#Trauma house: heaven's wasteland

[anxious-ace]

Hi Taleblr, so last night I wrote down some ideas I had about the big man himself, Ghost!:

Idea 1:

Since Ghost is half entity, and his name (whatever it may be) is a very prevalent mystery in the lore, what if either:

He's an entity that, when people know his name, something bad happens (either to him or to whoever knows his name).

Or, as a kid he encountered a fae kind of entity, and it just, took his name, leaving him with no choice but to adopt the Ghost moniker

In both cases, he would've needed to adopt the Ghost moniker in some way

I also imagine that any time someone does try to say it, it gets censored somehow (it gets caught on some piece of technology- beeping/static, you say it out loud- choking, you try to write it down, nope it's scribbles now)

Idea 2:

In the same vein as the fae point in idea 1, what if he had already encountered the housekeeper before the whole zombie dimension thing during the puppet arc?

Hear me out: Tim dies (duh), and since he's rich he can write a lengthy will, and on that will is a certain gold watch (the one from the whole zombie dimension thing during the puppet arc).

(I imagine Tim hiding a piece of paper with a message or a set of coordinates in it for Ghost to decode when he's older)

The housekeeper hears about this watch and the kid who got it somehow, from an entity (don't necessarily know which one at the moment, I guess any dimension-hopping entity will do), and since he needs gold for his skin (?) (I don't really remember), he tries to take it at some point but instead of the watch he somehow accidentally takes Ghost's name and certain memories (because that can happen now apparently) or he took them in retaliation for not being able to get the watch.

So now Ghost is going by a new name and he has no memory of, whatever that was, happening.

Maybe the reason he's so defensive about his name is because 1. He's trans, so deadname, 2. He lost his name from what I just described and 3. After Gregory's death (by his hands), Ana called him by his brother's name to, (try to) cope I guess, and other people calling him that reminded him of all of that, so every time it happens he freaks out like we see in the videos

Another Idea: the watch is a protective charm and is Tim's dying effort to protect his family, and Ghost holding it out in front of the housekeeper was him taunting him (like a "come on take it, I fucking dare you wussy. At least try to take it you weak bitch."

(I also have ideas about Joan and Ghost but that's spoilers and I have to give you all information about the characters first)

[astralilith]

Yall do not seem to understand the goldmine that are Hozier songs for those obsessed with Good Omens. Like, yeah sure, Take Me To Church is aziracrow coded, of course it is, but why stop there?? 90% of Hozier songs are applicable to the ineffable husbands (extremely so, in fact) and I ve shockingly not seen enough crossovers between these two fandoms. From Eden? Francesca?? Wasteland, Baby!??? I, Carrion (Icarian)???? Unknown/nth????? And these are only a few examples. I can't listen to Hozier and not think of Crowley and Aziraphale, it's too THEM for me not to. And I feel like people need to talk about it more.

Take Me To Church is great but it's far from being the only Hozier song that deals with religious trauma and the willingness to be damned to the eternal punishment of hell if it means adoring and worshipping your lover. We are dealing with the man who wrote lyrics such as "Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I" and "If I should fall, on that day I only pray, don't fall away from me" and "I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door", LIKE CMON PEOPLE. TELL ME THIS IS NOT AZIRACROW??

[cherryrainn]

Can I request a striker x female reader scenario where the reader got into a really bad car accident and had to get prosthetic foot? Could you do it from striker pov please?

━━ ✧ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 ˚୨��⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; striker x reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; sooo cute this was so fun

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; injury and physical trauma

i rode my trusty steed, bombproof, across the barren wastelands of hell, kicking up dust as i made my way to y/ns place. she was my woman, my partner in crime, and my heart belonged to her. i had to see her, especially after what she'd been through.

a car accident had taken her foot, and now she had one of them prosthetics, the fancy kind that made her look like some kinda high-tech cyborg. it made my blood boil to think about the pain she'd been through, but she was tough as nails.

as i approached her house, i could see her sittin' on the porch, starin' out at the horizon. she was wearin' one of them outfits that made her look like an angel, and it damn near took my breath away.

i dismounted from bombproof and sauntered up to her. she turned to me, her eyes lightin' up when she saw me comin'.

"striker," she said, her voice like honey, "you're early."

i tipped my hat and gave her a sly grin. "couldn't wait to see you, darlin'."

she scooted over, makin' room for me on the porch swing, and i took a seat beside her. we didn't need words to communicate – just bein' near her was enough for me.

she reached out and took my hand, her touch soft and gentle. "i've missed you, striker."

i leaned in and kissed her, slow and sweet like a summer breeze. "missed you too, sugar."

we sat there for a while, just enjoyin' each other's company, watchin' the sun dip below the horizon. but i couldn't shake the thought of what she'd been through.

finally, i spoke up. "the accident, darlin'. i'm real sorry you had to go through that."

she sighed and leaned her head on my shoulder. "it was.. something."

i wrapped my arm around her, pullin' her close. "you're the toughest woman i know."

she chuckled, a sound that warmed my heart. "you always know how to make me feel better."

i couldn't help but smile. "well, that's what i'm here for."

we sat in silence for a while longer, just enjoyin' each other's presence. but i had somethin' i needed to say.

"y/n'," i started, my voice a bit gruffer than usual, "if you ever need anythin', you just gotta ask. i'll move heaven and hell to make sure you're taken care of."

she looked up at me, her eyes filled with gratitude. "i know, striker. and i appreciate it more than you'll ever know."

i leaned in and kissed her again, this time with a hunger that had been building since the moment i laid eyes on her. she responded softer, and it was nice.

as the night sky stretched out above us, i couldn't help but feel grateful for the woman in my arms. she was mine, and i was hers, and nothin' in hell, on heaven or earth could change that.

[ghostoffuturespast]

Writer Interview Tag 📝

Tagged by @luvwich. Thank you! These were fun to think about.

Q&A Below

When did you start writing?

For funsies, in 2022. I was working part-time then and had just binge read a bunch of fics. While I enjoyed what I read, none of them quite scratched the itch I had for more, so I was like guess I’ll have to write this story I want to read, yolo. As someone who hated writing growing up and all throughout school, I also figured it’d be good practice for me lol. Never fancied myself a writer until I started doing it. I sorely underestimated how much this hobby would consume my life.  

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I can get into just about anything, regardless of themes or genre, as long as it holds my attention and I think it’s interesting. I really enjoy reading non-fiction books though. Mainly science, history, ethnographies, or some mash up of all three. (That’s where the real money’s at.) They’re fascinating and can be very entertaining if you find the right one. Plus, it’s excellent inspiration fodder. Real life is often stranger than fiction, and real life is the primary source for all fiction.

I was in the book store recently and realized I had multiple Mary Roach books to catch up on. I very much wish I had more time and the peace of mind to read. Alas, modern society prioritizes The Grind™ and why is my house always dirty? Please feed me.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I honestly can’t say there’s a particular writer I’ve ever tried to emulate. Every writer’s got their own style and strengths, and the reason as to why I enjoy their writing is always different. They way I write is undoubtedly a mash-up of influences, but as for sorting them out myself… Eh. 

I’ve never been compared to anyone, which I’m fine with, much rather be known for just being me. But folks are free to share if they have an opinion on it though, I’m always curious to know what stands out to readers. Nobody tells me these kinds of things lol.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I bop around spaces a lot, but my primary spot is on my art table in my office. I have a desk for my computer lol, however I prefer the art table because it’s in front of a window and feels like a more creative space. Otherwise, I’m staring at the wall and sitting next to unopened stacks of mail and paperwork that I haven’t filed. I also like to write on my tiny porch with three different beverages when it’s not 8 million degrees outside or an arctic wasteland.

Sometimes I write at work when it’s one of those 10 hour days, I’ve finished everything pressing I needed to do, and I’m by myself in the office… Know your taxpayer dollars are going to a good cause and funding contributions to fan fiction. Willing to bet money I’m not the only government employee doing it either.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

For me, inspiration and motivation are two separate things that almost never happen at the same time, so my writing process is fairly compartmentalized. I’ll jot down ideas in my draft when they randomly strike then find ways to incorporate and string those ideas together when I actually sit down to write. “Muses” for me are less a choir of angels descending from the heavens and more my one brain wrinkle occasionally handing me a post-it note. 

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

As my supervisor likes to remind me, a theme needs to be a complete statement/sentence.

Topics/subjects/interests that appear frequently in my writing: violence, the inherent violence entrenched in colonial and capitalist systems, aikido, anthropology, nature is the answer, grief, intergenerational trauma, obvious and/or obscure references, callbacks, structural symmetry, body worship, teasing, the red-tape of bureaucracy, the sanctity of the mundane, being seen, self-acceptance, monsters and old gods, ghosts, the ancient and the archaic, personifying places, the poetry of paragraphs, grumpy characters, puns.

And I’m not surprised by any of these. I love (or love critically examining) all of these things.      

What is your reason for writing?

It is my greatest desire in this life to haunt people.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love it when people take the time to comment at all, regardless of the type. Just the fact that someone took the time to connect is lovely! Most of the comments I get aren’t super in-depth though (I don’t get those analytical essays that I sometimes see in other comment sections) so the ones where a reader takes the time to explain what they thought, how they felt, or about what they noticed in my writing (even if it’s brief) are super special to me. It’s like “Yo! Thank you for seeing this thing I spent a bunch of time on. I appreciate and love you!” (cue spider-man pointing meme)

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

A friendly ghost.

I feel people tend to find me intimidating for reasons I don’t fully understand (irl and online, maybe it’s my resting ghost face). But, my dudes, I just wanna hang with you all. Truly. I know I’m bad at initiating conversation but please, I not scary. Weird for sure, but not scary.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Environmental descriptions/storytelling, action scenes, and big picture logistics. I get an idea for a story, sit down with it, and fifteen minutes later I’m rolling out full infrastructure blueprints. I got the plot, main story beats, and themes all mapped out. I’m good at assessing and planning, but also leave a lot of room to improvise too.

How do you feel about your own writing?

It ain’t perfect but it’s solid. Refining skills is a perpetual task. There’s always room for improvement, my writing’s gonna evolve over time, I’m gonna learn from other people; I’m okay with all of that.

Fuck proper grammar and punctuation though. It’s a social construct that I ain’t got time for. Linguistically I can do what I want because all the rules around that are made up too! I’m emulating modes of irl speech. As long as it mostly makes sense, I don’t really give a shit. Bite me. 

(Editors everywhere trying to strangle me.)

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Purely for myself. Sometimes I write something and I think “so-and-so would probably appreciate this” but, unless it’s a writing project for someone else or I’m designing it for a specific audience in mind, I don’t put stock into what other people want. I tell the stories I want to tell.

Tagging with no pressure: @shimmer-like-agirl @baublekute @scarlettspectra

@genocidalfetus @dani-the-goblin @fly-amanitaa

[excellentexecution]

@brothersgrim​ asked: ❛ why do you care? you could have just walked away. ❜

For the Damaged Sentence Starters. | Said From the Soft Spot. | Undertaker.

Surely did the Undertaker change once Paul returned to him, reclaimed what was already owned. Considered a trivial trade in regard to managers, one bad seed exchanged for another, the entire Federation seemed far more sinister than it had ever been. Ominous - Brother Love wasn’t able to scare Bret in the same way Bearer could - dreary. With decorative urn in hand, the mortician effortlessly controlled his Deadman to do whatever he wished, like a god among men. Stories that swarmed in the locker room area hadn’t prepared anyone for what they were about to see. Gave the roster an idea of sorts, to come face-to-face with the ghostly manager nearly sent the Hitman into a state of shock. Death was found within Bearer’s dark eyes. Soulless pools of black - hatred and disgust, too, for the Undertaker alone. It was not to be a relationship of love. Not one of trust or respect, either, anything he could do to be far from Paul, Bret did. Misery danced on all the words the funeral director said, promises that teased of evil intention, but that didn’t mean the Hitman would forsake the Undertaker. They had just begun to become close. An odd couple given who they were - confidants despite.

Never had Bret witnessed anything like what he saw late one evening after a WWF house show. Presented before a small crowd in a venue deep within the southern United States, wide open spaces on every corner, the town more akin to an abandoned wasteland, even the winds that night felt eerie. Each patch of land haunted by the trauma of its past, though nature’s howls sent shivers down his spine, he wasn’t going to leave the venue area just yet, not without saying fond farewells to a man who showed him great kindness in recent time. It was their ritual of sorts. Goodbyes kept short and sweet but still shared, around and around the parking lot did Bret search for Undertaker first. Thereafter, back into the dressing rooms, then out the exit door again in order to inspect any spot that might’ve been missed. When all leads failed, one last try was given. A strange choice of direction to take - an out of body experience that forced the Hitman’s feet to go where he wouldn’t have otherwise - a large, empty dirt field just a few feet from the venue. It was like being urged by a ghost. An unseen spirit. 

It was then that true horrors exposed themselves. Onto his knees like a disciple who was praying to their master, Bearer coerced the Undertaker to take command like the best of trained dogs. Urn held above both their heads, toward the heavens, screams that sounded more like threats than encouragements for a match that was well executed, a victory for the duo. Bret could only stand there in silence as he watched from afar. Heartbroken for what Undertaker was put through, even Brother Love and the Million Dollar Man never did such to him. Bearer was unmatched. Rotten, a monster like none other, when the sadistic manager finally took notice of the Hitman, stared in such a way that made the breath in Bret’s lungs fade, did he stop the torture. Released his precious pet from whatever hold he had over him. Finally allowed for the Undertaker to be free - though Bearer walked away from them both, high pitched wailing in sham adieu, Bret’s heart didn’t believe that he was doing so out of compassion. Just the Deadman and the Hitman in that field; there was always a reason for why Paul made the choices he made. Always. 

Moving closer to the man who still kneeled, a question was asked in honest worry: are you alright, Undertaker? But that was only answered with another question. Deflection, maybe, protection - it was clear that both Bret and he were a mess. Both hurt over what had happened. 

Frowning a bit over what he heard, one more step was taken. Black jeans collecting dust that whirled around, green sleeveless top doing much the same, Bret was tempted to get onto the Undertaker’s level, rest beside him just to make sure he was okay. Clothes already gross anyways from sweat, it wouldn’t have pained him. But rather than go forward, the decision was made to wait. Wait for Undertaker to say his peace. Wait for Paul to come back and seek retribution for an interrupted tough love lesson. Bret chose to stand. 

“You’re my friend, Undertaker. You’re my friend, and I care about you. I couldn’t... I couldn’t just leave you like this. He does this to you a lot, doesn’t he?”

Called on a slightly shaken voice, he gently offered his hands, his support and stability, “come on, Taker. Let me help you. You look like you’ve gone through hell. I’ll walk you to medical. Just take my hands. Let me help you up.” 

___

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Le Démon Déchu - Chapter 2: Réponses Et Plus De Questions

Summary: The summary is kind of long so please check a previous part or my masterlist if you want to read it.

Warning(s): threat, swearing

Word Count: 6.8k+

Inspiration: Do You Know What Eternity Is? by Elderly_Worm on AO3, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan on AO3, Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm on AO3, wasteland, baby by john1513 on AO3, Not of Us by ShesAKillerQueen98 on AO3, How to Win a Lifetime Achievement Award for Services to Television (and how not to) by GaryOldman on AO3, Doctor Who (don’t ask) and, of course, Good Omens itself

A/N: Okay I took a bit of a hiatus from writing literally anything for about five months so sorry about that but I’m back now!! That’s the main thing. Also, I’ve left high school now which is very exciting! That does mean I’ll have so much more time to write and I’m definitely going to try and use this summer to establish some kind of routine for writing so that when I start college, I won’t get too overwhelmed with both my studies and with updating my fics. That’s the plan anyway so don’t hold me to that lmao. With any luck, now I’ve actually said that it’ll have to happen. (I wrote that part of this note back in May when it was the start of the summer. It is currently September and I’m just about to finally publish this chapter and I assure you, I am cringing at my own optimism.) Sorry this took so long to post. This chapter has been in the works since May (yes, I know I’m terrible) but I actually got a lot more writing done in that time that what you just see in this chapter. All will be revealed soon. I just promise that I have been productive. Once you’ve read this chapter, you have my blessing to translate the title of this fic. Hopefully it will make sense.

I just wanted to point out something about the playlist I linked in the previous chapter. I am well aware that there are some rather problematic people in it, namely Sia. I want you all to know that I don’t support her in any way (I don’t like her at all I think she’s a complete ableist twat). Her songs are only on there because of how well they fit with the story (a lot of this will become clearer as the story goes on).

I also wanted to point out that I know that if angels do exist, then their true forms probably wouldn’t look anything like humans. I’m well aware of that, I’m not an idiot, I don’t know if any of you remember when people started googling ‘angel true form’ and some people got scared lmao. The point is, we’ve all seen the pictures. But for the purpose of this story, and honestly just to make it easier for me to describe what the characters are doing, we’re going to have to pretend that they did look like humans. Can I claim creative license with this one? Maybe it got lost in translation because there is probably no way someone could describe how an angel truly looks in any human language? I don’t know, just roll with it.I know that this chapter had so much exposition and explanation in it but I can promise you two things. One, there is still much to be revealed. Two, I promise this isn’t just bad writing on my part. Just trust that I needed to put this all in this early on.

And how is everyone doing after the season 2 announcement? I mean, at the time of writing this specific part of my notes, it only got announced about an hour ago lmao. I’m very fucking excited, oh my god. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I found out I can’t lie. Catch me trying to finish this before it comes out in case things occur which means I have to change things in this story. I can’t be arsed for that. Oh well. Hopefully it’ll read like those Sherlock fics that people wrote in between series 2 and series 3 if that doesn’t happen.

Taglist: @briarrose26​

Ask or comment to be on my taglist! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s) or series. Full list is in my bio.

Hermit (upright) + Five of Wands (upright)

Conflict. Reflection. Resurfacing memories.

************

Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other.

We know who our enemies are. We know.

– Richard Siken (Detail of the Fire)

************

“Fuck.”

The angel and demon exchanged glances of what could only be described as thinly veiled panic, while the woman in front of them just looked annoyed at the most.

“They couldn’t wait five minutes, could they?” she muttered, pinching at the bridge of her nose in frustration before standing up again, “Look, just stay down here, I’m gonna go sort this out. With any luck they won’t have actually realised you’re here too.”

“Wait, how do you know they’re here for you?” Crowley asked, suddenly curious as to what business Eloise might have with Heaven.

“Just a gut feeling,” she said before making her way to the spiral staircase behind them, muttering to herself, “If they were here for you, I feel like they would have at least used the front door.”

The other two waited until she’d run upstairs before exchanging a quick glance, an unspoken word, and following her up.

Meanwhile, Eloise was hovering outside a room at the end of the corridor which she could only assume was the bedroom. She was strangely hesitant, not out of fear of them, simply out of fear of the unknown. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in that room for millennia, and something told her that this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat. She took a deep breath, even though she technically didn’t need it, letting a wave of faux confidence wash over her, and stepped inside. Don’t crumble now. You’ve come too far to crumble now.

“Ah, Mariel, long time no see,” Gabriel smiled coldly, brushing the dust off his white suit. Flanked by two other angels, he stood in the wreckage of the bedroom without even acknowledging the damage they must have caused when they crashed in. Beside him were Beelzebub and Hastur, who both looked as though they had been dragged kicking and screaming to come here. Beelzebub in particular kept shooting metaphorical daggers at Gabriel, who remained perfectly oblivious. The entire ceiling had caved in from the impact of their crash, the setting sun painting the doorway where Eloise stood in a pale gold and casting a dark shadow over the others.

She’d grimaced at the use of her old name; it was too unfamiliar, too ancient. Mariel was the name of a long-dead version of herself. Once upon a time, she’d embraced it, but that was once upon a time. Once upon a time long gone.

“Almost like I’ve been avoiding you on purpose,” she muttered, leaning against the doorway as she stared intrusively at each person in the room, observing, assessing. She silently revelled in the blatant discomfort in each of their faces.

“No need to be so rude,” Gabriel said, doing anything to avoid her eyes, his previous confident façade now shattered.

Eloise stared at him in disbelief, “What exactly were you expecting? A fucking welcome party? I haven’t seen any of you in over six thousand years and you just crash through the roof of my house, unannounced and uninvited, so yeah, forgive me for being a little irritated.” She couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. She’d barely been in Aziraphale’s bookshop for fifteen minutes and she was already pretending she owned it.

She watched smugly as he squirmed under her gaze, desperately looking to the others to say something in response. A moment or two passed before Beelzebub’s head suddenly snapped up in confusion, “Are you alone?”

Shit. She’d hoped that they wouldn’t have noticed the presence of the two who were definitely not downstairs like she’d asked. She swallowed, trying not to let any kind of emotion show on her face, trying not to give the game up that quickly, “Yeah, I live on my own.” She watched the whole group of them squint in concentration, trying to sense any other beings in the house. She sighed, changing the subject before they could comment on it any further, “Look, what do you want? I don’t have all day so if you could make it quick then that would be much appreciated.”

Gabriel looked back at her, his suave exterior unfortunately making a return, “Hey, we just wanted to check up on you, see how you’re doing-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she snapped. She pushed herself off from the doorway, stalking towards the others, “You have had six thousand years to ‘check up on me’, don’t pretend you’ve only started to care now.”

She was met with only silence as Gabriel and Beelzebub glanced at each other awkwardly, looking very much like chastised children. Suddenly the latter groaned and cried, “You can’t just leave Hell!”

“Oh, here we go,” Eloise muttered, rolling her eyes, bored already.

“You can’t! You Fell from Heaven, so you go to Hell, there isn’t a third option!”

“Well, apparently there is,” she shrugged.

“No there isn’t!” they argued, face screwed up like a petulant child.

“Then what do you call this then?” she asked, unfolding her wings for the second time that day. She studied their reactions closely, scrutinising coal-black eyes piercing through their very souls. She was searching for any hint of shock, of recognition, of anything that could clue her in as to what was going on in their heads at that moment. All she could find, however, was pure, unadulterated confusion. Which was annoying when her wings were supposed to be an answer to their unasked questions.

Gabriel stumbled over his words, “Good Lord, how did you even-”

Eloise cut him off curtly, no longer having the patience to listen to his incoherent mumbles. She instead turned to Beelzebub who at least had the decency to look a little more composed, “That would be what you could sense then. I’ve got both Heaven and Hell in me, that’s a lot of energy to pick up on.” She stared right through them, daring them to say anything else.

“Must be,” they replied slowly, though they didn’t look at all convinced.

Gabriel held up a hand, his eyes darting about as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing, “No hold on, how did you even manage that?”

“I left Hell,” Eloise said simply, “Why should I have black wings? I’m not some demon who ran away from everything. I left. Permanently. I looked Hell in the eye and walked away. You know what? Fuck it, I looked Satan in the eyes and walked away.”

“You what?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, you heard me. You have a problem with me leaving Hell then go on! Take that up with the bloody devil,” she said, staring them down, daring them to retaliate. She smirked when she was met with pure, uncomfortable silence, “Except you won’t, will you? Because you don’t actually give two fucks about me. Just like I said, if you did then you would have chased me up a long time ago. Quite frankly, I think you must have been glad to have me out of your hair,” she sighed, half sad, half amused when they couldn’t even meet her eye. She paused for a moment, wondering how far she could push this, before asking, “You know what I think is really going on here? I think the pair of you are feeling a bit bruised after the absolute shitshow that was Armageddon last year, which, by the way, fucking hilarious. I think your egos are feeling a little sore after a literal child stopped you from ending the world, so you’re thinking ‘hmm, what would be an easy win so that we don’t feel like total shit? Oh yeah, what about that demon who ran away all that time ago? That should be easy to sort out.’. Well, love to disappoint, but you’re not getting me that easily, especially when not a single one of us actually wants me back, and Sandalphon, take one more step further I swear I will dropkick you back to Heaven,” she snapped, glaring at the angel who had been menacingly inching closer while she had been talking. He reluctantly stepped back alongside Gabriel, looking a little more than miffed that his plan hadn’t worked out. “You really want me back? Get your bosses to talk to me because I don’t actually see why it’s any of your business. No middle men. Just God, Satan and me. I’ll see what they have to say about all this. Questions?” she asked, tone snapping from one extreme to another, almost as if she had just been possessed.

Gabriel stared at her, mouth gaping like a fish, “You can’t just boss us around like that.”

“What? Like how you bossed us around all those years?” she replied without missing a beat, real rage, real danger seeping into her voice now, “I think we’re done here.”

“But-”

“I said, I think we’re done here,” she said, leaving no room for arguments. She gestured to the sorry excuse for a room around them, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind cleaning this up.”

“Why can’t you do it? You can miracle things too,” Gabriel said, desperate for any kind of leverage over Eloise.

“You’re right, I could, but I didn’t make this mess, and I personally believe that you should face the consequences of your actions, Gabriel,” she said pointedly, watching as he visibly gulped. In a matter of seconds, the room was restored to its original state and Eloise was left alone in the room, no indicators that she was ever with any other people remaining.

She sighed and all but collapsed into a chair that may or may not have existed a few moments ago, confident façade shattered completely. She breathed heavily in exhaustion, as if she’d just run a marathon; she supposed she had just run a mental one. Her emotions were bugging her to no end. It was strange. She wasn’t scared, per se. There was very little that Gabriel or Beelzebub could do to her that would frighten her anymore. She tried her best to compose herself, writing off the tsunami inside her mind as just plain old adrenaline, before calling out, “You can come in now. I know you guys are outside, it’s okay, you can come in.”

Crowley and Aziraphale walked into the room, one looking considerably more sheepish than the other. Aziraphale perched awkwardly on the freshly reconstructed bed, “We’re sorry–”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, we’re not.”

Eloise and Crowley exchanged a glance, amused looks on both of their faces while Aziraphale simply looked distressed. Eloise turned back to him and smiled sympathetically, “I told you, it’s fine. I would have done the same,” she admitted, looking away before collecting herself once again, “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of questions–”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Crowley muttered as he took a seat beside Aziraphale, although it was a very loose definition of ‘taking a seat’.

Aziraphale glared at him while Eloise just sighed and reluctantly said, “I think it might be better if I just show you.”

Crowley cocked his head in confusion, “Show us what?”

She brought her chair closer to the edge of the bed and put out her hands, “Take my hands. Brace yourselves.”

Mariel was standing before a crowd of angels, dozens upon dozens of disgusted faces staring right at her. She couldn’t quite remember getting there. She had been in the pitch-dark holding cell and the next thing she knew, she was here. Blinding white light surrounded them, harshly illuminating her vulnerabilities before all of Heaven. She tried her best to keep her chin up even though she absolutely hated the fact that they could see the bruises from when she had been arrested that were now blooming on her face. She frowned as she noticed the lack of measures preventing her from escaping. All that was keeping her there was Gabriel’s presence at her side, cold violet eyes pointedly ignoring her. He really was an arrogant bastard for assuming that she wouldn’t even try to make a run for it. Just because he was right this one time, it didn’t mean that he shouldn’t have come prepared. Mariel sighed and looked up at the angels staring down at her. Michael was sat higher than everyone in the centre of the crowd, face void of all emotion as she said, “The Principality Mariel. You’re on trial today for betraying the will of the Almighty, rebelling against all that is good and light in the universe...”

Mariel blocked the rest of her pretentious speech out as she droned on about all the awful things she’d supposedly done to deserve this. It was all lies anyway. She knew the real reason she was here. There were a few things that stood out to her despite it all, things that nearly made her laugh. She’d known that they’d needed to conjure up some reasons for condemning her, but this was just ridiculous. Gabriel really had gone to extraordinary yet desperate lengths to slander her in her final moments in this Someone-forsaken place. She was surprised that the angels gathered to watch her downfall believed a word of this. She tried her best not to resent them, though. It wasn’t like they had anything better to believe in. Especially considering the amused smirk that had crept its way onto her face.

She returns to reality just in time to hear Michael ask, “What do you have to say to defend yourself?”

“I’ve done nothing I need to defend,” she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“Don’t make this worse for yourself than it already is,” Gabriel muttered dangerously from where he stood beside her.

Mariel turned to look at him in disbelief. “How the fuck could this get any worse, Gabriel?” she hissed, fury flaring up in her eyes.

He just looked back at her condescendingly, “Do you really need me to answer that?”

She pointedly refused to reply, turning back to face Michael, determined to ignore him.

The next part goes past in a blur for Mariel. Michael speaks again, though she doesn’t listen. Then suddenly there are shouts of anger, screams of rage, coming from the gathered crowd. They spit with venom as they hurl insults at her. She doesn’t hear a word. It’s as though her head is under water, completely submerged in the stone cold anger that seeps through her body, and suddenly Mariel is drowning in the realisation that this is really happening, oh God this is really happening.

Why? Why is this happening to me? You listening, God? Look me in the eye and tell me why this is happening.

She doesn’t get an answer, and though she wasn’t expecting one, it still hurts. Because she knows that she’ll never get an answer from Her again now.

Eventually she feels a tug on her arm from where Gabriel has been standing, dragging her away from the crowd and out her of current state of mind. She could feel her senses coming back to her as she stumbled backwards, but everything was crashing down on her too quickly, too harshly. She did her best to shove the rising panic as deep down insider her as she could. There was no way she would let anyone here see her in that state. She couldn’t let them think they’d won.

She didn’t even realise she had reached the edge of the ground she was standing on, the edge of Heaven itself, Gabriel no longer grabbing her arm. She nearly found herself peering over the edge, but stopped herself before she could lean too far. It may have helped her in the past but now was not the time to give in to her curiosity. And she didn’t trust Gabriel to not push her the moment he had the chance. She turned her head to glare fiercely at him, piercing holes in his very soul. She could slowly feel her anxiety being replaced by cool rage as she found herself saying, “Any institution that tries to silence anyone who opposes them is inherently corrupt.” She stared knowingly at his discomfort as he forced himself to face her. He knew what she meant by that. He knew.

He took a second to compose himself before practically scoffing in her face, “Don’t preach at me.”

Mariel cocked her head as she studied him. She watched as his eyes subconsciously flicked back to the crowd, to the other Archangels. He blatantly wanted nothing more than to re-join his fellow angels, the only beings who understood why he was doing what he was doing, or were at least supposed to understand anyway. Somehow she doubted they were all as cold-hearted and self-absorbed as the angel in front of her. She considered him for a moment before saying simply, “Your quest for power will kill you in the end.”

He furrowed his brows in somewhat amused confusion, “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s the truth,” she blinked at him before leaning in and murmuring in his ear, “It will be your downfall.”

“The only one who’s going to Fall around here is you,” he said dangerously. Mariel leaned back and watched the lethal glimmer in his eye wither and die under the intensity of her gaze.

She just smiled. “We’ll see.” She let herself look at him for a moment longer before blinking away the tears and cautiously taking a small step backwards. She could feel where the ground ended beneath her feet and was sure not to step any further. She took one last look of the place she once called home, embracing how it felt for the last time though she knew she wouldn’t miss it.

She closed her eyes for a moment and fell back.

Mariel was Falling. That bit she knew, but much more than that? Everything was happening too fast for her to notice. And yet, it was as if she was existing in slow-motion. She worried for a moment that this was, in fact, her fate; doomed to remain in a perpetual state of limbo, of Falling, for all eternity. The only thing telling her otherwise was the view of Heaven above her, which she realised only too late was slowly shrinking into nothing. Mariel found herself reaching her own arms out, grasping for Heaven. They were opposite ends of a magnet being roughly pulled away from each other by an invisible force.

You hear that God? Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? And don’t you dare tell me it’s all part of your plan because right now, the only thing I want is to be back where I should be and I can’t even have that.

She pulled herself out of her mind and back into reality; she’d have plenty of time in Hell to yell at a God who’d never listen, let alone answer. She only just started to register her surroundings, the fact that she was actually Falling, who knows how far and for how long, tumbling through the air at an unimaginable speed, plummeting towards a place that could be anything from seconds to hours away. The deafening wind that screamed in her ears, drowning out the screams which may have been coming from her mouth or her mind, who was she to say? Air whipped around her body, icier and more painful than any words that could ever be uttered by the angels above her. It wasn’t until she could no longer see any hint of Heaven on the horizon that she started to feel the tears finally fall, trickling down her face and floating slightly due to the force of the Fall.

Then suddenly it came. She felt it in the very tips of her wings first, a strange tingling sensation, as though hundreds and then thousands of pins were skirting the edges of her corporeal being. It spread over the rest of her wings, and then her body, at a faster pace than she could keep track of until her whole being felt as though it was burning. The pain grew, and it grew, and it grew, and she didn’t think she could physically take any more pain when she looked up in horror at her own freshly blackened wings. Her beautiful, holy wings which had once been the softest, purest white, were now stained with evil and ash. For the first time since she started Falling, however long ago that might have been, she let out a choked sob that racked through her whole body and through the ever-changing air around her. Nobody heard her cries. Nobody heard her screams as the searing pain in her chest grew stronger. She couldn’t even begin to work out whether it was physical or emotional but it was there and it burned a hole, a gaping wound, through her soul, leaving a scar fated to never heal and to forever haunt her-

Eloise was crying. She’d tried so hard to prevent the steady streams that were now running down her cheeks, but that was a memory that she’d never wanted to relive. She looked upwards for a moment, trying to regain control of her emotions and her breathing, before peeling her hands away from the two sat in front of her. She roughly wiped the tears from her face, and suddenly the only thing telling you she had been crying were the bloodshot eyes that Crowley tried to ignore as he said bluntly, “I’m still confused.”

“Crowley, give her a minute,” Aziraphale chastised him, furrowing his brows at the demon before he turned back to Eloise with kind eyes and a kinder heart, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She nodded without much hesitation, “I’m fine, it’s okay.” She certainly wasn’t fine, nor was it okay, but the last thing she wanted was to have to deal with her feelings in front of two people she was trying her best not to scare off. She looked back at Crowley, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

He looked at her in understanding, for if anyone knew her thought process in that moment, it was him. “Right, so you Fell and became a demon. Then what?”

“Well, you know what Hell’s like,” she started, looking pointedly at Crowley. She waited for him to nod before continuing, “Not my scene at all. I just point-blank refused to do anything they asked of me. Naturally they didn’t like that much. Eventually I was called in to see Satan about it. I remember thinking, ‘well, that’s that then. Terrible knowing you all.’, because I didn’t think I was going to survive that. Turns out he was just annoyed that I was being a bloody nuisance to everyone else, but he was too amused to really do anything about it, so he basically just told me to piss off. Leave Hell, don’t come back, and I won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone or that you’re even alive. Not exactly a deal I could refuse, so I left, came to Earth, been here ever since. I think everyone just assumed he’d killed me,” she shrugged as if she hadn’t just destroyed the whole idea of eternal damnation with just a few sentences. She smiled to herself as they gaped at her for a moment, though she doubted they realised they were doing it.

Crowley somehow managed to gather his senses quick enough to hold up a hand and say, “Wait, but when you were talking to Gabriel and Beelzebub and that lot, you said they had six thousand years to check up on you. Why would you say that if they thought you were dead?” He narrowed his eyes at her. He wasn’t altogether quite sure why he seemed to be so keen on finding any gaps in her story, but he needed to be able to trust that she was telling the truth. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Yes, and they didn’t exactly seem surprised to see you alive.”

Eloise grinned. You two are gonna be fun, I can tell. “You’re both very observant, I have to give you credit for that.” She paused in thought for a second before starting carefully, “You see, the trouble with me is that I’m not really one for keeping a low profile. I’m too noisy, so to speak, and I don’t even realise it most of the time. This demon I hadn’t exactly been the nicest to back in Hell saw me in Babylon, gosh, it must have been eighteen thirty something BC? Anyways, he ratted me out to Beelzebub who must have told Gabriel all about it. I had about a decade of this bloody demon trying to discorporate me just to see if it would force me to go back to Hell, then one day he just stopped, and I never saw him again. Beelzebub probably told him to piss off.”

They were both quiet again for a little while. Eloise didn’t even think to say anything. It might be a rare occasion, but she did know when to keep her mouth shut when it mattered. She could see the cogs turning in their heads as if it was projected in the air above them. Eventually Crowley murmured, “I didn’t even know you could do that, you know, leave.”

She shook her head with a strange kind of sympathy that came from recognising an experience you had far too long ago, “Neither did I. It stills shocks me sometimes if I think about it too much.”

A few seconds passed before Crowley cleared his throat abruptly and said, “They called you Mariel. I thought you said your name was Eloise.”

She hesitated before answering. She knew exactly what he was doing, she’d been doing it for the whole of their conversation thus far, but just because she tended to bury her emotions, it didn’t mean that she liked it when others did it. She decided to ignore the hypocrisy of that thought, how ironic, she thought to herself, and instead explained, “It is. Mariel was my angel name. You know how it is,” she looked pointedly at Crowley again, hoping that Aziraphale would be able to put the pieces together. She didn’t actually know how much he knew about what it was like to Fall and become a demon.

“Oh, so is Eloise your demon name?” Aziraphale asked politely.

“No,” she said curtly, instantly feeling guilty when she saw the hurt that flashed over Aziraphale’s face. She grimaced and explained in a gentler tone, “I chose it for myself when I came to Earth. Hell tried to change my name after I Fell but I just refused.” She studied him for a second, watching his eyes dart about, before saying, “You want to ask something, I can tell. What is it?”

He looked a little startled at being caught out, momentarily glancing at Crowley for support, probably subconsciously, Eloise noted with a smile. “I, well, I couldn’t help but notice that you mentioned Armageddon. Back when you were speaking with, um, well, you know. H-how did you know about that?”

“I might have been there.” The words rushed out of her mouth in a much less casual manner than what she’d been aiming for, coming out in a sort of jumbled heap that took Crowley and Aziraphale a moment to decipher.

Crowley, the poor sod, could only think to lean forward and ask a simple, “You what?”

She jumped to defend herself, wanting to avoid the onslaught of questions if she could, “Not actually at the airbase, but I was in the area. I was living in Tadfield at the time.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, although the hint of a smirk on his face told her it was more in amusement than suspicion, “How did you know it was at the airbase?”

Eloise couldn’t help but chuckle to herself because of course, they’d notice her choice of words, “I knew Adam and his mates. I ran an ice cream shop, would you believe it. He came and told me all about it the day after,” she smiled fondly before suddenly coming alive with excitement, “That’s actually how I found out about you two. That’s why I’m here. Because I thought I was the only one trying to stop the world ending, but apparently I wasn’t. I had to see for myself.”

A moment passed before Aziraphale asked quietly, “You were trying to stop it?”

Eloise, not noticing the newly subdued atmosphere, launched herself into a painfully over-enthusiastic explanation, “Yeah, it was quite clever really, if I do say so myself. I made sure Adam was swapped with the American baby in the hopes that he would have a human enough upbringing to perhaps change things. Seems to have worked,” she shrugged, before finally taking in the two shocked faces that were staring back at her. Her brows furrowed and her face fell as she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You switched the babies?” Crowley asked blankly, although it came out as more of a statement than a question.

Her face screwed up as she tried to work out how best to explain herself. “Well, I say switched, it was more of a ‘made sure the demon dropping the antichrist off went to the wrong delivery room’ kind of thing. Feel sorry for the poor sod who had to deal with that but needs must.”

Crowley blinked at her and said bluntly, “I was the poor sod who had to deal with that.”

Eloise looked at him for a moment as about five different jigsaw pieces finally clicked in her head, before she threw her head back in realisation, “Oh shit, so you were. I knew your name sounded familiar.”

“You bastard, we spent six years raising the wrong child because of you!” he exclaimed, wagging his finger at her and jumping off of the bed at one point before Aziraphale tugged him back down. Eloise didn’t know whether to laugh or run for her life, for the menace in his words was betrayed by the disbelieving laugh in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” she asked, only just processing what he’d just said, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips at his dramatic antics. She knew not to push it when Aziraphale just lifted a finger and pursed his lips with the look of someone who’d rather never bring up said event again.

“Oh bloody heaven, I can’t believe this,” Crowley shook his head, chuckling to himself. Although part of him resented it, he couldn’t help but look at Eloise differently now as they laughed like little kids together. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed so much more like them now, so much more human. Or maybe it was the fact that she had been trying to stop the apocalypse and all the implications that came with the fact. Suddenly he just wanted to know more about her, but he quickly silenced that thought. One thing at a time.

She raised her shoulders with a confused look on her face, giggling as she said, “Sorry? Well, I didn’t know, did I?”

They locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter again at the sheer absurdity of it all, leaving Aziraphale slightly bewildered and more than slightly exasperated at the pair. It took them a few moments to finally calm down but once they did, Crowley sobered his tone of voice as he asked, “Right, back to what happened before we came in. Anything we need to keep an eye out for?”

Though he didn’t say it, Eloise could see the unasked question in his eyes. Are we safe? She smiled softly, “Nah, you two’ll be fine. Basically I told them if they want to talk to me, then they need to get their bosses involved, and somehow I highly doubt God and Satan are gonna pop down for a friendly chat any time soon. Even then, you two should be fine. I don’t think any of that lot clocked on that you were here.”

Crowley nodded in understanding, and it didn’t escape Eloise’s attention how the remaining dregs of tension visibly dissipated from both of their bodies. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other for a moment, the relief palpable from the pair of them. Eloise averted her eyes, giving them the privacy that they didn’t necessarily need but probably did want. She allowed herself a moment to ponder their relationship. They were very in tune with each other, very in sync, that much was obvious. Are they in love? The question sounded ridiculous the moment she thought it. Of course they are, look at them. She’d seen that look time and time again over the millennia. Although when she thought about the way they looked at each other further, that lead to another question. Do they know? The hint of yearning in their eyes was subtle but it was there. No, absolutely not. They’re too comfortable with each other. They’re a unit, that much she could tell. A unit that might not want to be disturbed.

Oh dear.

She looked back up at them hesitantly, unsure of what to say for the first time that evening. Eventually she said, “I’d better go. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”

Crowley frowned. Hadn’t she said she’d been travelling for a while? “You got somewhere to stay?”

Eloise paused. She’d definitely not been expecting that response. “Not yet. There is a flat I was going to rent but the people haven’t moved out yet because of the lockdown and it seems rude to miracle them away. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“Stay here,” Crowley said almost instantly, then pulled a face of confusion at how quickly he replied, “I mean, only if you want to.”

Eloise blinked at that. Surely, they wouldn’t want her there? What reason could they possibly have to want her there? “Wait, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Crowley just shrugged, “It’s not a problem. What are your options anyway? No hotels are open, and you can’t stay with anyone.”

“Only if you’re sure,” she murmured, still wary for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She glanced at Aziraphale for confirmation; it was his bookshop after all.

He nodded firmly, “Of course. I’ve been told the sofa is remarkably comfy,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, to which she grinned broadly.

A short while and a few miracles later, the sofa downstairs had become a makeshift bed that was significantly larger and softer than it had remembered it being. Eloise was currently settled on it; all it had taken was ten minutes for her to completely crash out. Aziraphale and Crowley had left her in peace with a chuckle, heading up to the bedroom they shared (that wasn’t out of choice, mind you. Simply because there was only one bedroom in the bookshop. No other reason.) One slightly confused item of furniture aside, all seemed to be well in the bookshop.

Upstairs in the bedroom, an angel and a demon were sitting in the same bed. Neither of them had thought to turn off the lights, so they were sat in thick silence in the bedroom. Aziraphale didn’t usually come up to bed, not as used to sleeping as Crowley was, instead opting to read the night away downstairs. However this seemed impolite considering their new guest, so he’d come up with Crowley. And while Crowley was mulling this over he finally stumbled upon why he felt so uneasy.

Aziraphale hadn’t brought a book up with him.

As bizarre a concern as that may seem, Crowley could always trust Aziraphale to bring a book up to bed with him on the rare occasion he came up at night. That was one of the things he lo- liked about him. Liked. He looked at Aziraphale curiously, noting the slight frown on his face as he stared into space. How deep in his head must he have been to forget a book? “You alright, angel?” he asked as softly as he could so as to not startle him.

He looked at Crowley with wide eyes that darted away almost instantly as he started to play with his hands in his lap, “Yes, my dear, I’m fine. I just realised something, is all.”

Crowley cocked his head in interest, “Oh really? What was it?”

He was silent for a little while before saying in a voice no louder than a whisper, “I think I was there when she Fell.”

Crowley felt his eyebrows raise in shock, looking away for a second to try and compose himself. “Right. Well, that’s a thing.”

“Quite.”

He furrowed his brows as he tried to make sense of what this meant now, “And was she telling the truth? Did all that actually happen?”

“Yes. I remember it perfectly well. Clear as day,” he managed to choke out with a forced smile before going back to his routine fidgeting.

Crowley laid a gentle hand on top of Aziraphale’s, stopping what he was doing and getting him to actually look him in the eye for longer than a second. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am quite well. Don’t fret,” he said, and despite Crowley’s concern, he couldn’t pretend that the smile on Aziraphale’s face wasn’t genuine, however small it may have been.

He reluctantly let it go, changing the subject quickly, “You alright with her staying here? I know it just sort of happened.”

The smile on his face only grew, much to Crowley’s surprise, “It’s alright. After all, wasn’t it you who said we’re on our own side now? I think she’s the first person we’ve met who might understand what that means.”

Crowley tried not to think too much about the fact that Aziraphale had actually listened to him when he’d said that, let alone remembered it, instead opting for a casual, “Yeah, I suppose so. Right, I’m gonna get some sleep. I, um, yeah,” he stammered out awkwardly, cursing his brain for not thinking of literally any other decent response.

Aziraphale simply smiled fondly at him, “Indeed. Goodnight, my dear.”

*************

Hello my love,

At the time of writing this, I do not know what the future holds. For me it’s an uncertain, unstoppable force, and it’s not one I think I can fend off for much longer. I’ve tried, please believe that I’ve tried. I’ve tried for your sake to prevent the inevitable. But it’s coming. I can feel it. It won’t be long now, I don’t think.

If you’re reading this, it means I was right, and I have Fallen. I know you’re probably confused and scared and that there is a biting anger bubbling inside you. I wish I could tell you why this is happening. I wish I could tell you that this is all a huge misunderstanding that will be resolved soon.

I wish I could tell you I love you one more time.

But I can’t. There are many things I can’t do now, and it’ll do me no good to dwell on this any longer than I have to. To survive we must focus on what we can do, and that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.

If I know myself as well as I think I do, there are many things I would have liked to have said to you upon our final farewell, but didn’t because I wanted to make sure you were alright. Don’t feel guilty about this, my love. Think of it as my last debt to you being repaid.

I have a plan. Well, it’s more of an idea, and it might not work. And it’s because of this that I shan’t tell you exactly what it is. It seems cruel to allow you to hope for something that might never come into fruition. But please put your faith in me, and in our love, for we will prevail. One way or another.

I hope that you didn’t wait to read this letter because you were scared of its contents, though I’m sure this isn’t the case. You were always brave. It was always something I loved about you. Your quiet, beautiful, roaring courage in the face of such turmoil and anguish. You always had the courage to be kind and to love with all your being, even when everything was against you. No one would have blamed you if you had turned cold and bitter, and yet you chose not to. I admire you for it every day. My idea, should it work, will require us both to be incredibly brave. But more on that another day. It’s that bravery and that strength that you will need to rely on now. That, and the thought of me. Though I may not physically be with you, but I hope that my love’s own soul is enough.

I won’t sign off this letter, because this is not where our story ends. There is much left to be written. And I need you to remember that each day we are parted. Until the next time, my love.

[humanoidmindbox]

Dying in a Hole

8.5.20 - 8.11.20

I often yearn to be unseen, unheard, and unknown. Sometimes I feel as if I cannot have a deeper connection with anyone because my head is too full of angry spirits and trash blowing in the wind. I have come to the painful realization that no one understands me due to the past trauma in my life and mental illness I have had to endure. By 2016, my disabilities won the battle against my will, and I had to be removed from society. I ended up on Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) and unable to work or go to school. This happened because I was incapable of basic functioning and unable to meet the daily goals that everyone else easily mastered. I was deemed incapable, disabled, and forgotten. I was swept under the rug to suffer in a house of horrors. 

Frequently I feel empty, numb, and disconnected from others and my surroundings. You will likely catch me staring deeply into nothing with a concerned look on my face; withdrawing from a routine conversation or task. In those moments I am being sucked into a cycle of destructive thinking. I am often in a daze, aimlessly wandering around the abandoned wasteland of my mind. It is here where my obsessions consume my thoughts and put cigarettes out on what's left of my self-control. 

I have realized that others can never relate to me about what I have gone through and what goes on inside of my head. Others don’t understand me on a deeper level. A part of me is grateful for that because it means that they have not suffered in the ways that I have. But they cannot understand the real me because I am not like them. Sometimes the lack of mental connection is maddening. Sometimes it is isolating. I am not like them because the doctors tell me that I am very ill. They have me take eight different medications. I take them twice a day to force me to be more “normal,” more “socially acceptable,” more conformist- more like you.

I am lucky enough to have many people who love me and have helped me put the pieces of my shattered life back together. They make up the strong pillars of my support system. I am grateful to be out of the mental hospital, on medications, to have a nurturing home, and to be receiving additional mental health care. But these people and services do not kill all of the bloodthirsty monsters that live inside of my head. 

Long, sleepless nights have led me to a sad realization: I love everyone in my life less now. I have no choice. A part of my heart was destroyed over a year ago (winter 2019). After those series of events, I was left broken. I shattered into a million pieces and now there is nothing left inside of me except for an eerie, echoing, emptiness where my soul used to be.

After what happened during that time, a large piece of my soul got ripped from my chest and set ablaze in front of my eyes. A piece of my heart withered away and died. Because of this, I feel like I have less of a capacity to love than I did before. That being said, sometimes I wonder if I love people as much as they love me. I have become more hollow and numb since everything happened. I love my supports with all of my heart, but since a large piece of my heart has been stolen from me, it is only logical to conclude that I must love them less now. This realization is extremely hard to process and I will never get over the guilt and shame that it brings.

Sometimes I believe that my ideal life would be to crawl into a dark hole deep within a cavernous forest and stay there. I would make it my home for all of eternity and it would always be autumn. I could watch the vibrant colored red, yellow, and orange leaves flutter down and kiss the earth just outside of my newfound home. I would be completely secluded from others and somehow always have everything that I would need.  

In this hole, I would have unlimited access to every type of mood-altering substance on the planet and there would be a limitless supply of them. I would never have to be judged, or medicated by doctors, or ostracized ever again. I would never be sick because no one would be around to label me as such. My life would be quiet and peaceful. I would never be lonely because I would have a close bond with Mother Nature. I would explore the thick greenery and gaze upon the beautiful creeks and valleys of the land. I would stare at the moon and watch shooting stars go by in the clear night sky.

I would take a never ending “mind vacation,” where instead of physically going somewhere for a vacation, I would get high enough to go to an entirely new dimension in my mind. I would let my mind take me on a journey to an altered reality, where nothing is as it seems. In this existence, I could let go of all of my past trauma and let the different sensations soothe my anxiety. I could drift away to another place. I could close my eyes and imagine that I am on a sunny beach or on top of a snowy mountain. The main difference in these two kinds of vacations is that my unrelenting, sick thoughts finally wash away and give me a couple hours of freedom and happiness, whereas the geographical vacation does not offer such a relief. 

The thoughts that plague my existence are relentless and sharp like a razor’s edge. They produce the type of despair that will lead a person to do unimaginable things in order to escape the constant misery of an internal hell.

This is what brought me to become fearless when it comes to drugs and alcohol. I needed a way to run away from reality and all of the pain that it brought. I needed to flee the evil that lurked in the shadowy corners of my very own mind. This led me down a path where I would snort all of the lines. I would drink all of the shots. I would mix every drug with each other before carelessly dumping the dangerous concoction into my system.

I think that I feel this way because winter 2019 permanently changed me. I have never been quite okay since. Every day is full of obsession, paranoia, and anxiety. My mind is a raging wildfire. 

I don’t trust anyone or anything as much as I trust drugs. When I am getting high, I am allowed to have hope for the future because I know that I will not be let down. The chemical makeup of each drug is the same and it has the same effect on my neurotransmitters each time that I use it. I can predict my own future by knowing how it will affect me when it kicks in. I have finally created something that I had given up for so many years- control. 

Also,drugs force you into an altered state of being. A state where pain is left behind. They pull you out of reality and push you into a different state of existence.

Please let me be at peace in my dark and obscure hole. I will make it as warm and cozy as I can. I will make it my home.It's the perfect place to hide away from the rest of the world. I want to run away from the judgmental stares. I want the concerned “are you okay’s?” and the sympathetic “I know how you feel’s” to stop. I want to flee from others, always monitoring and worrying about me; always wondering what catastrophic event will occur next.

When the grim reaper decides that it is time to take my soul, I will go without a whimper or a strike. I have lived out the rest of my life in bliss, freedom, and indulgence. I have flown with the birds and swam with the fish. I have walked up to heaven's gates and danced with demons at the foot of hell. I know what it's like to have everything that I have worked for ripped from my calloused hands. I know what it's like to fear everything until you snap, then emerge from the ashes fearing nothing but yourself. 

Society rejected me so now it is my turn to reject it. When my body finally turns into a  lifeless, cold corpse, I will die with a smile on my face because I have carried out the rest of my days swimming in euphoria, dancing with the stars. 

[obtusemedia]

Top 10 Albums of 2016

Better late than never, right? 

2016 was a slightly down year for music overall, with lots of albums that I found to be decent-but-not-great. Sure, there were a few that blew my mind (we’ll get to them), but it certainly paled in comparison to 2015′s sterling batch of modern classics. Lots of albums featured incredible singles but diluted the product with too much filler (looking at you, Starboy and Blank Face LP).

However, I will say this: 2016 might not have had quantity, but it certainly had quality in small doses. This year’s top album is arguably the second best of the decade (first prize is pretty much guaranteed to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, since that’s possibly my favorite album of all time). And it was certainly better than the bland wasteland of 2014, which had maybe three albums I still revisit occasionally (that would be Bleachers, Run the Jewels, and Spoon). So while the honorable mentions and bottom couple picks of my Top 10 might not have reached my year-end countdown in a stronger year like 2010, 2013, or 2015, they’re still very solid albums that deserve some praise. Let’s dig in.

(Also: Run the Jewels 3 will not be on this list. I’m counting it as a 2017 album, since it only existed for the last week of 2016, and the physical copy came out this year. My list, my rules.) 

HONORABLE MENTIONS

>Anti by Rihanna: I never expected to enjoy most of a Rihanna album front-to-back, but here we are. Ri’s got far more of an artistic vision than I realized.

>Welcome The Worms by Bleached: If it didn’t limp to the finish line with a few weaker songs, this collection of razor-sharp pop-rock tunes would’ve earned a top 5 spot easily. Aggressively Los Angeles in the best way possible.

>I Had A Dream That You Were Mine by Hamilton Leithauser+Rostam: It feels a bit like Vampire Weekend gone Americana, and it doesn’t work occasionally, but sometimes, you need some pretty chamber pop in your life.

>Atrocity Exhibition by Danny Brown: Maybe it captures the feeling of losing your sanity to drugs a little too well to be listenable sometimes, but when Danny’s on, he’s on. Aggressively Detroit in the best way possible.

>Pretty Years by Cymbals Eat Guitars: There’s not a bad song here in this Springsteen-worshiping garage rock album. Unfortunately, outside of a few standouts, there’s nothing really mind-blowing either. Consider this the #11 pick.

#10: Human Performance by Parquet Courts

Parquet Courts have written individual songs better than anything here — shoutout to “Borrowed Time” — but Human Performance strings together a collection of songs that at first seem mismatched in both musical stylings and lyrical themes, and somehow make them fit seamlessly together. “Steady On My Mind” would make for an excellent wedding first-dance ballad, and it’s on the same record as the spiteful breakup title track and “Berlin Got Blurry,” about a troubled long-distance relationship. Songs like “Outside” or “Keep It Even” are simple, catchy, almost folk-esque tunes that could’ve been written in the 70s; Meanwhile, “I Was Just Here” is a discordant, alien tune about a Chinese takeout joint disappearing that would’ve freaked out most fans of The Band. One song is about dust (yes, literally), another song is about dead cops.

The wide range of subjects and sounds on Human Performance are all tied together by both Andrew Savage’s monotone vocals, as well as the fact that life itself is random. Your brain can jump to and from many different subjects and emotions throughout even one day, let alone a year or two. Human Performance describes a vast berth of scenarios, and ties them all to catchy indie-rock tunes that merge New York cool with Texas swagger. Besides, it was about time somebody wrote a song about dust.

Best 3 Songs: “Berlin Got Blurry,” “Human Performance,” “Steady on My Mind”

#9: Still Brazy by YG

In 2014, I was mildly annoyed by YG. He wasn’t the worst, but I viewed him more or less as DJ Mustard’s house rapper, and I was sick of Mustardwave that year. Luckily, YG ditched him and got to play with some superior production that leans much closer to classic 90s G-Funk. If there was a Most Improved Award this year, YG would easily be in the running (there’s a couple other contenders we’ll get to in a bit).

The Compton rapper finds a precarious balance of gangster stories and legit issues in his lyrics. Sure, he’ll have a blast turning up and repping his Bloods, but he also has multiple tracks about his growing paranoia. Did he make a huge mistake by entering the gang life? Now he’s got a permanent target on his back, both by cops and by rival gang members, and ever since his rap career blew up, he’s had obnoxious hangers-on begging for scraps. He even got shot! 

At the same time, YG is reluctantly willing to be a major political voice in the music scene with the tour-de-force final three songs on the album. The final two, “Blacks and Browns” and Police Get Away With Murder,” are about systemic racism in general, while the infamous “FDT” is a direct shot at our new President. It’s a ballsy move, and one that I’m sure got him on Secret Service watchlists, but as a visceral expression of anger towards a broken system, it’s absolutely worth the controversy. In a year where it would’ve been nice to see more mainstream rappers tackle the toxic political climate, YG was able to step to the challenge without getting preachy. 

Best 3: “Blacks and Browns,” “FDT,” “Why You Always Hatin?”

#8: Psychopomp by Japanese Breakfast

Fun fact: A “psychopomp” is some sort of a deity that guides souls of recently deceased people into the afterlife. 

Another fun fact: I just looked that up five seconds ago. 

The title certainly makes a lot more sense now, but even without that context clue, Psychopomp is very clearly an album about the aftermath of tragedy, in this case, the death of a mother. Michelle Zauner, for whom Japanese Breakfast is a solo project separate from her old gig in Little Big League, focuses more on how that grief and trauma can reverberate through the rest of one’s life, particularly one’s love life. The music sounds like fog feels: cloudy, fuzzy, and dense. The only thing that cuts through the walls of ambient synths and chiming guitars are Zauner’s high-pitched, emotional wails. It’s quite haunting.

Psychopomp also somehow manages to be both a perfect album at noon and midnight. Nocturnal, hazy songs like “The Woman That Loves You” and “Jane Cum” are right next to sunny, more guitar-driven tunes like “Rugged Country” and “Heft.” But both the night tunes and the day tunes work in the other environment as well. Psychopomp isn’t bright or pitch-black: it’s grey with neon tinges. Just like one’s mind after being rendered numb from emotional trauma. Japanese Breakfast’s debut is a gorgeous slice of shoegaze-flavored indie pop, and hopefully a follow-up can be a bit longer than Psychopomp’s under-30 minute running time.

Best 3: “In Heaven,” “The Woman That Loves You,” “Rugged Country.”

#7: Blonde by Frank Ocean

I’m normally allergic to quiet, contemplative music with minimal percussion. My tastes generally lean towards songs with grooves, or something that features powerful emotion. Give me Japandroids over Norah Jones any day. If something is going to be low-key, it better be damn good to grab my attention. This does happen occasionally: I adored Sufjan Stevens’ Carrie & Lowell in 2015, and Frank Ocean’s Blonde also falls in that category.

The songs here are fairly formless and wandering, but it works well with Ocean’s stream-of-consciousness lyrics. This sounds like a diary being read aloud, put to breathtakingly gorgeous melodies, and backed up with music that yes, is quiet for the most part, but is still powerful. Although it does get too slow in a few points for my taste, Blonde is a total tear-jerker. It’s the kind of album you have to just lie down and let soak in. He takes some obvious influences — Prince in “Ivy,” the Beach Boys in “Self Control,” the Beatles in “White Ferrari” — and somehow makes them feel fresh and novel.

Blonde achieves something rare: It creates a sound and feel all its own. This isn’t the best album of 2016, but it’s definitely the most unique, and probably will be the one that will inspire the most artists moving forward.

Best 3: “Self Control,” “Ivy,” “Nights”

#6: Puberty 2 by Mitski

I just have to say, this might’ve gotten a bump if it was named Puberty 2: Son of Puberty or something like that. The best sequels have ridiculous titles!

Jokes aside, Puberty 2 as a title is dead-on: All of the songs here describe the period of one’s life that Mitski calls a “second puberty.” In your 20s, you’re confused, overly emotional, and everything seems to be collapsing. Pretty much the same thing you go through in your teens, except this time, you have to take care of yourself financially. Yikes. 

Mitski writes songs like a surgeon performs surgery: Precise and cutting. There were few lyrics this year that sums up one’s 20s as well as “I want to see the whole world/I don’t know how I’m going to pay rent/I want to see the whole world,” and that’s just one example out of a countless many on Puberty 2.

There’s also “Your Best American Girl,” the album’s centerpiece showstopper about racial identity and how it conflicts with both a one-on-one relationship and American society as a whole. It sounds complex, but she somehow distills it into a 90s alt rock power ballad that would make Billy Corgan cry. Puberty 2 doesn’t reach that high at any other point, but it comes quite close multiple times with other complicated subjects. 

Like Frank Ocean did with Blonde, Mitski poured out her soul with Puberty 2, and the final product is a gut-punch that leaves a lasting impact.

Best 3: “Your Best American Girl,” “Happy,” “My Body’s Made of Crushed Little Stars”

#5: The Life of Pablo by Kanye West

I realize that this album has been argued about to death over the past 11 months, so I’ll keep this brief. 

Yes, Pablo has some major flaws, like the 2nd half of “30 Hours,” a few embarrassing lyrical missteps, and how the album feels way too long. Still, at the end of the year, I kept coming back to Pablo and I realized something: It’s not without its massive issues, but it’s very, very entertaining. Love him or hate him, Kanye is the kind of person you can’t stop yourself from paying attention to, so even his weakest albums are going to necessary listening on some level. 

And for all its flaws, Pablo’s highs are INSANELY high. There’s a reason why “Ultralight Beam” is already a new gospel standard. There’s a reason why the drop of “Father Stretch My Hands” instantly became a classic meme. There’s a reason everyone loses their minds and raps/sings along to every word when Kanye starts playing “Waves” (and “I Love Kanye!”) at a show. 

At the end of Kanye’s career, Pablo won’t be recognized as one of Yeezy’s peaks by any means, but it’ll be remembered as a noble mess that contains some of his all-time best tracks. 

Best 3 Songs: “Ultralight Beam,” “Real Friends,” “Famous” (the Aziz Ansari/Eric Wareheim video for this might be Kanye’s greatest video ever, FYI)

#4: Lemonade by Beyoncé

Alright, alright, I give in. Beyoncé made a masterpiece with this one. I will always be a sucker for albums that tell a story, and Lemonade’s is a doozy. Jay Z cheated on Bey? And now Bey is going to bring out her “Irreplaceable” character, but in real life this time? And, somehow, she deigns to forgive him and try to make the marriage work? I find it fascinating, especially because Beyoncé adds details in her songs that really flesh out the whole story, both musically and lyrically. “Don’t Hurt Yourself” might be one of the best fuck-off anthems I’ve ever heard with its earth-shaking, furious garage rock sound (Beyoncé should seriously consider doing a rock album), “6 Inch” both captures the highs and lows of independence, and “All Night” captures the ecstasy of reuniting with a past love with perfect precision. 

Of course, Beyoncé ventures outside the central story for a few tracks like the country-flavored “Daddy Lessons” and of course, “Formation,” which I don’t need to tell y’all is untouchable. Oh, and she also manages to squeeze in discussing the realities of living as a black woman in an oppressive society without being overly on-the-nose. It’s both radical, yet catchy enough for your Republican parents to not care. I don’t know how she pulled it off, honestly.

Normally, I find praising Beyoncé to be sort-of obnoxious and overdone (and let’s be honest, some Beyhive people take it a bit far), but with Lemonade, Beyoncé is finally as flawless as her obsessive fans claim she is. A sterling exclamation point on an increasingly legendary pop career.

Top 3: “Formation,” “Don’t Hurt Yourself,” “Sorry”

#3: I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it by The 1975

*insert obligatory joke here about how awful that album title is*

If you ignore the title, The 1975 came through with the best pop album of 2016, and in a year that featured career-best albums from Beyoncé, Rihanna, and Frank Ocean (and a seriously underwhelming Gaga album...sigh), that’s no small feat. 

It’s crazy to think that less than a year ago, I thought of them as some C-list boy band who had a couple solid tunes, but weren’t any more special than other semi-okay pretty-boy bands like The Neighbourhood. They obviously proved me wrong: I like it... is Reagan-era pop perfection. They might be The 1975, but they sure sound like 1987.

With 17 songs (!) and a 74-minute runtime (!!!), on first glance, it seems that I like it... would suffer from the same symptoms of other overlong, filler-stuffed pop albums from this year, like Views or Starboy, but shockingly, they really did have 17 killer pop tunes. Okay, maybe more like 15, the last two acoustic-guitar ballads are audio NyQuil, but .882 is an incredible batting average for an album this long. This album stays fresh due to the band’s varied inspirations. It’s like a big costume party, where they dress up as INXS, My Bloody Valentine, Chromatics, Huey Lewis, and Blur in the 19 era. And somehow, they pull all of them off. 

Sure, the late 80s weren’t the greatest time for pop music, but Matt Healy and Co. take that spotty source material and transcend it to create a narrative about drugs, girls, religion, selling out, and mental illness that’s somehow still catchy as hell. Old-school pop music doesn’t get much better than this, folks.

Best 3: “The Sound,” “Somebody Else,” “A Change of Heart”

#2: Coloring Book by Chance the Rapper

I love it when an artist’s potential is actually realized. How many talented young rappers have started hot and then collapsed down the stretch, never to deliver a fantastic album? As much as I enjoyed “Trap Queen,” Fetty Wap is still seeking his flawless full-length project. B.o.B. lost his mind. A$AP Ferg followed up a super-promising debut with a complete try-hard disaster of a sophomore record this year. Those artists that finally meet expectations ascend to the level of greats: Kanye reached it with Late Registration. Kendrick reached it with Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City. Drake reached that with Take Care (and is currently squandering it). And Chance the Rapper, after a stellar breakout in 2013′s Acid Rap, and a slight setback in 2015′s forgettable Surf, finally became the top-tier rapper we all knew he could be with Coloring Book, the best hip-hop album of 2016.

Chance’s exuberance has already been well-documented at this point, but that still doesn’t lessen how “No Problem,” “Blessings,” and “Finish Line” (with T-Pain!!!) put a giant grin on my face. He certainly doesn’t shy away from the darkness, discussing Chicago’s violence problems and growing apart from old friends in subtle and poetic ways. Because Chance’s overwhelming chipper-ness can be a bit much sometimes, I also appreciate how he was willing to slow it down for a few songs and get a little more dour. Hell, the best song here, “All Night,” is about him being annoyed on a night out. The man’s got more range than we gave him credit for.

2016 was a dark year, which is exactly why a cheerful, optimistic, yet realistic album like Coloring Book is exactly what we all needed. 

Best 3: “All Night,” “Angels,” “Same Drugs”

#1: Teens of Denial by Car Seat Headrest

I don’t know if I’ve heard an album that’s so meticulously specific, yet bracingly relatable, as Teens of Denial. 

Like Lemonade, Teens tells one story for its entire run time. Here’s the synopsis: Singer/songwriter/guitarist Will Toledo (using the pseudonym “Joe”) has depression. His friends and parents don’t really care, tell him to get over himself, and say it’s all his fault anyways. He becomes dependent on alcohol and drugs to numb the pain, and after a while, they begin to make him feel worse. That makes his friends hate him, his family chastise him, and even Jesus himself shows up in a cameo to pile on the guy and inform him he won’t go to heaven. He makes a pledge to himself to turn his life around, then immediately drives drunk, gets arrested for a DUI, and breaks down in the cop car. He has a existential crisis that involves a lot of screaming at the universe, and his mind blocks out any comfort from others and replaces it with a raging, loud “FUCK YOU.” Overwhelmed by the stresses of the world and everyone’s expectations on him, Toledo decides to just give up on life. That doesn’t mean suicide, by the way — it means to just do whatever he wants. Roll credits.

Sounds like a long, winding story, and obviously, it’s a bit too extreme to be 100% relatable to my own personal life (luckily, I’ve never driven drunk or dropped acid), but how Toledo conveys his emotions through meticulous, reference-heavy lyrics and visceral lo-fi guitar fuzz is so cathartic, that you find yourself relating to some part of it. And even if you don’t, you’ll get sucked in by Toledo’s masterful storytelling and his indie rock anthems that cross Pavement’s gritty guitar tones with U2′s stadium-sized emotions and choruses (as someone who loves both angsty 90s music and massive 80s music, this is my heaven).

Yes, Teens of Denial is incredibly depressing, and to be honest, kind of melodramatic at points. But some people get melodramatic when they get depressed; I know I do. Toledo stated he was inspired by 90s indie rock in terms of the sound, but lyrically, he took inspiration from emo acts. This marriage results in an album with the raw, unfiltered emotions of something like My Chemical Romance or Simple Plan, but from the perspective of a down-and-out 20-something rather than a hormonal teenager (and with much better music to boot), so its a bit less embarrassing. 

I can’t talk enough about how Teens of Denial perfectly mirrors how a certain subset of recent college graduates feels about life. In a way, it represents angsty Millennials like In Utero represented angsty Gen Xers. As an angsty Millennial, this was tailor-made for me, and it’s easily my favorite album of 2016. 

Top 3: “Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales,” “The Ballad of the Costa Concordia,” “Destroyed By Hippie Powers” (but the whole album is flawless, so just listen to it all)

[anxious-ace]

I know I said that I would remake the TH:HW cast last week but I didn't, I'm sorry so take this as an apology:

(Timothy) Casket logs (written by the man himself):

Red sky events: RSEs are what it says on the tin, they are events where the sky turns red. These can happen at any point in the year (or multiple times in the same year), basically they happen whenever vast amounts of entities need to feed all at once. The reason the sky turns red is because multiple portals to the underworld are open during these events (all at once mind you). You may know that the underworld is a separate dimension below the known dimensional plane, thus why every dimension has an underworld (The only thing is, the reason they have different ideas about the underworld/hell is, is because each dimension only has access to the section directly below them, which is why multiple portals can be seen during these events) 

Trauma houses: Trauma houses are a bit harder to explain. Essentially they are buildings (not just houses) that when completely empty of living things (those capable of complex thought ie. trauma) look like normal, but empty buildings. This means that observations through cameras will show the building as it is, unless someone walks in. That's when the trauma part comes into play, the building will start to change, displaying whatever traumas that person may have (if they have any that is). These buildings start to expand in a way (no exterior changes, however, like the tardis) in order to fully subject their victims to every single one of their greatest traumas. No breaks, no exit, only abject horror until you find the true exit (they will set up false ones in order to get your hopes up so they can tear them down again). 

Gateways: these are certain things that provide some form of communication between our world and the spiritual plane. These are mostly spirit boxes, phones, and the written word, but people could also be used as gateways. These are in a separate category as they are biological whereas everything else is considered technological. Biological gateways can also see and hear entities without possessions occurring. The qualification of being a gateway is whether or not it can be used to provide coherent communication (meaning that it has to provide something that can't be attributed to anything other than an entity trying to communicate). Some animals are considered to be gateways like humans (parrots, corvids, songbirds, beluga whales, and dolphins being some of our documented examples). Biological gateways are harder to come by because they have consciences/souls that that entity needs to fight for (albeit temporary) control over the body they want to use to communicate. In fact, I believe the reason why my family is full of prominent gateways is because of 1. Our history in the paranormal business, 2. Our habit of having very paranormal things happen at a young age (when it is easier for entities to take control without much of a fight), 3. Some kind of genetic predisposition that popped up at some point in the family tree (activated when point 2 happens I assume). These are just theories but every one of them is documented (my son and myself included), the signs for biological gateways will be a separate log so stay tuned. 

Cotard's delusion: Cotard's syndrome ranges from delusions of losing one's organs, blood, or body parts to insisting that one has lost their soul or is dead. Cases have been reported in those with mood disorders, psychotic disorders, and medical conditions. People may also hold the delusion that the world no longer exists. Now I've been struggling with the idea of death and what came after ever since I was young, it seems unrelated but hold on, and ever since my first run-in at the ripe old age of 5 I've held this delusion that either it took something from me or that I died all together. I remember rambling to the rest of the team about my "missing" heart or the arrangements for my "funeral" and everyone just standing there, looking at me as if I had lost my mind. Of course, I've had mood swings and psychotic episodes many times, but these delusions always got more of a response out of everyone around me for whatever reason. I believe my son dealt with something similar after "the puppet accident" but he would think that he was somehow still that puppet, just not floating through the cosmos/dimensional plane. I still need to write the gateway symptoms. I'm sorry, that'll be done soon.

Context:

Both RSEs and trauma houses also occur in "the chronorun reports"/CR.

My version of Tim was revived by SR. like last year so him mentioning Ghost and the puppet arc shouldn't be too far-fetched

He was watching over him in the spirit world before the revival too, so either way, I think he'd know

(I haven't actually written down the symptoms for biological gateways so that's something else I have to do)

[anxious-ace]

Spin The Wheel: Trauma House: Divided Promises + Heaven's Wasteland

I know I haven't posted about DP at all, but I'll post the character lists soon, starting with DP (I still have to make the pic crews and actually explain everything though).

[anxious-ace]

Trauma house: Heaven's wasteland info:

"The Judge/Headmaster"/Agasha Talanova- headmaster at Ravenwood (and previously Grand Ridge). Watching her explain the rules of the training and handling any, silly little outbursts from the subjects reminded me of why she was elected to lead us. It's a shame she'll have to deal with the survivors and their antics (especially the investigators) but she can handle it, I know she can. D.O.B. is still said to be July 2nd and her place of origin is somewhere in Russia (still not sure where).

Marje Paters- stenographer at Ravenwood (and previously Grand Ridge). I mentioned her skills 4 years ago and boy did she deliver, not a single word was missed the entire time. It's a shame she got stuck with Ghost’s “friend” but hey, he did what he was told to eventually (although he was a pain in the ass to deal with personally). Anyway, D.O.B. is August 5th and her place of origin is Breda, The Netherlands.

Åse Eliassen- I forgot to mention Ravenwood's (and previously Grand Ridge's) very own bailiff/school security guard, how silly of me. Just like with Marje, I wish she didn't have to deal with Ghost’s “friend”, but we did eventually get him to do his job so I can't be too disappointed with the situation. It is her job to take care of threats after all. D.O.B. is May 18th, and her place of origin is said to be Oslo, Norway.

Norman Hart- math professor at Ravenwood College. His math skills aren't really important in the game, but he can console the participating students after the fact with his experience as a teacher and dad. D.O.B. is September 13 and the place of origin is Seattle, Washington.

Agnes "Ivy" Murray- a detective in the EIPD (Ego Island Police Department), she sure as hell knows how to take control of a situation. Her investigative experience would have proved helpful to the participants if only the judge hadn't blocked them away from the rest of the campus. D.O.B.. is January 22nd and the place of origin is Sydney, Australia.

Blake Walsh- an English professor at Ravenwood. Like Norman, his literature skills aren't important for the game, but unlike Norman, he has a harder time consoling people as he is childless, but his experience with older kids makes up for it. D.O.B. is April 28th and the place of origin is Austin, Texas.

Jamie Mack- 18-year-old student with remarkable translating skills. If anyone needs help in any foreign language class, they're your person. These language skills are also useful in translating any multilingual plans written in an attempt to be discreet about them. D.O.B is February 15th and the place of origin is Chicago Illinois.

Elias Zenea- 19-year-old student and prophet. Although the idea of an actual prophet seems far-fetched, this student seems to be at least on the right track 50-60% of the time. This foresight can prove helpful as they can see the crime before it even happens and can predict any other attacks that may occur. D.O.B is September 6th and the place of origin is Patras, Greece.

Amina del Nero- 19-year-old student and florist. Even though the ability to grow flowers might be helpful, growing food sure is and her knowledge of what is edible or not is also very helpful in either making sure someone survives or getting rid of them herself. D.O.B is July 20th and the place of origin is Milan, Italy.

Rémy Poulin- 18-year-old student and abstract artist. His art skills can be useful if he wants to trick someone with a fake tunnel or corridor, he can paint it very convincingly. He can also paint things to take his mind off of the situation but I digress. D.O.B is September 2nd and the place of origin is Lyon, France.

Yvonne Poulin- 18-year-old student and animator. Unlike her brother, I don't think her animation skills would help as much, although if they work together and make a moving distraction then I see it. She does understand how the human body moves, just like that poor dollmaker back in Grand Ridge. Anyways, D.O.B is September 2nd and the place of origin is Lyon, France.

Lorena Menédez- 20-year-old student and inspector/investigator. One of the only ones with any sort of investigative prose, she is very helpful in determining the who, how, and why of any case, if only finding out who did it meant they see punishment (as this is more of a survival of the fittest situation rather than trial situation), she’s still helpful in discussions but it might not get anywhere. DOB is December 3rd and the place of origin is Cali, Columbia.

Esther Camarero- 21-year-old student and musician. Not really useful in itself, but she does carry around some heavy instruments, you need a strong arm and decent coordination. She can distract the group from the situation and help pass the time but that's about it really. DOB is October 12th and the place of origin is Barcelona, Spain.

Jurrijn Fixe- 20-year-old student and matchmaker. I don't really know how playing Cupid can be useful, maybe he's giving people alibis without realizing it, yeah that can be it. Anyway, the way he works is he gets a read on someone and finds someone that matches what they need, like the bookworm from Grand Ridge, but with people instead of books (yeah it's weird now that I put it like that). D.O.B is May 19th and the place of origin is Rotterdam, Netherlands.

Katenka Kashuba- 19-year-old student, fighter/soldier in training, and Grand Ridge massacre survivor. Not only did she survive the massacre (like I said she would), but she also seemed to have brought her younger sister into this (unknowingly of course). Given her connection to the other survivors, I won't be surprised if everyone survives this game like they did the last one. I also said she could get rid of evidence easily and boy, she did not disappoint. D.O.B. is July 4th and the place of origin is Moscow, Russia.

Veronika Kashuba- 18-year-old student and software architect. Like her sister, she too has a history of fighting for her life, unlike her sister that's not her only known trait. As a software architect, she helped a fellow student revive Mach’s programming (as his body got destroyed at some point at Grand Ridge four years prior), but instead of putting in a new body they just put him in his inventor’s computer. D.O.B is July 12th and the place of origin is Kazan, Russia.

Tobias Oien- 19-year-old student and medic. As a medic, they can patch anything up (within limitation) using what's available, thus keeping his peers alive just a bit longer. Though they may seem to be focusing on only his peers, he can also patch himself up (as expected) so he can better help their peers. D.O.B. is August 21st and the place of origin is Calgary, Canada.

Karly Emily Kamad Borres- 20-year-old student and guide. As a guide, she knows the school like the back of her hand and can use that knowledge to her advantage (leading people where they can't be found, hiding from any attacks, etc.). The downside to this of course is if she says anything about a place that only she knows, she's immediately suspect number 1. D.O.B. is August 21 and the place of origin is Manila, Philippines.

Asuka Kudo- 19-year-old student and mechanic. Given that she's a mechanic, I'm surprised Mach’s inventor didn't ask her to help him rebuild the body, I mean she is capable of achieving such a feat, just look at Ravenwood’s robotics club, but to each their own I guess. Preferences aside, she is very understanding and has decided to help fix the program for his computer with Veronika and Otto instead. D.O.B is March 18th and the place of origin is Kyoto, Japan.

Otto Weigle- 18-year-old student and programmer. Speaking of helping with Mach’s programming, he did the bulk of the work for their little project (alongside the inventor obviously). He is also responsible for programming the school's computer and security systems, little does he know that work will bite him in the ass eventually. D.O.B is January 21st and the place of origin is Munich Germany.

Camron Alejo- 21-year-old student and psychologist. Considering the situation at hand, having a psychologist by your side isn't a bad idea, especially one as sympathetic as her. Some would say her sympathy makes her weak, but you know what I see, I see someone that even the most closed off of people can trust with whatever they are going through. D.O.B is October 24 and the place of origin is Valencia, Spain.

Mirai Hamadate- 20-year-old student and filmmaker. Like the writers at Grand Ridge, although his filmmaking skills might not be useful, he'd have one hell of a movie on his hands if he survives. Wait, as a filmmaker, he could spot whether or not any footage shown is real or edited so he is useful, for that at least. DOB is June 28th and the place of origin is Sapporo, Japan.

Gavin Toast/Allencourt- 21-year-old student, gambler/identity thief, and another Grand Ridge massacre survivor. His talents he was so highly praised (or shunned) for, worked in his favor the last time, let's see where they get him now that his brother and their friend are “undercover” as former classmates of theirs. D.O.B. is August 8th and the place of origin is Glasgow, Britain.

“Edgar Kingsley”/Johnny Toast- 21-year-old student, writing prodigy and survivor. He is currently undercover as his deceased cousin, he might get away with it if the other survivors (who know the difference between the 2 writers) weren't here. Seeing how long this lasts does sound fun though. And I believe the judge, like last time, hasn't waved any exceptions for them so we hope to see a lot of shenanigans between everyone. Anyways, D.O.B. is August 8th and the place of origin is Glasgow, Britain.

“Joan Zanhuesa”/Johnny Ghost- 19-year-old student, inventor, and last survivor in our roster (Robin might be off somewhere else or maybe she'll be here later, who knows). As I mentioned before, as the inventor of Mach and the head of the restoration project, I thought he would have tried to fix the old body or make a new one but no. He opted to put him into his computer via a hard drive he picked up after he was destroyed. Moving on, like his partner in crime, he is also undercover as his deceased cousin (for some goddamn reason, guilt maybe?). I also thought his status as a gateway was going to have a bigger impact, (maybe his “friend" will show up at some point like he did last time). Anyways, D.O.B. is August 28th and the place of origin is Savannah, Georgia.

[anxious-ace]

Trauma house: Heaven's Wasteland

Adults:

"The Judge"/Agasha Talanova- judge/headmaster (hypnotist/shapeshifter)

Åse Eliassen- bailiff (guard/probation officer)

Marje Paters- stenographer (journalist)

Norman Hart- teacher, Agnes' [redacted] (mathematician)

Agnes Murray- detective, Norman's [redacted] (detective, duh)

Blake Walsh- teacher 2 (poet)

Students:

Jamie Mack- Student 1 (translator)

Elias Zenea- Student 2 (prophet)

Amina del Nero- Student 3 (florist)

Rémy + Yvonne Poulin- Students 4/5 (Rémy- abstract artist, Yvonne- animator)

Lorena Menéndez- Student 6 (inspector)

Esther Camarero- Student 7 (musician)

Jurrijn Fixe- Student 8 (matchmaker)

Katenka Kashuba- Student 9 (soldier)

Veronika Kashuba- Student 10 (software architect)

Tobias Oien- Student 11 (medic)

Karly Noelle Abantas Borres- Student 12 (guide)

Asuka Kudo- Student 13 (mechanic)

Otto Weigle- Student 14 (programmer)

Camron Alejo- Student 15 (psychologist)

Mirai Hamadate- Student 16 (filmmaker)

Gavin Allencourt/Toast- student 17 (gambler/identity thief)

"Edgar Kingsley"/Johnny Toast- student 18 (writing prodigy)

"Joan Zanhuesa"/Johnny Ghost- student 19 (inventor)

Setting:

Ravenwood College, 2008

[anxious-ace]

Trauma House: Heaven's Wasteland (pt 2):

Left to right: Tobias Oien, Karly Noelle Abantas Borres, Asuka Kudo, Otto Weigle, Camron Alejo, Mirai Hamadate, Gavin Allencourt/Toast, "Edgar Kingsley"/Johnny Toast, "Joan Zanhuesa"/Johnny Ghost

(I'll explain a few things when I figure out how)

[anxious-ace]

Trauma House: Heaven's Wasteland (pt 1):

Left to right: Jamie Mack, Elias Zenea, Amina del Nero, Rémy + Yvonne Poulin, Lorena Menéndez, Esther Camarero, Jurrijn Fixe, Katenka Kashuba, Veronika Kashuba