act with them. maybe because it was never clear-cut. because I got hurt and pulled back. because he told me he missed talking to me. I’m not sure how to be much of anything but blank around him at this point. we can still talk and joke like we always have. I just feel weird about all of it. I just need to focus on the fact that he’s a friend who’s coming to visit and it’ll be a nice few days. that’s it. digging up the past doesn’t serve much purpose at this point anyhow.

pride’s coming up; Aria and I are going to do the parade with the ace meetup she found again, and she wanted to do a craft day, so I’m going to have to decide on a shirt design I want. I like the shirt I made years ago and wore to pride last year, but I think it’s time for something else. I’m excited to plan outfits and all that with a fellow ace. I’m still amazed after all these years we still vibe so well and we both ended up ace, ha

farm jam’s coming up too, and I’m trying to plan a little better than I have in previous years. I need a new tent; I want one of my own that’s taller and at least a little bigger; I have a cot this year and I don’t think it would fit very well in the tent I have now. not to mention it’s a tent we’ve had for years, it’s not even mine, and I used it last year and it was really hard to deal with. the queen air mattress I’d been able to borrow filled the whole tent so it was near impossible to get in and out, plus it didn’t even fill all the way so I was really struggling to get up from it. it was almost impossible to change clothes. plus I had The Bucket, and there was almost no room to use it comfortably. also not ideal when you need a light in the tent, and then people can see all the shadows inside. it would be nice to get one of those darkening tents. but the ones I’ve found are all pretty low to the ground. maybe I’ll go to the sporting goods store one of these days, instead of searching the same few tents on amazon. I need to figure out my food situation too, but I think I know how I can be better prepared this year. meal prep is easy enough, and I can always pack snacks that can be taken home in case I don’t get around to eating them there. the challenge is going to be finding things that either don’t need to be cooked or don’t need much in the way of cooking. we have a fire pit every year but it’s very hard to cook over an open fire, contrary to what you’d think. it took me at least an hour last year to get water hot enough to cook the ramen I brought, and even then I don’t think it boiled. I know there’s things I can make that don’t need to be cooked, but I’ll definitely have to prep it all beforehand. we’ve had issues in the past where everyone in the group will pack enough for themselves and also for everyone else, thinking people will want to share. then we all have so much extra food we end up having to bring home. I did better last year, but still had extra. I need to think of other things to bring to the farm too, so I won’t be bored. I didn’t think I was all that bored last year, and I didn’t even use most of what I brought. maybe just a crochet thing or some other craft (maybe my stones for wrapping?), and my guitar. a book too; it was nice having The Book Thief last year. I think I brought it my first year too, and it was nice to have as company while my anxiety was doing what it does. I’m sure I could pack lighter this year, but I also don’t want to bring too little, you know? one thing I won’t skimp on is blankets. I brought as many as I could last year and I was still cold at night. it gets into the 50s at night. maybe I should see if I can find a little cordless space heater? or something that can keep my tent warm at night that won’t catch everything on fire, lol. [a quick google search told me that portable tent heaters do exist. that might have to go on my shopping list. I get entirely too cold at night and this year I won’t have a queen-sized mattress to hold all my blankets]

then of course scotland. I haven’t traveled internationally... well, I’d say in a few years, but I did just go to Cozumel last year. it didn’t quite feel like international travel, though. we went to a resort, with a bunch of other white people vacationing and the Mexican staff catering to us. the last genuine experience I had was Iceland. it doesn’t feel like it’s been 3.5 years, but it also does. I miss it a ton.  I don’t know how my anxiety’s going to do with this. I already know I’m going to struggle a little through farm jam. it’s happened every year. then I’m going to have to come home and, within a few days, get on a plane. two planes. alone, for the first time in my life. I know I’ll be nervous once I stop moving. I’m not sure why that is. I want to say it’s got something to do with unfamiliarity. once I stop moving I can become more aware of where I am and what’s around me. I don’t know where the issue comes from with unfamiliarity, but I’ve always had that. something like neophobia, but not quite. I don’t really feel afraid of new things, necessarily. just some deep-rooted discomfort with it. I feel like most people have some level of discomfort with things they’re unfamiliar with; that’s only natural. but not everyone gets anxiety attacks over it. could be partly because anxiety triggers nausea, and from there the emeto anxiety takes over. it’s hard to know. I’m just glad I have a pretty decent handle over it. I could be in much worse shape mentally, for sure. so many people I know have issues much more complex than mine and while mine aren’t exactly easy to deal with, I’ve been able to power through a lot of them without help. and I think doing that made me stronger in some ways too. I don’t want to know where I’d be if I had some kind of vice as a crutch.

I would say I forget where I was going with this, but it never had a direction to begin with. 

tomorrow I need to clean the rats’ cage, and I need to write a letter back to my friend in jail. I got his letter maybe a week ago and I need to just sit down and come up with something to write in response. 

seems like a lot of my time lately is spent waiting to get through the day. I’m nervous to come back from scotland. I’m nervous that I’ll have heard back from this job by then, and I’m nervous either way it goes. I’m of course nervous I won’t get it, but I’m also not ready to lose my down time if I do. I feel like these last 10 and a half months have breezed by. like they didn’t even happen. I still don’t feel rested enough. I’m already kind of dreading going, because I’m dreading coming back. I hate being so bothered by the fact that everything ends. 

I don’t really have much after that to look forward to. my birthday, maybe. I don’t have the energy to do anything for it this year. I don’t have anything I want to do. nobody I really care to spend it with. just a few years ago I was sad thinking my friends forgot and I tried to make plans to be around them for my birthday so it wouldn’t completely suck. I just don’t care anymore. sad to already be so disenchanted with the few little things in life people seem to care about. I would say, well, maybe I’ll have a job by then, but it’s a saturday this year. cool.

I’m not looking forward to winter. already. barely out of this last one and I’m already dreading the next. I really need to move somewhere where it’s warm year-round. everything about existing feels so much worse when it’s cloudy and grey and cold. 

it’ll be a year in september since my dad passed. a month and a day after my birthday. we told some of his friends that we wanted to do a celebration of life for him, but that still hasn’t happened. I’m not sure if it’s going to, and I’m not sure how that’ll look to friends and family. I almost don’t care at this point. I should have told people to mourn how they saw fit. I’m sure that’s what he would’ve wanted anyway. a celebration of life if nothing else, but dad wasn’t really one for parties either. I know he wanted some of his ashes scattered in Iceland. one of these days I’ll be able to do it. but I know he’d have been just fine with people remembering him in their own ways. I miss him a ton. I knew I would, of course, but it never really hit me how permanent it’d be once it happened. I really would never be able to talk to him again. as frustrating as it could be, I do miss his random calls and rambling to me for an hour. his text puns. how he’d sometimes bring me a bowl of ice cream at some point in the evening when we were watching something or I was on my computer. 

sometimes it hits me how different things are in my life already. I never saw them like this, and I can’t say I really like it. I’m 24 and I don’t have my dad anymore. I knew since I was 13 that one day this was going to happen. but still somehow it didn’t seem real. I still had my dad, after all. he was sick, but he was there. I don’t even have my sick dad anymore. I watched him dying. I felt his cold, stiff hands. I didn’t get to say goodbye. sometimes I still look at the box of ashes at the foot of my bed and it hits me like a truck again. 

I’m honestly a little scared that no matter how good things get for me, it’ll never be good enough. I don’t know what to do about that feeling. I do feel like I appreciate where I am and what I have and how lucky I’ve been, but maybe I need to work harder at that. 

I’m tired of this feeling. I don’t know what it is. besides blank, it’s just... unpleasant. it’s not even melancholy. something does feel bad, but it’s not quite sad either. maybe it’s just all these little worries eating at me. I’m sure I’d feel a lot lighter not having to worry. but wouldn’t everyone?

I’m tired of thinking. I spent all day wanting to get up and do something and I didn’t. I wanted to work on my crochet bag, and I didn’t. I wanted to work on that letter, and I didn’t. I took a nap, I watched a lot of hulu, I did some crosswords, I ate a few things, I stayed in bed. I just don’t feel up to much. I don’t like much of anything about the person I’ve been lately, but I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t induce energy. sometimes a shower and picking up my room do make me feel a good bit better, but man. I don’t feel up to showering every day while I don’t have to, but I feel so gross if I don’t. my hair’s been a pretty big source of distress for me lately. there’s nothing I can do about it and that makes me feel even worse. it’s so thin and it looks worse when it gets greasy, which it does very quickly because of 1. how thin and fine it is, and 2. how naturally oily my fucking skin is. sometimes I wish I could lose a bunch of weight so I wouldn’t look so big with such thin hair. maybe with a skinnier frame it wouldn’t look so bad. I don’t know.

I guess I should61ry to sleep. I’m afraid it’ll be just another one of those nights. the last few I’ve only managed to keep myself out for 4 hours max at a time. could just be one of those phases I’m in. yesterday I was so fucking tired. going for 15-16 hours on 5-ish total hours of sleep, and I was out quicker than usual just before midnight. still felt half-awake by the time my phone dinged at 4:30 ish. I’m pretty sure I woke up at 2-something having to pee. hard to remember. 

I’m just kind of tired of existing right now. I can’t say everything sucks, but I feel just so beat up. I don’t think I have a purpose here, but it’s hard to even find anything that makes me feel like my existing is worth it at all. I don’t know.  

[deathbyvalentine]

Nosebleed Club Prompts

Sunday Dress

Sunday was the best day of the week, in Anna’s opinion. When she pictured a Sunday, she pictured soaring blue skies, the sun painting the wheat fields golden, sizzling heat making the roads turn and twist. 

And then there was church. 

The building itself was nothing special. The outside was white washed, making it hard to look at in the direct sunlight due to quite how hard it shone. It had a single bell tower, a simple spire atop of that. It wasn’t even the oldest building in the town, though it was built on old ashes. There had been a church on this ground before it, burnt to the ground sometime in the nineteen twenties.

Inside, it was often sweltering, all the windows thrown open in the hope of letting some air inside. Often a vain hope, if the breeze was not particularly forthcoming. The preacher’s voice rose and fell with the predictability of waves meeting a shore. His words often had an apocalyptic edge, encouraging repentance and penance in every other sentence. 

These things were only part of the reason she loves Sundays.

She inspected herself in the mirror. The dress had an impression of modesty, falling to just below her knees, white and unadorned. But the way to clung to her curves gave it a somehow seductive air. It was precisely what she intended, and it pleased her immensely. Getting ready on Sundays took on the air of ritual - the paint on her cheeks, rolling stockings up smooth legs, the red and white and red.

Anna was a girl who enjoyed her own beauty. She didn’t see why she shouldn’t. Men were allowed to paint women and admire them, why couldn’t she admire herself? She liked being looked at, and she knew how to make people look.

On Sundays though, she had a specific target in mind. In a tale as old as time and as predictable as a B-rate movie... The Preacher’s Son.  Anna privately thought he shouldn’t be allowed to stand at the pulpit shoulder to shoulder. Everything about him invited thoughts of sin. Red lips, black hair, soft skin, like some fairy story made flesh. 

He was unusually slight, his shoulders deprived of the football bulk that made up so many of the desirable in her school. He did not marry his slightness with frailty however, he stood up straight, looking for all the world as though he could not be moved unless he chose to be.  He never smiled during the sermons, his eyes trained dead ahead and unmoving, but afterwards he pressed the hands of every patron with his father, smiling with a warmth that lit up dark, dark eyes. 

Her hands always glowed after touching him. 

The plan for seduction took them well into Winter before she succeeded. It was not cold, but the sun no longer cracked the ground, and wind that rolled from the west was not always without a chill. She wore a shawl when she attended church, and her stockings were replaced by thicker tights. 

Their coupling was not holy, she said no prayers. He may have brought up God when his fingers found the bottom of her dress, and raised it like a bridal veil. The stones of the old dug-out scraped her back, and gave her nothing to cling to but the boy between her legs, holding her up with arms stronger than they looked.

The mirror afterwards hadn’t changed. Her lips, a little redder, her skin, a little flushed. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from an admiration finally realised, from allowing someone to touch the artwork that was her body. She found a bruise in the small of wrist and was grateful for it, pressing down with a thumb, clinging to an already cooling memory. She wondered if she had marked him in the same way, if her nails had left crimson crescents on him, if there was a smear of lipgloss on the sensitive spot below his ear. She wondered if he was doing the same in his room, inspecting the ways she may have changed him.

He didn’t look at her sitting in the pew in front of him the next week, but his cheeks were a shade of pink that satisfied her immensely. She found herself smiling at his shyness, at the way he trained his eyes on the ground so his lashes sat against his cheeks. She had considered if he had had other girls, in whatever town he hailed from before this one, but she saw now, that he hadn’t. She had been his first.

He was not hers, but he was the first one that had held her attention beyond their first coupling. She had discovered early on that it was usually the mystery that attracted her to the boys (and occasionally men) in her town and once she had seen them exhausted, moaning, spent, her attraction dissipated as quickly as mist. She bore them no ill will, no bitterness, but also no interest. Their reactions span from hurt to mirroring her disengagement.  

It might have been something about the gentleness of his hands and the viciousness of his bites. It might have been something about the way he thanked her afterwards, hands fumbling with his shirt. It might have been the cadence of his voice that had the air of a unsung hymn. It might have been nothing at all, and after the next time, he too would fade into obscurity. 

Who knew. She smiled into her songbook, and kept her legs crossed at the ankle, demurely training her eyes down. She didn’t know what the future held, but Sunday had remained her favourite day of the week. 

Our Mother Has Known About It

There was always two of us, since the very beginning. I didn’t know if you were my shadow, or I was yours. Perhaps it didn’t matter. All I knew is that you were my soul, placed in another body, because no matter what any preacher says, sometimes God makes mistakes.

When we were young, we looked the same. But then my hair got longer and they wouldn’t let me cut it and wouldn’t let him grow his neither, and that’s how you could tell us apart. Teachers blessed it, but we would still answer to either of the names they called us, and screamed if they tried to put us in different classes. They said we were odd, co-dependent, but the school nurse said she couldn’t see no harm in twins being close and to let us alone. 

Our momma didn’t get it though, didn’t want to having never had a sister nor a brother, and once we got past seven, we got given different rooms in the same big house. They didn’t lock the doors though, so come the morning, we’d be in each other’s beds, snug as rabbits, dead asleep. Kept on that way for a long time. Figured it would go on forever, somehow. Never thought of wives or jobs or nothin’, it would always just be us. Didn’t have to say it, we both knew it. 

Never thought he would die before me neither, but that happened. Truck didn’t have any consideration for how I should have went too, truck only took him. I was sick, measles or some other such thing a jab could have stopped if momma believed in them, but she didn’t. She didn’t trust most doctors. So it was her fault that I had a fever when my brother’s blood was spillin’ into a gutter. 

Neither me nor her cried at his funeral. It felt like I’d done all my crying on the inside, and the only person I liked crying in front of was six feet under, and couldn’t hear me. I don’t know what momma’s reasons were. The only time I ever caught her cryin’ was when daddy left, and she blamed that on us. She would have been better blamin’ the barmaid, but people hurting never blame the right people. Maybe that’s why I wanna blame her so bad. Better than blamin’ God or him.

Though I was angry at him, for a spell. Couldn’t get over the fact he’d had the audacity to die without me, that he’d not looked both ways when he put his foot in the road, that he hadn’t been in my room, pushing my hair out my face when I was too weak to do it myself. But bein’ angry didn’t do anything for me, and I ran out of it eventually. Didn’t know where to put it except in his grave. 

I sleep in his bed sometimes, still. It’s startin’ to smell less like him and more like me which is breakin’ my damn heart. I woke up once, when it was still dark outside, and she was lookin’ at me from the doorway. She looked like a stranger then, and for the first time I could figure what she looked like before she had us, and life got the better of her. I wondered, if for a minute, she thought it was her boy back in his bed, back where he was supposed to be. 

I knew then, that she knew, how we loved each other. Maybe she always did. Maybe that’s why she felt so far away. Maybe we were as unknowable and strange to her as she was to us. I’m strange to myself now, without your body, without your shadow. I don’t recognise myself in the mirror. Still.

Years Ago We Could Have Made A Life Here

The house sat a little way back from the road, unobtrusive. It drew no attention to itself. It seemed as though it wanted nothing more to fall into the grass and weeds that surrounded it. Its architecture being what it was though, it still stood, if with a slight lean. I knew the place by heart, but if I closed my eyes, the image that appeared was not as it was now, but as it was a decade ago. Was it ever that perfect? Or was memory being even crueller than it usually was?

The door was unlocked, rot having eaten at the door frame until it sat loose within it. Stepping inside it was like stepping into a tomb, not of a king or pharaoh, but something quieter, more modest. Leaves littered the uncarpeted hallway and no light illuminated the dim stillness. I shut the door behind me, and my throat catches on the dusty air.

I close my eyes, and run my fingers along the corridor, following it. Here was the gap that lead to the kitchen. Here was the gap that lead to the bedroom and bathroom. Here was the gap that lead to the nursery. 

It was painted a gentle yellow. In the evenings it looked golden. There was a huge window, framed with curtains that flowed like silk. When the wind blew, they streamed. The wind could stir the mobile in the centre of the room too, literally birds and bees hanging above the pale, tall cot. A rocking chair sat in the corner, holding more cushions and blankets than was strictly necessary or sensible. 

She had stood here, hands on her lower stomach, drenched in sunlight. In the evenings, her hair looked like it was aflame, framing her face and making it wild. She seldom smiled but often laughed. She laughed more than ever when she got pregnant. Her joy was incandescent. I loved her, more than I thought it possible to love anyone. 

I opened my eyes and the paint peeled away, leaving only grey walls behind in it’s wake. The cot was still here, though the mattress looked as if it had been made a meal of by rats. The rocking chair too remained, though not the blankets she had so obsessively made. It looked like it would splinter, if touched. 

I wanted to rip the place down, to bury it, to confine it to memory alone. It was haunting me without having had perished, without having the decency to just fade. I knew it might outlast me as it had outlasted her. It would be standing here, still, decrepit and unmoving. It may have well have been a tomb. It would have more life in it that way.

Celebrate the Spoilage of Milk and Honey

The offerings had been rejected. The three stood there for a minute in silence, arms crossed, frowns painted on. The flies buzzed erratically, as though they were chorusing the same thing at different speeds; “You fucked up.”

“Well.” Jason, the eldest, broke their silence. “That’s never happened before.”

Aikatherine’s frown deepened. “No shit.”  “Give him a break Kat.” Alexios dropped into a crouch, touching the edge of the pool of honey with a fingertip. Several insects had drowned in it, marring it with small black dots. “Not like we have a lot of experience with this.” 

“Okay.” Jason began. “Let’s look at this logically. Who could we have pissed off?”

They all paused for a moment, thinking back. Jason seemed to be counting on his fingers, Kat biting her lip, and Alexios still contemplating the rotting of the sacrifices. They all apparently came up short, if the pensive silence was anything to go by. While they were hardly priests, they were not unobservant of the customs, and they tried their best not to tread on any godly toes.

“I’ve got nothing.” Alexios finally stood, shrugging his shoulders, rubbing his fingers together. “We should try again tomorrow. Maybe find some meat and fruit to go with it.” Jason mumured his agreement, and the boys began to walk away, Jason’s arm slung around Alexious’s waist.

Kat lingered, eyes resting on the sour milk and rotted honey. She didn’t say what she had been thinking. That if a God rejected an offering made, they took one instead.

*

It was a scorchingly hot night. The curtains did not stir despite the windows being thrown wide, and the bed was soon wet with her sweat. Sleep was not forthcoming, and she couldn’t tell if it was due to the heat or due to the troublesome thoughts that were cycling around her brain. One tended to follow the others. Summer stirred the blood. It could make you mad.

She didn’t notice the figure sitting on the edge of her bed to begin with. Painted in silhouette, only thrown into relief by the light of the moon, it was as still as a statue. And when she saw the curve of horns, she assumed she was dreaming. It was only when she felt the dip of the bed from it’s weight did she realise that she was awake.

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, in contemplation of each other. 

When it finally broke the silence, it’s voice was deep, as though coming from far beneath their feet. It sounded like centuries, like leaves falling and rotting, like stone eroding. “You are awake. Did I disturb you?”

“No. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

It nodded, as though this was to be expected. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.” “Go on.” “You are He The Undying and Never Living. You are The Turn of the Seasons. He of the Inbetween, The Traveller, The Labyrinthine. The Rotting, The Madness and The Ruin and The Mercy - “ “My name.”

Kat swallowed. “Xenokrates.” 

He nodded, finally turning to look at her properly. Shadows fell across his face, obscuring all but the most dramatic of his features. His long nose, his full lips, his eyes that seemed to absorb the small amount of light completely, rendering them void. His horns were nested amongst a mass of curls, in which Kat was certain if she ran her fingers through it, moss and leaves would fall. “Do you know what I want?” “You rejected our offering.” Kat swallowed.  “Yes. But that’s not what I asked.” He stood, making his way across the room and running his finger along the window ledge, examining the small, childish trinkets that lived there. 

“No. I don’t know what you want.” 

“You three have been among the most reliable of my followers, beside my priesthood. You are like clockwork in your sacrifices, and they’re always the same. Do you see the problem?” A note of frustration had crept into his voice. “Do you think I am my sister?” “No - “ “You have been thoughtless for too long. And now I want something else.” His gaze lingered out the window. Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t look away from him. That was the thing about Gods - they demanded your attention. “You, Aikatherine. I want you to pledge yourself to me, come away with me, and your life will be my offering. You shall want for nothing, and when you pass over, you will be buried with gold and oil and you shall rest.” 

She looked at her hands, at the dirt under her nails from tending to her mother’s garden. Jason and Alexios had offered to help, but been more of a hindrance, spitting fig seeds at one another and tossing clay. Her shoulders had baked in the sun, and when she had drank her wine, she had drank greedily for she knew she had earned it. She thought of her modest house, her gentle mother, the sea just a stones throw away. 

“No.” She said plainly. Simply. What else was there? He turned to her, fingers curling into his palms, shoulders tense in shock. “What?” “No. That is not a fair exchange. I’m telling you no.” “You have no idea what you’re doing.” “Maybe. But that doesn’t change my answer.” He looked at her a while longer, his hands still clenched tight. He was stock still, and you could almost see the speed of the thoughts flickering across his mind, until he clicked his tongue, huffing out a breath in a gesture that was almost juvenile. He shrugged, helplessly. And then, he was gone.

*

A week later, the sun still rose, and she had not been struck down in her bed, much to her own surprise. And to Jason and Alexios’s when she told them. They had stared, in disbelief, convinced at first it had been but a dream, until she pointed out that Gods could walk among dreams too and that would not make it any less true. There was an unspoken question between them all of course -why her?

She had thought it too, until the revelation had occurred. Why not her? She may not have been the fairest in the land, but she liked her face. She liked her body too, the way her thighs were strong, the way her hips flared out. She was a good archer, a good hunter, and a good fisher. She wove adequately, and never forgot to pray. She had been told she was fierce, that she was brave, that she was funny. Why would she assume that a God had no want of her? 

She stepped out into her garden, and blinked. A bowl sat on her front step, filled to the brim with golden honey that shone like nothing she had seen before. Next to it, a jug of milk, startlingly white. She knew at once that this was not the work of her mother, nor of her friends. She knew exactly who it was the work of. Unamused, she scooped up the objects and walked the 100 meters to his altar. She deposited them carefully, not letting a single drop spill. Thanks, but no thanks.

*

As she walked through the olive grove in the evening sun, something caught her eye. Glittering like a cobweb. She paused, bringing her fingers up to the branch. A gold chain shimmered, a small pendent of green stone hanging from it. It was likely worth more than her house, more than all her meagre pieces of jewellery put together. It seemed to emit a little of its own light, and Kat couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the evening. It felt light against her fingertips. She whipped her hand away and walked on, determined.

*

She let the doves out of their gilded cage. She didn’t ring the silver bell. She scattered the rings into her flower garden like seeds. She ignored the whispering of the wind and the smell of perfume on the mountain path. Nothing would sway her.

*

He appeared after fifteen days of this. Clouds painted his beautiful face, making the bright summer morning seem darker, colder. Her skin erupted in goose flesh, shivers passing down her spine. She stood, dusting the sand from her knees, and drying her sea-damp hands on her chiton. 

“Enough.” His voice was quiet but sounded as if it was a part of the crashing sea. 

“What?” “I have given you gold, silver, jewels, birds, silk. What do you want from me? What would you have me do?” 

She crossed her arms, looking out at the horizon, trying to bite back her irritation. It did not work. All it took was a tut from him, and suddenly she was stepping forward with a fury that made him step back. 

“What I would have you do? Treat me like a person! I can’t be bought.” His mouth dropped open, but she wasn’t yet done. “Did you think to ask? To get to know me? To do more than demand and bribe? Who do you think I am?” She took a breath, cheeks pink, chest heaving. 

He stood, in silence. Then, he folded his hands behind his back, and bowed, stiffly. “I apologise.”  “And another - wait, what?” “You’re right. I... Am out of practice. At this. I shouldn’t have assumed. Mostly humans just -” 

“Swoon and fall into your arms?” “Well basically.” He seemed pensive, moving to sit in the sand, burying his feet in it. To any passerby, he could have seemed average, if not for the way the sea lingered about him, the way his hair moved even when there was no wind.  “Doesn’t that get a bit... Well. Dull?” She sat beside him, carefully leaving an arm’s length between them. This close, she noticed he had white tattoos creeping up his arms in a design she had never seen before.  “I suppose. Maybe that’s why I’ve been trying so hard.” “How about this? Every time you get the urge to show up and leave a frankly ridiculous present, you instead show up and have a conversation with me? Like, you know, a person. And then, maybe we could be friends.” “And then - “ “Don’t put the cart before the horse. Let’s focus on me not wanting to do you bodily violence first.” “Fair.” He smiled, for the first time, and she realised his teeth were a little sharp. But also, his smile was very wide, and very almost... Goofy. She tentatively smiled back. “So. What do Gods do for fun anyway?”

[peculiar-bonds]

Out of Sight, Not Out of Mind - Chapter 5: The Unexpected Companion

Synopsis: While Mane 6 are on a research mission in a small town from another world called 'Earth', they learn about an old myth among the inhabitants: the Slender Man. What is the ugly truth of this haunted town? Will they survive the monster's deadly grasps?

It had almost been one hour since the last encounter with Slender Man. Meanwhile, Mane 6 finally reunited, and it was quiet and peaceful in the woods of terror, for now…

The girls could finally catch their breath and get some rest until the next attack. Not even Rarity cared, the dirt felt like the best place to sit on; anything is better than Slender Man after your tail. On the other hand, Twilight was still asleep, and Applejack sat by her side, with a worried expression on her freckled face.

“How come she isn’t awake yet?” Rainbow Dash asked while approaching her elder friend.

“It ain’t the first time she behaved weirdly tonight. Before we even got into this cursed forest, she was almost paralyzed, if ya remember…And this time, it was a nosebleed and a fainting spell! What’s next?”

Applejack didn’t even get to finish expressing her worries, because Twilight suddenly woke up, feeling a lump in her throat. The other girls were looking at her with wide eyes, totally startled by this abrupt awakening. Even if she was still weak, the petite girl rose up to her feet and went to the nearest bush to throw up out of nowhere.

“Sweet Celestia, sugarcube, are ya alright?” Applejack exclaimed, extremely concerned about her friend’s illness.

As if it wasn’t enough, there was a noise coming from the other side of the landmark. It was accompanied by a few light steps. The panic reinstalled among Mane 6.

“He’s back!” Fluttershy muttered, scared to the bones.

“Fetch me a stick! This is gonna turn out reaaallly bad!” Pinkie Pie requested, determined to defend her beloved friends. They didn’t take her seriously, so the energetic teenager grabbed a stick from the ground and approached the area.

“Pinkie, are you crazy???” Rainbow Dash exclaimed at the top of her lungs.

But the pink-haired girl didn’t listen. Without any hesitation, she was ready to hit the intruder in the head, while suddenly:

“WAIT, DON’T HIT ME!”

When she heard these words, Pinkie Pie stumbled into the stranger, causing both of them to fall on the ground. When she looked closer, it was actually a young girl, just like them, but still different. The youngster had long and dark hair complimented by icy blue eyes, a very thin body, and an extremely tired expression.

“Would you please get off me? I assure you that I’m not who you think I am,” the girl asked, almost begging to be released from Pinkie’s “paranoia trap”.

“Oh, sure thing! I’m sorry!” Pinkie giggled, rising back on her feet. “I honestly thought, you were, um…Slender Man! You would not believe…”

“…How horrible this monster is? Yes, I do, because I have to confront him almost every night,” the newcomer complained. “And, by the way, who are you and what are you doing here at this hour?”

“Oh, I’m with my friends over there. We were trying to find Slender and see if he’s real, but apparently, he found us and…”

“I KNOW. Everybody is coming here like they’re doing a funny ghost hunt on Halloween, but it’s more than that, I tell you! It’s a true nightmare!” The girl confessed in desperation, while tightly gripping Pinkie’s shoulders.

“Oooookayyy…I’m Penny Pie, by the way! But you can also call me Pinkie! What about you?”

“I’m Kate. Kate Milens. And I have a feeling I’m going to die tonight…”

“Oh, don’t be so silly! We’ll get out of here soon! Come, let me show you to my friends!”

Kate seemed hesitant at the beginning, but she had no choice. Any human seemed like a better alternative than the faceless eldritch monster, who had been haunting her since childhood.

“Hey, everybody, look who I found!” Pinkie exclaimed in utter happiness.

“Shh, the freak might hear you!” Rainbow Dash aggressively whispered, while scowling at the friend in front of her.

“Anyway, as I was saying…” Pinkie continued, quite annoyed by the obvious remark. “This is Kate Milens! It seems that our ol’ friend Slendy is after her as well. Kate, these are my best friends of all time: Rachael, Rebecca, Anne-Jay, Florence and Tara” she presented as she pointed to each of her companions.

“Hello, Kate!” the others greeted the new one simultaneously.

“Nice to meet you all! Glad I can finally meet someone who’s a human around here…and alive,” Kate replied with a faint voice.

Meanwhile, she glanced at Twilight, who clearly felt ill. Her face was paler than usual, dark circles started appearing under her eyes, her expression signaled fatigue, and her vest was stained with remnants of her vomit. Kate knew what the problem was, since she experienced the same symptoms anytime she encountered Slender Man.

“I see you’re also suffering from the Slender Sickness. Don’t worry, it’ll pass once we’re out of here”

“Slender Sickness? Wow, I should have known it’s his fault for all of this” Twilight stated with deep worry in her tone. “We just want to go home, Kate. Do you know the way?”

“Yes, I know every inch of this forest since I was little. Come on, pack your things and follow me, we don’t have much time left to stand still…”

“Say no more!” Rainbow replied with excitement.

“You said you’ve been coming to this forest since you were a child. What were you doing here at that age?” Fluttershy asked Kate all of a sudden, while they were heading to the next landmark.

“He always called me. Almost every night. At the beginning, I didn’t even know where that voice was coming from, so I blindly followed what it said. I was too scared to ask questions, to be honest. But despite all of this fuss, he always let me live, I don’t know why.”

“Wait, Slender Man CAN TALK??? That’s it, we’re doomed,” Rainbow intervened in the conversation, this detail being the only one that she picked up from Kate’s confession.

“I’m sorry for everything that’s happening to you, darling,” Rarity comforted the genuine human among the group. “I hope you’ll find your peace away from this horrible creature soon”

“Me too, Rachael. Me too…”

Suddenly, the wind started getting louder, along with the low droning sound from the beginning.

“Oh, no, he’s back! The page must be in that tunnel. We have to be quick!” Kate warned with panic.

“I’ll go first this time! Fetch me the stick!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed while grabbing another thick wooden branch from the ground. “Be right back! Slendy won’t stand a chance against me and my new friend, Tim! Come after me if I scream, by the way!” she boasted with excitement, then ran away to the tunnel.

“Damn, I swear she’s so crazy sometimes…She even named that stick ‘Tim’??? What the heck? Please excuse us, Kate, we’re a special group here,” Rainbow Dash apologized in her utter disappointment.

“Truth be told, I actually admire her enthusiasm and bravery…but for how long will it last?” Kate admitted, gulping in distress.

Before entering the eerie tunnel, Pinkie Pie looked all over the surroundings for anyhting out of order.

“Ha! Easy peasy! Though Slendy’s middle name is ‘unpleasant surprise’, if you ask me…Am I right, Tim?” Pinkie asked her imaginary wooden friend, then made it ‘nod’ by swinging her wrists. Still, she held her new weapon tight, because it was time to enter the dark enclosed area. The girl started shivering out of nowhere: it was the Pinkie Sense.

“Didn’t know I’d still have this as a skill here…” she muttered to herself.

In order to calm herself down, Pinkie started humming “Giggle at the ghosties”, the song that confirmed she’s the Element of Laughter, in almost the same circumstances.

“When I was a little filly and the sun was going dooown…”

Suddenly, something slimy grabbed her ankle. Uh-oh…” she thought to herself. The feeling of it made her startle in an instant.

“The darkness and the shadows, they would always make me frown...” she continued singing, this time trembling.

But Pinkie stopped before she could finish her cheerful song. Her heart was racing faster than ever, and cold sweat was dripping down her round face.

“I shouldn’t have come by myself, that’s for sure…”

*Meanwhile, outside the tunnel*

“It’s been a while…shouldn’t we call after her?” Kate asked with a frightened expression.

“PINKIE PIE!” Twilight screamed.

“PIIIIIIINKIIIIIEEEE PIEEEEE!” the others screamed as well in unison.

They realized it was no fun game with Slenderman, so headed straight to the tunnel.

*Back in the tunnel*

“You know what’s weird, Tim? I’m pointing my flashlight everywhere, but no sight of him. It’s like he’s a shadow…”

But at last, she found the page; it was at the end of the tunnel. This time, the message was ‘LEAVE ME ALONE’, scribbled in the same manner.

“Gotcha! And oh yes, I can totally relate to this one…”

It also didn’t take long for Slender Man to appear right in front of her, with the same unmoving, but menacing posture he had got in front of his victims. Pinkie Pie didn’t hesitate at all to let out a piercing scream, and due to the adrenaline, she reacted by throwing ‘Tim’ right at the eldritch horror. Right after a few blinks, the creature disappeared, and right on time, because the other girls arrived.

“Pinkie, are you ok?” Twilight asked with concern.

“How can I be okay when I just saw him in front of me?” she replied with panic in her tone, and it didn’t take long for her to burst in tears, and hug Applejack in search of protection.

“Easy, sugarcube…he’s gone, we’re here now…” Applejack comforted Pinkie while hugging her tightly.

“You should have learned this lesson by now!” Kate started scolding the group. “If we’re together, he gets discouraged and attacks less. I learned that when I was with another friend…NEVER go alone into his woods, I’m telling you!”

“You’re right, we’ll have to stay together from now on…” Twilight agreed. “And that means no heroic acts, okay? We have no power to do something here.”

The others also agreed in unison.

“Let’s go, we have no time to lose!” Kate concluded.

The next landmark was an abandoned truck with a tank. The girls looked around the vehicle, but there was no page.

“Have you found anyhting? Because he’s right behind us!” Rainbow screamed in fear. “Go, go, GO!”

Without any hesitation, the girls ran away as fast as they could, even if their stamina was decreasing dramatically with each step.

“I can run faster than this, what’s going on?” Rainbow asked, while panting all the way to the next stop.

“This is also Slenderman’s fault…” Kate replied.

“AH! WONDERFUL!” the other screamed in pure annoyance.

The following landmark was a portable cabin made of metal. The door was locked, so the only way they could find the page was on the exterior of the building. Kate was vigilant this time.

“Found the page! One more left!”

This time, the paper only contained doodles of trees and a simplified sketch of Slender Man in the middle. But that was the least thing to be concerned about. After taking the page, Kate could feel it in her bones: an unnerving beeping sound, that started getting louder and louder. The Equestrian girls were also affected, and they couldn’t move their limbs because of the sound’s high-pitched frequency.

“WHAT IS GOING ON???” Rainbow screamed again.

“This is the last stand, it’s now or never!” Kate replied ambigously. “No victim has ever reached this stage by far!”

But it was too late to contemplate about anything anymore. This time, Slender Man’s appearance was by far more terrifying than the others. The moment he appeared, several thick black tentacles sprouted from his back. It was clear that he was enraged by the girls’ presence at this point. As much as he enjoyed a good ‘challenge’, humans always drove him crazy when they were alive on his territory for too long. Thus, he went berserk in a short time and started coiling his tentacles around the girls’ waists and necks, lifting them up to his level. Suddenly, the whole forest was filled with bloodcurdling screams. It was a frightening sight for Twilight, the only one that wasn’t ensnared in the faceless being’s tendrils; she was right behind the cabin, too afraid to make any move.

“The end is near…” she mumbled to herself, a tear falling down her cheek.

[coyoteweird]

The Loser’s Experiment - Chapter One

Hey guys! This is a new fic that i’m working on that I’m really loving so far! It’s a crossover of IT and Stranger Things! Enjoy!

Summary:

Two years after Will Byers first dissapeared, Hawkins belives that everything is back to normal.

But not everyone has forgotten about what happened.

When something new comes to haunt Hawkins, the lives of both the Loser's Club and the kids of Hawkins will change forever.

Warnings: past child abuse, violence, horror, death

Word Count: 3,419

Chapter One - geminae nexum

Mike has never been a fan of dreams. They just were a weird experience for Mike, ever since he was little. He didn’t dread it but he didn’t look forward to it either. They were mainly uneventful if he was being honest. He usually roamed around in the dark. That was it. Just complete and utter darkness.

You would think that he would be unaffected by these dreams, but that was not the case. Sometimes he would wake up so sad he couldn’t stop the tears. Sometimes he woke up so angry that it took all of his willpower not to throw his things around his room until they smashed. Sometimes, he woke up so full of terror that he would hide under the blankets, shaking like a leaf.

He didn’t understand them. Once, when he was eight, he tried to ask Nancy. She was older, well into middle school. Back then, he was sure that she knew everything. But she brushed him off and told him to stop annoying her. She had better things to focus on, like studying for her pre-algebra test and how she should wear her makeup for the first day of 8th grade. He stopped questioning them after that.

After everything that happened with the demogorgon in the fall of 1983 and everything that happened with the mind flayer in the fall of 1984, Mike started having a new type of dream. Nightmares.

These nightmares were terrible. Most times he couldn’t tell it was a dream until he was fully awake. Sometimes, he swears he’s back in that classroom watching El get disintegrated while destroying the demogorgon. Sometimes, he swears he’s back in Hawkins Lab, hearing the screams of people as they get torn apart by demo-dogs. Like he can still smell all the blood. Like he can still see the people getting torn apart; like he can still feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he runs for his life.

When he wakes up from those, he is screaming and thrashing in his bed. Nancy will run into his room and try to calm him down and make him realize he isn’t back in that lab or he isn’t back in that classroom. Unless she is with Jonathan. Then it’s his mother who tries to calm him down, but she isn’t as great at comforting Mike as she used to. Most time she came in blurry eyed and the stench of chardonnay wafting out of her mouth. His dad slept through it peacefully on the La-Z-Boy with the help of a few glasses of whiskey.

His dreams the night of August 30th were no different than normal. Fortunately, he wasn’t dreaming of a flashback. He was in the darkness once again. Like normal, he just roamed and allowed the emotions roll through him. Whenever the emotions seemed too strong, he would try to focus on the soft pitter patter of his feet through the thin layer of water on the floor of the darkness.

It was hard telling time when he dreamt in the darkness. Sometimes he would sleep for hours but he felt like he was in the darkness for minutes. Sometimes he would sleep for minutes and felt like he was in the darkness for hours. Tonight it felt like he was walking in the darkness for hours.

During his dreams in the darkness, he is always alone. He has never once seen another living thing, or anything for that matter. He just walked and felt things. But that night, he wasn’t alone. It crept on him. The feeling that he was being watched. He’s never felt that while dreaming. But he brushed it off and kept walking. But as he kept walking, the feeling of being watched got worse and worse. He felt the strongest emotion he’s ever felt while in the darkness; terror. A terrible mix of terrible of pain washed over him. He kept walking in the darkness, trying to focus on the sound of his bare feet slapping against the wet ground. But then he heard it.

Sick laughter resounded all around him. It made his stomach twist, bile was burning at the back of his throat.

“Hello?” Mike said, his voice trembling with fear.

The laughter only gets louder and louder, sounding almost like a mix between a scream and a twisted version of humor. Mike’s terror only increases; he would run but he has no idea where he is and no idea where the laughter is, just darkness.

“Hello? I know someone’s there!” Mike yells, his voice cracking and trembling, in the back of his head he’s glad no one is around to hear it.

Suddenly, someone barrels into him from behind and knocks him into the ground. Mike lets out a scream and scrambles up and away from whatever hit him. The sight only increases his terror. In front of him is a little boy, maybe nine years old in a yellow raincoat. The whole right side of the raincoat is slick with blood. The right sleeve is completely torn off, exposing a profusely bleeding, torn up stump where the boy's right arm should have been.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Mike screams, the bile continuing to burn his throat.

“Billy! Billy, help! It’s got me!” The little boy screams, as if he can’t see or hear Mike.

But Mike can see and hear him. Mike can feel the terror and pain radiating off the boy. He’s never felt emotions this strong like before.

“Whose, Billy? Where is it?” Mike’s screams become just as frantic as the boy’s.

In the back of his mind, he wishes El was here. Even though he knows this is just a dream, he wishes she as hear. She would know what to do. She would know how to help.

Before Mike could ask anymore questions, a sickeningly white hand wraps around the boys foot and drags him back into the darkness. The laughter that Mike heard before was suddenly not all around him, but right in front of him. Just beyond, hidden by the darkness. Mike scrambles back, kicking his feet to try and get away from the fear and hurting and whatever was laughing. He prayed that he woke up, using the prayer he learned for his bar mitzvah to try to help.

Before G-d could hear his prayer, the laughter stops and something jumps out from the shadows and on top of him. It looked like a clown, but not like any clown he’s seen before. It’s face was whiter than anything he’s ever seen, with lips painted blood red and trailing past his eyes. It had tufts of orange hair, not unlike Max’s. It was wearing some dirty costume that was probably white once but now looked like it was caked with dirt and speckled with blood. He looked like a clown you’d see eighty years ago, not today.

“You’ll float too, Mike. You’ll float too! Just like little Georgie.” The clown spat out, it’s voice so sweet it was terrifying. It’s whole body moved on top of Mike’s as it spoke.

Mike was frozen. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breath. Before he could even think about what to do, the clown changed. It started morphing into a demogorgon. Then it was Will; the possessed version at least. Then it was those demo-dogs. Then it was El. The bad men. Brenner.

As the creature continued to morph into all of Mike’s fears; all Mike could do was scream. He just screamed a loud and piercing scream. Through his screams, he could hear someone calling his name. But he couldn’t register it through his fear. He continued to scream, not even realizing he was no longer in the darkness and was instead awake.

“Mike! Mike! It’s okay! You’re awake. It was just a dream. Mike!” Nancy yelled as she clutched onto the thrashing and screaming boy from behind.

Mike just screamed and screamed, clawing at Nancy’s arms as she tried to calm him down. But he couldn’t shake the pure terror he felt. It was unlike anything he’s ever felt, not even in the lab when he was 65% sure they were all going to get torn apart by a hoard of demo-dogs.

“Mike, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Nancy screamed, trying not to let her own fear show.

Nancy has spent more nights calming down a terrified and screaming Mike than not. But this is the worst she has ever seen him. Usually it take a few minutes to get him to realize he is awake and safe. But he was been screaming and thrashing in her arms while awake for over fifteen minutes already.

“Mike!” Nancy screams, using all her might.

Fortunately, it seemed to work and Mike slowly stopped screaming and instead leaning into Nancy like his life depended on it. After a moment of silence, Mike began to sob and tremble. Nancy held onto him tighter, whispering comforting words and running his fingers through his hair, now damp with sweat.

“There was a clown.” Mike whispers, afraid to say it outloud as if it would pop out if he did.

“What?” Nancy asks, confused.

“In the dream. There was this… clown? But it wasn’t a clown. It kept changing.” Mike says sounding panicked.

“Mike, it was just a dream…” Nancy says, but that only makes it worse.

“And a little boy! He was- He was covered in blood and he was so scared and he was bleeding everywhere! His arm was gone! He kept asking for Billy!” Mike was frantic.

“Mike, it was a dream! You’re getting too worked up.” Nancy says.

“It was saying, ‘You’ll float too, Mike. You’ll float too,’. What does that mean!”

“Mike stop it! Calm down. It was all in your head. A dream.” Nancy says and Mike stops talking, just leaning into Nancy.

“It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt so real…” Mike says, sniffing.

Nancy feels something warm on her arm and looks to see a small blood splatter. She turns Mike’s face to hers and notices a small stream of blood running down his nose.

“Jesus, Mike. You have to try to stay calm. You worked yourself up so much, you gave yourself a nosebleed.” Nancy scolds, wiping the blood away with her pajama shirt.  

They sat for over an hour in silence, just Nancy holding a trembling Mike. She usually would be back in her own bed by now but this is by far the worst nightmare Mike’s had. Even worse than when he has nightmares about when he was trapped in Hawkins Lab. Just when she thinks he might be asleep, so goes to get out of the small twin bed, but Mike’s grip on her tightens.

“Please, don’t… I don’t want to be alone.” Mike says, clearly embarrassed that he’s asking his sister to sleep with him because he’s too scared at fourteen.

“Of course Mike. Just try to sleep.” Nancy says, laying down next to Mike.

Meanwhile, eighteen hours away, Richie Tozier is having a nightmare. Except, he knew it wasn’t simply a nightmare. It was so much more. Sometimes when he sleeps, when any of them sleep really, they enter the Void. At least that’s what they’ve come to call it. They can’t really think of a better way to describe it.

It was there, in the Void, that Richie saw him. Little Georgie, called Number Twelve for most of his life, had been missing for weeks. He had been out playing while a sick Bill had been bed ridden when he seemed to vanish out of air. All seven of them had searched all of Derry, searched the Void, but no one could find him. Until now.

There in front of him, was Georgie in the same obnoxious yellow raincoat he was last seen in. But he wasn’t alone. Sitting in the water in front of Georgie was a slightly altered version of himself. But this version of himself wasn’t wearing the same thick glasses or have the same crooked teeth. This version didn’t have the number seven tattooed onto his exposed forearm.

Mike.

Richie ran towards the pair, trying to catch up. But the second he catches sight of the blood coating the right side of Georgie, he freezes.

“Billy! Billy, help! It’s got me!” Georgie screams, scrambling towards Mike.

“Whose, Billy? Where is it?” His twin screams, but Georgie can’t hear him or see him. He isn’t connected to Mike like he is connected to the others. He hasn’t been here with Mike before.

Before Richie can think of what to do, a white gloved hand wraps around Georgie’s small ankle and drags him screaming into the darkness. Crazed laughter erupted in front of his twin; Richie could feel a phantom twist in his gut that he knows isn’t his but Mike’s.

Suddenly, out of the dark, something lunged onto his twin. There, right in front of him, was a clown. But it didn’t look like the clown he’d seen at the carnival that August with the others. This clown was terrifying; it’s skin was sickeningly white, with lips the color of blood that trails up it’s face in two fine lines. It’s costume was something out of a period movie that Mike loved to watch so much, except it was covered in dirt and blood. Just the sight alone was terrifying.

“You’ll float too, Mike. You’ll float too! Just like Little Georgie!” It’s voice was cartoonish and made Richie want to run it fear.

“Mike! Fuck!” Richie yelled, trying to get to his twin in time.

Suddenly, the clown started morphing. Richie couldn’t really tell what it was morphing into; first a huge monster, then a sickly boy, then a smaller version of the first monster, then it turned into… Eleven?

Richie hasn’t seen Eleven since he was ten. She looked older now, she had her hair slicked back and was dressed up in clothes Richie could only describe as punk. She had blood pouring out of her nose and an angry look on her face.

Before he could really react, Eleven was gone and had morphed into another nightmare of his. People that he hadn’t seen in years, the bad men. Those fuckers who worked in the lab. The next was even more chilling. The man who he and the other seven had called their father for years until they learned the truth and escaped. Dr. Martin Brenner.

Why was his twin seeing that? How did he even know who that was. Richie made sure that no one would know about Mike, that no one would remember him. Had he failed? Everytime he visits Mike, he looks normal. He doesn’t look like an experiment. So how?

Mike was screaming, loud and it felt like it pierced Richie’s ears. He doubled over, clutching his ears. The terror that coursed through his veins was a mix of his own and his twins. It was too much. It was way too much for him to handle. Hidden under Mike’s screams and, unknown to Richie, his own, was the sound of someone calling out to Mike. Richie’s own fear minimized just barely. Nancy.

He had never met her, and he had a harder time seeing her in the void due to her not being like him and Mike. But when he heard her voice, he felt himself calm just a bit. The connection between the siblings was something not even Brenner could destroy.

Richie sat up in his sleeping bag, gasping for breath. He hadn’t even realized that he had woken up until he heard his name being called frantically by the other seven. He looked around to see his sleeping bag was charred where is hands clutched it so tightly his knuckles were white. He quickly let go of the sleeping bag and a tissue was put in his hand before he could think to ask. He wiped the blood from his nose and ears and looked up to his friends.

“Richie, what happened?” Bev asks softly, knowing not to spook him after a nightmare.

“I was there. The Void.” Richie says shakily, still torn up about what he saw.

“D-Did you s-s-s-see him? D-Did you s-s-s-see G-G-G-Georgie?” Bill asks frantically, dread pooling in his chest.

“I.. uh… yes. He was there.” Richie says, fighting off the tears in his eyes.

“He wasn’t alone, Mike was with him but Georgie couldn’t see him.” Richie says, not knowing how to tell Bill that Georgie is most likely dead.

“Mike was there? Could he see you?” Mike asked, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

“No, but he could see Georgie. He was trying to help him but there was… there was something else there.” Richie whispers, remembering the terrifying thing that pulled Georgie away.

“What was it? A person? Another one of us?” Eddie asked, his breath starting to wheeze.

“I don’t know. It pulled Georgie away. There was so much blood. He pulled him away, into the darkness. I couldn’t see where he went. All I saw was a hand. But then he jumped on Mike! He just kept laughing and talking about floating! A goddamn clown! In the fucking void! But it wasn’t a fucking clown, it kept changing. It was a monster and a boy and a different monster and I saw Eleven! I saw her for just a second. But she looked so different. She was older and had hair and was taller and all punk. But then it changed into… into them. Into him.” Richie rambled, getting more and more panicked as he went on.

“How could he have been there? He can’t get into the Void.” Ben points out.

“It wasn’t really him. It was like whatever that thing was turned into some shitty version of him. Like a fucking memory or some shit.” Richie says, fiddling with is glasses like he does whenever he is scared or uncomfortable.

“Why does your brother know who Eleven is? Who he is?” Stan asks.

“Well, I wouldn’t know Stanley. It’s not like we write fucking letters to each other!” Richie hisses out, a gust of wind ruffled Stan’s hair.

Richie takes a deep breath to keep from getting angry. He had less control of his powers when he was emotional. They all knew that the fact that Richie was forced to stay away from his own brother in order to protect all of them was a big sore spot.

Slowly, they all turn towards Ben. If anyone could help them to know what to do, it was Ben. His visions weren’t always in his control. Sometimes they just came to him, whether he was eating breakfast or jumping into the Quarry with the others. Sometimes, if he concentrated enough in the void, he could force a vision to come to him. But sometimes, it was just vague feelings he felt compelled to act on. This was one of those times.

“Something is wrong. Something is really wrong.” Ben says, looking at his hands.

He knew it wasn’t what any of them wanted to hear. But he refused to lie, not to his friends, his only family. Especially not at the terrible, sinking feeling that is buzzing through him.

“No. No way! We are not going back.” Eddie yells out, his wheezing getting worse.

“W-W-We have t-t-to! I-I-If i-i-it means finding Georgie then w-w-we have to!” Bill says, he flicks in and out as he says that, revealing the small blood stain on the couch behind him.

“Do you not remember the last time we were there? We wouldn’t even consider leaving Derry a week ago?” Stan yells.

“We’re fucking going! Something is wrong, you heard Haystack! I’m not leaving him on his own!” Richie yells, wind blowing through the room, stronger than before.

“If they know we’re there….” Eddie say, attempting to take in deep breaths.

“We’re not the same scared kids we were four years ago. Ben, Bill, and Richie are right. We can’t just leave them to fight on their own. We can’t give up before we’ve even started.” Mike says, the hand that rested on Richie’s shoulder so hot that Richie hisses in pain and Mike pulls the hand away quickly, muttering an apology.

“It’s risky…” Bev starts, Bill and Richie praying she would agree with them.

“We need a plan before we go. And we need to make sure that they don’t follow.”

There we go, chapter one! I’ve already started chapter two, so it shouldn’t take to long!

This is also on ao!3 

[hangonimevolving]

The Happiest Place on Earth, and New Year 2020 Adventures

Dear readers - I have a really convoluted update for you all today, but (I think) it has a happy ending!

First of all. HAPPY NEW YEAR 2020! Hope the new year brings us all peace, fulfillment, and most of all.... GOOD HEALTH.

The family and I kicked off the holiday season in a veritable flurry of activity. The kids celebrated their school holiday show with great fanfare...

And then I had a personal high, as I completed my second-ever Jingle Bell Jog 5K race successfully!

This was the first event of my race series and fundraiser for the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research. so I was extra happy at having ticked this item off my to-do list.

That same day, just hours after I crossed the finish line, Dr. Spouse, the kids and I packed up the car and headed north to the Orlando area, for a 6 day vacation. The week was planned to include a four-day stint visiting the parks at Walt Disney World along with my parents, who would be flying directly from New Orleans to join us.

We had a blast on this trip! After a few rough months, it was so much fun to make new memories with Ajima and Thatha, especially since taking the grandkids to Disney has long been an item on Thatha’s bucket list. We were delighted to help him work on this one!

The trip was *almost* perfect. Almost. There was just one hiccup.... and fortunately/unfortunately, it mainly involved me.

I woke up on the final day of our Disney parks adventures - Thursday, December 26 - ready to tackle Epcot, which is my favorite of the four parks. But the minute my eyes popped open, I just knew something wasn’t 100% right with me. I felt like I’d been hit by a BUS. I had horrible body ache all over, my head was pounding, and my chest felt heavy, as if someone had poured a gallon of wallpaper paste into my lungs. I groaned to myself, knowing what this meant - I was probably coming down with a cold - but I still forced myself up and to get ready, since it was our last day of the trip and there was no way I was missing it!

By the time we loaded into the car and headed out, the leaky faucet nose had started.  I definitely sneezed a LOTTTTTTT through the entire day - huge, rib-cracking sneezes, that had my entire rib cage and back hurting well before lunchtime and through the evening. But I pressed forward, tried not to make a big deal. As I had been throughout the trip, I was even more militant in insisting the family use hand sanitizer and antibacterial hand wipes all day long than I already had been (which was a lot). But yeah, it was a very long and difficult day.

I put myself to bed in isolation that night - I didn’t want anyone else catching my germs!  The good side of my isolation is, I didn’t disturb anyone else’s sleep that night, and I managed to abstain from infecting anyone. One down side is, I suppose it meant that no one in the house saw how sick I actually was, and by the transitive property, perhaps even I didn't register how sick I was. That night, I ran a very high fever, yet was having teeth-chattering chills for hours. I couldn’t breathe through my nose, and coughed nonstop. I got awful, fitful sleep, with weird, violent, vivid dreams all night.

The next day, I started suspecting that maybe I didn’t just have a cold - maybe it was the flu?  We tried to locate an urgent care clinic where I could get a rapid flu test, but it proved hard to find anywhere with a <6 hour wait, and I was absolutely determined not to get anyone else sick (least of all my post-CABG father or my two young kids).  So I insisted Dr. Spouse just call in a Tamiflu prescription for the entire household - it would be therapeutic for me, and prophylactic for all of them. He dutifully obliged, and we were all on Tamiflu by 2:30 pm Friday. We said goodbye to my parents this evening - they flew out of Orlando directly to New Orleans - and Dr. Spouse, the kids and I would drive back to Miami the next day.

That night’s sleep was worse than the previous, and featured the worst fever sweats I’ve ever had in my life, soaking through all my clothes, all the bedsheets, down to the mattress cover. It seriously looked like someone had dumped the Gatorade bucket on me after winning the Super Bowl. And again, I had violent, bloody dreams of war imagery all night....

The next day was every bit as painful as the last, and perhaps more so - my entire head and chest were clogged with sludge, the body ache was debilitating, and worst was that I felt like I couldn’t really think straight or make good decisions.  In a nutshell, we weren’t packed up at all, and I woke up from fitful sleep about 9:30 that day and to my horror realized we had to check out of the rental cottage by 11 - - I was trying to run around and pack, but my body and brain were literally not working properly together.  It was brutal - and we were definitely an hour late vacating the property.  I ended up falling asleep within minutes as we started our drive home, and slept 3.5 hours of the 4 hour drive, which SHOCKED me and Dr. Spouse - I never sleep on road trips!  Should have known this was a bad sign that something was really wrong.

Sunday and Monday, things started looking up. I still had terrible sinus congestion, but the cough and fevers were improving, and my energy level was slowly returning! Hurray! Time to get back to normal..... except, weirdly, some new weird symptoms popped up. I was blowing my nose a LOT, admittedly - but I developed a nosebleed sometime early Monday morning, and it just... didn’t stop. For well over 24 hours. Then I noticed a few weird red spots on my face and neck - I assumed maybe I’d scratched in my sleep when I was sweaty at night? But by Tuesday, there were more red spots in more places. Everywhere. On my back, stomach, chest, arms, legs, feet... my sinus symptoms were better, but these spots were weird.  It hit a head on Tuesday morning when Dr. Spouse and I sat down to breakfast. I definitely had more spots than I’d had an hour before. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and began to eat, but then I noticed my mouth felt funny. I realized, to my horror (sorry, TMI) - I had big spots in my mouth too, and they looked like these blood-filled blisters all over the insides of my cheeks and the back of my throat. They looked like dark purple jellybeans, stuck everywhere on my oral mucosa - and some of them were doubling and tripling in size before my very eyes. One burst, right there at the table, and suddenly a trickle of blood oozed our the corner of my mouth. Dracula Mommy, yikes - Dey was at once amazed and horrified. And all the while, my nose was still bleeding.

Dr. Spouse looked grave and got panicky. He had three patients to see in clinic, but he wanted me to get medical attention ASAP.  I initially felt like maybe this was a bit of an overreaction, I didn’t think it warranted an ER trip, and I was feeling rather sheepish to bother a lot of people, and bewildered at the childcare logistics - especially considering it was New Year’s Eve.  Besides, my sinus congestion and energy level were feeling better - so how sick could I really be?  

Well, turns out I was wrong. It turns out there was actually something seriously wrong with me.

Blood tests revealed I had developed a very serious condition called thrombocytopenia. This is a condition where a person’s blood platelets levels drop dangerously low, making it difficult or impossible for them to clot. It makes any sort of wound or injury or weakness in any vessel or the body a potential site for deadly hemhorrage. In my case, it happened to be very severe. The normal lab ranges for blood platelets are between 150,000-400,000. At my ER admission, my labs came in at 1,000, with a little downward arrow next to them! It was a dire situation - basically, I could have hemhorraged from anywhere, from my head to my toes, from my brain to my entire GI tract.  I could have died.

Very quickly after the issue was diagnosed, I was administered a transfusion of IV steroids, followed by two units of donor platelets.

After the platelets, I had to receive something called IVIG, or IV immunoglobulins. I believe these are to boost my immune system and help it stop accidentally nuking itself in the course of fighting the flu virus, or whatever pathogen started me down this insane road. The IVIG infusion, as it would turn out, would take like HOURS - maybe 8 hours total - and it was determined that I’d have to be admitted to the hospital (to the ICU, no less!) for a whopping FOUR DAYS, to receive further IVIG treatments until my platelet levels came back to an acceptable range. I was FLOORED and overwhelmed at this news, of course - again is really thought perhaps Dr. Spouse was being overly cautious initially. But I soon realized the gravity of the situation and promised to comply with all the healthcare professionals’ advice.

Although I cringed to do it, knowing a) what they’ve gone through recently, and b) the fact that we’d JUST spent the week with them in Orlando and sent them peacefully home, I found myself with no choice but to phone Ajima and Thatha from the ER and explain what was going on. True to form, they mobilized within minutes, and had plane tickets booked in no time. They arrived right around midnight on New Years Eve to relieve our wonderful friend/former Nanny S, who graciously pinch-hit and babysat the kids at home so Dr. Spouse could come be with me. I’d been in the ER from about 1 pm till maybe 5:30 or 6 pm, and eventually been transferred to an intermediary ICU room, where I’d spend the next 4 days.

Do you see my purple spots??  Hard to visualize in these pics, but they’re there.

I spent the next 4 days mostly in bed - I wasn’t permitted to walk around unattended, use the bathroom on my own, shower without supervision, etc. because even though I felt fine and am ordinarily physically able, I was considered a bleed risk if I accidentally stumbled or took a fall.  So in bed I stayed.  And for about 10-12 hours each day, I received IV infusions through both arms of steroids and IVIG.  It was a surreal experience, but also an incredibly fortuitous one, in that I didn’t really feel all that sick!  Dr. Spouse would come visit me for a few hours each afternoon through the nights, and my parents would bring the kids for about an hour each evening.  I had a wonderful crew of nurses who looked after me, talked with me, made sure I was comfortable and well-fed.  And my medical team was also very good, especially my hematologist, who was careful, methodical, and very even-keel about everything, explaining what had likely happened to me, what the next steps were, and what I should look out for in the future. 

I have A LOT more to say about this experience, especially all that has now happened afterwards, and all the follow-up care I must now receive.  It is going to be a journey for awhile longer.  But for now, a few thoughts in closing out this post....

It’s weird. Obviously, I wish NONE of this had happened - but I also felt so incredibly lucky.  Because: 

1). I’m so glad my post-heart surgery dad, senior citizen mom, and young kids didn’t get this virus, and that it was only me.  I’m also glad Dr. Spouse, our primary breadwinner, care provider for hundreds of people, and our beloved daddice of our family didn’t get it.  

2). If this absolutely had to happen to me, I consider myself lucky that in recent years, I’ve put my fitness first, and especially these last few weeks, I’ve been training for a race series, which means I’ve been eating right, training rigorously, attending to my cardiovascular health as well as my lean muscle composition, taking lots of multivitamins, and even pursuing yoga for restorative, rehabilitative, and emotional/mental health.  Basically, I was AS HEALTHY as I could have been going into this, and I think that saved my life.  I didn’t have a fatal vascular weakness that gave way to hemorrhage, because I’ve had the blessing of the opportunity to take good care of myself.

3). I have an ANGEL on my side.  My uncle Marley was definitely looking out for me.  Aside from being a huge source of love and support - it so happens that Marley suffered for many years from a platelet disorder which was constantly being managed.  He was of course the first person who came to mind when I got diagnosed with this issue - - and I swear he was looking out for me. I even have evidence to that effect.  Will share in a followup post.

4). Last but not least - - this one is overwhelming and wonderful.  

I met my husband when we were about 18 years old.  I had no idea at the time what the future held for us - but this person has evolved into many things, including a WONDERFUL, sensitive, intelligent, and proactive physician. He is REALLY, REALLY good at what he does for a living - and I think that’s because he would do it even if he didn't make a living doing it.  He LOVES his particular field of medicine.  And it so happens that he is a stroke neurologist, who sees patients with brain bleeds and emergency events related to bleeding/clotting every single day.  So it was my incredible fortune that the man I’m married to, saw what was happening with me, wasted ZERO time, and insisted I get care. 

My husband saved my life.  He is my hero.

Alright.  I think I’ll end this one here.  In upcoming posts, I’ll be discussing several things, including:

- the aftermath of my great Flu Adventure - the types of follow-up care and remaining question marks about my health (and hopefully I’ll be getting some reassuring data to share here!)

- an update about my Race Series!  Obviously (and heartbreakingly) I’m going to have to rejigger some things here.  I am working on my emotions with this.  But I’ll share it all with you.

In conclusion - -  I want to wish you all a happy new year.  May it be a year of good health and fortune for everyone!  Big hugs and big love  :)